#(<- is going to get distracted from the things she actually wants to make)

[mywritersmind]

DONT CRY OVER SPILT COFFEE - LN4

summary : A horrible morning made worse by a man in a matcha colored hat, spilling coffee down her shirt and maybe ending up being the hero she needs for her final.

listen up : no warnings!! okay hiii i fell off the face of the planet for a sec lol! i’m fine and thank you for all your sweet messages! honestly i was just burnt out and have nooo ideas plus school and sports are kicking my ass. i love you all so much and hope you enjoy this!

words : 1940

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I try to steady my breathing as I bite back tears. It’s a small thing, really… I ordered a latte and they gave me a steaming hot black coffee.

I would have been fine, simply asking to return it if not for the horribly rude barista and my morning out of hell. So I give up and drag myself out of the little shop, opening the heavy door and promptly colliding into the man across from me.

I swear, loudly, this is the absolute cherry on top of the start of my day. I honestly expect him to run off and roll his eyes, but with tears in mine and hot coffee on my shirt, he rushes to apologize.

���I’m so fucking sorry- shit! I’m an idiot… Let me buy you another one, and a top. Honestly I’m so sorry.” The British man is rambling as I wipe my tears, something his green eyes widen at, horrified that he made me cry. As I blink away the tears, I'm immediately threatened with more because he’s hot!

“No… It’s okay.” I sniff, cursing the universe for making me act like a fool in front of a man this attractive. “I wasn’t even going to drink it.” People are staring at us now and the workers have already started to clean the mess beneath my feet.

“C’mere.” He says softly, taking my hand and leading me to a more secluded part of the cafe, “I’m really sorry.” He’s pulling off his flannel now, a plain white t-shirt now visible as he hands the red and white button up to me, “Please change, I feel horrible. I’ll get you another drink, maybe one you actually enjoy?”

I don’t know why, but if it was any other day, I would have brushed this off and left with no words. But today, I really need this. I nod, telling him my actual order, and retreating to the bathroom as he gets in line.

The shirt does not fit me. I’m wearing a denim skirt with it and it looks like I'm wearing a dress, but honestly I like the look. I grab my shirt and leave the bathroom, my skirt splattered with coffee and the smell still on me.

I sit outside, not wanting to be stared at by everyone who saw me inside. He’s back quickly, two coffees in hand and a guilty smile on his face.

Now that my eyes aren’t blurred with tears, I get a better look at him. He’s tan and freckled, curls sticking out from under his hat.

I read his name on the cup, “Bob?” I say, a bit more judgy than I meant. My latte is cool against my hands, my skin hot from coffee and embarrassment.

He sits across from me, laughing a bit, “No uh… I’m Lando.” I wonder if they got his name wrong and I'm about to ask how someone makes that big of a mistake, but he starts talking, “Are you alright? Something tells me this isn’t just about a spilled drink.”

I sip my coffee, instantly happier with the taste of vanilla, “Honestly? It’s just been a shit morning.”

He smiles softly as a biker drives past us, the sun beating down on my legs, “Want to tell me about it?”

“I really don’t want to bother you anymore…” I try to distract myself with the flowers next to us but my eyes find him again.

“I deserve it- not that you’re a bother! I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He blushes slightly, sipping his matcha.

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You can-”

“Okay so I’m a university student and for my final project in one of my journalism classes, I have to interview someone! Okay fine whatever it’s easy, I can do that! My professor is a massive bitch and didn’t even like my suggestion of interviewing my third grade teacher but whatever! I decided on it anyway even though everyone in my fucking class has like a million and one connections to insanely famous people so all of theirs is actually interesting!”

“Yours sounds interesting.” He shrugs.

“Thank you! Well, when I went to the school to interview her, I found out she’s dead!” His jaw drops, “Yeah! So now I'm just depressed because I loved that woman and I still don’t have a final. Plus just about everything went wrong while getting ready. I tore my favorite tights and lost my lucky bracelet, clearly, because I ran into you after this stupid shop got my order wrong!”

He’s smiling, looking at me with pity and a little humor, “That does sound like a lot.”

I bring my cup to my lips once more, breathless from my rant. Lando just hums, tapping his finger on the table, “Anyway I can help?”

“Unless you know anyone famous… and you’ve already bought me the correct coffee and listened to my rant, I can’t ask for more.”

“Well uh…” He bites his lip suspiciously, “I sort of do… know someone famous, that is.” My eyes go wide and my cheeks go red.

“No! I can’t bother anyone else, forget what I said.”

He’s smiling again, “Nope, you asked for it. I have a solution.”

“No… Lando I can’t.” He’s far too nice for someone I just met.

“It’s for your final! I don’t mind.”

“Sure you might not mind but the person I'm interviewing might!” At this, he makes a face. Somewhere between laughter and awkwardness. Then I have an overwhelming sick feeling as he starts again.

“You can interview me.” What the fuck have I done? He slides me his phone but my eyes are already squeezed shut. I hear him chuckle, “Y/n.”

“No no no.”

“Yes.” he nudges it against my arm as I slowly eye it. It's his instagram. His instagram with 9.4 Million followers.

I swallow, “I’m an idiot.”

“No. You’re just not into racing.” He’s right! I’m not. I’m really not! The photos quickly tell me that he is a formula one driver for McLaren. “Just ask me whatever you need. It’s not a bother.”

“Lando…” I feel like I've been dunked into cold water, and suddenly I realize that people are looking at us not because of my embarrassing mess, but because he’s famous!

“I’m not leaving until you ask.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms as if he’s on strike.

“You’re sure this isn’t overstepping- I mean I just met you and I barely even know what you do!”

“So then ask me.” He’s infuriatingly hot, his brow raised.

I hesitantly take my notebook out of my bag, uncapping my pen, and starting a new page.

My hand is shaking for some reason but the questions just flow out of me! He answers every one with a humble sort of confidence that makes me laugh.

In the span of thirty minutes, I learn everything about formula one and Lando Norris. Most of it is for my own curiosity but what I write down is all about Lando.

He’s quite charming and I wonder if he’s this open to every interviewer. “So you won something big…?”

He laughs, nodding, “Yeah. The Constructors Championship. It’s for the team, not really a specific driver.”

I hum, “But there is one for a driver…? And you don’t have it?” I ask bluntly.

He smiles slowly, “No… I was in the fight mathematically but we started too late. Trust me though, next year's mine.” He winks and it’s the first time he acts cocky and honestly sure of himself.

“Well… those are all my questions.”

“Oh. Well, This has been my favorite interview yet. I hope I was almost as inspiring as your third grade teacher…”

I laugh, sitting back in the wiry chair, “I think I might just pass this class and get my teacher to like me.”

“That won’t be because of me though. You’re a good journalist, I can tell.” His eyes are soft when he speaks to me, leaning forward and drawing my eyes to his arms.

Fuck how did I not realize he’s got that whole rich athlete vibe.

I take one last drink of my coffee, the ice sounding and my frown apparently, “Thanks again… I hope I didn’t ruin your day or anything.”

“If anything, you made it better. I’m not exactly the press’ favorite but I'd like to be yours, just so when you start interviewing more F1 drivers, you’ll see how amazing I am.” He scrunches his nose as I laugh.

“Right… Well, I should really get going.” Something flashes across his face as I go to stand, “Oh shit, your shirt!”

“Keep it. You look better in it than I do.” I narrow my eyes at his flirtatious words.

“Do you flirt with all your interviewers?”

“Only the cute ones who I meet with coffee down her shirt.” His smile is insane, I have a feeling I shouldn’t entertain this, that he’s just another big dick athlete who can get any woman he wants.

But then he tugs at his necklace, something he explained to me was his logo, and I wonder what the harm is in having one thing in my day go right.

As if he can hear my thoughts, he sits up straighter, “Let me take you out.”

I did not expect him to ask that! My cheeks go pink as I shake my head. Something tells me that Lando Norris doesn’t take the word ‘No’ very well.

“You can give me my shirt back then.” He grabs my pen from my hand scribbling his number upside down onto my page of notes. “Please?” His handwriting is just legible enough for me to make out the numbers.

“Did you just say please?” I let out a laugh, glancing down at the black ink.

“I’ve heard there’s some magic in it.” He smirks, “I’m not above begging you. Come on, what’s the harm in apologizing over a nice dinner?”

“You already apologized over coffee.”

“You really don’t want to go out with me?” He looks at me as if I've just stepped on his puppy. I try to talk, then shut my mouth and look away.

“I’m in university.”

“I never finished school.” I raise a brow at his words. “What? I thought we were just exchanging our schooling records.” He’s smirking again, “Come on Y/n…”

“You’re famous.”

“You will be one day.” I truly can’t believe this is happening to me, “You’re gorgeous, Y/n. And you have every right to turn me down. Just say no.”

He’s got me there and we both know it, “I’ll text you my final, maybe if I get full marks then i’ll say yes.”

He stands with me, “I'm very confident you will.”

“Good luck driving… or whatever.”

He laughs, “I’m really glad I spilled coffee all over you.”

I roll my eyes and start walking away, “Goodbye Lando.”

He calls after me, “See you soon, Y/n!”

[luvergirl-866]

dreams, fairytales, fantasies

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 7.9k

c/w - language, drinking, fluff, and ofc smut (sub p, sub a, strap, eating, fingering…it’s a lot) (also heavy usage of pet names bc i am a sucker for them)

a/n - this is just a real depiction of what happens when lesbians go two weeks without sex 😔. no but fr, i hope yall enjoy!!! (feedback much appreciated, esp bc this is not edited) (also, im majorly crediting the smut queen @basketball-lesbians bc ease and stiff changed the way i write smut forever).

The much anticipated make-up sex doesn’t happen until a week later, which is about six days after they’ve actually made up—which they manage without the involvement of sex. And that’s a great thing for them, considering they have a history of resolving arguments via orgasm, but they also can’t give themselves the credit because the no-sex thing wasn’t really their decision. (If it had been up to them, Azzi would have jumped Paige’s bones that very night they made up).

That day, though, was spent talking, reliving their breakup and the horrible year afterward for the sole purpose of truly processing it. They had continued talking during that time, of course, claiming to be ‘best friends’, but they meticulously danced around the topic of their high school relationship and the fact they were both miserable once it ended, grieving it in their own ways. They talked for hours, and both of them quickly came to realize that there was so much they hadn’t told each other. Azzi was shocked to hear that Paige spent her entire freshman year moping around, never getting out and having fun like Azzi wanted her to do. (“Seriously? I thought you hoed around?” she said when Paige gave her this information. Paige shrugged and said, “I told you I did, so I didn’t seem lame. But yeah, no. I smoked a lot and looked at our pictures and that’s—well, yeah, that’s pretty much it.”)

Paige was just as shocked when Azzi told her she tried going on a date with someone else, just to get the breakup off her mind, and they kissed at the end of the night and she went inside and cried for a long time. (“I didn’t know you went out with anyone,” Paige said, not particularly jealous, just a little hurt because even though they were exes that year, they were still best friends, and they usually told each other everything. Azzi picked her thumbnail, eyebrows drawn at the memory. “It hurt too much. I didn’t even tell my mom.” That, if possible, made Paige feel even worse).

Anyway, by the time they talked everything through (with some crying involved, and maybe a little kissing, too), it was late at night and they were both emotionally exhausted from the day. They’d gotten ready to sleep and laid in Azzi’s bed and murmured about how much they’d missed each other for about two minutes before they promptly assed out.

And then it was the week, their time consumed with classes, homework, practice, and even grownup things like grocery shopping. They spent as much time together as they could, practically magnetized to each other, attached at that hip when they were in the same vicinity. But they were both swamped with homework and while they tried to do it together that Monday, they quickly realized that it was impossible to focus around each other. Or at least, Azzi did. (“C’mon, we’re doing okay,” Paige said, at approximately 1 A.M., when they had been at it for four hours and had gotten absolutely nothing done. “I wouldn’t say that, P,” Azzi mumbled, slinging her bag over her shoulder and pecking a sulking Paige on the lips. “No more school around each other, ‘kay?” She couldn’t help but be amused at Paige’s exaggerated pouting. “I think we’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, baby.”

That night, her phone had blown up with messages from Paige, most of them silly selfies of her pouting at the camera as she sat at her desk with schoolwork laid out in front of her. Even that was enough to distract Azzi from her work).

So, no, it’s not until Saturday—the night of their second-first date—that the make-up sex (that can’t really be considered make-up sex anymore) happens. But, as the saying goes, good things come to those who wait. And that must be true because that night turns out to be very good indeed.

It all starts before the two of them are even together, with Azzi picking her outfit for their date. She’s never been good with decisions, and this is a big one in her book. She needs to wear the perfect outfit—something sexy and cute and romantic and alluring all at once. An hour into choosing the outfit, Caroline is beginning to regret offering to help.

“Okay, you’re just overthinking it now,” she says, exasperated, watching as Azzi frowns at herself in the mirror.

“If I don’t overthink it I’ll end up looking ugly,” Azzi says, turning this way and that in the mirror, making sure the outfit looks good from every angle. But when she takes a step back, leans her head to the side just so, and turns to the left, the shirt suddenly makes her look atrocious. With a frustrated sigh, Azzi takes it off, tossing it onto the ground.

Caroline groans, flopping onto Azzi’s bed. “What was wrong with that one?”

“Everything,” Azzi replies, going back to her closet to try again. “Has my wardrobe always been this bad?” she mutters to herself.

“You look good in everything, Az,” Caroline says. “And your clothes are cute. Paige is going to love you in whatever you decide to wear.”

Which is true—Azzi could be wearing jorts and a flannel and Paige would still swear up and down she’s the prettiest girl in the world. But love and want are two different things. After two weeks of no sex Azzi needs to be wanted.

“You know what your problem is?” Caroline asks as Azzi rummages through her clothes.

“What?” Azzi asks, sort of desperately.

“Your bra,” Caroline says simply.

Azzi looks down at her bra, then turns to Caroline, a little confused. “It’s a cute bra, though?”

“Yeah, it’s cute,” Caroline concedes, leaning back on her hands and giving Azzi an up-and-down look. “But I thought you were trying to get laid tonight?”

Azzi nods, because duh she’s trying to get laid tonight. It’s all she’s been talking about all week.

Caroline wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Then, this isn’t really about your outfit. It’s about what’s underneath.”

As she stares at her genius best friend, Azzi nods slowly, starting to get it. “I need lingerie.”

“Yup.” Caroline smiles, satisfied. “As soon as you put some sexy panties on, I promise you, girl, you’re gonna feel better about yourself.”

Azzi is already reaching back into her closet, opening her special drawer and rifling through it. “Should I wear one she hasn’t seen before?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Caroline agrees, standing up and walking over to Azzi, peering over her shoulder at her array of underwear. “And don’t tell her you’re wearing it, either. It has to be a surprise.”

Azzi pulls a few sets out, but none of them particularly catch her eye, and it isn’t until they’ve been searching for a few minutes that Caroline reaches into the closet and grabs a still-sealed box, the logo of a designer lingerie brand on the lid. “What about this?” she asks.

It takes a moment for her to remember what the box contains. She’d bought it just a month ago, on a whim, and while it had cost her a fortune she also couldn’t not buy it. She’d, of course, had Paige in mind when she’d bought it, but they haven’t exactly had lingerie sex in awhile—with their busy schedules, they’ve only had time for spur-of-the-moment quickies and lazy mouths and fingers in the mornings before practice.

But this—this is going to be post-date, make-up sex. The absolute perfect occasion to wear insanely expensive lingerie catered specifically for Paige.

With an excited smile, Azzi (with the help of Caroline) gets all laced into the set. And once it’s on, it becomes surprisingly easy to choose the perfect outfit. Because Azzi knows, by the end of the night, Paige will forget all about what she’s wearing, the memory replaced by what she’s not.

———————————————

Paige, of course, tries to fuck her multiple times before they even get to the restaurant. It starts immediately, when she comes to pick her up and they share a chaste hug and kiss, and Azzi takes the flowers from her hands and turns to find a vase to put them in—Paige’s eyes trail down to her ass and stay there for longer than she’d like to admit. And then Azzi is carefully arranging the flowers, talking about how excited she is for their date, when Paige comes up behind her and holds her tight. It’s a gesture that Azzi thinks is innocent until Paige kisses her neck and murmurs, “You look good, Az. Makes me wanna make us late for our reservation.”

Azzi’s entire body heats at that, but she playfully shoves Paige away, not about to let their hormones get in the way of this date.

But then, it happens again, in the car on the way over. Paige’s hand rests on Azzi’s thigh while she drives, which isn’t unusual, and Azzi doesn’t question it—that is, until her fingers trace a slow but sure path between her legs. Azzi lets it go farther than she probably should, only pulling Paige’s hand away once she’s fully touching her clothed center. Laughing, Azzi returns Paige’s hand onto her side of the car. “Your thigh-touching privileges are revoked for that.”

Paige groans. “I didn’t even do nothing, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself, weirdo.”

And when they get to the restaurant, Paige opens her door for her, guides her in by the small of her back, pulls out her chair. It reminds Azzi of a more mature, experienced version of the Paige she dated in high school, and it reminds her exactly why their relationship was so perfect back then. It also reminds her of the aching need between her legs, the one that’s been there for two long weeks and that now practically burns in anticipation. But, she forces herself to ignore it, to just focus on the romance of it all. Paige decides to make that difficult by running a foot up and down her calf, and when she hisses at her to stop, Paige laughs and says, “You’re imagining things.”

It’s not five minutes later that Paige picks up her phone and begins typing. A flash of annoyance comes from the side of Azzi that thrives off attention, more particularly Paige’s attention, and that’s so used to constantly having it it’s a little off-putting when she doesn’t. But then, a moment later, her own phone buzzes, and Paige sets her’s down with a satisfied little smirk.

Azzi rolls her eyes. “You’re stupid.”

“Look at your phone.”

“That’s rude,” Azzi teases. “We’re on our first date.”

“We’ve been on a million dates before,” Paige says, which is technically true. “Look at it.”

Amidst the usual lighthearted, joking tone of Paige’s words, Azzi also catches a hint of something demanding, something that leaves no room for argument—at least, not without repercussion—and it makes it impossible to focus on the setting they’re in without also thinking of the events that will occur when they get home.

She picks up her phone, and there’s a text from one ‘P Boogs 💗’. When she opens it, she finds a stupid, horny text, nothing short of what she expected: can we go fuck in the bathroom or??

Rolling her eyes, and a little relieved that Paige didn’t actually write anything sexy (because if she had, Azzi’s not sure she would’ve been able to resist), she kicks her under the table and sets her phone down. “No, Paige. What’d I say about no more public restrooms?”

Reminiscent of a small child, Paige crosses her arms and slumps back in her seat. “I rebuke that.”

“You don’t know what that word means,” Azzi waves her off, before motioning to their plates. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Azzi has only two glasses of wine, so by the time they’re driving home she’s the perfect amount of tipsy. Wine also tends to make her horny, which doesn’t hurt the situation.

“You’re really okay?” Paige asks for what seems like the millionth time. “Because if you’re even, like, a little drunk, we don’t have to—“

“Paige,” Azzi says before she can finish that god-awful sentence. “I’m mostly sober. We’re all good.”

Paige glances over at her, and when she sees the firm look in her eyes she nods, relaxing into a sly smile. As she focuses back on the road, she says, “Good. Because I have an empty apartment tonight.”

The thought of it—the thought that Paige asked her roommates to clear out for the night, knowing what was to come—makes Azzi shift in her seat. The ache between her legs is crossing into painful territory at this point.

By the time they get inside Paige’s apartment, every instinct in Azzi’s body tells her to jump Paige’s bones as soon as the door is locked behind them. But Paige doesn’t really give her a chance—first kicking off her shoes and then immediately heading towards the kitchen. Azzi trails behind her as she opens the fridge.

“Hungry?” Azzi asks, a little confused considering they just had a fairly large meal at dinner. But Paige shakes her head, reaching into the side drawer of the fridge and pulling out a seltzer.

She waves it at Azzi with a smile, though it’s a little unusual—almost wavering? Not the familiar one Azzi’s used to. “Wanted a little drink.”

“Okay,” Azzi says slowly, leaning against the counter, watching as Paige cracks the can open. She shouldn’t be surprised—she herself is tipsy and it’s only fair that Paige would want to catch up after she had to drive. But Azzi has been a little blinded by the filthy thoughts that have been playing through her head all night, and was under the impression they’d fuck against the front door the minute they got home.

She’s already waited two weeks, she reminds herself. Paige only needs a drink or two—they don’t want to be drunk, not tonight—so what’s a couple more minutes?

“It’s kinda hot in here,” Paige says abruptly, and when Azzi looks at her, her cheeks flush. “Isn’t it?”

Azzi’s a little warm, but it’s mostly a mix of the alcohol and pure horniness, so she shakes her head. “Feels okay to me.”

“Oh,” Paige says, and then takes a long swig of her seltzer. She offers up that strange, wavering smile again.

Azzi studies her. This is her best friend, the girl she knows better than she knows herself. Paige is practically an extension of her at this point, it’s that easy for them to read each other. But right now, Paige is acting strange in a way Azzi can’t quite place. She’s been flirting like normal all night, but now that they’re alone she’s putting space between them. And that’s not to mention the blushing, the weird smiling, and the need for a drink.

As Paige takes an extra-long gulp of seltzer, it finally clicks where Azzi has seen this behavior from her: Back in high school, not long into their relationship, the first time they had sex.

She’s nervous.

But, no, that can’t be it, can it? They’ve slept together countless times in the four years since then. Paige knows Azzi’s body like the back of her hand. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Sure that she’s got it all wrong, Azzi crosses over to Paige, watching the way Paige’s gaze falters as she sidles up to her. “Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck, “you good?”

Paige blinks, then swallows thickly. “Me? Yeah, I’m all good.” She takes a sip from her drink. “Why you asking?”

Azzi hums, bringing a hand down to guide Paige’s free one to her waist—something she usually never has to do, as Paige tends to be pretty handsy. “You’re acting…weird, all of a sudden.”

Paige gives her a long, hard look, and Azzi thinks she’s about to deny it again but then Paige is sighing and setting her drink on the counter behind her, wrapping both arms around Azzi’s waist. “I guess I feel a little…nervous, for some reason?” she shakes her head, locks her hands behind Azzi’s back as if to steady them. “I’on know, bro. It’s stupid.”

Azzi shakes her head, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck. “It’s not stupid.”

“Kinda is,” Paige says, chuckling at herself but it’s a shaky, breathy sound.

“Hey,” Azzi says gently, bringing a hand up to brush a stray strand of hair from Paige’s face, “if you’re not up to it, we don’t have to.” (Even though she spent the entire night suffering through a thong up her ass. The things we do for love.)

But Paige firmly shakes her head, gripping Azzi’s waist more tightly just to show how much she means it. “No, I don’t—you have no idea how much—“

“Yes, I do,” Azzi says incredulously. “I really fucking do.”

Paige’s breath hitches, and her gaze flicks down to Azzi’s lips. Azzi does the same, allured by the shiny gloss there, knowing it’s vanilla flavored from their previous chaste kisses tonight. She wants to taste more of it. Wonders if Paige’s lotion is vanilla, too.

“P,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes don’t waver away when she hums, “Yeah?”

“Don’t be nervous,” she says quietly, bringing a hand down to cup her cheek, which gets Paige to look at her. “You know me,” she almost whispers.

Slowly, Paige nods, and when she leans down to connect their lips, Azzi nearly groans at the slight contact. It’s chaste to the point of innocent but it’s something, and they’re alone, and god does Paige look so good in this outfit. Paige readjusts, shifting so their legs are slotted together as she deepens the kiss just slightly, and Azzi reminisces on how she’s been waiting for this all night. Since that fateful night at Ted’s, really.

With Paige’s leg between her thighs, Azzi takes the opportunity to bare down, just slightly, only enough to increase the tension between her legs more than relieve it. But Paige groans into her mouth at the feeling and it lights her senses on fire.

They found a good dynamic years ago, and it’s one in which Paige often leads, allowing Azzi to follow without giving her the responsibility of being the first to move, to make decisions—something she’s always been more hesitant with. The past six months they’ve experimented some, stepping out of the comfort zone they had in high school and trying new things. But they still found that, for the most part, Paige prefers to lead, and Azzi prefers to be led—it just works.

But, even now, as Azzi dips her tongue into Paige’s mouth and brushes it against her’s, Paige still seems a little withheld. It’s obvious that she’s overthinking this, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why—this is big for them. They’ve talked about their feelings and gone on their first date and this feels a little like the last step in a routine that will throw them back into that all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school. Which is exciting, and it feels natural, like it’s only the right thing to do—but it’s a little scary, too. And, knowing she’s being expected to lead, Paige is worried about getting it wrong. Messing up, somehow.

So when Azzi pushes against the fabric of Paige’s blazer, letting it slip off her shoulders, it’s not really a conscious thought that she’s taking over this time. It’s just—something she needs to do. And, if the absolute fire in her belly says anything, it’s something she wants to do, too.

Opening her mouth a little wider, Azzi sucks Paige’s tongue gently between her lips, drawing it out slightly, and when she pulls off it she opens her eyes to find Paige with her mouth wide open, tongue out, barely five minutes into kissing and already looking so desperate for her.

The sight makes Azzi groan a little, her eyes trailing from Paige’s lips, to the curve of her jaw, to her slender neck, and without thinking about it she slides her hands around Paige’s throat, squeezing experimentally. It elicits the right reaction, Paige’s eyes widening, hands sliding down to Azzi’s ass.

Pulling her close again, Azzi ducks down, moving a hand to the side to kiss sloppily at the skin revealed there. Paige sighs, always having liked being kissed on the neck, and Azzi mutters, “Marks?”

There’s a slight pause, Azzi’s lips hovering just shy of kissing the skin of Paige’s neck, and as soon as Paige hums out a noise of affirmation, she’s basically attacking her, tongue soothing over skin as she sucks hungrily. Her hips grind instinctively down on Paige’s knee as her hands slide lower, down her chest to squeeze her tits through her thin tank. Paige gasps, using her leverage on Azzi’s ass to pull her down harder on her leg. At this point, she’s sure she’s soaking through her fancy lingerie just listening to the little noises Paige is making, and suddenly, Azzi feels hungry. The kind of hungry that tends to be insatiable.

As soon as the thought comes to her, her hands fly to the button of Paige’s jeans, staring down to watch her hands work it open. Paige watches, too, then brings a hand up to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi halts her movements, looking up at her, searching her face for any sign to stop and finding a little hesitancy there. “Hey,” she says, “you good?”

Paige nods, then glances furtively down at Azzi’s hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for—your fingers.”

Soothing her hands across Paige’s hips, Azzi nods, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. “I know, baby,” she says—Paige has always needed a good amount of buildup before any actual intrusion. “Wasn’t gonna use my fingers.”

Paige blinks, thoughts obviously a little sluggish as it takes a moment for the words to register, but once she does, she nods eagerly. “Shit. Okay.”

With one last peck on the lips, Azzi’s fingers get back to work, and as she slides the jeans down her legs she goes down with them, dropping slowly to her knees. She helps Paige step out of the pants and then tosses them to the side, looping her arms around her thighs and urging her to widen her stance. She presses a few comforting kisses to Paige’s pelvic bone and across her hips, breathing in the familiar scent of her as her kisses stray lower. As she licks up the inside of a thigh, her eyes open, glancing at the girl’s boxers and the wet patch growing on them. Feeling quite proud of herself, she smirks, biting at her thigh and relishing in the way Paige hisses.

“Stop messin’ with me,” Paige breathes, bringing a hand to Azzi’s head and trying to move her closer to her cunt.

“Uh-uh,” Azzi says, using a hand of her own to move Paige’s firmly away. When she looks up at her, Paige looks wrecked, which does amazing things to Azzi’s ego considering she hasn’t even touched her yet. Loving the expression on Paige’s face—lips slightly parted, eyes fluttering, the picture of submission—she decides to try and coax more out of her. “No touching,” she adds, something Paige likes to do whenever she’s being particularly needy. When Paige starts to protest, she moves her hand to her clothed clit and rubs harshly, cutting her off. “You heard me, baby.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrow, either from pleasure or annoyance or, more likely, both. “Azzi, please—“

“Shh,” Azzi soothes, removing her thumb and licking a stripe up her boxers—the faintest taste of her already addictive. “Be patient.”

She expects more resistance—the few times they’ve switched roles like this, it takes at least an orgasm for Paige to take her commands. But today must be different—is different—and Paige dutifully shuts up, using her hands to brace herself against the counter as she tilts her head down to watch.

Pleased, Azzi removes her boxers, salivating at the pretty pink peeking out from between her legs, and it’s all she can do when she uses her thumbs to spread her open, groaning when she gets a good look at the familiar, dripping folds. “So pretty,” she can’t help but mumble, leaning forward to press a kiss against her, licking her lips to taste the arousal left there. Paige’s hips buck, and Azzi gives her a sharp slap to the thigh. Paige nearly whines, which is kinda new—they’ll have to experiment with it later. “What’d I say, hm?” she asks, unable to keep herself from pressing her tongue between her cunt lips and licking upward, eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head at the taste. “Be patient.”

“Fuck,” Paige gasps above her.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint in Azzi’s body to not just dive in and devour her like a woman starved. It’s been far too long since she went down on Paige, even before their two weeks of celibacy, and she wants nothing more than to push her tongue inside and draw out as much slick as she can. But she also knows all too well that Paige likes to be ate slow. So, slow it is, as she licks up around her folds, tongue dragging delicately over her clit.

Her eyes fall shut, focusing on how wet Paige is against her tongue, dipping just slightly into her hole where the taste is the strongest and reveling at how good it is.

When Paige makes a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat, Azzi looks up at her, watching her reaction as she gently sucks her clit into her mouth. Paige is leaning back against the counter, cunt pressed into Azzi’s face desperately, and it’s obvious she’s trying to keep still. But when Azzi’s tongue flicks against her clit as she sucks, Paige can’t help but gasp, hips bucking just slightly.

With painted nails, Azzi squeezes her thigh just enough to get her attention. When Paige looks down at her, she pulls off her clit with a wet noise and says, “Hold your shirt up, babe.”

It’s amazing how quickly Paige obeys, rucking her tank up to reveal her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Azzi doesn’t even try to stop herself from reaching up to play with one of them as she dives back into her pussy.

Her clit is already puffy, sensitive to her every touch based off the way Paige moans when she flicks her tongue against it. She licks little shapes, taking note of which ones draw the most sound out of the older girl. It’s mostly for her own benefit when she traces the letters of her own name on her pussy, but Paige whines high-pitched and needy like she knows.

Azzi pulls away just enough to see that her clit is an angrier pink now, twitching almost imperceptibly, and she gives it a break, moving lower to suck around her hole, drinking the copious juices she’s teased out. When she presses her tongue inside, she finds much less resistance than last time, and her fingers itch to be inside her.

This time, when she pulls away, Paige whines again—the sound a mix of frustration and desperation—and Azzi soothes a hand up the inside of her thigh. Paige’s eyes are hooded now as they lock with Azzi’s, and Azzi smiles up at her. “Hey,” she mutters.

“Uh-huh,” Paige breathes, nearly panting at this point.

“Think you’re ready?” Azzi asks. Paige gives her a quizzical look and she holds up her right hand in explanation. “Wanna finger you.”

As if on their own accord, Paige’s hips jerk forward. When she says, “Yes,” it’s nothing more than a breathy little sigh, but it’s enough.

Nodding, her eyes go back to Paige’s cunt, gaze immediately going to her hole, clenching around nothing. She brings two fingers up and dips inside, then drags them through her pretty folds, making sure they’re plenty wet. And then, without another warning, she plunges into her pussy, moaning as she’s immediately swallowed by wet heat.

Paige’s reaction is visceral, hips pressing down to meet her halfway, hands falling to her head, previous no-touching rules forgotten. Azzi decides to let it go, though, as she watches Paige’s features contort beautifully, pleasure etched into every sound she makes.

Azzi pulls out, presses deeper. Does it again, and then stays inside long enough to push up against her walls.

It’s then that Paige starts talking.

“Oh, fuck, Azzi,” she breathes, still generally pretty quiet, something Azzi plans to have changed once she’s done with her. “You feel so—good, Az, fingers feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Azzi coos. She loves it when Paige gets to the babbling stage of fucking, and is quick to egg her on. “You like that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm, missed it—needed it—I don’t—“ she chokes on her sentence when Azzi plunges particularly deep. “Oh, baby, right there. So fucking good at that.”

“I know,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s clit. “You missed me, right? Missed this?”

“Of course I—“ she gasps, arches forward, “did.”

Suddenly, Azzi speeds up, filthy squelching sounds filling the room as her fingers move relentlessly inside Paige, palm coming to meet her clit again and again. Paige mewls, shifting a little, and Azzi uses her free hand to hoist her leg over her shoulder, allowing for a better angle.

“Oh!” Paige cries out, hands gripping Azzi’s head for leverage. “Oh, oh fuck. Baby, baby—mm, so deep—Azzi, more.”

“More?” Azzi asks, pulling her eyes away from where she’s wrecking Paige’s cunt to double-check. Paige usually can’t take more than two.

“Uh-huh,” Paige nods fervently.

Azzi doesn’t slow down, concern about hurting the other girl cutting through her own haze of pleasure. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Paige says, exasperation filling her voice.

“I just don’t want to hurt y—“

“Azzi, if you don’t give me another finger right now I swear to God—“

That’s all it takes for Azzi to pause her movements, pulling out enough to add another finger, and finding it surprisingly easy when she slides back in again. It’s not long before she builds up to her earlier rhythm, Paige’s hips moving against her hand, and then wet sounds are filling the room again, slick trailing down Azzi’s wrist.

Somewhere between Paige’s high-pitched moans and desperate little whines, she calls Azzi’s name. Azzi presses a kiss to her belly and says, “Yeah?”

“Can you—?” there’s hesitance in her tone that gives Azzi pause, movements slowing once again to look up at her.

“What’s up?” she prompts, gently as possibly through the arousal scraping rough against her vocal chords.

“Just, come here,” Paige finally says, hands moving from Azzi’s head to her shoulders, urging her up.

Azzi softens, mind becoming a little less cloudy at the request. Carefully, she eases Paige’s leg off her shoulder, then works up to her feet, keeping her fingers firmly inside Paige all the while. As soon as she’s up, Paige’s arms go around her shoulders, pulling her in, and Azzi smiles softly at the absolutely fucked-out, but undeniably lovesick, look on the other girl’s face.

Pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek, she starts moving again, staying close so that Paige’s lips are right by her ear, hearing every sound she makes.

“I love you,” Paige mutters, forehead dropping onto Azzi’s shoulder.

Azzi presses a smile into Paige’s hairline, the gesture so innocent compared to the hand between her legs. “Love you, too, P.”

At that, Paige chokes on a moan, only just managing a feeble, “I’m close.”

Azzi nods, doubling her efforts. “Take your time, baby.”

“Mm-hmm,” Paige hums, but then she’s reiterating, “oh, fuck, Azzi, I’m really fuckin’ close.”

To be honest, Azzi is, too. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s come untouched, deriving pleasure from the simple act of giving it to Paige. But she holds back, forces herself to focus on the girl in her arms, running her free hand up and down Paige’s waist. “Yeah? About to come?”

Paige grasps her tighter, too fucked out to respond, but her following whines are answer enough.

“Give it to me, P,” she urges, knowing words are always the last thing Paige needs to tip her over the edge. “Wanna feel you coming all over my fingers, okay? Need you to show me how good I make you feel.”

Paige nods, and Azzi coos a, “Good, girl,” into her ear, and that’s all it takes for Paige’s hips to stutter, abs tightening as she spasms around Azzi’s fingers, crying out her name like it’s the only word she remembers. And at this point, it might be.

It takes awhile for her to come down, letting Azzi continue to thrust slowly for another minute or so before finally pushing her away. “Too much,” she breathes.

“Okay, baby,” Azzi says, pulling out slowly, bringing her hand up to Paige’s lips once she’s done. Paige doesn’t hesitate to take them into her mouth and suck, and it’s as she runs her tongue between her fingers that Azzi is reminded of just how magical her mouth is. Trying to sound casual, Azzi takes her hand back and says, “Hey, you all done?”

Paige is panting, hands going down to hold Azzi by the waist, looking as if she can barely hold herself up—but still, she shakes her head. “Nah, I can go for more.”

“Good,” Azzi says, stepping out of Paige’s grasp with a sly smile. Paige opens her mouth to protest but then Azzi swiftly pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her lavender lacy bra which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whatever Paige was about to say dies in her throat. “I may have planned for this when I was getting ready.”

Her pants are still on—Paige hasn’t even had the pleasure of seeing the garter yet—but already her jaw is practically on the floor. “Oh, shit.”

“Uh-huh.” Reaching out, she takes Paige’s hand in her own, leading her down the familiar path to Paige’s room. “You can thank Caroline, by the way. Was her idea.”

“For real?” Paige asks as they enter the bedroom. She plops down on the edge of the bed, watching as Azzi locks the door behind them. Her eyes rake not-so-subtly over her frame as she watches her. “I’ll send her a card and flowers for this shit.”

Azzi laughs breathily, leaning against the doorframe.

Paige raises her eyebrows and then reaches behind her head, pulling her own shirt off and discarding it on the floor. “Aight, I think I can feel my legs again. Lay down, mama.” She smiles deviously. “I’m bouta get you right.”

—————————————

Paige has never been a good liar—which is clear, considering twenty minutes later she has her head between Azzi’s thighs, making her legs shake as she eats her relentlessly.

She’s already put on the strap, and this is her way of getting Azzi ready—alternating between eating her slow and then absolutely devouring her, pulling away every time she gets close to the edge, overstimulating her without even making her come.

“Paige, please,” she basically cries out for the nth time since they started. “I need you.”

Paige only smirks from between her legs, quite cocky considering she just got fucked into oblivion less than an hour ago. “What was it you said to me earlier? About being patient?”

Azzi rolls her eyes (though it may be more from the way Paige sucks on her folds than how annoying she is). “Mm—shut up, you liked it.”

Paige sure as hell isn’t about to admit that. Of course, though, she had enjoyed it, had reveled in the pleasure she took from giving up control, letting herself be told what to do. But now it’s Azzi’s turn, and she needs to regain control of the situation-hence, the edging. “Do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, muffled in Azzi’s pussy. “Or not?”

Azzi can’t say no to that, obviously, but still sounds a little ashamed when she lets out a meek little, “Yes.”

Paige quirks an eyebrow up at her. “Yeah? You done bossing me around?”

Azzi doesn’t respond to that, lips forming into a cute little pout that’s also reminiscent of the face she makes when she gets bratty. Chuckling, Paige shakes her head, pressing a lingering kiss to her clit. “I’on think so, baby. You had your fun.” Slowly, she crawls her way back up the bed, Azzi scooching up with her. “Now you’re gonna tell me watchu want. And you’re gonna be polite about it.”

The demanding tone in Paige’s voice is usually enough to set Azzi right, but she must’ve gotten too big a head after her little stunt earlier because now she doesn’t say anything, just looks at Paige a little defiantly.

Admittedly, she looks adorable, and Paige wants to kiss that look off her face. But she can’t let Azzi think that this is how it’s gonna be now. “Alright, pretty girl. If that’s how you’re gonna be, I’ma get right back down there and make you come on my tongue. You won’t get no strap tonight.”

At that threat (which is baseless, considering Paige is absolutely going to strap Azzi down one way or another tonight) Azzi’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Okay, okay, no, I’m sorry, I don’t—I need you inside, Paige. Please?”

Grinning, Paige leans down and kisses her forehead. “That’s what I thought.”

Taking the silicon in her hand, Paige balances on one elbow as she drags it slowly through Azzi’s folds, taking extra care to bump the head against her swollen clit. When Azzi gasps, her eyes flit to her face, checking that she’s okay. “You ready, baby girl?”

Azzi hesitates, looking down at the toy between them. “It’s bigger than the last one.”

It’s true—this is a new strap, one Azzi herself actually suggested, claiming she wanted to try something bigger. They still have their last one, just in case this doesn’t work out, and Paige is about to remind her of that when Azzi shakes her head to herself and says, “It’s okay, I’m good.”

“You sure?” Paige asks suspiciously. “Because if it’s too big…”

“Nope. I’m sure.”

“Babe, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna.”

Azzi’s eyes move down to follow the cock, watching as Paige moves it methodically through her soaking folds, and her eyes grow a little wider. “Yeah, okay, I’m definitely sure.”

Amused, Paige watches as the younger girl stares, incredibly hungrily, at the toy. “Okay, princess. You gotta tell me if it hurts, though, okay?”

“I will,” Azzi promises. With that, Paige guides the tip down to her entrance, pushing her hips forward and against the resistance she finds there, studying Azzi’s face carefully.

After a moment, the head slides in, and Azzi gasps, wincing a little. “You good?” Paige asks, taking her hand off the cock to stroke Azzi’s cheek.

“Good,” Azzi confirms, swallowing thickly as her eyes meet Paige’s. “Just—go slow.”

“‘Course,” Paige says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together as she pushes in further. “Sweet girl,” she murmurs, mostly to distract her, “y’look so pretty like this, mama.”

She’s about halfway in at this point and Azzi gasps again, breathing out a word that sounds enough like a stop for Paige to halt. “Too much?”

Azzi’s knees are bent, feet flat against the mattress as Paige lays between them, but now she readjusts, wrapping them around Paige’s back for better leverage. “Okay,” she says once she’s done, giving Paige a little nod. “I’m good, keep going.”

Not loving the bossy tone of her voice, Paige makes a face at her. “Manners, princess.”

Azzi frowns but still lets out a little, “Please,” anyway.

With that, Paige jerks her hips, burying the dildo inside to the hilt. Azzi cries out, surprised and left breathless from the sheer stretch of it. “Shit,” she breathes, “so much for going slow.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, ducking down to kiss into Azzi’s neck. “‘S what you get for being bratty.”

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi sighs—Paige can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or actually conceding—and her head falls to the side, allowing more access to her neck, which Paige already marked up earlier.

“I good to move?” Paige asks.

“I think so,” Azzi replies, breath still caught from the sudden fullness.

Paige rocks her hips back, eyes flitting from Azzi’s face to her pussy, unable to keep from watching as she slides back in, eyes widening as she watches her cunt swallow it whole, basically sucking her in.

When she does it again, a little more smoothly this time, Azzi fists the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turn white. “Mmph—so deep, P.”

“Yeah? Feel good?” she asks lowly, rutting her hips flush into her when Azzi nods, building a steady rhythm. Her eyes land on Azzi’s face, contorted with pleasure, then rove down over her body—her neck, her tits, her stomach—until she lands back on the strap. The sight has her leaning down on her elbows, heart racing as she breathes deep to steady herself.

Picking up the pace just a little, Paige lifts herself up, watching as Azzi’s eyebrows furrow, her fists tight in the sheets. The bed is starting to squeak now, which just turns her on even more if that’s possible, and she nuzzles her nose into the crook of Azzi’s neck, muttering, “Hold on to me, baby, it’s okay.”

Azzi’s arms come up to loop around her neck before she’s even done with the sentence, and Paige smirks, pressing a few kisses into her cheek. “How’s it feel, hm? How deep am I?”

“So fucking deep,” Azzi breathes, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise how close she sounds considering Paige has been working her towards the edge for awhile now.

Paige brings a hand down between their bodies, using it to rub a few tight circles against Azzi’s clit, stopping when she starts whining. And Azzi makes a sound of protest but it’s quickly cut off by a moan when Paige’s hand moves instead to press against her lower abdomen, pushing down hard enough to feel the strap moving inside her.

“Baby, baby, please,” Azzi slurs, crying out in time with Paige’s thrusts, “right there—keep doing that, fuck.”

Who would Paige be to tell her no? There’s that whiny edge to her tone, all desperate and needy, a telltale sign she’s getting close. Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up significantly, angling her hips up in an attempt to hit that spot deep inside.

Based off the high-pitched moan Azzi let’s put, it works.

“Shit, look at that,” Paige says when she looks between them again. The strap is soaking now, and so are the bedsheets, a mix of Paige and Azzi’s arousal leaking down onto them. Angling her hand down, Paige uses her fingers to spread her lips open, groaning as she gets a better view of Azzi’s cunt swallowing the entire dick. “Taking it so good, mama. Fuck, that pussy crying for my dick, huh?”

“Paige, fuck, yes,” Azzi gasps, clawing almost desperately at Paige’s shoulders.

“Close?” Paige asks, trying to gauge where she’s at based off the way her legs are beginning to shake, noises becoming less breathy, more insistent.

Azzi nods, maybe all she can manage at this point, and Paige rocks forward deep, pleased with the way Azzi’s mouth falls open, tits bouncing with each thrust.

They’re silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the bedframe fighting for its life and Azzi’s pussy squelching around her cock filling the room. “Hear that?” she asks, using her fingers to rub harshly against her clit, only adding to the filthy sounds in the room. “Best pussy in the world, baby. And it’s mine, huh?”

Azzi only manages a pathetic “uh-huh”, and that’s just not good enough for Paige. “Nah, you gotta tell me, princess. Tell me whose pussy this is and I’ll let you come, okay?”

It takes Azzi a moment, probably trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before she whines out a needy little, “Yours, fuck, my pussy’s all fucking yours.”

Nodding, Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s parted lips. “That’s right, mama. You wanna come?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Azzi’s eyes when she nods, and it only spurs Paige on further. “Go ahead, pretty girl. Come all fuckin’ over my dick. Lemme feel it, baby.”

And that’s all Azzi needs, her back arching off the bed, moaning all high-pitched as she comes, pussy clenching around the dildo, nails scratching down Paige’s back, leaving her shuddering. She doesn’t stop, though, rolling her hips deep into Azzi’s through every tremor, only stilling when Azzi shakes her head, tapping against Paige’s hip.

She gives her a moment to catch her breath before saying, “Can I pull out?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi sighs, throwing an arm across her face as Paige slowly eases out of her. She manages to get the strap off and tosses it onto the floor, a problem for future them to deal with, before laying next to Azzi, pulling her into her chest. She chuckles at Azzi’s blissed-out expression, and Azzi’s eyes open at the sound, peering at her a little sleepily.

“You laughing?” she asks, no real accusation in her tone.

“At you? Never,” Paige jokes. Azzi slaps her chest, collapsing back onto it, sighing as she wraps a leg around Paige’s waist. She’s not the touchiest person in general, and Paige finds it endearing how snuggly she gets after sex.

Her hands begin to run up and down Azzi’s bare back, and when she hears Azzi sigh, she’s quick to speak, trying to catch the younger girl before she inevitably falls asleep. “Hey,” she says, “you okay?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums.

“Was it good?” Paige asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Very,” Azzi replies, cuddling closer into Paige’s neck. “Missed you.”

“Two weeks is too long,” Paige agrees. Azzi chuckles softly, and Paige angles her head to look at her, only to find that her eyes are closed and her lips are slightly parted.

“Why are you tryna sleep,” Paige very nearly whines.

Azzi lifts her head lazily, resting her chin on Paige’s chest to raise an eyebrow at her. “Because you just fucked the shit outta me. I’m tired.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Paige sighs dreamily.

Rolling her eyes, Azzi lays her head back down, settling back into her. “Lemme sleep, okay? I need some energy for the morning sex tomorrow.”

“F’real?” Paige can’t keep the excitement out of her tone at this.

Azzi shrugs coyly, yawns. “If you’re good.”

Internally, Paige vows to be the absolute best. Even if it means no yapping.

Her silence only lasts a few moments but, surprisingly, it’s Azzi who speaks. “And, babe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’d better ask me to be your girlfriend tomorrow.”

(Paige does, in fact, ask Azzi to be her girlfriend ‘again’, as she puts it. Azzi, of course, says yes.)

(Oh, also, Caroline does receive a thank you letter and a bouquet of flowers in the mail a few days later. Confused, she opens the letter, to find it reads, “Thx for helping azzi pick that fit for our date. you’re a g mama carol. p.s. the sex was ridiculously good.” Caroline sends a photo of it to Azzi, wondering why she needed to know about the sex. Azzi replies with a shrugging emoji and a, “She’s not lying though”.)

[inklessletter]

Of bows and ducks 🐤

Patreon | Bluesky | Instagram

(Ficlet 👇🏻👇🏻 👇🏻)

[W: 1.6k - Rated M: Chrissy's POV, angst, eating disorder, abusive household]

Chrissy Cunningham wears bright eyeshadows because it distracts people’s attention from her crooked teeth.

Chrissy Cunningham wakes up half an hour before to curl her ponytail to create the impression that she has more hair than she actually has.

Chrissy Cunningham wears oversized clothes because it creates the illusion that she’s smaller.

Chrissy Cunningham has been shaving her legs since she was eight years old.

All of Chrissy Cunningham’s underwear is cotton white, and her mother cuts all the decorative little bows off.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t slept more than five hours at night in years, because perfection takes time.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t finished any meal since she was eleven, because it makes her look exemplary to her parents’ friends when she says she’s full before finishing, even if she's still hungry.

Chrissy Cunningham’s mother taught her all of this.

So, it’s safe to say that every morning, when she wakes up from yet another short sleep, Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t know who Chrissy Cunningham is. She feels like her own skin isn’t hers, it’s just some character that her mother has carefully created, and it’s a role she can’t break free from. 

Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t exist, not really.

Her friends don’t talk about this. They occasionally whine about the food or their body size, but they always take a few minutes to look at themselves in the mirror of the school restroom to style out their hair, or to put some make up on that they have to hide from their parents. 

Chrissy hates mirrors, because she always has the supernatural feeling that her reflection is someone else’s, but it was starting to get suspicious that she didn’t even put lip gloss, so she bought one last summer at Starcourt mall. 

She liked the mall. It was one of the few places she was allowed to go with her friends without her mother’s scrutinizing eye on her at all times. She used to side eye that one lingerie shop, wondering if she would ever wear one of the lacey black panties.

Well, not actually those, but something that is not white. Hell, if she was honest to herself, she would settle for just keeping the little bows. She’d settle for her mother not manipulating her intimate clothes.

She thought of stealing a pair of hot pink panties, but she’s too much of a coward. 

There’s something Chrissy’s friend used to do every time after shopping, though, and it would later keep her awake at night out of pure guilt. They would go to the ice cream parlor. She couldn’t buy an ice cream, actually, because her mother always counted the money and made her give it all back, then asked for the receipts, and she couldn’t just see one of an ice cream because that’d mean that she won’t have dinner for the following week (unfinished meals every night are better than no meal at all).

But she would go there, anyway, and let her friends engage with the Harrington boy so they could get a discount from him, and she’d glance more than once at the display of several flavors behind the glass, fantasizing how many scoops she’d have, or which ones she would choose, and then, with no fail, the other cashier, Robin Buckley, from school band, would come to ask which one she wants to try. It makes Chrissy feel naughty, she always picks a different one, but buys nothing. 

That happens several times. She tries not to think how sad it is that this little thing is actually thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she still exists.

Robin’s in uniform but she manages to own it. Her shoes are scribbled all over, she wears a lot of trinkets, little chains, silver (her mother doesn’t let her wear silver, just gold), her hair is cut unevenly, and looks like she tried to make highlights at home with cleaning bleach, and her smudge eyeshadow seems to be done with her finger.

Chrissy likes that so very much. Robin shows through the uniform. She slips through the cracks, like yelling at the world that Robin exists, that Robin is.

It’s not nice to compare, but she looks at her group of friends and thinks that they all… they all kind of look the same. And they worry about the same silly stuff that seems ordinary but is out of Chrissy’s reach, like parents not going for a weekend so they can sneak their boyfriends in.

They all share that they won't see Chrissy, either. Not really.

Not ever.

Because they are all the same person.

That’s an unkind thought.

Maybe Chrissy is unkind.

Then the Starcourt mall burns down and it feels like a divine intervention for how secretly petty she is when she’s there.

It happens in July, and since Chrissy’s mother won’t let her go to any parties, she starts training near the school for when the cheerleading season begins again, and that’s when she meets Jason Carver. 

He’s on the basketball court and she’s running laps. They steal glances and that’s exciting, because the boy is beautiful. His smile looks like  the prologue of a tragedy and she falls in love with that feeling. They exchange more than glances and smiles and she wants things she never wanted before. It all fades into the blur of a far away memory right when school begins and they trade hot kisses and love bites for holding hands in the hallway. 

She feels nothing for him when Chrissy realizes Jason loves the curated version that her mother has made out of her, not actually her. He loves that she’s girly, and perfectionist with her looks, that she’s fit and petite, that unnatural lovely hair swirl, that she wears cute colors on her eyelids and that she always leaves fries for him whenever they go to a diner. 

Nothing.

And what’s about her to love, anyway? Who is Chrissy Cunningham? She’s just—

She is just gone.

Maybe she was never there to begin with, inside this tight suit of skin and heavy bones she wears everywhere.

She keeps avoiding the stranger in the mirror when she realizes she only can see what her mother sees wrong in her, or she can only hear the comments of Jason about her bony hips that one time they were at the backseat of his car. Chrissy knows how to do her makeup without using the cursed mirror, she knows how to style her hair without it, and it’s weird, that’s why she always helps the coach to store all the stuff they used, coming into the dressing room after her team, and fakes to take more time in the shower after practice, to be the last one to leave. To dress herself with the profaned underwear without looking at it, to reconstruct the image she hates so much and not having to put a smile upon her face while she fades away one day more.

That time she’s not alone when she comes in, all sweaty in her uniform.

There’s the ice cream girl, Robin. They had band practice and she was the only one who actually took it seriously about practicing with the stiff jacket of the uniform for an upcoming rally. She heard the rehearsal from the gym.

Robin hasn’t seen her yet, and Chrissy just can’t move. Robin is listening to something that she’s humming to in her walkman, that she stops with a loud click and puts away, unbuttoning her shirt.

Something is happening inside Chrissy when she sees Robin’s ducky bra.

A ducky bra.

Sky blue background and a god damned yellow ducky pattern.

Chrissy has never in her life seen something like that. That looks… Okay, that doesn’t even look the right size. Maybe it’s from past years and she still uses it. It looks comfortable, though, even if a little old.

It has the little, bright orange bow between her breasts.

She gasps audibly, and Robin spots her.

They lock gazes and Robin actually looks like a deer caught in headlights. Pink cheeks, big, blue eyes focused on her.

She’s so gorgeous without even trying. She always has been.

Chrissy is in a strange chokehold. It has to be nice to be someone, she thinks to herself, and not being afraid to exist.

They talk, but Chrissy’s not even paying attention to what she is saying. She’s only looking at Robin, and Chrissy must have said something funny because Robin laughs. She can’t look away, notice Robin’s cheeks growing darker, her hand accommodating her hair behind her own ears, the low conversation taking place in an empty space.

She does remember asking Robin if she could kiss her, though.

She does remember standing there in silence before their mouths meet halfway, experimental and new, soft and wet.

Chrissy hears herself whine in Robin’s lips, and dares to ask for more. Begs Robin to touch her and she’s feeling Robin’s cold fingers around her waist, lips locking, mouth opening, tongue curling around hers.

Robin is chatty, but Chrissy doesn’t mind. She spares a few words here and there in between kisses, and then Robin whispers to her ear, over, and over again, “I saw you. At the mall, I saw you. Every time.”

Chrissy gasps and kisses her again, grabs her hair, puts her body against her, skin touching skin, they fall to the floor and keep kissing until her lips are sore and someone opens the door of the locker room and they both hid from that uninvited person to keep kissing in silence, which was rather hard, but ultimately thrilling and funny. 

It’s hours later, under the safe covers of her bed when she realizes that for a little while she actually felt her skin as her own. And that’s new, that’s fresh. 

Thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she actually exists.

Maybe Chrissy wasn’t gone after all.

Maybe Chrissy Cunningham actually exists.

[plaidcowboy]

છ rafe’s dress up doll

── ✦ .ᐟ sarah’sbestfriend!reader ✦ previous

rafe leaned against the wall, arms folded. he had once been listening to what barry was going on about, but now he’s found himself distracted. since first talking to you the other week, his mind wouldn’t stray from you. hearing your voice up close. finding out how you carry yourself from afar is the same as up close. his theories being proven correct that you’re as sweet and pliant as he thought you to be. the details of your appearance only added to your feminine nature. the name had come out without thought when rafe called you a doll. but he wasn’t far from being pretty spot on to what you resembled.

but.. since that encounter, he’d rarely seen you at his home. the closest he was to your presence was hearing sarah’s muffled words in conversation over the phone, knowing your sweet voice was speaking on the other end. he thought about finding out your number and calling. he considered being the first to reach out. but he didn’t like why he had to. he didn’t like that you were ignoring him. he warned that his thoughts of you would scare you off and gave you the grace of not revealing them. you agreed that he had all of you. why were you being like this?

the last thing rafe thought would come with you was a chase. he noticed your seeming desperation for his attention and willingness to do just about anything he wanted. so this avoiding was on the opposite end of your tells. rafe told you he was the one that would be doing the deciding amongst you two. so for you to make a choice he didn’t approve of? not okay.

so imagine his surprise to finally see you in the flesh at the restaurant he and barry currently remained. your twirling fingers and rocking heels as you waited at the counter. an outfit similar to the ones rafe were used to seeing you in. he may be used to it, but he’s not sure you should be. were you really comfortable in that? were you wearing it for the gaze of someone else? you couldn’t have known rafe would be here. who were you wearing it for? why did rafe want to put you in what he wanted so badly all of the sudden?

you remained unaware of rafe’s presence as you waited for your to go order of food. you and sarah were headed to the beach and wanted to stop to grab lunch before making your guys’ way over. so far for the past week, you’ve done a surprisingly good job avoiding rafe. steering sarah away from her home to hang out. claiming you wanted a little change of scenery than her room. not that you didn’t love her room you hastily added after telling her. sarah didn’t mind. agreed, even. anything to get her away from ward and her stepmother, she said. perfect.

it wasn’t that you were scared of rafe. wasn’t that you were scared of sarah peeking into your brain and seeing your thoughts of rafe somehow whenever you were near the man. you were scared of yourself. how quickly you and rafe progressed. it was, again, all you wanted. but you were nervous. this was the first guy you wanted to show you attention that actually did. nevermind the hints other boys on outer banks would drop that you somehow never seemed to get. probably too focused on earning it from someone else. now that you had it, you didn’t know what to do with it. was rafe serious when he made you promise to be his? was he actually okay with your lack of coherence when around him? you didn’t need to know the answer. you didn’t want to ask. it was better if you avoided the situation in whole.

you even thought it was something rafe wouldn’t mind. give him time to think over the things he said. realize he possibly didn’t mean it. boy were you wrong.

the man in question stood a mere twenty feet from you, watching you intensely. it was only when you turned your head at the sound of a small commotion did you see him. and did you miss seeing him. it was something akin to torture not seeing his face for a few days. his features that flowed with his expressions. the current expression he wore being close to sternness. you couldn’t help the little breath he took from you. without being completely sure, you had a feeling he had seen you a while before you saw him. seen more than you would like. you stilled your jittery movements, eyes locking in on rafe’s. then eventually your body, which slightly turned to face him more. you weren’t even sure you were doing that.

the sound of a bell and a bag being placed on the counter in front of you grabbed your attention. you turned to grab the bag, thanking the woman that placed it down with a bright smile, and unknowingly letting your smile drop the moment she stepped away and reminded you who else just witnessed that smile. you tapped your fingers against the bag, slightly glancing back at rafe. oh, okay. he was still looking. you moved to scurry away, heading back to sarah who waited outside, getting an early start on her tan, as she put it.

rafe, watching your scared deer shuffle, let his eyes stray on the exit you left out of. no way was he letting you go that easily. again. he glanced to barry who had been surveying the room with a languid demeanor, paying no mind to the turmoil rolling through rafe’s head. “i’ll be right back..” he stepped off in your direction. he didn’t bother to tack on a reason. he didn’t care if barry asked for one. his attention was on you. thankfully barry didn’t and simply nodded at rafe. not that he would feel anything close to ashamed to mention you to barry. but now that he wasn’t so pleased with your behavior, rafe was only focused on righting it.

he took a few strides to catch up to you, halting at the appearance of sarah. that’s what you were up to. that’s what you’ve been up to. rafe couldn’t help to chuckle to himself at your strategy. it was unbeknownst to you that the place you avoided running into rafe at was a place he hasn’t been inside often recently. he’s been busy with deals and meetings, only making fleeting appearances in the home. whatever made you happy. whatever put you at ease.. would change now that rafe had caught on.

he stood back, watching you approach sarah. he was close enough to hear you two’s brief exchange.

“hey, after the beach, you wanna come back and watch a movie?” sarah grabbed the bag from your hand, peering inside, not noticing your slight hesitation. rafe did. with a growing smirk, rafe knew you running out of reasons to not want to go to the cameron’s home. he knew you didn’t want to raise suspicion in sarah. he knew your response before you even thought it. almost like he made it for you.

you tugged your bottom lip with your teeth, letting go to answer sarah who closed the bag, looking up to you again. “sure, that sounds fun.”

it did, rafe thought to himself. fun indeed. he followed you two with his eyes as you both walked off toward the beach. rafe took another glance at your apparel, now noticing it resembled a bathing suit. the frill of a skirt that was attached to the bottoms didn’t garner rafe to spare a second look, assuming it was an every day skirt with a bikini top. how cute you would own a bathing suit like that.

rafe stepped back inside, heading over to the table barry continued to hover. he pulled a few bills from his wallet, setting it atop the table. “ah.. gotta run. something came up” he tucked his wallet back in his pocket.

barry jerked his head in a nod. “whatever you say.. catch you later club.”

rafe was out of the restaurant and driving in the direction of the shopping strip before needing to think about it. he entered a boutique, already spotting a few pieces he could see on you. he made his way through the aisles, picking at a few pieces and grabbing some. it wasn’t necessary for him to ask your size as he had a keen sense for what it was. a worker approached him with a query if he was finding what he needed.

“yeah.. what else do you have that’s like this?” he tugged on a white tennis skirt. the attendant smiled, eager to assist rafe. once they collected an array of clothing and accessories for you, they headed to the register to ring him up. rafe swiped his card, a grin forming as he watched the worker bag his items. he couldn’t wait to see you in his desired choices. you and sarah’s plan to head back home and watch a movie was like a carved path to get to you that rafe didn’t need to create himself. it made it the more easier for him.

he left the store with bags hanging from his hands that he placed in the car before hopping in. why not beat you and sarah home. why not be there to firsthand see the shock on your face upon seeing him. he couldn’t wait.

you and sarah were back in no time, light giggles being heard from you. rafe spent the time waiting responding to emails and returning calls. he was currently engaged in one when you two made eye contact, the experience being similar to the one you just had a couple of hours ago. rafe raised an eyebrow at your faltered step, not once glancing to sarah who gave rafe a gruff hey before pulling your arm and marching you two up to her room to change out of your suits into lounge wear.

rafe finished up the call, sliding his phone into his pocket. it was only a minute after he made his way upstairs to his room that he overheard sarah tell you she was going to take a quick shower and that you could grab one as well after her. these mere perfectly timed reasons to have you alone were really working in favor of rafe.

the door to sarah’s ensuite shut just as rafe walked up to the threshold of sarah’s room, lightly knocking on the cracked door that was open enough for rafe to spot you inside. you looked up at his tap.

“this counts more times we’ve seen each other in a day than i’ve seen you in the course of a week.”

you glanced back to the closed door, tip toeing out of the room, slightly closing the bedroom door behind you. you didn’t really like sneaking behind sarah’s back just to have a simple conversation with rafe. but this was the last one you needed to hide. you were over the fleeting glances and confirmed feelings that rafe wasn’t into this anymore. you wanted to put a stop to it.

“hi rafe.. how are you..?” you could at least start off with pleasantries first.

rafe tilted his head at you, crossing his arms, letting the watch that decorated his wrist point to you. “i don’t know.. why don’t you come help me figure it out?” rafe turned to head towards his room before hearing your response. he knew you weren’t going to have one. that you were going to simply follow his lead into his room. and that, you did.

rafe closed the door behind you, keeping his hand beside your head where you stood against the door. “what are you thinking now?” rafe tacked onto his question from in the hallway. you peered up at rafe with wide doe eyes. “um.. upset?” you tried.

“good, there you go. you can use that brain of yours. do you know why i’m upset?” he challenged. you thought for a moment before shaking your head softly. well, you had a feeling. but if that wasn’t what was upsetting rafe, you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by blurting the wrong thing. could he be upset about your ignoring him? no.. right..?

“no? ’s okay, you did good” he cooed. removing his hand from beside you, rafe stepped aside to let you gaze at the shopping bags that sat atop of his bed.

he sighed near your ear after slightly bending to match your height. “how about i tell you while you try on your new clothes?” he caught your hushed gasp. he straightened to his full height as you tilted your head to peer up at him. “mine..?”

rafe smirked. “yours.” he promised beyond more than just the collection of fabric.

why rafe did this for you, you weren’t sure. but you couldn’t think, too dizzy from the heady feeling of possessiveness clinging to the action of rafe buying you clothes. you walked over, peering into a bag, spotting a wedged heel. pulling it out, you presented it to rafe. “i know those little heels were hurting you. they were so cute though, you had to wear them anyway, right?” rafe spoke your thoughts.

you could only nod, turning the heels over in your hands. “put them on.”

you were following rafe’s command before you knew it. they fit perfectly. you glanced up at rafe with the question of how did you know in your eyes. “i know my doll” rafe answered without needing the verbal confirmation of what you were asking.

you did a small step around spin to feel for the shoes. they were more comfortable than your other heels. “thank you..” you sounded softly.

“course” rafe’s tone was almost aggressive in responding to your gratitude. like he didn’t need you to say thank you. he would do this without your ask as much as he pleased. “they don’t make you feel like running again, do they?” the sarcastic question had an undertone you had no trouble detecting. the reason why rafe was upset.

“i only..” you huffed “i didn’t run, i just gave you space to think..”

“i’m not the one who needs that. what did you want me to think about?” rafe knew. if it wasn’t about the things you already agreed to for him, it had to be something you weren’t agreeing to with yourself.

you slid out of the heels, feeling silly in them all of the sudden. “this.. if you actually wanted this..” you distracted yourself from his response by peering into another bag. rafe’s snapping fingers stopped you. you quickly looked up to him.

“no looking until we finish this. i need your eyes on me while i’m speaking to you.”

you shook your head in a quick nod, mumbling a sorry.

“i want this.. you. i told you i did. when i tell you something, i mean it. you don’t question it. i knew thinking would hurt your little head, i made it so you didn’t have to. but you went along and did so anyway. it didn’t feel good, did it?” rafe’s voice edged on a teasing lilt. like he felt genuinely sorry for you while also reprimanding you.

“mm mm” you mumbled. rafe tsk’d, shaking his head. “words.”

you verbally agreed. “good job” rafe praised. “now you know not to do that again? you know i meant it when i asked for all of you? and that there was no going back once you said yes?”

your yes was cut quick when rafe pointed at the bag without speaking, allowing you to peer inside it now.

you continued to pull out items, trying them on for rafe as he settled your worry and explained how he felt about you.

at the white tennis skirt: “you understand i now posses another part of you? not only your head, but what you wear? you can wear stuff of yours still. i just needed to know some things you’ll be wearing aren’t hurting you. you like them, right? do you like them better than your clothes? i did good?”

at a lacy top: “i don’t mean to make you upset talking about your head. you know i don’t, right? but now you see what thinking for yourself can lead to. you thought i didn’t want you. i can’t let that happen. if there’s anything i won’t put inside your head, it’s doubt.. stop nodding at me like a bobble head and tell me you understand.”

at a cream colored clutch: “what’re you gonna keep in there? do you need me to fill it? want me to keep money in there for you? what about your little lip stuff? all you need is to spend my money and look pretty.”

at a dainty necklace with his initial he applied for you: “i know you won’t go around forgetting who’s you are.. i just wanna see something of me on you if it isn’t me myself.. yeah, you like it?.. don’t pout, you want me to get something engraved with your initial? you’re so spoiled.. i’ll wear whatever you want, just make it yours.”

you’d gone through all the items, twisting here and there so rafe could get a good view.

“hm.. i like dressing my doll. do you like it?”

you glanced up shyly to rafe. “my doll can speak” rafe said impatiently at your lack of response.

“i do..” you spoke softly. you knew you shouldn’t feel embarrassed for liking it. rafe was doing these things all so you could feel good. what about that should you feel bad about? nothing.

“yeah? good..” rafe swiped his thumb over his jaw, assessing you in the new pieces you wore from head to toe. you faintly heard the sound of the streaming water from sarah’s shower come to a stop.

“i should.. i should go.. the movie..” you rambled. rafe nodded absentmindedly, slightly distracted by you. “mm mm.. come back to me once you finish. i’ll take you to yours with your new things.” rafe finally looked back up to your eyes.

“oh.. um.. wouldn’t sarah find that..” you were cut off by rafe’s look.

“sarah won’t think anything. you won’t let sarah alter how you think about this. this is about me and you, not her.” it was almost like hypnotization. you were nodding to rafe’s words, head occupying with those thoughts. “yes, rafe..”

his growing smirk was what snapped you from the trance. “yeah, just like that..” he referred to your easy obligation. “..only i know what’s best for you.”

[zepskies]

Aw welcome back, Wayne!! 😘 I'm so happy to hear that you've been thinking of this series. 🥰 And I'm so excited to see what you thought of Part 2...

I'm so in love with their little bonding sessions. Being stuck inside a cabin and playing games? I want that 😍

Aww it's the little moments with Dean that I would so love -- along with just being snowed in, in a cabin with him. 😏

And lol it's gotta be so awkward for true mates when they're still strangers. I absolutely adored her thought process throughout 😆

Lolll YEP exactly. 😆 Like, realistically how do you broach that conversation with someone? I'm glad you liked that attempt to inject some realism there. 🤣

Love how Dean doesn't realize he's oversharing and that his whole childhood might not have been normal 😂

ahaha Dean got so into his story he didn't realize he was giving himself away there! Bit of a rookie move, but she's his literal soulmate, so he's probably a little distracted. 🤪

And oh God, all those journal entries 😭😭😭 I know they're from the OG journal, but it just rips my heart right out again rereading it 😢 Those portray John's despair and heartbreak way better than the show did...

Girl I had never read the official journal, and it hit me in the feels in just the same way. 😭 I had that exact same thought -- that they served to humanize John and explain why he became the way he was with the boys way better than the show did.

Ooooh, let's think about it, shall we? 😏 Her dad might have totally been snatched by something supernatural. Considering their location and how it happened in her memories, it might have been a Wendigo?? 🤔

Ooh you're red-hot! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Dude! Goosebumps! Wendigos scare the shit outta me 🙈 It's still why The Descent is the scariest movie for me. I die from a heart attack every time 😂 🫣

ooooh my God, I haven't seen The Descent, but if it's anything like the Wendigo episode, than I don't wanna know. 😭 Legit when I was first starting to watch SPN I had to take a break after that episode -- and it was only episode 2!! 😩

No! Alex!!!! YOU KNOW THIS IS WHY I HATE SNOOPING Girl, you're killing me here... 😆😆

LOLL I love that you referenced Smoke Eater -- it's those same vibes from Part 8, isn't it? I have a little less sympathy for the reader in this situation, but she is ultimately sorry for going through his private journal/invading his privacy to the nth degree. 😅

OMGG I LOVED that gif of the little polar bear. 🥹🥹 Took me right out with the cuteness lmao. I laughed so hard at all your commentary with the reader and her lack of bear knowledge. 😝

N'aw, I know it was necessary but poor bear – wrong place, wrong time for the fella 🥺💔

Aww I know, I felt bad for writing that part. Poor Ted. 😭😭

My heart is full 😭❤️❤️❤️ (Also, I doubt he can ever stand to let her go her own way after this lmao)

Ha! You're right about that one. I just love me some protective Alpha Dean. 😏

Huh. Never eaten bear before... Never even thought about it before lol Also seems like something the Shaws would've done 😂

Me either lmao, but I've read about people who actually hunt for a living who survive off bear, caribou, bison, etc. I imagine it's a hard way to live, but omg yeah I could see Ashton making his kids learn how to shoot, but them not wanting to shoot a bear or a deer. 😭

Omg I love that ending! Dean's finally coming around, and she's putting the puzzle pieces about her dad together. I wonder what Dean will do when he hears the full story? Would he go hunt the thing? Is it even still out there??? Questions upon questions... 🤔

Aw I'm glad! Yesss it's about time with him lol. Good thing all your questions there will be answered in Part 3...

So excited for the next part!! I'm loving this story and everything you've put in it, and the dynamic between them is amazing. So well done, friend 😍🩵🩵

Aw thank you so much, my friend!! I tried to balance the slower "getting to know you" parts with some of this actiony/dramatic stuff as they slowly grow closer. 🥰💜💜

Also, don't think I forgot about the last two chapters of Polaris. I'm so looking forward to diving into those chapters soon!! 😘

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[wingedshadowfan]

A loving relationship where she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didnt want a child to witness/ get accidently shot. Vi's identity/ past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim by going down on her knees after self harming in the very same cell moments before. Clearly she is not in a right state of mind.

thanks for the ask!

i'm not sure if your problem is w/ what i said, w/ what caitlyn and/or vi did, w/ caitvi as a concept or w/ the choices of the writers of arcane - i am just a fan who agrees w/ their vision in this specific regard and i obv have no control over their work, but let me address this piece by piece anyway:

"she was struck by caitlyn's rifle without hesitation when she didn't want a child to witness/get accidentally shot" is true but it's also ignoring the larger context of what happened and why it happened, which i've discussed before, but many others i've interacted w/ on here have as well, perhaps even more extensively, but the short answer: caitlyn was very much not in her right mind either. she hallucinated jinx before that, she fought sevika for her life, she was in an extremely high pressure situation and didn't seem to be registering what vi was telling her (vi was also abt to get her brains blown out by isha) before she physically interfered, the vents almost blew them away, and ofc let's not forget jinx is a thing of caitlyn's nightmares. we can clearly see caitlyn repeatedly hit the wall w/ her rifle and put her forehead to it after the fight is over?? is that normal headspace behavior to you? she tries to leave and remove herself from the argument w/ vi (in which vi likens her to her mother(and coworlers)'s killer and her torturer), vi catches her arm to stop her, and that's when caitlyn snaps and hits her - literal fight or flight (for the vi defenders: you may also see how this mirrors what happened between vi and powder, and perhaps even between vander and silco if you think age should've been a factor in these circumstances, and not trauma triggered by/mixed in w/ intense emotions)

"vi's identity/past trauma with prison and enforcers put in the back burner just for her to reclaim [by having lesbian sex in a prison cell]" this isn't jinx hate but who locked vi in that cell again, bcuz i thought your issue was w/ caitvi's loving relationship? how is the sex scene happening in the prison cell caitlyn's fault or her choice when vi clearly initiates it and remains in the cell after caitlyn unlocked it? not to mention this happening there is symbolical to their first meeting and a metaphor for how vi has always been caged by the identity of the protector until she was let out by the only person she loved that she never had to protect/feel that same responsibility for. furthermore, vi doesn't talk abt her prison trauma and the first person she opens up to abt her past who actually listens and gives her compassion is caitlyn. close enough. caitlyn who, at her lowest as commander, forbids the use of the kind of cell vi was kept in. besides, i don't know what you wanted caitlyn to do differently in that moment: she came, she unlocked the door, she noticed vi's knuckles, she walked in and stood next to vi, she tried to make a joke to distract vi from her self-deprecating spiral (and in doing so she basically admitted how well she knows vi, that she accepts her the way she is, and how much her actions were motivated by her love for her), she clearly didn't expect vi to forgive her, let alone decide to kiss her right there, in that moment so it's not like she planned it to or had a say in the circumstances. and yes, perhaps vi reclaimed something, be it her prison trauma or her ability to make choices for herself and put her own needs first, for once without running after others to protect them and take responsibility for their actions

"going down on her knees" there's not many other ways to give oral to a woman standing up without anything to sit/lie down on and if you see pleasing your partner (not just by choice, but eagerly even) this way as inherently demeaning, degrading or "dirty work" that puts you below your partner in your power dynamics, then irdk what to tell you other than maybe get checked for misogyny and/or lesbophobia?? (a post abt this here)

"after self harming in the very same cell moments before" why do you think she self harmed? she basically had only two people left: she thought she'd lost jinx (that she'd ran away like before and didn't want to be found bcuz she didn't want to help, not necessarily that she was going to off herself) and that she'd lost caitlyn by letting jinx out - vi says very clearly exactly what she's blaming herself for, and when caitlyn unlocks the cell, she walks in with vi. ofc caitlyn doesn't have any prison trauma, but this is a very clear show-not-tell that she believes her place is next to vi if that's what vi wants. and she proceeds to (imo by making a bad joke that she believes is funny lol) tell vi that she facilitated vi's choice to free jinx, aka that she implicitly trusted vi and her judgement, that she understood and accepted that vi would keep choosing family, that she was ready to let go of her revenge and atone for her mistakes - and we can see the effect of this realization on vi's face in real time. vi realizes she hasn't lost everyone, she still has caitlyn, the old caitlyn - from before her trauma, anger and grief swallowed her

"clearly she is not in a right state of mind" much can be said abt whether she was or not bcuz she'd been stabbed so badly it took 3 doctors to patch her up and i assume she'd been in a coma/asleep for at least a few days, jinx had just locked her in a cell and ran away again (traumatic on multiple levels), she thought she'd lost caitlyn too, that she was only there to goad her and say she told her so, etc (caitlyn has been consistently defying vi's expectations since they first met lol) and i can argue that what caitlyn did and told her neutralized/put many of those factors into perspective for her but even if you don't care for my analysis on why what vi did was in character and not a moment of insanity (albeit maybe impulse): vi stayed. she could've left forever if she'd realized she'd just been impulsive or high off her meds or whatever during the prison scene and she didn't actually love caitlyn or want to stay w/ her. but she was there w/ mel, jayce and caitlyn during battle strategizing, she fought in the war, and remained next to caitlyn in the aftermath. i think that's a loving relationship??

[purgemarchlockdown]

I'm not really someone who enjoys participating in discourse. I find that the environment is too volatile and prone to ad-hominem to really work as any kind of reasoned debate. People look for the things that confirm their perspective and get mad when they don't. I do that. It's not really constructive and as such I don't really like writing anything about it.

Plus I enjoy writing things about what I care about, and what I find interesting. For obvious reasons, why would I put my energy into something that I find boring or makes me upset?

I'm saying all of this to state that I have a distinct frustration of the current discussion going around with Amane. Now, I'm biased. Amane is my favorite character. I have an inclination towards defending her. One could argue that should discount me from the discussions but then I think we'd have to discount everyone from it since Everyone Is Biased!

You can't have a discussion if you don't have an opinion, and attacks on someone's character based on what you Think their argument will be like is not constructive! Actually it's usually the opposite. Let's all be reasonable here, and not descend into baseless insults based on what we want our opponent to be like for the sake of our ego.

After all:

The fine line between "Hate" and "OK"Shouldn't you look beyond your EGO, before it all ends? After knowing all, I wonder Can you really say INNOCENT?

Let's establish my argument.

I find the reaction towards Amane Momose after the deaths of Haruka Sakurai, Mahiru Shiina, and Shidou Kirisaki to be disproportionate, and the mentalities and biases at play to be distressing.

I also find that the logic underlying the argument to be faulty and unconvincing most of the time. And this whole discourse to be a distraction from more important and interesting discussions to be had about this whole series!

For one, I don't think the argument of whether Amane should have been guilty or innocent in trial 2 to be relevant for trial 3 and its voting. As due to the fact trial 3 is going to be the Last Trial, any argument for or against the safety of the prison (a major factor in this discourse) is rendered Irrelevant by the fact they won't be in the prison after this.

This is their final verdict and their final fates will be decided here. The most relevant points of discussion for a trial 3 vote is their crime and their current mentality within the prison. As a result the vote that came to pass in Trial 2 is irrelevant to the Trial 3 voting situation.

This is why I think it's a distraction to argue about whether if people were right or not to do so in Trial 2. Now it's genuinely sad that these characters are dead but ultimately we have to live with that. I find it frustrating that people are harping on this so much as if it proves something about Amane's Character (moral or otherwise) that everyone else missed.

One can argue that Amane has shown how destructive her worldview in this moment (thus also connecting it back to the trial 3 voting and it's relevance,) and while I have my own qualms about immediately assuming Amane is at fault for this (we will get to this later) and I, again, find the argument surrounding if she should have been voted guilty or innocent a distraction. I do think it's important to acknowledge that.

One, all these people committing murder was already a showcase that their worldview's could be destructive. You can argue that they're on their best behavior, or that their crime was a circumstantial thing. But then we'd have to ask the same questions regarding Amane's circumstance before the murder she (presumably) committed against Shidou and the one she committed against her mom.

Shidou did not just die because she hated medicine. Shidou was someone who repeatedly made her feel small and talked down to her.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand? Shidou: No, I don’t understand. It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way. If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige, Amane.

People might think that this reaction is unreasonable, but the point is not if she's right or not for feeling this way, but that she Did feel that way. And I would like to posit that the stressful conditions Amane was under exasperated the problem, thus pushing her more towards killing Shidou.

And either way, my point is that she's not inherently destructive she just holds the ability to cause destruction when under the right circumstances...like everyone else.

Arguing that she's more destructive because she's "too far gone" misses things like how Muu's worldview hasn't been examined all too much even with the trial 2 guilty, or how Shidou's worldview wasn't examined all too much and he's implied to have killed:

A lot of people.

One can say that they only did these things due to the circumstances surrounding them but that just goes back to my first point. Arguing that Amane is uniquely more dangerous, despite the fact that like everyone else her murder has a specific circumstance surrounding it feels like a double standard.

Two, characters like Kotoko have arguably more destructive worldviews, and while there Was Discourse surrounding how people should have voted her in trial 1, it is not nearly as debated as Amane's is. Which again feels like a double standard.

And ultimately, even if we ignore the double standards at play here and how this is stuff we have Known Since the Beginning, we still have no clue of Amane's Mentality Now, we don't know how she seems in Trial 3 at all.

We can't immediately assume she's dealing with all of this well just cause we Assume that she's the reason behind the events, for one she was close to Mahiru.

T2Q8: If you had to make one of the prisoners part of your family, who would you choose? A: Shiina Mahiru. Her innate goodness might have brought the two of us closer, maybe.

And this situation is really close to something sensitive to Amane. The death of the cat.

As a result we cannot use this to adequately determine her current mental state, my original criticism still stands. The relevance this has to a Trial 3 vote is pretty...lacking. As a result we can't say this discourse exists so that we can determine what should be done in trial 3. This firmly exists as an argument of who was right and who was wrong in Trial 2.

One can call it petty (I have) or a distraction (I just did) but since I'm writing a post on it I am participating in that distraction. We can now travel to the second part of this post. Which is a dissection of the arguments for Trial 2 now that people have died.

Now, obviously people should be allowed to have opinions and have passionate feelings about those opinions. However I think the reasoning behind opinions, me or yours, should be questioned. It's good for a nuanced debate for opinions to be questioned, and for the other party to listen.

I for one have seen a lot of questioning about T2 Innocent Amane now. Some of it being blatant ad-hominem mind you, but lets take a charitable look at the discussion. Do I have a good counterargument against common arguments I've seen about this? Well, sort of, for one I would like to question the assumption that if Amane did kill Shidou that she should hold all the blame for Mahiru's death, first of all.

If we are working under the assumption that Amane killed Shidou and that means she killed Mahiru. Then can't we also say Kotoko killed Mahiru? She's the one who beat her up in the first place after all. And if we're going to say that then putting the full weight of responsibility of the deaths on Amane feels unfair. She's not the one who beat her up after all.

Additionally, if we're really tracing the threads of consequences back to the source then really shouldn't we be the ones taking responsibility due to how we created a Trial one?

Arguing on these grounds inevitably leads to questions about the Audience's own moral integrity if followed to the logical conclusion. If we believe Amane should be punished for this and that the earlier act of voting innocent in Trial 2 is incorrect because we let her "do something bad" then shouldn't that apply to the Audience? To Kotoko? To Shidou for clearly not doing as much as he could to help considering that Mahiru was in his care for Twenty Nine Months? To Kazui for not doing anything to protect anyone even though he Said he would?

I think it's reasonable to say that if any of us put the full weight of blame on any of the other people I mentioned this would be contested. But I'm not saying they should have the full weight of the blame put on them. I'm pointing out a double standard here.

That Amane is treated as if she did all the work killing both Shidou AND Mahiru, assuming that she did kill Shidou and that lead to Mahiru's death. That she's being given a harsher treatment here regrading the consequences of her choices, despite the fact everyone else made their choices and they had consequences. Again, including the one who actually beat up Mahiru in the first place.

And before anyone brings up Kotoko is guilty and that means she's being treated harshly. That's not my point. I'm not saying Kotoko isn't being treated harshly. I'm saying Amane is being treated too harshly Despite the fact that other people and factors we're at play and Despite the fact we already Guilty Voted the one who arguably should have the most blame be put on her for the situation at hand.

Second thing, we...don't know if Amane killed Shidou?

I know that she's Said she's going to do it multiple times over, but this is a series known for pulling tricks on the Audience and giving red herrings to distract from more hidden things at play. Again I have already said that Mahiru has been injured for at least 29 months. That is not a normal time of recovery for the injuries she has received. That is more than 2 years. Even with Potential Milgram Time Weirdness considered it's still an unnaturally long time to be injured and Getting Worse despite being treated by a doctor.

Additionally, with Haruka's death we know with some certainty that the restraints on the guilty prisoners aren't as restrictive as we thought. And we have a certain prisoner here who has been very vocal about wanting to hurt people. Not to mention if Shidou is doing malpractice again then a lot of people probably want him dead.

However, my point here is not that "other people could have done the murder" cause ultimately that feels a bit weak as an argument, if you trust in Amane doing her murder then saying "it's possible that it wasn't her" isn't really convincing.

I wrote all of that to ask a question, why are we assuming Amane killed Shidou? That seems like something I've already answered, she said she would.

However, other characters, have been pretty blatant about what they were going to do and that was Ignored. For one, people didn't think Haruka was going to commit suicide, and even if he did the guilty restraints would protect him (despite the fact we knew from Amane's T2 VD that the restraints aren't as restrictive as we thought, an argument used FOR the idea that Amane should be guilty.)

A second example would also actually be Kotoko. Kotoko, was not exactly secretive about her intentions of beating up the people who Us, The Audience deemed as guilty. She was very clear actually about what teaming up with her meant. And yet we accepted it and then got mad at her when she did that.

When it came to Haruka that was due to infantalization and a belief it could have been prevented through other means, when it came to Kotoko that's cause her words aligned with most people's beliefs in the abstract that we were willing to ignore the warning signs regarding her.

So why then, when it comes to Amane, we take her words completely at face value? What about this situation has changed that make it so we Can't ignore what she says? Can't twist it to mean something else? Can't say "Oh its possible that" and have it be convincing.

We can't say it's because people's lives are on the line, we've already shown that with Haruka and Kotoko that's not enough, and again, we can't say it's because she was clear in her intentions. So what gives?

Now, what I'm about to say might be considered an ad-hominem to some. However, I think criticizing a mentality held by a group and direct attack against one person is different actually. If you've gotten this far and think I'm attacking you, no I'm not.

(You can say I'm straw-manning though if you want. I am holding an imaginary debate here.)

However, I think the reason why Amane is being treated, frankly, unfairly, is pretty simple.

She's a child that spoke out against someone who was older than her. Who's been Very Vocal about how much disdain she holds for Milgram as a prison system. Who in Trial 1 we voted guilty because the consensus was that we needed to "teach her to be better." Now, I'm not saying anyone here is an abusive parent or doomed to become one. If that's what you're thinking.

I am however saying, in our society, we have ingrained hierarchies when it comes to children and adults. Children are below the adults. They have to follow the rules set by adults. When they disobey they are punished by the adults.

This is brought up by Es themself to claim power over Amane.

Es: No matter what you do, no matter how grown-up you behave – you’re a child. That’s an unchangeable truth. Amane: You’re a child, too! Es: Wrong. I’m fifteen, so I’m an adult in Puerto Rico and Haiti. You’re twelve, so you’re a child no matter the country.

This is right after Amane attacks Es. A physical question of their authority over her. Es' response is to Claim that as her Superior she has to Listen To Them and Follow What They Say. That despite everything she is a Child while They Are Not.

I have said double standard so much in this post you're probably sick of me saying it. However, this is why I keep on saying it.

And it's not like Amane is the only victim of it! I already brought up that we ignored Haruka's voice due to infantalization! It just manifested differently here because the way to spite Haruka in Trial 2 was to Ignore What He Said. However the way to spite Amane in Trial 2 is to Accept what she says and Vote Her Guilty Based On it.

This is the crux of my problem. This is not just about what is good for the prison. This is about spitting a child who disobeyed against a perceived authority. I don't think this ideology should go unchallenged. Especially when the subject of it is an abuse victim. Like Haruka was.

Jackalope says it himself in the Trial 2 Report:

Whatever the circumstances may be, she is the one that has to bear the blame. That’s just how it is. Both in and out of MILGRAM, isn’t that right?

Now, look, if you're someone who genuinely voted Amane Guilty in Trial 2 because you understood that to be the best choice and are now upset that what you expected to happen did happen. That's fine.

However, I believe, the reason why we are still debating about this past the point it should be over. The reason why people still care despite me already illustrating that it doesn't really matter for Trial 3. Is because of this. It's because people are upset a child spoke up against them.

And I just find that to be unacceptable to leave unquestioned. Because people will say Anything to deflect from being questioned about this. That it's not that serious. That it doesn't really matter. That people are overreacting over some silly show.

But, you can look through my blog. I just made a few posts about this before I wrote this, most of them un-rebloggable to make sure No One saw them outside of who followed me. I've been writing this in an exceedingly formal tone partially out of fear of being harassed for this.

I'm not the one who brought this argument up again. I'm Responding to people who brought it up again.

Maybe it's just me but...doesn't that contradict that statement? And even so, Milgram is written To be taken seriously. And people Have taken the previous discussions seriously.

Why is it suddenly wrong when this one is taken seriously?

I think the people reading this are smart enough to figure out why.

[doodler16]

Yappy Stella Anon again.

I want to have hope for her in season 3 but I simply can't. With what they've made Stella into now, she's literally too stupid to pull anything off. The theory I hate the most with her, is that Andrealphus 'always hated her' and now that he has Stolas's power he's going to kick Stella to the curb. THAT feels most likely rn, sadly. That the story will want to get rid of Stella entirely and have Andy take her place and she can be cast away and die or something. After all 🥺 it what she deserves :3 🌈 we can have our gay ice king take over now (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

Agony, makes me MAD. What I personally thought was happening in the first season was that this lack of attention Stella is getting from the story and from the characters, she was going to use that to her advantage. As it was, she wasn't threatening! Stolas didn't really care, Blitz definitely doesn't care. But Stella matters when it comes to the grimwoire, if that makes sense. In Truth Seekers when Stolas is like "If YOU get in trouble then I get in trouble. WE don't want that!" Building that if shit happens to Stolas, Blitz won't have the grimwoire, and that's obviously a problem. Stolas's problems will inevitably be Blitz's. So Stella, going under both of their radars while they deal with their personal dramas and escapades and distractions in the form of smaller antagonists, will work in the shadows to torment Stolas and have Andy more like a partner in her escapades to be The Worst Ever.

Stolas is finding happiness in this new "relationship" with the imp? She'll ruin it, seed doubt, she already knows Stolas(married for years, she knows whether she likes it or not) so she uses striker to snoop and give her information on said imp she can use to make their already failing relationship worse. Rip that away from him

The actual Octavia manipulation. That's less manipulative and more of nurturing the pain Octavia ALREADY feels from Stolas's repeated failures. Goddddd whyyyyy did they make her relationship with Octavia openly obnoxious it's a WASTE

And THEN the final scheme with Andrealphus. THEY, TOGETHER have been planning the trial to "usurp her horny ex-husband's power". It's not a last minute plan because Stella is soooo stupid. The plan from the beginning will be that either Stolas runs away with his imp, tattered relationship and no power. Or he stays in his sad terrible little life with no imp and monitored power he'll keep. But in both scenarios, he doesn't have his daughter, Octavia is still hurt. The real loss for him. And yeah this is all very Stolas focused but was willing to do that if,,,, y'know the drama was good.

:( Instead the trial is a last minute thing with no build up despite being Immensely Important, motives are just sort of tapered on to the main romance and things just sort of Happen Around Them for it to continue, Stella is wasted for her brother that randomly appeared to steal the show and be "The Mastermind" when it WAS leading for Stella to take that role(in the shadows and playing everyone on strings just because she's "Likes tormenting you!"), and I am sad. I am frustrated and sad. Does this make sense, punching the walls. Stellaaaaaa

Season 3 is supposed to be about the goetia and Stella will have her backstory, so that will be interesting. Andrealphus backstabbing Stella, I do not believe and can’t see that happening. If Andrealphus was truly that fake, he would’ve done it the moment Stolas was stripped of his powers and title. Andrealphus is a massive weirdo but bro is loyal for Stella.

Stella could’ve been cooking and scheming in the background but she doesn’t. Instead Stella is just the dumb and pretty girl. Like girl knew about the grimoire/Stolas relationship with Blitzø and didn’t use it to her advantage. That’s frustrating part. Anon, they made Stella into a cartoon villain (not in the good way, super goofy). Some people are giving Stella way too much credit than she deserves 😂

The funny thing about the Mastermind trial was that in the concept art Salem (ex Spindlehorse employee) made Stella was literally in the trial with Andrealphus. Stella could’ve done so much.

[anetrazduckwalk]

BE QUIET - SEVIKA

Modern AU

Badly written smut lol

MEN DNI

Sevika and I were in our room getting ready for the club, the gang are going to some club, so were all busy with ourselves. I'm really focusing on me and getting what i need to get done, but Sevika’s huffing and puffing about the littlest of things and Rans' is not here to listen to it. My makeup is done, my outfit is picked out, and i'm doing my hair at the moment when Sevika brings her B.S. in the bathroom. This Bitch..

Sevika starts putting on her eyeliner and shes not even just doing it mad silently, she's slamming down her stuff and side eyeing me like i'm the one that she was mad at.

"Sevika, what the fuck is your problem?" I asked her straight up because this attitude wasn't gonna cut it today, and i was feeling bold today. Instantly regretted that real quick, the glare Sevika sent me through the mirror almost burnt a hole through my soul and i quickly broke eye contact. "I don't know if you’re just stupid or have a death wish, Y/N, say it again real slow this time,"

Well shit, today's the day i die. I looked back up at her through the mirror and saw she was still looking at me, but now ready to snatch me up. My gaze shifted to her actual figure and not just an image of her reflection, taking in every detail about her, I felt bad for snapping. This was my fiancée and i sitting here, yelling, getting frustrated with her, instead of comforting and understanding where shes coming from.

"Im sorry, I didn't meant to snap at you, it's been a rough day." Only thing left to do was apologize when i realized my wrongs.. WRONG. Now she doesn't look like she wants to kill me, instead shes moving closer to me and she pressed me against the bathroom sink. Sevika was about to say something before Lock knocked on the room door, Sevika huffed and looked down at me, "This only just made it ten times worse for you." That scared me a little bit more than I think she intended, Sevika walked out of the bathroom and went to go answer the door, meanwhile I tried to finish my hair while quite literally freaking out over what i had just gotten myself into.

This could've just been a fun lit night and my dumbass is gonna start something, something I cant even really handle because what I look like fighting my fiancé. Lock and Sevika are now in the room talking about outfits and what Silco’s game plane is for the night. Took me about twenty minutes to finishes my hair, walking out of the bathroom, I grabbed my outfit laying on the bed. Lock bald ass not even really paying attention and is busy talking about Deckard, when i turn around to go back and change in the bathroom, Sevika lets her hand linger on my hip and butt for as long as I was close to her.

Sevika POV

Were in the van on our way to the club and Ran is on my right talking to me about how this experience feels for her, Y/N is on my left and for a moment I forgot about how annoyed I was at her because of how good she looked. My baby knows how to dress, if we weren't fighting i would've dressed my babygirl myself. Y/N is like a little doll I can spoil and look at.

She's all quiet to herself and in her phone, I see the long face bitch Thieram staring at her, and I'm trying to figure out if he is looking for a problem. It seems like I keep getting cut off from my thoughts because Ran asked me something about the club and distracted me. I forgot about it Thieram after that but if he still needs that he cant get that.

We pull up to the club and we make it inside. Every body is dancing to the songs and vibing, some top single booming in the speakers, i didn't care for any of the top new music. So i stood of to the side vibing, until I noticed Y/N’s friendly ass made her way by Thieram and Lock, this girl just knows how to get under my skin. Im used to being treated like her god and i'm not going for this today,

"Y/N."

I didn't scream her name, but i did yell it over the music, so she could bring her ass back where she belongs. Y/N quickly turning around and makes her way to my side, immediately slinging her arm around my waist and resting her head on my chest, looking up at me. Her soft eyes melted my heart a little and I couldn't help but play with her hair and scratch her scalp a little. "If you were this cute all the time, I wouldn't have to F*ck you up," Y/N giggled and kissing my cheek, "I try to be, but you're always so mean to me" She whispered in my ear then pulled back and pouted at me, we had only been there for an hour and it seemed like she was drunk.

Y/N POV

Y'all, Im fucked up. Soon as we got there I started taking all these shots and now it's getting harder and harder to resist Sevika. She's talking to me about how she doesn't like being mean to me but i'm not hearing none of it, the liquor got her looking so damn good. When she's talking I think she realized I wasn't listening when i was just staring at her, while biting my lip.

"Sevika.."

I breathily moaned in her ear, becoming briefly unaware of our surroundings, she started to kiss down my neck and behind my ear. Its baddie baddie shot o'clock, but i'm really not trying to hear all that, we move further to the back of the club, while the gang takes shots. "Be quiet for me tonight, mkay?" Sevika said before resuming what we were previously doing.

Sevika POV

I'm behind Y/N as we're making our way up the stairs to our room, as soon as she pushes the door open and i'm in behind her, the door is shut and locked. When i turn back around from locking it, shes standing at the dresser taking off her jewelry. This makes me go and stand behind her, kissing her shoulder as I slide off her outfit with haste. As soon as she's stripped to nothing, my hand snakes down between her thighs and i slip two fingers into her, "Oh wow, they just went right in, how long have you been thinking about this? Little whore all wet for me? hm?" I chuckled out as I wasted no time going faster, even though I waited all night for this, the night took forever to end and Im tired.

My hand grips at Y/N hair and pushes her onto the bed, now bent over the bed, dripping on display just for me.

Y/N POV

I feel her fingers enter me again and start at an intense pace, my mouth cannot control itself and and I start moaning out, forgetting I'm in the house with all of these other people just waiting to start trouble. Sevika’s free hand comes up to my mouth and covers it while never stopping her other hand,"What did i say? Be quiet"

Her voice made me whimper into her hand and try to silence my noises better, the pleasure was getting to much. My hand grabbed onto Sevikas hand and squeezed to let her know i was getting closer, she took the hint and started kissing my sweet spot which quickly sent me over the edge and covering her hand in sticky honey. Sevika licked up her hand and as i thought she was going to get stuff to wind down with, all of a sudden I feel a hard tip pressed against me. Sevika was behind me and before I could ever ask anything, she was pushing in and out of me slowly, my hand went to press against her stomach and push her back "Its okay, im gonna be nice and gentle with you."

My eyes closed and my mouth slightly dropped open in pleasure, sweet sounds coming from my mouth before covered by Sevika hand again, not wanting to get us caught by anybody right next door. Suddenly her speed rapidly increased, causing my eyes so open and Sevikas attempt at muffling the sounds was failing by the second. With her forceful and quick strokes, my hand grasped at the sheets quickly approaching my release, then sevika just pulls out and starts taking it off.

“Girl what? what are you doing?”

She about to pmo. Sevika moved up the bed and lays at the head of the bed and pats in between her legs, I crawl my way up between them and become aware of the numbness in certain parts of my body. She grabs me by my hair and kisses me, the kiss is drunk and sloppy. My hands run down her body and settle on her boobs, squeezing them, Sevika had pressed the dildo between my legs and slowly started pushing it in during the kiss. After it was in there for a while, she started at a quick pace while making sure i dont stop from kissing her. My legs were tightly clasped around her arm as she was pushing it in and out, my mind began to melt and a euphoric feeling rushing over me as I came all over the dildo and her hand.

I was exhausted and my eyes were forcing themselves closed. Sevika had joined me back in bed and laid beside me, hadn't even notice she had went to clean up everything. I cuddle into her and she pulled me closer, "when you learn to be quiet, I can treat you like my princess , alright baby?" She scratched up and down my back lightly and it soon started to lull me to sleep. I didn't really respond to her just acknowledged what she said and passed out.

Dont say I never gave yall nothing lol, bout to go on another 2 year hiatus

[marauders-bs]

part 2! part one part pre

TW THIS CONTAINS WALBURGA, deadnaming, internalized transphobia, suicide joke (it's dorcas and barty)

@r0seprincess it's late but we love the meadowes family :3

Now, Dorcas was in the Ravenclaw common room. The straw-haired boy, Barty, was draped across a couch while the twins were lying on the ground. Regulus was there too, only just entering the scene as the memory began.

"Barty," Regulus said, unwrapping a scarf from his neck. "Please tell me why the riddles to get in to this tower are so easy."

"They're not supposed to be," Barty replied. "Also, your hair's getting long, Cas. You want me to cut it?"

"And have to make a hair growth potion because you can't even cut your own hair? I think not, Junior," Dorcas responded, grabbing a Potions book out of her bag. Regulus walked over to lean behind her chair. In a voice Hermione could only hear because it was Dorcas's memory, he began to list off everything that needed to be changed about the potion.

A look out the window told Hermione that it was now winter.

Harry drifted over to her, nudging her arm. "Did you hear what Dorcas called him?" he asked. "Junior. His name is Barty. D'you think that's Barty Crouch Junior?"

"Probably," Hermione answered. "What about it?"

"He seems normal," Harry responded. "I wasn't expecting that."

-

"I'm gonna study," Regulus announced before the scene really came into focus.

"Reg, with love and respect, it's not even six in the morning yet," Dorcas said. Looking around, Hermione saw that they appeared to be in some kind of common room, but not one Hermione had ever seen.

"Yeah, and?" Regulus asked. "Bat left an hour ago."

"Bat does that," Dorcas said. "You don't. If you want to visit your brother, you can just say that."

"I don't want to see him," Regulus said. "I'm going to study."

"I'm sure you are," Dorcas replied. "Are you going home for Christmas?"

"I don't want to," Regulus said, eyes downcast.

Hermione could actually see the moment when every instinct that raising her siblings had given Dorcas kicked in. "Hey, Reg. Write your parents, see if they'll let you stay at my place for Christmas and maybe the summer."

Regulus's face brightened immediately. "Yeah, I'll do that."

-

The next scene showed Dorcas, hair up in a bun with Jasper riding piggyback, walking towards the door. Someone had very clearly just knocked.

"Good morning, Dorcas," a smooth, rich voice said. Hermione recognized the woman as Walburga Black. "My Ascella informed me that it was alright for her to stay with you?"

Hermione exchanged a mystified glance with the other two before the kid behind Walburga was revealed.

Regulus Black was standing there, in a dress, with long hair, looking distinctly panicked.

Dorcas, however, responded smoothly, addressing Walburga, then Regulus. "Of course. You're always welcome here, no matter what."

"Fantastic," Walburga said, satisfied smile on her face. "Go on, Ascella. You can stay here the summer, as well."

The second she was gone, Dorcas set Jasper down and wrapped her arms around Regulus. "It's alright, Regulus," Dorcas murmured. She put her hands to his shoulders, holding him at arms' length. "Sweet Salazar, boy, you're like a twig. We'll have that fixed in no time. Come on, you can meet my family."

Hermione knew that Dorcas was providing a distraction as she handed June to Regulus and directed Ari to grab the spice rack out of the cupboard. She waved a hand, and Regulus's hair and outfit changed. Suddenly, his hair was the length it had been in the previous memory and he was wearing a black jumper and Muggle jeans.

"Do you know how to bake?" she asked, but Regulus stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Do you not care?" he whispered. "Do you not care that I'm sick and wrong and- and-"

"Shh, Reg," Dorcas said, wrapping him in a hug. "You're not any of those things. If you want, we can go find my mother's old book of Greek mythology and see which Greek god decided to screw over people like you- I think it was Apollo, but I could be wrong."

Regulus looked up at her. "Yeah."

But instead of moving, he just buried his face in Dorcas's shoulder. June latched on to their legs, then Astra and Jasper, and then Ari followed.

That was where the scene whirled on.

-

"Alright, Dorcas, we're leaving you in charge!" Dorcas's grandmother called. "Pandora, Evan, and Barty should be arriving soon- send us an owl when they get here."

"Yep," Dorcas replied, not looking up from the magical mixer. Hermione knew that magical cooking things really couldn't be trusted in the seventies, and it wasn't like Dorcas to trust anything other than herself and maybe her friends.

Sure enough, not thirty seconds after Ari, June, Astra, Jasper, and their grandparents left out the front door, Barty showed up in the fire, whirling in the green.

"Hey," Dorcas said, still not looking up.

"Damn," Barty said. "This place actually looks like someone lives in it."

"That was my thought, too," Regulus said. "Whatever. The twins are staying until Yule Break is over and so am I."

"Me too," Barty said, answering the unspoken question. "Well, Cassie looks very invested, so would you show me around her house?"

"Kill yourself, Crouch," Dorcas said without looking up.

"Rather not," Barty called as Regulus led him away. Dorcas shook her head and laughed a little. Hermione had to wonder if she or Regulus had noticed the fresh bruise on Barty's face and just not mentioned it out of respect, or if they knew and were waiting to grill him on it. She wondered how he had gotten it.

The twins came through next, Evan spinning onto the kitchen floor, immediately followed by Pandora. Dorcas pointed them down the hallway.

"What's down the hallway, your torture dungeon?" Pandora asked.

"Regulus and Barty are already here and getting their rooms. We've only got two to spare, so you boys will be sharing and Dora and I can share," Dorcas replied, turning off the mixer with a wave of her hand and sending it into a piping bag.

Evan nodded and the two of them left. A fast few minutes of Dorcas organizing what looked to be cookies and frosting by color and size. Hermione drifted over, and what she saw made her heart swell. Dorcas had baked cookies in traditional Christmas and Yuletide shapes, snowflakes and ornaments and even little gingerbread men.

It was the sweetest thing Hermione had seen Dorcas do. For the most part, she seemed to keep to herself, but this showed how much she valued her friends even in the few months they'd known each other.

It also showed her how sad Dorcas must have been. Ari was young enough that Dorcas would have raised him and the others for most of her life, and a year without anyone relying on her had to be a shock to the system. It was clear she'd immediately adopted Pandora, Evan, Barty and Regulus.

Soon enough, the four came into the kitchen. Pandora was talking animatedly in Barty's direction, and Regulus and Evan were speaking quietly just behind them.

"Dorcas, what's this?" Barty asked, coming up behind her where she was adding tips to piping bags by hand.

"Cookies for decorating," Dorcas answered. "The kids love eating them and I hate decorating, so I thought we could struggle together."

Evan smiled, grabbing a bag of white icing and a snowflake-shaped cookie. He began to pipe icing designs, and Regulus followed his lead with red icing and a Santa hat. Barty and Pandora shrugged at each other, and Barty picked up a star. Pandora picked up a gingerbread man.

Hermione smiled at the scene. Dorcas finished putting the tip on the final bag and began to decorate a cookie in between Regulus and Barty, all of them smiling and joking with Muggle Christmas carols playing softly in the backround.

[myballsitchaurghouchie]

If you fart in his realm do you think it has a reverb to it

Lyrics from Emperor's New Clothes - Panic! At The Disco

[Image Description in Alt Text and under the cut]

ID: A digital drawing of The One Who Waits from the video game Cult Of The Lamb. He is shown rising from the bottom with his hand extended towards the Red Crown which floats at the center top of the image. Throughout the drawing is text saying "The crown so close I can taste it". The One Who Waits has shackles around his wrists and various chains coming from him, as well as one chain attached to his throat. They are all covered in black ichor. His robes are flowing to the bottom in a way that fills the space, and they have red and golden accents. There is also ichor on his clothes and wrists, mainly around where the shackles lay. The background is the same red as The One Who Waits's eyes, and it fades slightly into a white at the top.

[ciderjacks]

argh. This comic writing is taking me way longer than usual. I keep editing things and it doesn’t feel right.

[zannolin]

(re-ish)watching ncis in 2023 is like came for the murder and crime solving, stayed for the absolutely unhinged tiva plotline

[ruvviks]

made the realization my vampire story would work best as a video game and now i can't stop thinking about it

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #51

[gibbearish]

also is the thing with the box ever. explained?