#that effort. and also i buy mostly used and there really is something about carefully handling an object that has been giving people

[anthonycrowley]

not to be pretentious white man coded but sometimes vinyl really does hit different

[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[yikeslads]

A Relaxing Evening - Yandere Sero Hanta x Reader

Trigger Warnings! - 18+ only. Non Con (sex and non con drug use). If this bothers you p l e a s e do not read this fic! You are responsible for your own consumption and this is your official warning. Also they smoke a lot of weed in this but I don’t think that really needs a warning but idk

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Long time no see (please don’t kill me, I’ve been hella busy). I’ve started my last year at university so I am super thrilled about that, just turned 21, and I have spent my entire summer working full time. But enough about me, I’m sure everyone is dealing with a ton with the pandemic plus whatever they have. Anyways, I will be doing my best to update more! I have a WIP that should be released soon (i only have like 400 words left) so that should be fun. 

Big big big big thanks to @yanderart ! If you don’t know recognize the name, she is a phenomenal artist (both in visual and literary works, an icon) who shares the yandere/dark love. Thank you SO much for your super helpful edits/comments/encouragement with this <3 

Also thanks to @opheliadawnwalker3 for the advice to start small when getting back into the writing game! I took that to heart and tried to keep it shorter this time and helped me get this out so thank you!

And thanks to @rat-suki @weebsinstash @drxwsyni because I have definitely binged all of y’alls content and used the immaculate yandere vibes you write as inspo so thank you <3 

Now let’s get started!

It was eerily silent in the hallway as your feet made their way to their destination through the mostly abandoned college dormitory. Your mind was so preoccupied with the many thoughts that demanded your attention that you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. Not that it mattered. You had made this walk so many times, you could find your way even if you were blindfolded and hammered, that you were allowed to fully slip into your thoughts without having to worry. Before long you were standing in front of a very familiar door, the only one in the hallway with light peaking through the crack at the bottom. Music could clearly be heard through it, Jimi Hendrix’s singing the only sound of human life that you had encountered during your entire walk over here.

It took you a moment to snap out of your thoughts and come back to reality and notice that you were already standing at your destination. Clearing your throat awkwardly at the realization, you raised your arm and knocked solidly on the door to be heard above the music and waited as patiently as you could for an answer.

From behind the door you could hear someone swear, causing a small smirk to rise on your face, along with the sound of some rustling. A few moments later the door cracked open a bit as the familiar raven haired male peaked into the hallway, a bright smile pulling at his lips as he  regarded you.

“Well this is a pleasant surprise!” Sero chirped, opening the door all the way, seeing that it was only you standing in the hallway. “What can I do for ya, sunshine?”

His cheery, warm response to your presence unknowingly brought a small smile to your face, a needed break from your tense, concentrated expression you had been wearing when Sero first opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Sero,” you began, stuffing your hands into the pockets of the jacket you were wearing to stop you from wringing them anxiously. “I’ve just been really stressed with final exams and choosing which agency I want to officially sign for and… it’s just been a lot.” As you explained, Sero’s face softened slightly as he listened intently to your words, not liking the fact that you were so stressed.

“Anyway,” you continued with a chuckle, bringing yourself back onto the subject, “I was wondering if you had any of your stash left that I could buy from you? I know I bought from you a little while ago, but I’ve been more stressed out than I can handle,” you admitted, hoping that Sero might still have some weed hidden away in his room somewhere that you could use.

It was a little into sophomore year of college that you found out that your classmate, Sero, was a bit of a stoner. And as someone going through the hero course, you are understandably dealing with a lot of stress. So what’s wrong with smoking a little Mary J every once in a while to relax, right? Or at least that’s what you told yourself when you first asked Sero if you could buy weed from him. Ever since then he had been your personal plug, but over time, you two became close friends. “I think you might be in luck, sunshine, I think I have some on reserves. Come on in,” he welcomed, and you crossed the threshold without a second thought. As you stepped inside and took off your shoes, a large but gentle arm carefully looped around your shoulders, gently pulling you into the tall man’s side as you led you to the couch and sat you down on the soft fabric in front of his laptop that was open and had various work assignments in different windows.

“Tell ole Sero what’s troubling you,” Sero propositioned as he moved to his desk, opening a drawer and grabbing his needed paraphernalia as he waited for you to begin speaking. He settled down next to you on the couch, pulling the small table holding the laptop in front of you a little closer as he set down his bong, and pulled out his grinder and began the process of loading you a bowl.

You were about to begin venting, but you paused as you took in the sight of Sero wordlessly working for your benefit, and you pulled your wallet out of your jacket pocket after a few seconds. “Sorry, before I forget, how much do I owe you?” You asked, opening your wallet and beginning to pull out a few bills. You didn’t get far though, as a warm hand covered yours, drawing your eyes to meet his black ones. He gave you a boyish smile and shook his head at you, giving a small laugh. “No way, sunshine. You need a little break, this one is on me,” he offered with a grin. You were hesitant for a few moments, not seemingly convinced that you should let him give you part of his stash for free. The potential feeling of guilt ebbed away as Sero’s warm smile never faltered, kindness seemingly exuding from his every pore. What was the harm, right? Nodding, you gingerly took the loaded bong from his large, calloused hands into your own smaller ones.

“Alright,” you agreed thoughtfully as you mirrored his smile, “but I want you to smoke with me. It’s no fun getting high alone,” you countered to which you could almost see Sero’s eyes sparkle in response at your words.

“I would be happy to,” he assured, never one to miss out on the chance to smoke, especially with you, but you added one more condition.  

“And,” you drawled, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited patiently for you to continue. “Whatever food we order when we are stoned off our asses is on me.”

A soft chuckle resonated from Sero’s chest as he nodded along to your stipulation, finding no qualm with having the promise of food.

“Deal,” he agreed, and with that you went to take your first bong hit of the evening.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your sides ached as you tried to force yourself to stop laughing, but your efforts seemed trivial as Sero laughed just as hard, if not harder, alongside you as you finished Sero’s favorite flick, Scott Pilgrim vs the World. It felt so good to let go and really laugh, it had started to feel like it had been too long. Time seemed a distant concept to you at the moment, as nothing from the outside world weighed on you as you merrily enjoyed your high with Sero.

Your eyes were pink from smoking, little tears forming at the base of your lower eyelashes as you gasped for breath as your laughing fit began to subside. You don’t even remember what you had been laughing about exactly, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Your attention was brought back to Sero as he began to rise from his spot beside you on the couch, your eyes following his lazy movements as the movie credits began to roll.

“I’m getting a bit of cottonmouth,so why don’t I get us some drinks while you choose something else for us to watch?” Sero offered to which you agreed, lazily beginning to scroll through the other titles that were currently available on Netflix as Sero made his way over to the little kitchen he had equipped.

“Thirsty for anything in particular?” You heard his voice call out to you, but you didn’t take your eyes off the laptop screen, still searching for another flick to watch.

“Just water would be fantastic,” was your response as you searched through the comedy section, knowing that Sero preferred comedies.

A few moments later, Sero had returned to your side, a glass of water in one hand for you and a soda can for him in his other hand. Thanking him as you gently took it from his hands, you took the glass and raised it to your lips. Taking large sips, reveling in the cool feeling of the water flowing over your tongue and to the back of your throat, you failed to notice a pair of eyes watch your every movement adoringly.

“Wanna take another hit?” Sero asked as you finished taking a drink, setting down the mostly empty glass back down on the table.

You hummed in thought at his question, before nodding, a small giggle escaping your lips, “What’s one more hit, right?”

Sero, the practiced stoner he is, had another bowl set up for you ready to go in what seemed like seconds, graciously handing you the now loaded bowl. Gently taking it from his hands and placing it in the bong, you fired up the lighter and took a huge hit.

A h u g e hit. It was a little larger than you had meant, but being high had made your judgement a little empaired. You coughed a bit as you expelled the wave of smoke from your lungs, waving your hands as Sero laughed.

Your cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment at Sero laughing as you tried to regain your composure. “S-Stop laughing!” You cried, setting the bong back down, but Sero just shook his head.

“I can’t help it, sunshine. Seeing you not being able to take that hit is hilarious,” he continued to laugh, as your cheeks burned warmer at his words.

“Its not my fault that I don’t have your iron lungs,” you mocked, picking up your glass once more and finishing the contents in an attempt stop your coughing fit. “Not all of us are stoners.”

A small gasp tore from Sero’s throat, as he held a hand to his chest, pretending to be surprised by your words. “Me? A stoner? How could you even say such a thing?” He asked, shooting you a kicked puppy look which just made you giggle in return, your head feeling a little fuzzy from the extra hit.  

“Oh don’t be a baby,” patting the spot next to you, you flashed Sero a loopy smile, “come on, lets watch another movie,” you countered to which Sero agreed to, settling back down in his spot beside you. You reached forward, setting your now empty glass next to the laptop and hit play on the movie, before moving back into the cushions. Your body began to feel heavier as  you gingerly leaned into Sero’s side, who in return wrapped his arm around your shoulders and gently tugged you a little closer to his chest as the intro finished and the movie began.  

You weren’t long into the movie before you were struggling to keep your eyes opened. You shifted slightly, trying to force yourself to wake up, but the more that the time wore on, the harder it became to stay awake.

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes into the film before you were out cold, your deep and even breathing soft in Sero’s ear as your tired figure slept against his shoulder.

“Sunshine,” Sero whispered, tentatively placing a hand on your knee and gently shaking you. He watched your face carefully for any sign of rousing, but your breathing continued at its deep, even, undisturbed pace. An eager smile danced across Sero’s visage at your lack of response, his heart pounding in his chest in excitement. Wrapping his strong arms around your pliable person, Sero gently maneuvered your sleepy shape to be laying on your back, tummy up, the skirt you had worn riding up on your thighs as your leg lay limply, slightly apart.

Sero took a moment just watching you, drinking in all of your beauty. You looked so sweet and vulnerable asleep on Sero’s couch defenseless. He gazed at your unconscious body oh so lovingly as you lay completely helpless to the danger that lurks around you. It makes Sero’s heart squeeze in his chest in realization that you need him. You needed him to protect you and Sero would happily be your knight in shining armour.

“Her knight in shining honor”, Sero thought to himself merrily, infatuated with protecting his little ray of sunshine. His fingers began to skim the skin of your thighs, slowly pushing your skirt up higher and higher. Shouldn’t your knight get a little reward for his services? Sero certainly thought so, afterall it was only fair that he get to enjoy his sunshine in return for all he does for you.

Sero’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of your black laced panties, skirt bunched up past your hips, leaving your panty clad intimate parts exposed for his greedy eyes. There were no such things as imperfection to Sero when it came to you. All of your little bumps, blemishes, and things you didn’t like about yourself were all things that Sero adored about you. It's what made you you, and he simply ached to worship you.

Hungry hands hooked fingers into your panties, swiftly pulling the soft material down your supple skin in earnest. A groan tore from Sero’s throat at the sight of sticky, clear strings sticking from the fabric to your little treasure.

Fuck was he glad he slipped you an aprodiasic alongside the sleeping pills. Seeing your hole already wet and begging for his attention had his pants quickly tenting uncomfortably. He could not wait to get started.

Moving quickly and silently, he settled himself on his stomach between your thighs, carefully placing your thighs over his shoulders. His starved stare meets your slick slit and he couldn’t stop himself from licking a stripe up your lips, moaning at the delicious taste of your essence. His eyes flickered back to your face where he found you still sound asleep, unaware of reality.

“Perfect”, he thought to himself at your unconscious state, “just like last time.”

Confident in his security, Sero began to feast on your unprotected pussy, his tongue swiping through your folds as he drank every ounce of you in. His eyes almost rolled into the back of his head at your taste as if he was tasting the most divine thing ever created. He couldn’t seem to get enough as his hands encased your thighs, hungrily pulling your closer to his famished mouth. Your breath quickened in pace at Sero’s ministrations but the sleeping pills kept you nestled peacefully in between complete unconsciousness and your dreams, deep asleep. It seemed almost as if Sero had been eating you out for hours when he had finally come up for air, sucking in deep gulps of air into his lungs greedily.  He knelt in front of your vulnerable body, lips and chin shiny with your slick as he slipped a finger into your heat, quickly followed by another as he gently began to scissor your walls apart. Your warmth gushed around his fingers as he worked you open for him, using his free hand to slip down to his belt and make quick work of that before tugging his boxers and pants down. His cock now free of confinement slapped against his abs before he gently removed his fingers from your heat. Your juices completely soaked his hand as he brought it to his cock, using your wetness to get him slick for you. He watched your sleepy face as he stroked himself, his bottom lip caught between his lip as he intently drank in your features. With both of your bodies prepped, patience grew thin, so he tilted his hips down, nudging your dripping entrance with his plush tip, your legs lazily spread and looped loosely around his hips.

Slipping himself between your folds, Sero took a deep breath before pressing himself into your warm, wet, tight cavern. He didn’t stop slowly driving his cock into your twitching heat until he became fully sheathed inside your awaiting pussy. He groaned softly at the feeling of his cock being encased by your velvet walls, his eyes never leaving your face as he adjusted to the delicious feeling you were giving him. After a few moments of adjustment, Sero pulled his hips back, feeling his manhood drag against your plush walls, a soft moan escaping your sleeping shape as you stirred slightly in your hazy state. Once you settled and he was positive you were going to stay asleep, he drove his hips forward into your cunt his eyes moving away from your face and down to where his cock was buried deep inside of you. The erotic sight of you being fucked by his cock kicked him into gear as he soon found a steady rhythm as he pounded into you.

With every thrust of his hip, your cream coated his silken rod, making Sero almost feral with the sight. It took every ounce of self control he had to not fuck you the way you deserved, the way you needed him, but he couldn’t risk having you wake up during your little relaxation session. It took every ounce of self control that he possessed to keep himself from fucking you silly, but with plans for the pair of you in the future, he was willing to wait to rock your world for when you were awake and in more of a … receptive position to receive the full force of his love for you.  

It wasn’t long before Sero found himself reaching his end, much to his displeasure, but he knew it wouldn’t be long until he was able to get to do this again. He always made excuses to get the two of you alone, for “purely innocent reasons” according to your knowledge. He couldn’t help it! He loved you too much, and he needed to get his fix.

“F-Fuck,” he moaned as he fucked himself into your pussy, panting softly as he drew close to his completion. “You feel so good, sunshine. You were made for my fucking cock, shit,” he swore, his thrusts becoming increasinly sloppy. He pulled himself out before he came, hips hovering over yours as his hand frantically worked his length trying to finish himself off.

“Fuck yes!” Sero growled as he came, hot white, sticky ropes of cum decorating your glistening pussy as he furiously worked his hand over his cock. “God, love you so much,” he groaned as he finished,  hovering over you as he caught his breath. His eyes watched as his cum dripped down your pussy, becoming entangled with your own juices. Without skipping a beat, Sero reached over and grabbed his phone, taking a quick snapshot of your fucked out pussy covered in his essence and saved it in a secret gallery of pictures he kept of you. He needed to add to the collection, something to help tide him over until the next time. Setting his phone back down, he leaned over you and gently kissed you, like a lover would, savoring your lips while you were still asleep. Breaking the kiss, he gazed lovingly down at you, gently playing with a strand of your hair. He wished this moment would never end, but he knew that he had to get going, sighing softly to himself.

It was time to start up the cleaning process.

~~~~~~~~~~

A phone ringing caused you to stir from your deep slumber, a deep yawn escaping your lips as you stretched your stiff body from sleeping on the couch. You rubbed your eyes slightly as you woke up, before you took in the room before you. You saw Sero back turned to you as he spoke in hushed tones over the phone, hearing Bakugo’s voice grunting something to him over the phone about working out later that day. You glanced around the room as you yawned again, slightly confused as to how you got here before remembering coming over to Sero’s place the previous night after being really stressed and wanting to take a break. It wasn’t long until Sero finished his phone call, turning back to your and finding you awake, looking back at him.

“Sorry,” Sero began, rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized sheepishly with a small smile, taking in your figure.

“It’s no worries,” you hum out sleepily finding yourself naturally returning his smile. “Did I pass out last night?” You asked, not fully remembering what had happened after that last bong hit.

“Yeah! You fell asleep about maybe half way through the first movie? I don’t remember exactly when, I was paying too much attention to the movie,” he lied smoothly, your face showing telltale signs of embarrassment at having fallen asleep during the movie. Especially in Sero’s room after having come to his room for a favor. How could you ask to hang out with someone then fall asleep on them!”

“Oh… Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that,” you laughed a little uneasy, but Sero was quick to reassure you. “Don’t worry about it! You said yourself that you were stressed out of your mind, and it seemed that you needed to give yourself some rest. No need to apologize,” Sero soothed you easily, a smile returning to your face as you nodded. He almost felt bad lying to your face, but this was just more proof that you needed him! He had placed all your clothes back on properly, cleaned up the mess last night and you were none the wiser! Your lack of realization of what had happened, though it pleased Sero to know he got away with his little love session, cemented your need for him in Sero’s mind.  

“Well will you let me buy you coffee as a thanks for letting me crash? We can study together at that cafe near the gym if you want? ” You offered, wanting to express your gratitude to your friend, who graciously accepted your idea, pleased to spend more time with you.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” he chirped, quick to pack up his things in his backpack and get ready to go.

The sun was rising slowly from the horizon, fluffy white clouds moving lazily across the sky, as the two of you walked to the cafe together. The birds sang so sweetly as the pair of you made your way, but their songs meant nothing to Sero, too entranced with your own sweet voice as you chattered happily with him about whatever came to mind.

Opening the door for you once the pair of you arrived, you flashed him a sweet smile in response before stepping inside the warm coffee shop. The smile you gave, to him, was brighter than the sun, warmer than the core of the Earth, and he realized he needed it. Just like you need his protection, he needs you, his sunshine, to bring warmth into his life and make him whole. With your back to him, browsing the menu of its many drink options, you failed to notice the pair of eyes drinking in every inch of your form with intense infatuation. You had no idea the danger that lurked behind those kind eyes, and unfortunately for you, you didn’t notice that Sero’s friendliness was more until too late.  

[ibijau]

Xue Yang’s Master pt 2 / On AO3

Xue Yang and the wounded boy he rescued make a deal

By the time morning came, Xue Yang was exhausted, but he was alive.

So was the rich kid, sadly.

Not just alive, but his fever had fallen a little. He was also less pale, and seemed to be breathing a little less slowly. When Xue Yang knelt next to the bed and took his wrist to check his pulse, the rich kid opened his eyes and stared at him again.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, which made things rather awkward for Xue Yang who had just figured that he would really have to kill the older boy himself after all. “Thank you, I’ll… I’ll repay you.”

He certainly was going to repay Xue Yang. That sword and the gold guan were going to change his life for good. At the same time, Xue Yang was a little curious what the older boy thought he could offer, in these circumstances.

“Repay me how?” he asked. “Do you have money?”

The rich kid frowned. Through a great effort, he managed to check inside his sleeves, producing only a very small pouch and an elegant fan that would probably be enough for Xue Yang to buy another servant, when he had his farm, or at the very least a strong pair of oxen.

“Money,” the rich kid rasped. “I think… no, I think it’s empty. I spent it all… unreasonable again. But I can… Are you interested in cultivation? I can teach you.”

In spite of himself, Xue Yang perked up at the suggestion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew only very few people had the right disposition to really learn cultivation, and most of those were already born in sects that practiced it. It wasn’t for poor people, cultivation, unless those rich folks took pity of you… or unless they needed new servants for cheap. Everyone knew that Chang Ci’an treated the disciples that didn’t share his blood as little better than slaves, and he wasn’t the only one like that.

Still, Xue Yang had always dreamed that someday, he might make Chang Ci’an pay for his lost finger, and he knew that the only way something like that could happen was if he were to become a cultivator as well… or to have enough money and power to hire one to do the job for him. Sects might be righteous, but rogue cultivators were more bribable, everyone knew that. But if he could save himself the expense by eliminating the middleman…

“You don’t really look like a cultivator,” Xue Yang pointed out, mostly to tease. “And if you’re one, you’re a bad one, getting almost killed and all. Doesn’t sound like you’d make a very good teacher.”

Again, the rich kid frowned. This time, he put a hand on his stomach, a little under where his navel would be.

“Ah… I’m good enough for a golden core, at least,” he sighed. “I… I can’t make you an immortal, that’s certain. But… but if you have the basics down, then a real sect could take you on. They… most of them, they like when part of the job has been done for them.”

“Are you part of a sect?”

The rich kid pinched his lips, staring at Xue Yang for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Can you get me into your sect?” Xue Yang asked. “Then I’d get a proper shizun right away, it’d be better.”

“Not… Not an option. It’s… they’re gone. Everyone's gone, I think.”

“Killed by the Wen?” Xue Yang guessed. He didn’t know a lot about the details of that Sunshot Campaign, nor did anyone who wasn’t a cultivator, but he’d heard rumours that the Wen had slaughtered some of the other sects and that had started it all. But to his surprise, the rich kid shook his head, wincing at his own movement.

“I am a Wen,” he confessed in a low voice. “I… I’m Wen Chao. I have to be.”

Xue Yang looked at the rich kid with wide shocked eyes. Even he knew the name Wen Chao, the second son of Wen Ruohan. Some people said Wen Chao was the one who’d caused the war to start by attacking another sect that had had more allies than he’d realised. More importantly, some people, a lot of people, said that Wen Chao had died about halfway through the war, or even earlier than that.

“You don’t seem too sure of yourself,” Xue Yang remarked with what he thought was great tact.

The alleged Wen Chao blinked a few times, looking worried.

“I’m… I have to be… it makes sense, it’s the only thing that… Everything is so… I can’t make sense of things, but this, it makes sense, it’s the only thing… I have to be, I have to… my head hurts. Can, Can I have something to drink?”

There was a well behind the little house, from which Xue Yang was able to draw water. It didn't smell of anything, and he couldn't see any bugs in it, so it had to be clean enough. The rich kid eagerly drank some, and then passed out again, his fever having returned somewhat. 

Xue Yang hesitated. He looked at that sword he'd taken from the older boy, already stained with blood, then at the other boy's face, and sighed. It was a risk, trusting that rich kid, and one he probably shouldn't have taken, not when murder was such a clean and easy option, but… 

But even Xue Yang had dreams, and he just couldn’t pass this slim chance of becoming a cultivator. 

Although he had little experience taking care of others, Xue Yang did his best in the days that followed. He made sure the rich kid drank plenty, to compensate for what his fever made him sweat, and made him eat a little whenever he woke up, so he'd have strength to heal. For an ordinary person it probably wouldn't have been enough, but cultivators were different. After four days, the rich kid no longer had a fever and although he remained weak, he started being able to sit up and talk. 

"Thank you for taking care of me," he told Xue Yang when he was well enough to chat.

Xue Yang, sitting cross-legged next to the bed, shrugged. 

"I just did it because you said you'd teach me cultivation. You better not back down on that." 

The rich kid pinched his lips, his eyes glancing to the sword that never left Xue Yang now. He then smiled quite peacefully. 

"I'll teach you everything I know," the rich kid promised. "But if you're not made for it, it won't do you any good. Give me your hand a moment, so I can check." 

Without hesitation, Xue Yang gave his left hand, the right one firmly on the sword's hilt. The rich kid glanced over his missing finger without comment, and inspected his wrist a moment before gently sending some energy through Xue Yang's body. He then gasped in surprise. 

"Oh, you'll be good at this if you put in the effort! With a student like you, even I should manage to be a teacher."

He sounded relieved, sincerely so, as if he'd been worried about his capacity to keep his promise. Of course, it was probably just because he realised that Xue Yang, while younger and not a cultivator, wasn't above trying to kill him if he weren't useful enough. 

"What's your name?" the rich kid asked. 

"I'm Xue Yang. What's yours?" 

"I'm Wen Chao. But a disciple should call his master shizun, right? Not that I'm asking you to!" Wen Chao quickly added, glancing at the sword again. "Call me whatever you like, I guess." 

“Are you really Wen Chao?” Xue Yang asked. “I’d heard both of Wen Ruohan’s sons had died.”

Wen Chao frowned, his face darkening as he gave that question more consideration than anyone should have done upon being asked to confirm their identity. If he was merely lying, then he wasn’t very good at it.

“Everything is a little confused right now,” Wen Chao admitted, closing his eyes with a pained grimace. “I can’t… I can’t be sure. But I remember… it makes sense. I am from an affluent cultivation family, I know that, know it for sure. I’m a second son, and not… not very favoured by my family. They think… no, they know that my older brother is miles above me in terms of skills. He’s the one everyone likes, with good reasons. And there’s that sword… it’s a Wen sword, I know it is and I had it in hand after… after…”

He paused and licked his lips, closing his eyes tighter while hunching his shoulders.

“It’s the only weapon I had on me, after he attacked me,” he whispered. “That man… I don’t know who, but he hated me, wanted me dead. I know that. Almost did. Almost killed me. It was… I don’t know how I escaped. And I… I think it was about the war.”

Wen Chao reopened his eyes, gazing into the distance.

“Yes, it was about the war,” he said, shivering. “I just know that. I had to die, so the victory could be complete. He needed me gone. So I’m a rich second son of the Wen sect, whose survival could compromise the success of the Sunshot Campaign… who else could I be but Wen Chao?”

Feeling a reaction might be expected of him, Xue Yang shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about the sons of Wen Ruohan, aside from the sort of things that everyone knew. They were spoiled, and they were cruel, one had died at the hands of the terrifying Nie Mingjue who’d put his head on display, the other had… disappeared. Just vanished. There hadn’t even been a body to show off, apparently, because it had been too badly damaged.

All things considered, that was a very odd thing, wasn’t it?

Xue Yang looked carefully at his new teacher. He could well have been a Wen. He did have a northern look to him, so it wasn’t so far-fetched for him to be from that sect. And with all that gold on him… it made some amount of sense. Enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until his memory returned.

“Fine then, shizun,” Xue Yang said. “I guess you’ve got to know better than me. Now, give me a lesson in cultivation. Or are you too tired?”

Wen Chao, who had opened his mouth to protest, quickly closed it again and shook his head with a thin smile.

“No, I’m sure I can handle at least a little.”

Xue Yang grinned, and prepared to listen attentively.

His teacher had better be good and his own progress had better be fast, because between the two of them, Xue Yang was the one with a sword now.

[squishytenya]

Iida Fluff Alphabet

R: GN

Warning: None

Note: Technically, it hasn’t been his birthday for 1 hour and 8 minutes but here it is! Please forgive any spelling mistakes, I’m a little tired and burnt out.

(like the new header?)

A = Affectionate (How affectionate are they with an s/o?)

I feel like Tenya is a little uncomfortable with it at first, but he secretly likes being affectionate with you. There is a lot of affection in private, mostly initiated by you, but not really in public because he tends to get flustered quickly. In public he is more likely to stick to leading you places with a hand on your waist (a gentleman) or just light, lingering touches to remind you that he’s there. If you’re walking he might hold your hand too. Privately I feel like he is very big on cuddles and likes to have you on his lap while watching movies, eating etc. Just likes knowing you’re there really.

B = Breath (What could their s/o do to take their breath away?

If you talk to him about something that you’re extremely passionate about. The way your face lights up and you talk a mile a minute with this big grin never fails to get him staring at you like you hung the stars. It’s the same when you’re sat intently listening to whatever he is passionate about. He tends to trail off and get caught up staring at you because it leaves him breathless how much love he sees in one stare.     

C = Cuddling (Do they cuddle? If so, how and when?)

He definitely cuddles! You may have to initiate it at first, but he gets better at not turning into an utter mess when you cuddle. He tends to ask for them when he is sad or tired, but he likes cuddling when you guys are on stay-at-home dates too. He is a big guy so he prefers to have you laying on him or tucked into his side with an arm around his waist. If he is really upset though he will tuck his head under your chin and snuggle into your neck.

D = Dream (What do they dream of doing with their s/o?)

Iida is the king of domestic life,  so his dream is to buy a house with you and to be able to wake up next to you every day for the rest of his life. That and he wants to see you and his family become close. Its one of his biggest wishes to have a family dinner at the house that you both own with his family and just be able to see you and Tensei talking about anything.

E = Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?)

A lot of effort is put into this relationship on his part. He makes sure that any arguments or bad moods never fester and is the first to apologise to you in an argument if they even happen. Never fails to bring you flowers every single time you have a date, even if it’s just a movie night. Tenya never wants to lose you, and he makes sure to compliment you and listen to you as much as possible to keep you happy and content with everything,

F = Fear (What do they do if their s/o is scared? How do they handle it?)

Iida immediately grasps your hand in his and shuffles a little closer to you in order to show you he is there with you, keeping you safe. If you start crying he will wrap his arms around you and let you hide your face from what is scaring you until it stops/is gone. Expect a lot of hot drinks and cuddles afterwards cause he is removing you from the situation and spoiling the hell out of you.

G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they want a gift in return?)

He is rich and he uses this to his advantage If there’s one thing Iida is good at it’s listening to you so he always knows what you need and want even if you forget you’ve told him. Prefers buying you useful presents like things you broke or misplaced but isn’t opposed to spoiling you with fancy gifts. There is no way you can give them back either because he usually just pushes them into your hand or bag and carries on talking about what he was before.

H = Hugs (Do they hug their s/o? How often?)

As i mentioned before, he has issues with initiating hugs at first, but it grows on him. He hugs you fairly often just not in public, and you’re probably the one asking or hugging him first. Unless he’s particularly happy, then he will do the whole hugging you and spinning you round in joy thing.

I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)

Contrary to popular belief, I think he is romantic; it just doesn’t come to him easily. It’s the little, unspoken things mostly that let you know how much he cares. Still, he is willing to tell you how much he loves you verbally if you catch him in the right moment, the only intimacy issue Tenya has is thinking it’s improper to be affectionate in front of people. He still blushed every single time yo do it.

J = Jealous (Do they get jealous easily? How do they act when jealous?)

It takes a lot for him to get jealous; he is usually trusting of you and the people you surround yourself with. But he can’t help it sometimes, as much as he tries to hide it, he has emotions too. When he gets jealous, it is so obvious. His eyebrows knit together and he gives an unimpressed once-over to the person you are talking to before he rests his hand on your hip. The person tends to back off when he sees your partner because he can be a little intimidating to people who don’t know him as a massive nerd.

K = Kiss (Are they a good kisser? Do they like to kiss? How often do they try to kiss their s/o?)

I feel like Iida is a good kisser, if not a little stiff. He just works himself up at first and gets nervous but he eventually calms down and melts into you. Morning and good night kisses are a must, it’s part of his routine now, and he gets fidgety if he doesn’t get them. Kisses happen wherever you decide they’re gonna happen, Iida never fails to ask before kissing you unless he’s a little frustrated ;)

L = Love (When do they say ‘I love you’? How often? Do they prefer to say it or just show it?)

He says it surprisingly often. It’s usually quiet so nobody else can help it, but he likes to rest his chin on you and mutter a quiet ‘i love you, my angel’. It never fails to make you warm up but it’s second nature to him at this point,

M = Marriage (Do they want to get married? If so, what type of ceremony?)

I hate writing about weddings so i want to keep this short and sweet. He does want to get married and he’s also rather traditional about it but lowkey wants an outdoor wedding so he can see you in the sun.

N = Night Out (What type of dates do they like to go on? How often do they like to do this?)

Iida likes dates where you guys are relatively alone. He isn’t opposed to fancy restaurants, it’s not like he can’t afford it, but he prefers walking around pars or spending time inside with you. His house definitely has balconies, so he likes stargazing with you and eating homecooked meals under the night sky.

O = Out-Of-The-Ordinary (What’s something they don’t normally do with/for their s/o?)

He doesn’t reprimand you as much as others, and if he sees you breaking some rules, then he will just turn a blind eye. This does not apply to his classmates though and he will often tell people like Kaminari and Bakugou off for the same things that he lets you off the hook for.

P = Playful (Are they playful in a relationship? If so, how do they play around/mess with their s/o?)

You guys need to stop thinking he’s gonna be as stiff with his s/o as he is with his classmates. I feel like he is decently playful with you and likes teasing you about certain things. For example, if you’re shorter than him, he will just so happen to put your favourite food on the top shelf. Also, he likes speeding up while you guys are out for walks just to see you whine about not being able to catch up.

Q = Questions (Do they ask for their s/o’s opinion on things? Do they share their own?)

Iida, As I said earlier, values communication above most. If you guys haven’t talked about a decision, he will be sure to get your opinion before making any choices. This means he is quick to give his own opinion on things too, but only if he knows his opinion is needed/wanted.

R = Random (How spontaneous is their relationship? Do they do things on-the-spot or plan ahead?)

Tenya is a plan-ahead guy in almost every aspect of his life, you included. He carefully plans everything important like date nights, spending time with each other and gifts to buy. Not that he will complain if you are spontaneous, he doesn’t mind if you suddenly leave the fancy date and decided to sit on your car with fast food. As long as he’s with you it’s according to plan.

S = Sleep (How do they sleep with their s/o?)

Iida will probably fall asleep with minimum contact, maybe just holding your hand or having an arm around you, but he cuddles in his sleep. You often wake up completely encased in his arms and you can hear his little snores above you. If either of you is sick or upset he tends to prefer you lying on him, face in his chest, so you can both be wrapped around each other and feel safe.

T = Trust (How much do they trust their s/o?)

He trusts you as much as possible. You’re the first to know about any struggles and secrets he might keep from his friends in an effort not to worry them/embarrass himself. If it came down to it, he would trust you with his life because he knows you care about him as much as he cares about you. The biggest sign of this is when he takes you to meet Tensei and cries on the way home, worrying about his brother. That is when you knew that he really trusted you. 

U = Unique (What makes them unique as an s/o?)

Iida knows a lot of things about you that you can’t even remember telling him. It’s mostly because he’s talked to your friends or you and taken in little bits of information that you said offhandedly. This can include comfort food, movies, your favourite days out and what scares you.

V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? How do they show vulnerability?)

I think it will take a good couple of months for him to be vulnerable around his s/o. It isn’t that he wants to be strong and not burden you it’s just that he is nervous for you to see him in an emotional state when you haven’t before. Iida shows vulnerability by blatantly telling you how he’s feeling and requesting affection, which he is often to shy to do.

W = Wild Card (A random domestic headcanon.)

He learns how to cook from his parents specifically so he can make you your favourite food when you have a date or if you are upset. Also, he learns to cook the breakfast form wherever you’re form so he can wake you up with a taste of home.

X = X-Ray (What would they do if their s/o got sick or injured?)

He would be a complete and utter mother hen about it. Makes sure you have the best treatment and gives you medicine by himself so he knows you take it. Anything you need, he’s on it you just have to ask. Even more attentive than normal cause he’s slightly freaked out but just pull him in for a cuddle and he’ll calm down.

Y = Yuck (Do they have any pet peeves concerning their s/o? What habits do they have that bother their s/o?)

If you’re particularly childish or very messy in your personal life, he doesn’t like that much.  It’s not so much the physical mess as leaving an emotional mess by being cruel or mean to people. As far as he’s concerned you should never be mean or tease someone that hasn’t done anything to you. Iida’s bluntness may get to you at some point as well as his aversion for being public about your relationship but just talk to him and he will understand.

Z = Zeal (Are they passionate as an s/o? Do they want or like passion?)

Have you seen him yell? About Midoriya’s quirk or Uraraka’s backstory? The boy is passionate but good at hiding it. You kinda need to be blunt about the way you feel with him so passion is very appreciated and he just likes to know that the relationship you have makes you as happy as it makes him.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @setlethzine Courage, My Love zine! I wanted to give the Seteth the rom-com he Flayn deserves.

…

…

…

…

In his many, many centuries of living, there were a few things that Seteth knew to be true: Flayn was adorable and needed to be protected, Rhea was far more secretive than she ought to be, and he definitely wasn’t developing feelings for the new teacher. Well, new might not be the right word to apply considering everything, but the point still stood. No matter how much Rhea teased and Flayn blushed, he didn’t have one of those so-called ‘crushes’.

The only reason he had even started watching her was because Rhea had been so adamantly quiet about why she was even here, and someone had to protect Rhea and Flayn. The world was dangerous. Their foes were hidden in every corner. Fortunately, his extensive research proved that Byleth wasn’t evil. Strange and mysterious, certainly, but not evil.

And if his eye was still drawn to her, it was only because he was used to watching her. His ears strained for her every word out of habit. He was so used to his role as investigator that he hadn’t adjusted to co-worker. That was all, honestly.

That was also the reason he was sitting right now in the courtyard, strumming his fingers impatiently on the metal table as he glanced around for Byleth. At this point, she was five minutes late for their meeting. Tardiness was a terrible attribute for a professor. Seteth brushed a finger against the teapot; the ceramic still felt warm. That was a relief. After acquiring one of Manuela’s finer teas and a spread of snacks from the kitchen, he would be rather put out if Byleth didn’t get to enjoy them. It took a lot of effort to ensure the meal complimented the tea.

A shadow fell on him and Seteth looked up as Byleth slid into her seat. Frowning, he crossed his arms. “You are late.”

“My students had questions,” Byleth explained simply, straight to the fact. It was one of the few traits he admired her for. When one worked with the long-winded Hanneman, the boisterous Alois, and the dramatic Manuela, he was grateful that Byleth was the exact opposite of that. Very few words escaped her mouth, each one carefully picked, and Seteth only hoped that she would be a good influence on the others.

“That is the mark of a good teacher. It is your duty to ensure your students get the best help possible. Do not apologize for it,” Seteth praised, giving her an appreciative smile. This was definitely better than certain teachers’ propensity to arrive late due to alcohol or obsessive experimenting. “Would you like some tea?”

Byleth shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She shook her head once more and he felt a little disappointed at that, but it couldn’t be helped if she wasn’t interested. Still, tea wasn’t the only item he’d prepared. “Perhaps a biscuit or a cookie?”

Once more, Byleth shook her head. “What did you call me here for?”

“Well, that is…” Seteth trailed off. There wasn’t really any particular reason he called her here, he just wanted to get to know her better. He smiled reassuringly. “I was hoping to spend time with you.”

Somehow, she didn’t look the least bit reassured. If anything, her back straightened slightly and she was as tense as she was on the battlefield. Perched on the edge of her seat, she wore a determined expression and asked, “Have I done something wrong?”

“What?” Well, now he knew what her enemies must have seen before she defeated them. Perhaps he had said something erroneous. Clearing his throat, he clarified, “No, nothing of the sort. As I previously stated, I merely desire to spend time with you. You have had tea parties with the students; think of this as one of those.”

Byleth nodded slowly. She clasped her hands on her lap, looking at him expectantly. “Then I made a mistake with the tea party.”

“No, that is not what I intended…” Seteth trailed off, recalling the few times he had spotted (not spied) Byleth in the courtyard. Actually, now that he considered it, there had been a few things that had bothered him. This might be the chance to rectify all that. “Very well then, since you have mentioned it, your hosting etiquette does have a few flaws. We will go over the appropriate manners expected of a professor of your status.”

-x-

Seteth rubbed his brow as he climbed the stairs to Rhea’s chambers. How did everything he did turn into a lecture? That was supposed to be a casual, cheerful meeting. Instead, it had become a two-hour lesson on the art of tea parties. No wonder Manuela tensed up whenever he passed her. If anything, it was a miracle that he was even able to have normal conversations.

He would have to repent and correct his ways. Later, though, for now he stood in front of Rhea’s doors. Rapping firmly, he waited for Rhea to call him in before entering the massive chamber. The afternoon sunlight flooded through her ceiling to floor windows, casting a warm glow in the room. As expected, the archbishop was out on the terrace. She liked to tend to her flowers at this time, claiming it was a form of meditation.

“Seteth.” Crouched next to a flower, she gently lifted its bloom and admired it as she greeted him. “As punctual as ever. I do not know what I would do without you.”

“Many things, I imagine,” Seteth responded succinctly, coming to a stop next to her.

Without her headpiece on, she looked younger. It was only when they were alone, away from prying eyes, that he could see the woman he had met all those centuries ago and not the archbishop she’d become. Her eyes crinkled as she stood up and she laughed. “Seteth, are you still sore over Byleth?”

“There is nothing to be sore about.” He crossed his arms, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “While I still think you should have at least informed me first, if not consulted, I do not mind that anymore.”

“You do not mind?” Rhea’s lips quirked as she studied him. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, only she had found it when she smiled teasingly, “I thought I noticed a change in your demeanor.”

He stopped cold at that. Giving her a bemused look, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I heard about your date with the professor,” she replied easily, mirth colouring her tone. “You are moving faster than I expected.”

“A d-date?” Seteth sputtered, his neck burning at the very suggestion. “Preposterous! Of all the things to suggest—we were not on a date or anything of the sort.”

“Really?” A finely shaped brow rose and she pressed, “Even though you had tea together in the garden?”

“That was merely a formality to know her better!” Seteth tried to keep his cool and not hiss. This was clearly a mistake. After all, Rhea had lived a long time and most of it alone. Perhaps she had forgotten about courtship entirely. “After all this time spent distrusting her, I wanted to improve our relationship.”

“Is that so?” Rhea answered, in a tone that suggested she did not believe a word of it.

“It is,” he replied firmly.

Rhea squeezed his shoulder before heading back to her bedroom. “It is cute to see you smitten so. Now come, we have to get through those reports.”

It was childish to continue the argument. It was childish and that was the only reason he wasn’t retorting as he followed her in.

-x-

“That is a date!”

Of all the responses he expected his daughter to utter, those hadn’t been on the list. Seteth stared at Flayn, jaw slightly open as he struggled to understand just what was happening. How did both Rhea and Flayn get such a simple thing wrong? “It is not.”

Flayn wasn’t listening to him. Hands clasped, a faraway look in her eyes, and a dreamy tone in her voice, she continued to ramble as though he hadn’t spoken. “Oh, this is the most delightful of news! I did not think the professor had caught your eye.”

Well, he couldn’t entirely argue that. “That was only to ensure your safety.”

“Love blooming from adversity—it is like one of my favourite books.” Flayn turned to him, a gentle smile on her face. “If you are concerned about Mother, do not fret. I am sure she would approve of this too.”

“That wasn’t—I wasn’t…” Seteth trailed off, not sure how he had ended up in this mess. Flayn must have been reading too many romance books recently; it was eating away at her brain and casting everything in a similar light. “While that is reassuring, that is simply not the case here. I was only trying to create a sense of camaraderie between Byleth and myself.”

“The best romances are a slow burn.” Flayn nodded her agreement. He had a feeling she hadn’t heard a word he said. “For your next step, might I suggest a gift? It is always heartwarming to receive one.”

“Why would I—” Seteth paused. Actually, now that he thought about it, a gift was a great suggestion. A well-picked one could deepen their bond and show Byleth how he intended to change their relationship. It could even serve as an apology for all the mistrust he had shown her. “A gift is perfect. Thank you, Flayn.”

“No problem.” She smiled brightly at him. “I will root for you!”

It would be a headache to correct her, so he didn’t bother.

-x-

“A gift?” Standing near the docks, Byleth looked at the long, thin package in Seteth’s hands and then back at him. Her brow furrowed as she tried to understand. “For me?”

“Yes.” Seteth held the package uncertainly. It had been hard to pick something for Byleth. The more he had thought about it, the more he had realized that he knew very little about her despite his watchful gaze. Certainly, he knew her habits in the school—how hard she worked to teach her students, the skill she showed with a weapon, the soft way she would look at the students sometimes. Yet those were habits, nothing more, and one couldn’t buy a gift based on that. While he had finally figured out what to do, it was still mostly guesswork. He hated this level of ambiguity.

“What is it for?” She still didn’t take the gift. Instead, her frown deepened.

This really wasn’t going how he had planned. Seteth held out the package insistently. “There is no particular reason. I merely thought it would suit you. Now please, accept it.”

Byleth quietly studied his face for a long moment before nodding and taking it. “Thank you.” Without another word, she tore through his meticulously folded wrapping paper.

“You could unwrap it late—” Seteth sighed, giving up when she showed no signs of stopping. Well, this was embarrassing. His cheeks warmed and he clasped his hands behind his back.

It took her a total of two minutes to remove the wrapping paper. He hoped that eagerness meant she was warming up to him. Now holding a fishing rod in her hands, Byleth gave him a puzzled look. “A fishing rod?”

The very situation he had been dreading: explaining himself. Clearing his throat, he resisted the urge to mutter. “You won the fishing tournament, a feat of skill that indicated you spend a lot of time fishing. I had inspected your rod earlier and noticed it was a little worn. It would be terrible if a fish escaped due to your gear breaking at the wrong time.” He tried to smile again. “I thought you could use this. It is a good model. I have used its like before.”

Still looking bemused, she nodded. “Thank you.”

Well, it wasn’t the joyous response he had hoped for, but it wasn’t the scared reaction she had given at the tea party either. A step forward, at least. “If you need any help with it, just ask.”

She didn’t reply, her focus already on the rod. Byleth wasn’t quite smiling, but her lips turned up as she examined the hook keeper. That was a good sign, right? That had to mean she was pleased.

Maybe.

Hopefully she wasn’t laughing at him.

-x-

“A fishing rod?” Flayn glared at him, her hands balling into fists as she paced in his bedroom. “Fa—Brother, that is not a romantic gift at all! It does not tell your loved one that you are thinking of them!”

Seteth crossed his arms defensively. “We have gone through this already, Flayn. There is nothing between the professor and I.”

“A fishing rod is too practical for a courtship gift!” Once again, she wasn’t listening to him. Maybe he should block her access to the library for a while, or sneak in some proper books into her reading. At this rate, she was going to think his every interaction with another was a sign of love. “No wonder she looked confused!”

Byleth hadn’t only looked confused. He was certain he hadn’t imagined it, the curve of her lips, the amused look on her face. It was an expression entirely unlike her usual ones, and he would know, having watched her as he had. Even her students hadn’t provoked such a reaction. The thought sent a rush through him. Perhaps he was the only one so far who had seen it.

“There is only one way to correct this mistake.” Flayn was in his face now, an earnest expression in her face as she grabbed his hands. “You must give her an even bigger gift. I have heard that serenading a lover at dawn is the purest form of love.”

“Serenading?” It was an idea he ought to reject immediately and in its entirety. Yet Flayn’s last suggestion had given him the gift of Byleth’s almost-smile. Perhaps this one could generate another smile. What would she look like, radiant and glowing, unable to hide her happiness?

He didn’t hesitate before nodding.

-x-

Standing in front of Byleth’s door, a lute in hand, Seteth silently cursed himself. This was a terrible idea. An utterly terrible idea. Not only was a serenade a romantic thing, he was also disturbing someone in the middle of the night. Just because he often rose at dawn to attend to his duties didn’t that mean Byleth did.

What had he been thinking, agreeing to this? Seteth knew the answer to that. He hadn’t been thinking at all, distracted as he had been by Byleth’s expression. Instead of smiling now, the moment she laid eyes on him, she would glare. Their relationship would go back to what it had been. This was a mistake. The only good thing was that he had come to his senses before he started playing. There was still time to turn around and leave.

There was still time—the door in front of him slowly opened and Seteth froze.

A very drunk Manuela stepped out, her hair disheveled, her dress crumpled. She stared at him for a long minute, then at the lute in his hands. “My, I must be drunker than I thought,” she mumbled, shaking her head and stumbling back into her room. “That’s it, I am not drinking for a week.”

Not only had this been a mistake, but he had gotten the wrong room. Seteth walked (not ran; he was definitely not running) away in an undignified manner.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

¤~°Ghost Marriage: Lovely Bride To Be?!°~¤ Finale!

Previously...

Before the door closed, (Y/N) asks them something. "Can I please have something to eat? I haven't ate in a few hours."

Present Time.

It was now close to night after all the arguing of students had disbursed. Finally all agreed with Crowley and his raffle idea on who the grooms should be.

Once all of the participants names were in the Headmasters hat. He shakes his hat around a few times and stops. Carefully pulling out a name a few names. Crowley coughs and clears his throat. The crow announced the lucky four grooms for operation "Lovely Bride To Never Be".

"Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier, Riddle Rosehearts and Ace Trappola!" Headmaster Crowley yells over the quiet teens. Gasps and groans filled Sam's shop. Yet no know decided to go against their headmasters choice. Grim doesn't even bother to question why the crow had choose them.

The four grooms step in front of their peers as Crowley starts talk with Sam. Not seeing the jealous eyes directed at his winners. To which they gave calm or smug expression. (*Cough* Epel and Ace, *Cough*.)

So the headmaster buys the items they needed for the operation. Not knowing that nightfall was closing in. "Considering that the time we have left until the wedding, this is our last chance. If this plan fails.. (Y/N) will lose her life!"

The four chosen teens gulp at the thought. The kind hearted prefect will die they do not succeed. They will not let that happen! "Since the ghost groom is in a suite. You shall also wear formal attire, or act like a prince, if you don't you will be not seen as a challenger."

Crowley gives the four grooms the things they needed. All the while Ortho had hacked into the security cameras to show to his peers. Standing outside, the students that weren't excepted all crowed around to see the footage. Once the boys are done changing. Stuck in formal wear, handsome as ever.

Their peers, friends, gave compliments and snide remarks. Cater takes a couple of photos and posts it on his Magicam. Tagging it, #Ghost groom, #Saving (Y/N) from Ghost groom and #Tuxedos! "The wedding ceremony is approaching now, the servant ghosts must be on high alert. Please be ready when the time comes!"

The four grooms nod. "No problem. I'll prove I'm the most suitable person to become the groom!" Riddle said with determination in his eyes and voice. "Oui, me as well."

"I'll reach out to her with words of love if my sincerity gets to her, then she will understand my feelings." Rook remarks with spark in his green eyes too. Epel joins in too with his seniors. "I'll save and catch her heart!" Ace agrees along with them, "yeah! Let's succeed in this plan in a instant!"

_____________________________________________

It was now night time and the three grooms had arrived to the gates of NRC. "Epel is late, it's already time to go..." Riddle said with uncertainty in his tone. "Did he get cold feet or something?" Ace asked to the two seniors.

"Non, non. Monsieur Crabapple would never wimp out, especially if it's for Madamonsieur (Y/N) of all people." Rook smiles without a care. "He'll be here soon..." "GUYS!!" It seems the fourth groom has arrived. "What took you so long.. Long."

Ace snark words die in his mouth before they could even come out. Grim, (who had decided to come with the grooms,) eyes widen at how fast Epel was coming towards them. The loud gallops of a horse draw near and nearer. "Sorry about the wait!" Epel says as he looks down at Ace and his seniors.

"It took me longer than I thought to get ready." His steed neighs after his words. Ace looks at Epel with astonishment and confusion. "Why are you on a horse exactly!!?!" Epel returns Ace confusion, "eh, why, because... Isn't prince charming supposed to make his entrance riding a horse. Right?"

"Do prince's even still do that!?" Ace turns to his seniors, "dorm head, Rook, you agree right!?" Rook was strangely quiet as he addressed his dormmate. "Epel... Your initiative, critical thinking, determination and preparation are astounding and very très bein!!" Rook applauded at Epel's effort.

Riddle could agree with his fellow senior. "You're even riding the most ornery horse in the equestrian club." The redhead pointed out with pride. "They're listening to you very well, you'be got a Mack for handling horses." Epel bashfully smiles at their praise, thmaking the two.

Ace interrupts the three by asking how they were gonna get inside. The Heartslabyul dorm leader tells him to quit his whining as Rook tells them that the wedding was starting in three hours. "How did I end up in the wrong?!" Ace asked, mostly to himself. "Ok.. Let's go! OPEN UP!" Epel yells.

One of the guard ghosts had heard the racket and sees the four, plus the horse and Grim. "Good evening, we've come here to win the beautiful brides hand in marriage." Rook said to the ghost. "Suitors and challengers, huh.. His highness will not be pleased to know of this, and so close to the wedding as well... I shall not let you through! Take your leave!"

Epel smirks, "are you sure? You're going to regret turning us away." The lavender haired boy chides. "What? You seem very confident." The gaurd sighs at the persistent suitors. "... Fine, I'll be the judge."

"Pretend I'm his highness bride and show me how you plan to propose! I will let you through the gate if you prove your feelings are ture." The ghosts remarks, waiting for one of the suitors to propose. "Guess we gotta do what he says if we wanna get through the door." Ace said with clear unpleasantness.

"... *Ahem!* Please allow me to go first!" Epel said with a hint of timidness in him. "Go ahead, show me your heartfelt proposal!" The ghost replys back. Epel starts to speak. "I will... Make her the happiest bride ever."

"Because whenever the person I love is in trouble. I'll come to their rescue, like a knight in shinging armor! Whatever happens along the way, I'll get (Y/N) through it all- er! I mean YOU through it all. Just like you had done for me! I will be the one to protect you from all harm."

"So, I am asking for your hand! I implore you. Please marry me!" Epel said with such emotion. Not knowing of the cameras that had captured all of it. Nor would any of the others know when it came to their time to propose.

The guard ghosts eyes widen, "your expression is totally serious... And you're even on a white horse! Like a true prince!!" Ace sighs, "the horse.. So I really was wrong?" The ghosts asked if Ace was a servant to Epel, Ace said no.

"Oh, so you're a suitor? Very well. Let's see how you'd propose." Ace gave a cheeky grin as he starts. "If you marry me, there's no doubt in everyday will be filled with fun."

Ace words grow softer as he continues, his eyes turn a bit nostalgic. "There might be times we argue or fight but... I'll always be the one to apologize. I'll be by your side through thick and thin and always work to make you smile."

"That makes me the best for the princess. So... Don't lay your eyes on anyone else, please marry me!" The ghost nods after Ace had finished. "Your desire to make your partner happy is bright as day! You're the real deal." The ghost then apologized to Ace for mistaken him as a servant.

"That was a decent proposal." Riddle said with a coy smile with amusement. "Hey, could you knock it off with that reaction? I'm just saying my lines!" Riddle's face doesn't change in the slightest.

"You say that but I'm sure that you put real thought into it." Grim goes along with Riddles teasing. "Nyahaha, Ace is trying to act all cool, y'know." The furrbal laughs at Ace, "shut up!" Riddle's teasing look turns into a confident one, "it was just like you Ace, but unfortunately, the princess is going to choose me!"

The soldier ghost points at Riddle. "Alright, you're up next. Show me your moves!" Riddle complied as he began his proposal. "I vow to be honest and sincere!"

"I promise to never hurt the person I love. If it's for my princess, I'll put everything on the line. I humbly request... Won't you choose me as your groom?" The ghost was speechless, uttering a "oh's" and "oh my".

"You seem so reliable and gallant... Even my heart is all a flutter." The ghost said in awe at the red headed groom. "Yeah it was so cool, Senior Roseheart..!" Ace agrees with his tuxedo buddy, "dorm leader got game too, huh?"

Riddle goes very quiet after his turn. "... Th-*ahem* that is enough out of all you all." The Roseheart male turns his head away so none of the group could see his pink cheeks. "The three of you were marvelous. It's my turn next." Rook spoke up as ghost gave him a look.

"The bar's been raised pretty high. A half-hearted proposal isn't going to cut it all!" The ghost declared to Rook, who just smiled and nodded. "You are truly beautiful, please allow me serve you for evermore. May I present a poem of all my feelings for you who has been watched under my eyes for months..."

"I wish to bring warmth to your cheeks, my dear. Long have your eyes only shed lonely tears. Oh, can they even see the happiness you bring to me and others around you. Vibrant is the live blooming in our rendezvous. Ever so gently, let me take your face to rest upon my hands. Under my care, may your lovely (e/c) eyes gaze ever sparkle with hope and romance."

"Woah.." The two first years said in sync, with awe and disgust. Riddle reviewed Rooks oddly embarrassing poem in his head. "Hold on! Read his poem vertically!"

Riddle explained that Rooks poem spelled. I LOVE U.

Rook congratulates Riddle on figuring it out. The ghost was surprised at the last suitor. Telling them they were very interesting challengers for his prince. The a pair of unfamiliar eyes watched them up above. Elias called his guards to go outside to the gates.

"The bride must have her friends here as well!"

_____________________________________________

(Y/N) tries her best to keep calm as she stuffed her face with cake. Taking off one of her gloves, she used it to smear off some of the crumbs off her cheek as a napkin. She puts her glove back on and stabs her fork in a glop of frosting. "*Ahem*!" A cough rings out in her "changing room.

The (h/c)-nette looks up from her food to see the ghost nanny. "My dear lady, it's time to go the wedding hall." Nanny ghost said happily. (Y/N) nods, bringing her herself to stand. Patting down her outfit to make sure crumbs weren't stuck to it.

The nanny ghost fixes her tiara and takes her arm into his. He smiles at her gently, like a grandfather giving his daughter her first pat on the head. The two walk out of the room in arm and arm. Heading to the cafeteria or the "alter". He then lets go of her before she walked down the aisle, flying off to one of the seats.

The "bride" walks over to the alter, but her "groom" was nowhere in sight. (Y/N) shifts in her place awkwardly as the ghosts chatter. She shifts around her bouquet and looks at the flowers. Stephanotis, Peony, Rose, and Lilly's. Her mind tires to remember the meanings, but her thoughts were interrupted when the ghost prince floats in.

The guest grow silent as music starts to play in the background. Elias smiled widely as his little ghost pals fly around him. "I'm so sorry my dear princess, I hadn't noticed the time." Elias said sadly as little tears well up in his eyes. (Y/N), feeling bad for him even though in her odd circumstances, told him it was all good.

"Oh! I forgot to mention, your friends are on their way here. You didn't tell me you were bringing your guests as well?" Elias tells her with innocent confusion. (Y/N) felt sweat drip off her back as guilt and happiness wash over her.

"They're comin-!" Her sentences wasn't even finished yet before her friends arrived. Riddle, Ace, Rook and Epel all wore nice suits while Grim was being held by a ghost soldier! Her friends were bound in ropes as they tried to get out of them. "Release us!"

Riddle demand with anger, "watch your tongue!" A soldier shouted at the hot-temperted red head. "Guys!" The "bride" yells in fear. The group looks at (Y/N) and are all stunned by her appearance.

She wore beautiful wedding attire, but the look on her face did not gleam like her outfit. "Why are they-!" "They were causing a ruckus, saying they were here to challenge me for your hand. But I decided not to hurt them, they are your friends after all. Think of it as a wedding present!"

The room goes quiet after the prince spoke. (Y/N) stares at her friends faces and her eyes slightly light up. She gives a sad smile and bows at them. Mouthing a few silent words to them. They stare at her with fear, but keep quiet.

"Now let's start!" The ghost groom announced as the priest ghosts starts to talk. "Do you, Prince Elias. Take this young woman as your wife and be with her for all eternity." "I do!"

The preist smiled at the boys eagerness. "And you my dear lady, do you take him as your husband for all eternity?" (Y/N) takes a glance at her bouquet of flowers and smiled softly. "I don't.." Gasps of shocks fill the air.

"Wha- but why?!" Elias cried out, as (Y/N) friend's cheered. The (h/c)-nette takes in a breath before releasing a sigh. "Prince Elias... You are a good soul, a sweet one. You put on a brave face for your subjects and friends so they could be happy."

"But you aren't, your just putting your ideals on me so you could finally find your happily ever after. Elias, you need to understand. I'm not your true love. You don't even know me, I don't even think you know why I am even here in Twisted Wonderland." (Y/N) says sadly, taking the princes hand in her's.

"I'm sorry about what you've been through. Though you need to see that you have to stop searching for someone who is your "ideal" cause I'm not a princess!" (Y/N) chuckles bitterly. "There is more to somebody than how they seem to be."

"I... I never meant... I just.." Elias tried to form words, though he couldn't. "I was never able to get a "happily ever after" when I was alive.. I wanted to find my princess and have a future with her. Yet that was stolen away from me, now I'm stealing you away from yours." Elias cried,  his blue eyes closing.

"I'm sorry... I deeply am." The ghost groom cries, wiping his tears away. "Even after five hundred years, nanny was right. I still act like a child." This time, the prince laughs with bitterness. "I think it's time to finally leave.."

(Y/N) nods as Grim got out of his captors restrains and throws a wedding ring to her. "Place it on his finger! He'll disappear for good!" Grim yells at her. (Y/N) catches it and gives Elias one last smile as she puts on the ring.

"Thank you..." The ghost groom whispers as he started to disappear along with the other ghosts. When he was finally gone, the only thing left was a wedding ring. (Y/N) crouched down and picks it up from the ground. Throwing it in a trash been soon after.

She goes over to her friends and undid their restraints. When she finished, the group of grooms give her a hug. (Y/N) hugs them back, placing a small kiss on each their cheeks in gratitude. "Thanks..!" She blushed and looks away from them and focused her attention on cleaning up, not seeing her suitors rivaling looks in their eyes.

The ghost groom had lost his chance for her heart. But who said her suitors will?

The End.

(Yay! This series has been one wild ride for me. But I did it! Thank you guys for the support! I told myself that I would finish this before the Twst halloween event. And I did, Thank you guys! Happy Spooky Month! 👻)

[dwellordream]

“...The domesticated horse is not native to the Americas. There is perhaps no more important fact when trying to understand how the horse-borne nomadic cultures of the Eurasian Steppe relate to those of the Great Plains. The first domesticated horses arrived in the Americans with European explorer/conquerors and the settler-colonists that followed them. Eventually enough of those horses escaped to create a self-reproducing wild (technically feral, since they were once domesticated) horse population, the mustangs, but they are not indigenous and mustangs were never really the primary source of new horses the way that wild horses on the Steppe were (before someone goes full nerd in the comments, yes I am aware that there were some early equines in the Americas at very early dates, but they were extinct before there was any chance for them to be domesticated).

Horses arrived in the Great Plains form the south via the Spanish and moving through Native American peoples west of the Rocky Mountains by both trade and eventually raiding in the early 1700s. Notably firearms also began moving into the region in the same period, but from the opposite direction, coming from British and French traders to the North and West (the Spanish had regulations against trading firearms to Native Americans, making them unavailable as a source). Both were thus initially expensive trade goods which could only be obtained from outside and then percolated unevenly through the territory; unlike firearms, which remained wholly external in their supply, horses were bred on the plains, but raiding and trade were still essential sources of supply for most peoples on the plains. We’ll get to this more when we talk about warfare (where we’ll get into the four different military systems created by this diffusion), but being in a position where one’s neighbors had either the horse or the gun and your tribe did not was an extreme military disadvantage and it’s clear that the ‘falling out’ period whereby these two military innovations distributed over the area was very disruptive.

But unlike guns, which seem to have had massive military impacts but only minimal subsistence impacts (a bow being just as good for hunting bison as a musket, generally), the arrival of the horse had massive subsistence impacts because it made hunting wildly more effective. But the key thing to remember here is: the horse was introduced to the Great Plains no earlier than 1700, horse availability expanded only slowly over the area, but by 1877 (with the end of the Black Hills War), true Native American independence on the Great Plains was functionally over. Consequently, unlike the Steppe, where we have a fairly ‘set’ system that had already been refined for centuries, all we see of the Plains Native American horse-based subsistence system is rapid change. There was no finally reached stable end state, as far as I can tell.

Though there is considerable variation and also severe limits to the evidence, it seems that prior to the arrival of the horse, most Native peoples around the Great Plains practiced two major subsistence systems: nomadic hunter-gathering on foot (distinct from what will follow in that it places much more emphasis on the gathering part) on the one hand and a mixed subsistence system of small-scale farming mixed seasonally with plains hunting seems to have been the main options pre-horse, based on the degree to which the local area permitted farming in this way (for more on those, note Isenberg, op. cit., 31-40). Secoy (op. cit.) notes that while there is some evidence that the Plains Apache may have shifted through both systems, being hunter-gatherers prior to the arrival of horses, by the time the evidence lets us see clearly (which is shortly post-horse) they are subsisting by shifting annually between sedentary agricultural racheirias (from the Spring to about August) and hunting bison on the plains during the fall.

...Bison hunting on foot required a lot of cooperation (so a group) and it seems clear that it was not enough to support a group on its own and had to be supplemented somehow, at least before the arrival of the horse. Some mix of either bison+gathering or bison+horticulture was required. Isenberg argues (op. cit.), that at this point the clear advantage was to what he terms the ‘villagers’ – that is the farmer-hunters who lived in villages, rather than the nomadic hunter-gathers. These horticulturists were more numerous and seem quite clearly to have had the better land and living conditions. Essentially the hunter-gatherers stuck on marginal land were mostly hunter-gatherers because they were stuck on marginal land, which created a reinforcing cycle of being stuck on marginal land (the group is weak due to small group size because the land is marginal and because the group is weak, it is only able to hold on to marginal lands). That system was stable without outside disruption. The horse changed everything.

A skilled Native American hunter on a horse, armed with a bow, could hunt bison wildly more effectively than on foot. They could be found more rapidly, followed at speed and shot in relative safety. It is striking that while pedestrian bison hunting was clearly a team effort, a hunter on a horse could potentially hunt effectively alone or in much smaller groups. In turn, that massively increased effectiveness in hunting allowed the Native Americans of the region, once they got enough horses, to go ‘full nomad’ and build a subsistence system focused entirely on hunting bison, supplemented by trading the hides and other products of the bison with the (increasingly sedentary and agrarian) peoples around the edges of the Plains. Many of the common visual markers of Plains Native Americans – the tipi, the travois, the short bow for use from horseback – had existed before among the hunter-gathering peoples, but now spread wore widely as tribes took to horse nomadism and hunting bison full time.

...We’ll come back to this later, but I also want to note here that this also radically changed the military balance between the nomads and the sedentary peoples. The greater effectiveness of bison hunting meant that the horse nomads could maintain larger group sizes (than as hunter-gatherers, although eventually they also came to outnumber their sedentary neighbors, though smallpox – which struck the latter harder than the former – had something to do with that too), while possession of the horse itself was a huge military advantage. Thus by 1830 or so, the Ute and Comanche pushed the Apache off of much of their northern territory, while the Shoshone, some of the earliest adopters of the horse, expanded rapidly north and east over the Northern Plains, driving all before them (Secoy, op. cit., 30-31, 33). Other tribes were compelled to buy, raise or steal horses and adopt the same lifestyle to compete effectively. It was a big deal, we’ll talk about specifics later.

Horse supply in this system could be tricky. Unlike in Mongolia, where there were large numbers of wild horses available for capture, it seems that most Native Americans on the Plains were reliant on trade or horse-raiding (that is, stealing horses from their neighbors) to maintain good horse stocks initially. In the southern plains (particularly areas under the Comanches and Kiowas), the warm year-round temperature and relatively infrequent snowfall allowed those tribes to eventually raise large herds of their own horses for use hunting and as a trade good. While Mongolian horses know to dig in the snow to get the grass underneath, western horses generally do not do this, meaning that they have to be stall-fed in the winter. Consequently in the northern plains, horses remained a valuable trade good and a frequently object of warfare. In both cases, horses were too valuable to be casually eating all of the time and instead Isenberg notes that guarding horses carefully against theft and raiding was one of the key and most time-demanding tasks of life for those tribes which had them.

So to be clear, the Great Plains Native Americans are not living off of their horses, they are using their horses to live off of the bison. The subsistence system isn’t horse based, but bison-based. ...In any event, the arrival of commercial bison hunting along with increasing markets for bison goods drove the entire system into a tailspin much faster than the Plains population would have alone. Bison numbers begin to collapse in the 1860s, wrecking the entire system about a century and a half after it had started. ...Consequently, the Native Americans of the plains make a bad match for the Dothraki in a lot of ways. They don’t maintain population density of the necessary scale. Isenberg (op. cit., 59) presents a chart of this, to assess the impact of the 1780s smallpox epidemics, noting that even before the epidemic, most of the Plains Native American groups numbered in the single-digit thousands, with just a couple over 10,000 individuals.

The largest, the Sioux at 20,000, far less than what we see on the Eurasian Steppe and also less than the 40,000 warriors – and presumably c. 120-150,000 individuals that implies – that Khal Drogo alone supposedly has. They haven’t had access to the horse for nearly as long or have access to the vast supply of them or live in a part of the world where there are simply large herds of wild horses available. They haven’t had long-term direct trade access to major settled cities and their market goods (which expresses itself particularly in relatively low access to metal products). It is also clear that the Dothraki Sea lacks large herds of animals for the Dothraki to hunt as the Native Americans could hunt bison; there are the rare large predators like the hrakkar, but that is it. Mostly importantly, the Plains Native American subsistence system was still sharply in flux and may not have been sustainable in the long term, whereas the Dothraki have been living as they do, apparently for many centuries.

Well, what about Steppe Nomads? The horse is native to the Eurasian Steppe – that is where it evolved and was first domesticated, though the earliest domesticated wild horses were much smaller and weaker (but more robust and self-sufficient) than modern horses. The horse was first domesticated here, on the Eurasian Steppe, by the nomadic peoples there around 3,700 BCE. It seems likely that the nomads of the steppe were riding these horses more or less form the get-go (based on bridle and bit wear patterns on horse bones), but the domesticated horse first shows up in the settled Near East as chariotry (rather than cavalry) around 2000 BCE; true cavalry won’t become prominent in the agrarian world until after the Late Bronze Age Collapse (c. 1200 BCE).

I wanted to start by stressing these dates just to note that the peoples of the Eurasian Steppe had a long time to adapt themselves to a nomadic lifestyle structured around horses and pastoralism, which, as we’ve seen, was not the case for the peoples of the Americas, whose development of a sustainable system of horse nomadism was violently disrupted.

That said, the steppe horse (perhaps more correctly, the steppe pony) is not quite the same as modern domesticated horses. The sorts of horses that occupy stables in Europe or America are the product of centuries of selective breeding for larger and stronger horses. Because those horses were stable fed (that is, fed grains and hay, in addition to grass), they could be bred much larger what a horse fed entirely on grass could support (with the irony that many of those breeds of horses, if released into the wild in their native steppe, would be unable to subsist themselves), because processed grains have much higher nutrition and calorie density than grass. So while most modern horses range between c. 145-180cm tall, the horses of the steppe were substantially smaller, 122-142cm. Again, just to be clear, this is essential because the big chargers and work-horses of the agrarian world cannot sustain themselves purely on grass and the Steppe nomad needs a horse which can feed itself (while we’re on horse-size, mustangs, the feral horses of the Americas, generally occupy the low-end of the horse range as well, typically 142-152cm in height – even when it is clear that their domesticated ancestors were breeds of much larger work horses).

Now just because this subsistence system is built around the horse doesn’t mean it is entirely made up by horses. Even once domesticated, horses aren’t very efficient animals to raise for food. They take too long to gestate (almost a year) and too long to come to maturity (technically a horse can breed at 18 months, but savvy breeders generally avoid breeding horses under three years – and the Mongols were savvy horse breeders). The next most important animal, by far is the sheep. Sheep are one of the oldest domesticated animals (c. 10,000 BC!) and sheep-herding was practiced on the steppe even before the domestication of the horse. Steppe nomads will herd other animals – goats, yaks, cattle – but the core of the subsistence system is focused on these two animals: horses and sheep. Sheep provide all sorts of useful advantages. Like horses, they survive entirely off of the only resource the steppe has in abundance: grass. Sheep gestate for just five months and reach sexual maturity in just six months, which means a small herd of sheep can turn into a large herd of sheep fairly fast (important if you are intending to eat some of them!). Sheep produce meat, wool and (in the case of females) milk, the latter of which can be preserved by being made into cheese or yogurt (but not qumis, as it will curdle, unlike mare’s milk). They also provide lots of dung, which is useful as a heating fuel in the treeless steppe. Essentially, sheep provide a complete survival package for the herder and conveniently, may be herded on foot with low manpower demands.

Now it is worth noting right now that Steppe Nomads have, in essence, two conjoined subsistence systems: there is one system for when they are with their herds and another for purely military movements. Not only the sheep, but also the carts (which are used to move the yurt – the Mongols would call it a ger – the portable structure they live in) can’t move nearly as fast as a Steppe warrior on horseback can. So for swift operational movements – raids, campaigns and so on – the warriors would range out from their camps (and I mean range – often we’re talking about hundreds of miles) to strike a target, leaving the non-warriors (which is to say, women, children and the elderly) back at the camp handling the sheep. For strategic movements, as I understand it, the camps and sheep herds might function as a sort of mobile logistics base that the warriors could operate from. We’ll talk about that in just a moment.

So what is the nomadic diet like? Surely it’s all raw horse-meat straight off of the bone, right? Obviously, no. The biggest part of the diet is dairy products. Mare’s and sheep’s milk could be drunk as milk; mare’s milk (but not sheep’s milk) could also be fermented into what the Mongolians call airag but is more commonly known as qumis after its Turkish name (note that while I am mostly using the Mongols as my source model for this, Turkic Steppe nomads are functioning in pretty much all of the same ways, often merely with different words for what are substantially the same things). But it could also be made into cheese and yogurt [update: Wayne Lee (@MilHist_Lee) notes that mare’s milk cannot be made into yogurt, so the yogurt here would be made from sheep’s milk – further stressing the importance of sheep!] which kept better, or even dried into a powdered form called qurut which could then be remixed with water and boiled to be drunk when it was needed (this being a dried form of yogurt, it would presumably be made from sheep’s milk, as mare’s milk wasn’t used for yogurt). The availability of fresh dairy products was seasonal in much of the steppe; winter snows would make the grass scarce and reduce the food intake of the animals, which in turn reduced their milk production. Thus the value of creating preserved, longer-lasting products.

Of course they did also eat meat, particularly in winter when the dairy products became scarce. Mutton (sheep meat) is by far largest contributor here, but if a horse or oxen or any other animal died or was too old or weak for use, it would be butchered (my understanding is that these days, there is a lot more cattle on Mongolia, but the sources strongly indicate that mutton was the standard Mongolian meat of the pre-modern period). Fresh meat was generally made into soup called shulen (often with millet that might be obtained by trade or raiding with sedentary peoples or even grown on some parts of the steppe) not eaten raw off of the bone. One of our sources, William of Rubruck, observed how a single sheep might feed 50-100 men in the form of mutton soup. Excess meat was dried or made into sausages. On the move, meat could be placed between the rider’s saddle and the horse’s back – the frequent compression of riding, combined with the salinity of the horse’s sweat would produce a dried, salted jerky that would keep for a very long time.

Now, to be clear, Steppe peoples absolutely would eat horse meat, make certain things out of horsehair, and tan horse hides. But horses were also valuable, militarily useful and slow to breed. For reasons we’ll get into a moment, each adult male, if he wanted to be of any use, needed several (at least five). Steppe nomads who found themselves without horses (and other herds, but the horses are crucial for defending the non-horse herds) was likely to get pushed into the marginal forest land to the north of the steppe. While the way of life for the ‘forest people’ had its benefits, it is hard not to notice that forest dwellers who, through military success, gained horses and herds struck out as steppe nomads, while steppe nomads who lost their horses became forest dwellers by last resort (Ratchnevsky, op. cit., 5-7). Evidently, being stuck as one of the ‘forest people’ was less than ideal. In short, horses were valuable, they were the necessary gateway into steppe live and also a scarce resource not to be squandered. All of which is to say, while the Mongols and other Steppe peoples ate horse, they weren’t raising horses for the slaughter, but mostly eating horses that were too old, or were superfluous stallions, or had become injured or lame. It is fairly clear that there were never quite enough good horses to go around.

The other major source of meat, especially when on campaign, but also when in camp, would be hunting. One might expect the mighty Mongols to only hunt the more fearsome game, but the most common animals to hunt were smaller ones like the marmot, although the Mongols would hunt essentially anything on the steppe, including deer, antelope, even bears and tigers. Mongol hunting practices are quite developed (especially the large group hunt known as the nerge, which we’ll talk about when we get to warfare). Hunting, especially hunting small game with a bow from horseback, was a skill a good steppe nomad learned very young; one source describes Mongol boys learning to ride on the backs of sheep and practicing their archery by shooting small game (May, op. cit. 42), which is both adorable and terrifying. Needless to say, a warrior who can drop on arrow at distance onto a marmot while riding at speed on a horse is going to be a quite lethal archer in battle.”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part II: Subsistence on the Hoof.”

[peaches-writes]

not-so-secret santa

skz of christmas day 7: exchange gift with minho

member: minho  wc: 1.7k genre: fluff, childhood friends to lovers au, college au, a side of established relationship au warning: explicit language, threatening (?) note: this is me channeling all of my younger self’s christmas frustrations into a short fic lmao 

christmas 2006 

“Minho, who did you pick?” Your Homeroom teacher at the time, Ms. Yang, asked your classmate next to keep the Secret Santa chain going. The previous exchange was from Chan to Mina but since Mina already received her gift from Bam Bam, your teacher naturally picked Minho who was sitting right next to Chan. 

Next to you, said boy then handed you the red and green-wrapped rectangle in his hands. “Merry Christmas, Y/N!” He greeted you as per Mrs. Yang’s instructions when someone will give their Secret Santa present, a mischievous smile on his face. “Enjoy!” 

Your excited smile immediately fell into an angry frown as the hard rectangle is then placed on your lap. “All this time...” You pouted at Minho then, carefully picking up the gift in your hands. “You even bought this with me and you didn’t even bother making an effort!” 

The entire class looked at you inquisitively but, in the moment, you didn’t really care. You already knew that the empty picture frame Minho thought was a genius idea to gift for the Secret Santa as a prank was inside the wrapping you held, you’d know because your respective moms took you on the same shopping trip where he got it. 

Minho was not yet your best friend at the time but you were so childishly angry at that point that you didn’t hesitate on hitting him with the picture frame. “Ugh, Lee Minho, I hate you!” 

Minho’s mom ended up buying you lunch after. 

christmas 2011

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see who Minho picked for the Secret Santa.” Chan excitedly rubbed his palms together next to you, earning him a glare from you at hearing his tone of voice.

“I can’t wait to laugh if it’s you.” You deadpanned, making him chuckle.

“Ya, what’s with the death glare? I wasn’t teasing you!” He then held his hands up in defense but your glare is unwavering. “Well, not directly, at least.”

You only scoffed in response, turning your attention back to this class Christmas party’s MC, Seungkwan, who’s now, as if on cue, called onto your best friend to give away his Secret Santa gift.

“Y/N!” Minho then called for you, making yours and Chan’s eyes widen from across your large class circle. He held up the red package in his hand, the one he made you wrap yourself the night before as punishment for losing in a sleepover game, then exclaimed, “Catch!”

You weren’t given much time to process his words before the package is flung at you, landing just in front of the accumulating stack of gifts right in front of you from your other friends.

The entire class gasped before falling silent, collectively having a flashback of your 2nd grade fight with Minho over the same thing. Everyone (Chan mostly), just hoped that Minho got you something better than the empty picture frame.

But by the way your ears started to fume and you immediately stood up to tackle Minho said otherwise.

“Lee Minho, have you ever had a white T-shirt shoved in your mouth?!” You threatened as you approached him with the ‘gift’ he prepared for your Secret Santa.

Luckily, Chan was strong enough by then to hold you back.

Minho ended up (reluctantly) buying you dinner to 'compensate.’

christmas 2016

“What number did you get?” Minho asked you, resting his chin on your shoulder to peer at the folded piece of paper in your hands after. “Oh, number 10! Awesome, that’s from me!” 

It’s the one year you didn’t get to go Christmas shopping with him because you caught a fever and the class Secret Santa’s been experimentally switched out for the White Elephant game and you still somehow ended up with his present. You groaned and pulled yourself away from Minho, turning around to face him. “What is it this time, Minho?” 

“It’s something useful this time, I promise!” He swore with a hand raised on his side, going over his chest to form a cross after. 

And Minho really thought he was doing something buying a mug for you with his face printed on it. 

“See?” The boy pointed out after the gifts have been distributed. You didn’t pounce on him immediately this time since the mug could easily break. Instead, you waited until his mom picked the two of you up until you punched his arm. “It even changes to another face when you pour hot water on it!” 

To prove it to you, he barged into your home on Christmas Day and made you hot chocolate topped with marshmallows. The photo of him with a heart eyes filter on the mug changed into him with a Godzilla filter. 

christmas 2020  

“Put your seatbelt on, brat.” You instruct your boyfriend as you expertly twist the ignition on your right, bringing the SUV’s engine to life. Next to you, Minho chuckles as he puts his seatbelt on, leaning back on the red-covered seats leisurely. “I don’t want you dying before we get to the Christmas Sale.” 

“It’s not like the flea market is on the other side of the country.” He scoffs playfully, laughing even more when you hit him on the shoulder as you place your hand on his headrest while backing the car out of your house’s garage. 

“It will be when I throw you across the city if you show me something weird for the exchange gift.” You glare. “This is our first Christmas as a couple and you’re already on thin ice.”

“Oh, boo, I’m so scared.” He rolls his eyes. Opening the car’s glove compartment, he takes out the picture frame he got you from the 2nd grade. It’s supposed to fit the shallow dip on the dashboard but you broke its back support some time ago. “And I don’t give weird gifts for the Secret Santa. Look, you still have a photo of us on the picture frame.” 

You glance over his side, sighing in exasperation. “Because my mom said I should at least use it, doesn’t mean I actually like it.” 

“You’re wearing the white shirt too.” He points out next. “Basics are in these days, I was ahead of my time back in high school.” 

“If you’ll get me a face towel this year—Secret Santa or not—I will actually murder you in front of all our friends this time.” 

“That’s hot, babe, I’d like to see you try.” 

- 

Minho happily links his free arm with yours as you navigate your way through the tight crowd of last-minute shoppers, his other hand carrying half of your eco bags. Throughout this two-hour trip, he’s shown you countless of weird things on sale as gifts for his friends—from plastic cereal cups that he’ll give to Felix to an actual set of face towels he plans on giving Jisung—but he’s yet to show you what he’s planning to gift you. 

Or maybe he already has and just showed it to you under the bluff that he’ll give it to someone else like he did in all those times before. 

“Min, we’ve been walking for ten minutes,” You protest as you begrudgingly drag your feet to wherever he’s taking you. Your own arms are about to fall off with your own share of eco bags and the fact that your wallet’s currently a mess with the amount of fast transactions you needed to make is starting to bother you. “Where are we going?” 

“We’re almost there, promise!” He assures you with a grin, tugging you closer to his side before you could bump into an old lady walking from the opposite direction. “We’re getting your gift now so be a little patient!” 

“Or maybe you’re fucking with me again.” You grumble, making him laugh and shake his head. 

“Nope, this one’s only for you.” He assures, pulling you to the right when you reach an intersection. “You’ll see why.” 

You only stop walking five minutes later, when Minho drags you to a stall selling pre-order snow globes. The stall owner, a buff middle-aged man, greets Minho and hands him the biggest snow globe on sale in exchange for the money he’s set aside. 

“Ah, and this is the person with you on the picture?” The man then asks him once he’s finished paying, turning to you with a polite smile. “You two are adorable! How long now?” 

“W-What?!” You stare back incredulously, processing way too slow for the situation.

Clearly, it hasn’t been long since you and Minho started dating, by the way you’re immediately flustered.

“Just a little over six months!” Minho proudly beams, on the other hand, the man laughs wholeheartedly at this.

“Aah, young love.” The stall owner chuckles. Turning to you, he then gestures to the snow glob and adds, “Your boy’s very sweet!” 

Only then do you glance down on the snow globe in front of Minho. It has two dolls resembling the two of you surrounded by cats patterned to Minho’s pets and little buildings resembling your most frequented places: the school you went to until high school, the universities you’re currently attending, the library where you spend most of your all-nighters, the hotel you stayed at on your first trip, and this particular flea market you always shop Christmas gifts at. 

There’s also the new movie house on the side but, from what you can remember, you haven’t been there yet. 

“Is this good enough for you? For a first Christmas at least?” Minho asks with a coy smile, nudging your side and effectively taking you out of your thoughts. He then holds up the snow globe to you, shaking it gently before placing it on your much freer hand. “If you check one side of the globe, there’s the movie house you wanted to visit. I was thinking we could watch a movie right after the Christmas party but, you know, just us.” 

You gush at the snow globe, squinting your eyes when you have to glance up at Minho again. “And you’re sure this is mine?” 

“It has your name engraved on the bottom, dumbass.” He points out for you, making your eyes widen momentarily. “And it has my name on it too. Put two and two together now.” 

“We’re sharing?” 

“No, babe, I’m trying to ask you out on a date!” 

-

december 23 (bang chan)

skz of christmas (masterlist) 

m.list

@skzwriternet

[carry-the-sky]

you were a kindness when i was a stranger

summary

“Sleep on it,” Karen tells him. “If you’re still not feeling it by tomorrow, just shoot me a text and let me know.” She cracks a grin. “Don’t worry, there’s a pile of headline-making material sitting on my desk if this falls through.”

Curtis takes her advice and really thinks it over. Ultimately, it comes down to fear—his. And he refuses to let it drag him down. If he can’t practice what he’s preaching, he shouldn’t be running a group at all.

He texts her first thing in the morning: Hi Karen, it’s Curtis. I’m in.

chapter one | chapter two

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in six months has a similar effect.

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in months has a similar effect.

Curtis knows he should probably say something, but his head is empty, nothing but static. The words just aren’t there.

Frank pushes to his feet. He looks a hell of a lot calmer than Curtis feels, but then Curtis sees his trigger finger tap-tap-tapping away at his side, and he can’t help but feel a small pinch of satisfaction. Let the bastard sweat a bit—Curtis is the furthest thing from inclined to make this any easier on him.

“How’s it goin’?” Frank says, like they’re just casually catching up over lunch, and Curtis almost laughs aloud. This whole thing is surreal; Frank, here, in one piece. His voice even sounds normal again.

That’s not the only thing that’s different. Curtis can tell that Frank’s face is a little fuller, free of those purple-blue shadows that seem to permanently lurk under his eyes. He’s gone full Pete-beard again, and he’s traded in the black hoodie for a flannel and jeans. He looks—ordinary. If Curtis didn’t know him, he wouldn’t look twice if he passed Frank on the street.

Curtis breathes deep, lets it out nice and slow. “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?”

“Wanted to say hello,” the other man answers, hiking his shoulders slightly. “Figured you wouldn’t shoot me in a church.”

Curtis does laugh at that, clipped and hollow. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, man. You’re definitely testing my resolve.”

“I know I’m a jackass showin’ up here, Curt—”

“Got that right,” Curtis mutters.

“Hey,” Frank says, voice going a little rough. “Five minutes, yeah? Give me five minutes, and if you wanna throw my ass out after that, you be my guest.”

Curtis shakes his head. “As much as I’d enjoy that, your timing is shit, Frank. I got a reporter from the Bulletin who’s gonna be here any second—”

Frank’s eyes sharpen. “Reporter?”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want your face plastered all over the front page, I suggest you get the hell out of here.”

“Who—”

“Hey, Curtis, sorry I’m a little late. Traffic was terrible—”

Curtis’ eyes snap up. Karen stands in the doorway, frozen as a statue. She’s staring straight at Frank.

Shit. She might recognize him. The beard and flannel are a flimsy smokescreen at best; Frank’s face has graced the front page of that paper of hers more than once. Curtis can almost feel the wheels spinning as his brain kicks into high gear, already working out how to get Frank out of this, how to explain away the fuckin’ Punisher standing here talking to him in the middle of the afternoon. Karen’s a good person, decent, but she’s also good at her job. There’s no way she turns a blind eye to this. He has to think of something—

“Frank,” she breathes.

Curtis’ thoughts grind to a halt.

Because—she clearly does know him, but not in the way Curtis was expecting. The way she says his name, soft with disbelief—

For the second time today, Curtis feels like he’s walked into a fever dream.

He glances at Frank, and the man’s got a busted up expression on his face, like one of those abstract paintings that looks like something and nothing all at once.

“Karen,” he says, voice grating over the word, and shit, he sounds more torn up than he looks. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, choke-off like the words are stuck there—then his jaw locks and his gaze ricochets to the ground, the wall, the ground again. Curtis can see his hands shaking from here.

Whatever the hell this is, it’s way above his pay grade. Curtis shakes his head again and starts unstacking chairs from where they hang against the wall. “You should leave before everyone gets here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Karen. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

He knows the fuckin’ feeling.

“Hey,” Curtis says, and her head snaps in his direction. “We still good?” 

Her gaze wobbles, darts to Frank and then back. “Yeah, of course. We’re good.” Slowly, she moves from the doorway, brushing past Frank like he’s not even there.

“Jesus christ,” Frank curses under his breath. He reaches for her. “Karen, this isn’t—”

But whatever he was going to say is lost as voices filter in from the hallway, growing steadily louder. Curtis swallows the bubble of hysterical laughter that’s rising in his throat. This day has already gone sideways; might as well let go and let God, as his pop always used to say.

No one notices Frank, at first. A couple people—Lydia included—greet Karen enthusiastically as they enter the room; the rest settle into the regular routine of milling about at the coffee table.

Rahul is the one who finally spots him. “Pete?” he gapes. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you! Where you been?”

That gets everyone’s attention. Within the span of a few seconds, Frank has about half a dozen people crowding around him, clapping him on the back and peppering him with questions about how he’s doing, what he’s been up to. Frank pastes on a shaky smile and gives the small talk a good effort, but his eyes keep skittering to where Karen’s arranging the chairs in a wide circle. Curtis can’t remember the last time he saw Frank look so uncomfortable; he’s wound tense as a coil, all potential energy with nowhere to go.

Curtis almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“You’re staying for group, right?” someone asks, and this time Frank locks eyes with Curtis.

Curtis shrugs as if to say your call. It’s not like he can throw him out in front of everyone. Beyond that—honestly, he’s relieved. Beneath the layers of hurt and anger is the one thing Curtis has shied away from acknowledging: his fear that maybe this time, Frank stayed dead.

Thankfully, the man seems to have nine lives. And right now, he looks like he’d like nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

Against his better judgment, Curtis throws him a bone.

“Pete just dropped by to say hello. You were on your way out, right?” he asks, fixing Frank with a look that he hopes conveys what he’s thinking: take the hint, man.

There’s a ripple of disappointment, but everyone seems to buy it. Frank threads his way over the Curtis, and his relief is almost palpable.

“Thanks, Curt,” he says.

“You’re running up a hell of a tab, Frank.” Curtis pinches the bridge of his nose, already regretting what he’s about to say. “You remember that bar over on 12th? After group—I’ll give you one hour. And you’re buying.”

Frank smirks. “Fair enough.” 

His eyes flick across the room; Karen’s been carefully avoiding looking over here, but it’s like she can feel the weight of his gaze. Curtis sees it, the moment their eyes meet.

Frank’s face opens up like a book, eyes wide and bright. Curtis has never seen him look this vulnerable; even as long as they’ve been friends, he’s always kept the softest parts of himself tucked away. It makes Curtis feel like he’s intruding on something intimate.

Then someone’s saying Karen’s name, and the moment splinters. Frank ducks his head, already sliding the mask back on, and slips out the door.

.

Group passes uneventfully. The conversation picks up from where they left things last week, and aside from injecting a few questions here and there, Curtis is mostly an observer. If he’s being honest, he really enjoys the weeks he can just sit back and let the group carry itself. Makes him feel like it’s bigger than any one person, like it can go on without him being in the driver’s seat.

Karen is quiet through most of the meeting, definitely more reserved than last week. When the hour is up, she tells Curtis she’ll be in touch, thanks him again for having her, and then manages to duck out before anyone notices she’s gone. 

Curtis knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help wondering who she is to Frank. She’s more than an acquaintance, that much is for damn sure. And Frank clearly cares for her. Curtis lets his curiosity simmer, carrying him all the way from the church to Sal’s dive bar.

Frank’s already there when he arrives. True to his word, he’s ordered the first round; he raises his beer up in greeting as Curtis slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“Got you somethin’ a bit stronger,” Frank says, nodding at Curtis’ glass.

Curtis takes a swig and tastes jack and coke. He glances down at his watch. “You’re on the clock, Frank. One hour.”

Frank huffs out a laugh. “Shit, where do I start?”

“How about Karen?” Curtis says. “What was that back at the church?”

Even in the dim bar light, Frank’s eyes flint over. “Long story.”

“Give me the spark notes version.”

Frank taps his thumb against his beer, pointedly avoiding Curtis’ eyes. Then he pushes back in his seat slightly. “Alright, you win. You remember my trial? Karen was on my legal team. She was the one who started digging into what happened to Maria and the kids. All the shit that’s gone down since then—she got caught up in some of it.”

Curtis takes another drink, processing. “And let me guess, you”—he holds his fingers up as air quotes—“pushed her away to keep her safe.”

Frank tips his beer back, hiding a grin. “Guess I deserved that, huh?”

“You’re one predictable son of a bitch, Frank.” He glances sidelong at his friend. “You gonna apologize to her for whatever it is you did?”

The way Frank’s face falls is answer enough. Curtis knows that expression well; whatever happened between the two of them is eating him up inside.

“I’m tired, Curt,” he finally says, each word ragged. “I’m so goddamn tired. All the blood and bullshit—” Frank’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Woke up one morning just sick of all of it. Started thinking about the kids, about Maria—if they could see me, Curt—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, man,” Curtis cuts in. He knows how fiercely Frank loved his family; hearing him tear himself up wondering what they’d think of him now sits a little funny in his gut.

Frank meets his gaze head on. “I’m sorry, Curtis. I know that might not mean shit anymore, not coming from me, but there it is. All the shit I put you through—I never meant for it to go as far as it did. You gotta know that.”

It’s Curtis’ turn to laugh. “I don’t know that. Hell, sometimes—sometimes it seems like you like it when shit hits the fan. You like being backed into a corner, fighting your way out.”

“Yeah, you might be right about that. Still sorry I dragged you into it.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, so the bar is mostly quiet, just the low thrum of conversation and a thin crackle of music leaking from the radio behind the bar. Curtis can almost pretend that they’re just two friends catching up over a drink, talking about trivial shit like work and the weather and who’s going to the playoffs.

The thing is, Curtis isn’t quite ready to forgive Frank. It’s gonna take more than one night at Sal’s to mend the rift between them. But maybe Frank’s not looking for forgiveness; maybe what he needs tonight is a friend, a brother. Someone who loves him even when they’re pissed as hell at him.

Curtis thinks he can do that.

“So,” he says, eyeing Frank knowingly. “When’re you gonna call her?”

Frank flicks his eyes over, mouth pinching into a line. “Not too sure Karen wants to hear from me, especially after today.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Thought your wallowing asshole days were behind you, man. It’s time to gather your rosebuds.”

Frank snorts. “Quoting old English poetry at me now, huh?”

“You bet your ass. I live for all that carpe diem shit. You say you hung up the vest, right? You’re done with that? Then prove it. You got one life, Frank, so go live it.”

Frank dips his head to the floor. When he looks up again, his eyes are a little wet. “I’m scared, Curt.”

“Shit, Frank, that’s all anyone is. We’re all scared. The hardest thing to do in this world is live in it.” Curtis reaches over and clasps Frank’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Frank bobs his head, but Curtis can tell he still can’t quite see it. The man’s been punishing himself for so long; it’s all he thinks he deserves. Curtis has seen enough war and trauma to know that sometimes there’s no coming back from that ledge. Frank has to make that choice himself. He might not be ready yet, but he’s here in this bar instead of out on the streets, and that’s not nothing.

Frank blinks, then tilts his head to squint at Curt’s watch. “Hour’s almost up. Deal’s a deal, yeah?” He slaps a few bills down on the bar and starts to stand.

Curtis holds his almost-empty glass up. “I could go for one more round.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, and the word cracks a bit.

Curtis feels something loosen up in his chest. “Yeah, man.”

Frank sits back down, and it feels like a step forward.

.

The article runs a few days later. Karen calls to give him a heads up, but the anticipation still jolts down his spine as he thumbs through the paper to find it. Curtis reads it through once, his throat going a little tight as he reads quotes from the vets about how group feels like a family, how it’s helped them find their way back to normal after coming home. Karen’s writing is the backbone of the whole thing, capturing the group’s essence without bleeding into the melodramatic.

He reads it again, then gives her a call.

“Anything interesting in the paper today?” she says when she answers.

Curtis huffs. “Funny.”

“What did you think?”

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” Curtis admits. “But mostly thrilled that it’s out there. These guys deserve it.”

“Agreed,” Karen says. “And so do you.”

Curtis doesn’t know what to say to that. Group always felt like something he needed to do, a way to reclaim his trauma instead of succumbing to it. He’s never needed or wanted any recognition for it.

“Thanks, Karen,” he finally manages. “And hey, if you ever need something to do on Thursdays, you know where to find us.”

“Even after last week?” She says it lightly enough, but even over the phone Curtis hears the slight strain in her voice. “I felt awful for leaving so quickly.”

“Hey, I get it. Bit of an exciting day.”

She laughs dryly. “You could say that.” A pause, and then— “Do you and Frank keep in touch, or—” she cuts off, and for a second Curtis wonders if the call dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was completely unprofessional. Forget I said anything.”

Curtis knows he should leave it at that, but the tinge of resignation in her words is all too familiar. He remembers what he told Frank all those months ago, hoping this time it might sink in. Disappointed but unsurprised when it didn’t.

People are gonna care about you whether you want them to or not, Frank.

Karen’s one of the good ones. He knows that Frank knows it, too—and maybe that’s what pushes him to say something now, his better judgment be damned.

“Look, Karen, if I’m overstepping, you tell me to shove it, but—until last week, I hadn’t seen or heard from Frank in months. I know what it’s like to worry about the guy—hell, I wanted him to come back so I could kick his ass myself.”

That pulls a small laugh from the other end of the phone. “Get in line.”

“Yeah, so you get it,” Curtis says through a grin. “I love Frank like a brother, but the man drives me batshit more often than not.”

Karen sighs softly. “I want more for him, you know? More than—whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing out there.”

“I think, deep down, below all the bullshit—I think he wants that, too.”

Silence stretches over the line. “You’re a good friend,” Karen finally says. “It’s nice to know that Frank has one of those.”

“Hey, likewise,” Curtis replies, and he means it. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive Frank if he lets this woman slip through his grasp.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely. I’m serious about group—don’t be a stranger.”

Curtis hangs up feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’s still tempering his expectations for Frank—they’ve been down this road before—but maybe there’s a way out of the woods. Maybe they can both get back to the business of living.

He doesn’t put much stock in new-age bullshit like manifestation or destiny, but it does feel a little prophetic when Frank texts him later that afternoon: Nice article.

Yeah, I thought so, Curtis types back, followed up with a rose emoji just to see if Frank will take the bait.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzes after a few seconds, and Curtis laughs when he reads Frank’s response, knowing the hit landed.

Shut up, Curt.

.

“—telling you, man, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re a middle-aged white lady.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia counters, spreading her arms. “Do I look middle-aged or white to you?” 

Rahul just shrugs and leans back in his seat. The conversation tonight had started simply enough before quickly devolving into an argument about books, of all things. Lydia had offered up a few that resonate with her, one of them being Pride and Prejudice. Rahul had looked at her like she was an alien, and now here they are.

“If it helps, I’ve read it too,” Curt cuts in. “I’ll admit it’s a little dense at first, but it’s a classic for a reason. Ultimately, it’s about acceptance. Not judging someone before you’ve gotten a chance to know them. That’s something all of us in this room can relate to, right?”

There are some begrudging nods, but Rahul shakes his head. “Nah, man. No way some English lady who lived, like, a hundred years ago knows anything about my life.”

Lydia scowls, but Curtis holds up a hand. “That’s a valid opinion. But I bet if you gave it a chance, you’d be surprised.”

“You talking about Jane Austen again, Curt?”

Heads swivel toward the source of the sound, and Curtis looks up to see Frank walking through the door. He pulls a chair off the rack and slides between Rahul and Lydia. “Sorry I’m late. And uh, for the record—her novels are the good shit.”

“Not you too, man,” Rahul groans. 

“Got me through one of my first tours,” Frank replies. He gestures at Curtis. “This guy wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about it, so I finally took the damn thing just to shut him up. Stayed up half the night reading it. Curtis knows his shit.”

Curtis feels himself smiling. “Good to have you back, Pete.”

It is. It really is.

Frank makes the rounds after group, catching up with all the vets he knew from before and even chatting with some of the newer members. Curtis catches Lydia fist-bumping him, and he almost shakes his head in disbelief. If someone had told him two weeks ago that Frank would be here, in this room, smiling and making small talk, he would’ve laughed right in their face.  

“Hey, man,” Rahul says, walking up to him. His face goes a little sheepish. “So, uh, if you have that book on you—”   

Curtis blinks. “You’re really gonna give it a shot?”

Rahul shrugs. “Yeah, I mean—you and Pete both think it’s, like, God’s gift to literature, or whatever, so how bad can it be?” He glances over his shoulder surreptitiously. “Just don’t tell Lydia, yeah?”

Curt claps him on the back. “Deal. I’ll bring it next week.” 

Rahul nods, then jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Hey, did you see who’s here?” 

Curtis frowns, peering over Rahul’s head in that direction—

Karen is standing beside Frank, her head thrown back in laughter at something that Lydia has said. She’s in her work clothes, but her hair looks a little glossier, and she’s definitely wearing lipstick. Curtis watches as Frank brings his hand to the small of her back in a gesture that’s effortless, like this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

Gather your rosebuds, Frank.

The bastard really did it. Curtis hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this for him—something to live for after the war was over. Now it’s happening right in front of him, unfolding in real time. It makes his chest ache a little. 

Karen catches Curtis’ eye and gently peels herself away. “Long time no see,” she says, coming up to him. “I would’ve been here tonight, but Ellison’s got us working overtime on this city councilman thing.”

Curtis nods. He’s heard a few things through the grapevine—embezzlement in the councilman’s office, real original—and he wondered if Karen would be following it. “Back to making headlines?” he quips. 

“Maybe just one more,” Karen laughs. 

Curtis tips his head in Frank’s direction. “So, guess he finally pulled his head out of his ass.”

Karen follows his gaze. The look on her face is in direct contrast to the one Frank was wearing last week, love and hope and so much warmth. It’s all the answer Curtis needs.

“About damn time,” he says.

Karen’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “No argument there. Hey, we were going to grab dinner at that new Thai place on 7th—you’re welcome to come with, if you’re not busy.”

Curtis considers it for a second, but the last thing he wants to be for either of them is a third wheel. They deserve some time for themselves. He has all the time in the world to give Frank shit about this; he’ll let him have one night of peace.

“Let me take a raincheck,” he says. “Next week sometime?”

“Next week is perfect,” Karen replies. “See you then.”

The other vets are trickling out now, waving and calling out goodbyes over their shoulder. Karen makes her way back over to Frank, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She leans in to say something in his ear, and he casts a glance back at Curtis. 

Curtis bobs his head once, and Frank returns the gesture, mouth creasing into a smile; then he turns and follows Karen out the door.

Curtis watches him leave, thinking he’s never been more happy to do so.

[glimmerglanger]

out of his system - jangobi fic

ALRIGHT SO, the prompt for subobi week today is one of my squicks. BUT, I still want to post something and also I have too many ideas. This particular idea is a bit of an au I’ve been plotting for a while (thanks @mocha-bear). I don’t actually have any of the rest of it written! This is set pretty early on in it, though….

Anyway, this is Jangobi (is my first written piece of Jangobi stuff that’s more than a snippet going to be pure spice? Yes, it is.) AU where things went significantly worse for Obi-Wan during/after Bandomeer and he never got back to the Jedi. Technically an AU where things went slightly BETTER for Jango and he ends up free to do what he wants earlier than in canon after Galidraan. So, he’s working as a bounty hunter and has been for a bit. He’s….around 29 in this. 

Technically, if this had a prompt to fill, it would probably be sex work? So, warnings for Obi-Wan being in a brothel (not capable of giving full consent to anything). Not safe for wizards. BJs. Spicy. This is the F+J of subobi week, in that it is eventually going to be a 60k fic, whoops.

~~~~~~~~

Jango knew well enough he had no reason to go back to Trolk VI. As far as shitty planets on the Outer Rim went, it wasn’t particularly impressive. Most of the economy seemed generated by the fighting pits or the pleasure houses surrounding them.

Jango had little interest in either of those pursuits. 

Most of the time.

He’d visited pleasure houses before, though mostly because the places seemed to draw his bounties in the same way that a wailing, dying thing drew the attentions of a starving predator. He’d bagged more than one bounty while they were in the middle of….their business. 

His visit to a pleasure house on Trolk VI had not been such a success story. He’d ducked into the building in a rush to avoid the group that had already shot him twice - someday, he’d learn to stop walking into ambushes - and he’d barged into one of the rooms for the same reason.

His plan had been to hide somewhere, or go out the window again. But his pursuers had been close and there’d been someone on the bed already, stirring around in a loose, gossamer gown, and he’d thought, ragged-edged, that the people after him had no idea what he looked like, out of his armor.

His pursuers had apologized, moments later, when they opened the door to find him on the bed, stretched - miming the act of a good, hard fuck - over it’s first occupant, one of his hands over the kid’s mouth, just in case he got any bright ideas about screaming, even as dark spots had swam all across Jango’s vision.

He’d managed to avoid passing out until after the door shut again. 

It had been a shock when he woke up again. Even more of a shock to realize that the whore had bandaged his wounds, neatly, and even applied bacta. He’d been a pretty thing, Jango had registered, but most whores were, and Jango hadn’t had the time to consider it. He’d left, dropping some extra credits on the bed, and never planned to think about Trolk VI again.

And he didn’t, really.

But he did find himself thinking about the whore, his copper-red hair and wide, surprised eyes, and the unusually thick and battered collar around his neck. His thoughts kept spiralling around to the boy - over and over - and distraction wasn’t something he could afford. Not in his line of work. Not in his life.

Obviously, he’d needed to get his fixation out of his system. And so he ended up back on Trolk VI, in the pleasure district. He walked into the house through the front door, sneering at the proprietor behind his mask, half-sure that the woman wouldn’t know who he was talking about - he hadn’t gotten the whore’s name, after all.

But they must not have had many other male humanoids with reddish hair to choose from. She tittered happily enough, told him he’d made a good choice by selecting Ben - evidently the boy’s name - and waved a hand to have him led up the stairs.

The house was well-off. HIgh-end. It didn’t stink of sweat or sex; instead some care seeemd to have been taken to ensure it was all pleasant scents, soft music, dim lights. Jango ignored the droid’s request for a tip when he was delivered to a door he remembered.

He stepped into the room quietly. Nothing had really changed, he noted. A bed predominated the room, covered in soft fabrics. There was a bench along one wall, a chair. Hooks, here and there, on the walls and ceiling. He could imagine a use for each.

And each use was connected to the only other figure in the room - the boy, Ben - sitting on the side of the bed, a container of bacta open by his hip, a gossamer robe slid off of one shoulder, revealing an array of fading marks, skin shiny from the bacta application. 

He blinked over at Jango right away, eyes stunningly blue, his hair a tangle around his jaw - like someone had been playing with it - and his mouth reddened. His drooping robe did almost nothing to hide his shoulders and chest - there were marks there, too - or the traces of a flush over his throat.

Jango looked at him and felt a kick in his gut, almost shocking.

He couldn’t recall, really, the last time he’d felt directed desire.

He’d begun to think he just wouldn’t, ever again.

Ben recovered first, which was a lurching shock, and tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing just a little. He asked, his voice all wrong for a brothel in the Outer Rim - Jango heard that accent on his clients from the Core, and nowhere else, “Should I expect armed men to burst in after you, again?”

There was something satisfying to being recognized so quickly, but, then, he was sure he’d made an impression, last time. Jango shook himself, snorting, and said, “Not this time. Disappointed?”

Ben’s mouth quirked, just a little. He wasn’t….acting in quite the way Jango expected from a whore. Certainly there was no fawning about as he dipped his fingers once more into the bacta, spread a line of it across his shoulder, and asked, “Only a little. And you recovered?”

Jango remembered, clearly, blinking his way to consciousness with his head in Ben’s lap, the boy trailing gentle fingers over his brow, murmuring some strange lullaby that had seemed familiar from somewhere and--

He shook the thoughts away, taking a step forward as the boy closed the bacta jar and stood, carrying it across the room. “I’m well enough,” he said, looking at the fading marks across the boy’s back.

There were reddened marks, fading, long and straight. He recognized lashes, when he saw them. There were other imprints, on his shoulders and arms, fingerprints, perhaps, and the shape of a mouth, here and there.

And below those marks there was scar tissue, old and ragged. Uglier than he’d have expected on a pleasure slave. Especially one so lovely as this boy, who had to be worth more undamaged. Taken with the heavy, ugly collar around his neck - something Jango hadn’t seen on any of the brothel’s other….employees - it was leaving him with multiple questions.

He crossed the room while Ben arranged the bacta, apparently unconcerned, even when Jango touched one of the marks, with just one finger. “Better than you,” he added, and the boy looked over his shoulder, robe sliding a little further down his back.

“Apologies,” he said, “sometimes the bacta takes a while to work.”

Jango frowned, shaking himself again. He hadn’t come here to chit-chat with a whore. He’d come here to - to burn away his fascination with this boy, before it distracted him any further. Considering the sight of his glove on Ben’s skin wasn’t helping with that. It didn’t matter that, for whatever reason, he didn’t like the marks.

It had been a long time since he fucked anyone at all. That was all. Years, he thought.

His body had, obviously, had enough of waiting, and his head had fixated on Ben, because he’d been warm and pliant, when Jango stretched over him, because he had a red mouth and clear eyes, and legs a parsec long. He’d fuck the boy, get it out of his system, and move on.

Decided, he took a step back, and snapped, lifting his helmet off, “Do you waste so much time with all your clients?”

“No,” Ben said, agreeably, meeting his gaze evenly. “I’m very adaptable.”

Jango wondered, sudden and dark, just how adaptable he was. He said, voice getting thicker, “Help me with this.”

“Of course.” Ben had long, clever fingers, Jango noted, removing his armor quickly and steadily, setting each piece aside carefully. He was tall, too, all stunningly long legs and with a hint of coltishness still about him, not fully grown into his shoulders. 

It felt...strange, to be out of his armor in front of someone else. But Ben had seen it all, already. He’d seen Jango bleeding out, and had decided, for whatever reason, to patch him up instead of leaving him to die and stealing the armor and the rest of Jango’s credits.

The beskar alone would have been enough to buy out whatever price the boy’s owners wanted for him, unless the boy was something really special. 

It made no kriffing sense that Ben had kept him alive. People didn’t do that, didn’t just - help, for no reason at all. Especially not when it would serve them better to do otherwise. Jango caught Ben’s wrists, when he reached for the closures at Jango’s belt, and said, roughly, “You could have killed me, before.”

Ben looked over at him, down, just a bit. He didn’t slouch, made no effort to make himself look smaller, which--Jango realized he quite liked. “Kill you?” Ben asked, tilting his head to the side. “Why would I kill you? I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that a prerequisite?” Jango asked, and realized, with another hot lurch in his gut, that he wanted to hear the boy say his name. Maybe scream it, a few times.

Ben shrugged. He said, dry, “It seems a bare minimum to know, before killing someone. Don’t you think?” 

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Jango said, and heard the appreciation in his own voice, unplanned, just...blossoming there. Alarming. He was supposed to be here to fuck this boy, to get rid of the thoughts that had plagued him. It was past time he made some progress in that direction. He released Ben’s wrists, handled his belt on his own, and said, “Maybe you should make better use of it.”

“As you wish,” Ben said. He raised an eyebrow at Jango and kept eye contact as he sank down to his knees, lovely and with that wisp of a robe still around him, half-obscuring his body before he hesitated and….shrugged it off, letting it pool around his legs.

He was lovely as Jango remembered; lovelier, perhaps, without Jango’s blood smeared across his skin. Jango bit his tongue, reached out, and fisted a hand in the boy’s hair, Ben still looking up at him, and said, “I expect to be impressed.”

Ben’s mouth curved, sharp, just for a moment as Jango jerked his slacks open with his free hand, just enough to pull his cock out and he didn’t know exactly when he’d gotten so hard. Maybe as soon as he’d stepped into the room.

“I aim to please,” Ben said, and before Jango could make a reply, the boy pulled forward just a bit against the hold in his hair, and licked across the head of Jango’s cock, and--

And it had been a long time since anything touched him but his own hand. He hadn’t even wanted to fuck his fist, for an age. He’d been….not content, really, but willing to just ignore erections until they went away.

He swore, tightening his grip and rocking his hips, sliding his cock into the hot, wet perfection of Ben’s mouth. The boy kept his eyes upturned, staring while Jango watched his cock slide past reddened lips, draw back again all wet and slick. And it was -- perfect.

Jango’s jaw clenched shut, hard, and he slid his other hand into Ben’s hair, too, the waves of it catching at his gloves - he hadn’t gotten as far as removing them - as he held the boy’s head just so, fucking into his mouth.

He could feel Ben’s tongue, rolling against the bottom of his cock, and the boy sucked, noisily, in time with each shallow thrust, loud, his mouth and cheeks getting wet, even before Jango swore and anchored him in place, pushing further.

Ben’s eyes fluttered, when Jango properly fucked into his mouth, into his throat. He felt the boy restrain a choke, watched his eyes get shiny and wet, cheeks getting blotchy with red, the color spreading each time Jango shoved forward, his breath hitching and wet, and still, he kept his eyes open, staring up and--

Jango blinked and jerked his head to the side, swearing viciously when he came, knowing, with a strange, twisting feeling, that he was never going to forget those blue eyes just watching him, the entire time. 

He ground his hips forward and then pulled on Ben’s hair, dragging him back and off.

The boy gasped for breath, audibly gulping at the air, and Jango dared a look back at him, kneeling there on the floor, mouth and jaw wet with spit, mouth brilliant red, breathing so hard his whole body shook with it, one of his hands braced on the ground, apparently for balance, even as he glanced up and asked, his voice wrecked and hoarse, “Impressed?”

“I’m getting there,” Jango rasped back, taking his fingers out of the boy’s hair. He had - at least - another hour of time. He found he very much wanted to use it. Perhaps even extend the arrangement. He’d had a few very good jobs. He could afford an entire night, easily. He exhaled, want curling down his spine, and ordered, “Go on, onto the bed. I want between your legs again. Properly, this time.”

[440mxs-wife]

Cookies and Milk

Pairing: Sam x Reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills

Word Count: 5060+

Warnings: None really, except here there be fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were on a supply run in town to restock the bunker's refrigerator and pantry, one of your jobs while the boys were on a hunt. The list for this run wasn't as long as usual, but you still had quite a bit to buy. On your list were the items to make meatloaf, spaghetti, beef stew, chili, and your famous lasagna.

As you were nearing the frozen food section and the end of your list, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a text message from Dean. They were on their way home, and had stopped at a gas station for fuel and snacks. He wanted to let you know about when to expect him and Sam home.

DW: Hey, sweetheart. We stopped for gas and stuff, but we're still about five hours from home. Wanted to let you know.

You: I'm in town now, on a supply run. How did it go?

DW: I'll tell you more when we get back.

You: Okay, Dean. Drive careful, see you guys when you get home. Over and out.

Dean's last text message had you a little concerned, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. The best you could do was be there for the boys to support them, whatever they might need. Something you'd been doing for quite some time now, it seemed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You've been bunking with the Winchesters for the past six years now, but you've known them much longer than that. Ever since Bobby sent them to help you on that wendigo hunt, you've been the best of friends.

Over the years, you had drifted in and out of each others' lives, meeting up on a hunt or taking a break at Bobby's house. It wasn't until Bobby passed away that you moved into your own room in the bunker and semi-retired from hunting. You knew hunting was important work, it was just that you felt you could be more useful in a support capacity.

The bunker's gym helped you keep in shape and maintain your fighting skills. For the most part, though, you were in charge of the bunker. Your duties mostly included supply runs, chief cook and bottle washer, research and medical service. You also fielded calls for information from other hunters, given the expansive Men of Letters' library.

You and Dean shared a love of classic rock music, action movies and baked goods. Whenever Dean needed a bit of cheering up, you knew just how to do it. Usually, a freshly-baked pie was all it took to put him on the road to recovery. Didn't matter what flavor, though you knew apple, cherry and pecan were among his favorites.

Sam was different. To you, he was the "quieter Winchester". With his warm hazel eyes, thick chestnut hair and long arms perfect for providing comfort when you needed it. The two of you bonded over books, whether for research or for fun. You didn't always see eye-to-eye on music, but he didn't mind watching a chick-flick with you every now and then.

He was particularly sensitive to other peoples' emotions, quick to offer comfort at the first sign of distress.  On the other hand, accepting comfort from those closest to him wasn't always easy for Sam. He had a tendency to want to process things on his own, away from prying eyes and concerned hearts.

With Sam, if you needed to talk, you could count on him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. You could be yourself with him, even let your inner "nerd self" shine through. As time passed, your feelings had developed to where you saw Sam as more than your best friend. You knew you had to keep those thoughts about him to yourself, though. The last thing you ever wanted was to risk a longtime friendship over what you were sure was one-sided affection.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you were putting away the groceries at home, your thoughts drifted back to your feelings about Sam. You wished there was some way to show him how much you cared, how you were there for him if he needed someone.

You remembered that one way you showed Dean that you cared was with a homemade pie. You wondered if something like that would work in the same way for Sam. So instead of pie, you decided to make Sam a batch of cookies. It would be your way of telling him that someone was thinking about him, like the pie did for Dean.

With a plan of action and a renewed sense of purpose, you rummaged through the cupboards and found that you had everything you needed for some oatmeal chocolate and peanut butter chip cookies. You hurried to put away the rest of the groceries so you could get started on the baking.

You got right to work mixing the butter, sugar, eggs and the other ingredients. You also made sure to sample a few of the chocolate and peanut butter chips. Got to check the quality level, you thought with a smile.

After you finished cleaning up from your baking endeavors, you still had a couple of hours before Dean said they would be home. You reached for your book that was left on the coffee table and you picked up reading where you left off. Next thing you knew, a hand was caressing your cheek, so you opened your eyes to see Dean smiling down at you.

"We're home, sweetheart," he said softly.

You yawned and stretched in your chair. "Welcome home, Winchesters," you replied sleepily. You pulled yourself into an upright position and looked around the room. "Where's Sam?" you asked.

Dean dropped his gaze. "He headed off to go take a shower," Dean answered. "This was a rough one, honey. I'm just glad it's over, though. It's so good to be home," he explained.

"I'm glad you're home too, Dean. Wanna tell me what happened?" you asked gently.

He took a seat on the couch next to your chair. "It was a lot of little things that added up to one giant mess. Nothing went according to plan, even more 'off book' than usual," Dean explained. "We both almost got clawed, but we managed to fight them off. Now they can't hurt anyone else," he remarked.

You stood up from your chair and held out your hand. "Walk with me, Dean, I have a surprise for you in the kitchen. I may or may not have made you an apple pie yesterday. You know, unless you're not interested...." you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Dean jumped up from the couch as if sitting on a spring, taking your hand as he reached his feet. "Really?" he asked excitedly. You nodded, and he gave you a peck on the cheek. "Bestest best friend ever," he grinned and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that night after a dinner of pizza and Dean having a third slice of pie, you went to your room to read to help you fall asleep. Dean's exhaustion started to take its toll on him, so he showered and after wishing you goodnight, he went to bed. Sam hadn't come out for dinner, but there was enough leftover pizza that you weren't worried about him going hungry.

As the night wore on, you started to hear talking from the direction of Sam's room. You put your book down, put on your slippers and carefully opened your door. You roamed the hallways, trying to find the source of the noise. It was at its loudest when you were standing in front of Sam's door.

You peeked into his room to see him in the middle of a nightmare, tossing and turning. A sheen of perspiration had formed on his brow. Your heart broke for him a little to see him in such turmoil when he should be at rest.

After getting a cool, wet washcloth for him, you carefully sat on the edge of his bed. You gently placed the washcloth on his forehead and reached to take his hand in both of yours. He jumped at the unexpected contact and his eyes flew open. His head swiveled frantically from side to side, taking in his surroundings and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Sam. I'm here, you're safe now. It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real," you soothed. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he started to come back around.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did," Sam rasped.

"No, I was awake, reading when I heard you in here, having your nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently.

"Not right now," he answered with a shiver.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised to discover that it was so wet. His clothes were soaked in sweat, as were his sheets. "Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, you'll catch cold if you don't," you remarked. "I'll take the sheets off and put them in the laundry room to be washed tomorrow. While I'm doing that, you change," you ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After he had changed into some dry clothes, Sam wandered into the kitchen for a late snack, since he hadn't come out for dinner. He knew you and Dean had pizza for dinner, so he headed for the fridge to get some of the leftovers.

He stopped when he saw the note on the table with his name on it, next to a plate of cookies and an empty glass. Sam didn't remember you making any cookies before they left for the hunt. He loved it when you made cookies. If he had seen them, he definitely would've taken some with him.

Sam looked around to see if you were near the kitchen and were going to join him, but didn't see you anywhere. He chuckled at your instructions that he was to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the tall glass of milk. Then he was supposed to drink all of the milk, even though it would have cookie crumbs in it. Well, if she insists, he thought with a grin. Sam poured himself a glass of milk, then sat down to attack the plate of cookies.

Per your instructions, he dunked the first cookie, letting it soak up some of the milk like a sponge. The first bite was heavenly, as it seemed to melt in his mouth. A groan of appreciation escaped his lips, not only for the taste, but for your efforts in making the cookies in the first place.

As the cookies disappeared one by one, Sam thought about how you helped him out of his nightmare tonight. You woke him up out of it, and took care of him by making sure he changed into some dry clothes. You also set up his sheets to be washed in the morning. That last hunt really took it out of him, with so much not going according to plan.

Sam welcomed any opportunity he could to confide in you about how he was feeling or just to feel your arms around him. He longed to hear your kind words and let them wash over him in your soft, soothing voice as it fell from those pouty, kissable lips. And your eyes always held such understanding. No matter what secrets he shared with you, he never saw any judgment in their depths.

Before Sam knew it he was out of cookies, so he followed your last instruction and drank all the milk. He smiled to himself because he had to admit that he felt a bit better than when he first walked into the kitchen. He took his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed out the glass, then he headed back to his room to sleep. The only part that would've made it better is for you to have also been in the kitchen, spending time with him and talking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you wandered into the kitchen to start making breakfast, still wearing your pajamas. Coffee was the first order of business, because Dean was very grumpy without it. You went to the sink to fill the pot with water for making coffee. You noticed that the plate and glass you left out for Sam had been rinsed and were waiting to be washed. A small smile crept across your face, knowing that your mission had been accomplished.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen shortly after you pressed the 'start' button on the coffee pot. He took a seat at the table and grumbled as he rested his head on top of the table. "Good morning, Dean," you giggled.

He lifted his head and stared at you through half-lidded eyes. "Is coffee ready yet?" he rasped.

"Not yet, but I'll make sure you get some as soon as it is," you chuckled. You squeezed Dean's shoulder as you walked by him on your way back to the stove.

You heard someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Sam," you said with a smile. "I hope it didn't take you too long to get back to sleep last night," you remarked.

"Good morning to you. No, I came in here after I changed clothes and had some cookies and milk that a certain someone left for me," Sam replied as he returned your smile.

You couldn't help but grin as you kept your head down and continued to prepare breakfast. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," you said.

"Uh huh, yeah right," he smirked. "I thought for sure you were going to come in here to join me, but you didn't," Sam pouted.

"Oh. I thought you might want that time to yourself, so I went back to my room. Sorry," you replied.

He stepped behind you to grab three coffee cups from the cabinet, then turned to glance over your shoulder. Sam was so close that you swore you could feel his breath on your neck as you flipped the pancakes.

"Something I can help you with, Sam?" you asked. As you turned to make eye contact with the man behind you, he was so close that your lips meshed against his ever so gently. Your cheeks immediately felt blazing hot and you closed your eyes tightly to regain your composure.

Sam jumped back in surprise, then touched his lips where yours had most recently been. He took a hesitant step towards you as you flipped the last of the pancakes. You put them on the platter and turned off the griddle. You brought the steaming stack of flapjacks over to the table, then awkwardly excused yourself from the room.

Dean stared after you as you bolted from the kitchen. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

A grin slowly spread across Sam's face as it dawned on him what had just occurred. He realized how perfect it felt to have your lips pressed against his, even if only for the briefest of moments. Sam also became aware of how much he wanted to do that again, but for longer and with even more contact. "I don't know, Dean," he said slowly.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, cutting into Sam's daydream.

"Perfect, Dean. Just perfect. Can you please pass the bacon?" Sam answered.

"You know this is real bacon, right?" Dean said as he eyed his brother.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, I'll burn the calories off tomorrow on my run," he assured Dean.

"Getting weird around here," Dean muttered.

Back in your room, you sat on the edge, head in your hands. What the hell was I thinking, kissing Sam? you asked yourself. Not like you hadn't thought or dreamed about it a thousand or more times. But with how he jumped back like he was burned, that was indication enough that he considered it a mistake.

Now it's going to get weird around here and that's my fault, you thought bitterly. You had to admit to yourself that his lips felt nice, and that you would like to do it for real and often. However, you decided your best course of action for at least today was to hole up in your room for a date with Netflix.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days after the "Kitchen Incident", as you thought of it, you decided to quit hiding out in your room. Whatever fallout was going to happen, you wanted to meet it head-on, then move forward, whatever that looked like.

Sam and Dean still went on cases, some that lasted a few days or even a week, while you stayed behind to run research. Life had seemingly returned to somewhat normal, or as normal as the hunting life gets.

Every once in a while, a plate of cookies and an empty glass for milk appeared on the kitchen table. Next to the glass would be a tented piece of paper marked, "For Sam". The usual instructions were written on the inside. He had to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the milk, then drink all of the milk. Sometimes there would be a quote from a movie that you had watched together, or some silly knock-knock joke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About a month had passed and Sam and Dean were on their way home from a demon hunt in Montana. They had stopped in Sioux Falls to rest up at Jody's house and hang out with her and the girls before heading home. You asked Sam and Dean to say hi to everyone for you, and that you wished you were there.

Dean asked if you were going to do any baking, to which you laughed and asked him what kind of pie he wanted you to make. "Well, sweetheart, as long as you're offering, would you make a pecan pie for me?" he asked.

"I can do that. Um....how was the hunt?" you wondered.

Dean knew what you were really asking, but played along anyway. "It was fine, just demons being demons, causing their usual trouble. Sammy got knocked around a little though," Dean answered. "For the most part, he's okay. Sprained his wrist and has a bump on his head," he explained.

"What?!? Is he okay? Does he have a concussion, are you sure his wrist is only sprained?" you rambled.

"Shh, shh, relax. He's going to be fine. Here, talk to him," Dean said as he threw his phone to his brother, who threw him an epic bitch face in return.

"Hello? Sam, are you there?" you inquired nervously.

"I'm here. Don't listen to anything Dean says, I'm fine. How're you doin'?" Sam asked.

"Just trying to keep busy while I wait for you guys to come home. I must have done around seven loads of laundry in the last couple of days, though," you giggled. "You and Dean had at least three loads apiece!" you teased.

Sam smiled and chuckled in return. "I'm sure sorry about that, honey. I'll try not to let the clothes pile up so much next time," he promised.

Jody looked at Dean, with her mouthing the word, "Honey?" Dean just shrugged.

"Oh, it's all right, Sam. I was only kidding. I've got plenty around here to keep me busy and out of trouble," you remarked. "I miss you guys, but I know you don't get much chance to visit with Jody and her girls. So, don't be in a hurry to get home, and I'll see you when you get back," you replied softly.

"It's all up to Dean when he wants to leave, but I'll tell him you said that," Sam said. "Until then, take care of yourself and don't work too hard, okay?" he asked.

"I won't. Bye, Sam," you answered shyly. You heard a click and the call was disconnected.

Sam threw the phone back to his brother, a smile on his face. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Jody's and Dean's eyes followed Sam as he left the room. Once he was out of earshot, Jody and Dean were sharing their thoughts about Sam's phone conversation with you.

"Is there something going on between those two?" Jody asked. "Because it sure seems that way to me," she finished.

"Yeah, you should see them at home. They'll be sitting at the table researching or doing something on their laptops. I'll look up and see one of them staring at the other, then looking away. It's kind of cute, though," Dean replied.

"I can imagine. So, you'll have a pecan pie waiting for you when you get home, that'll be nice," Jody remarked.

"Yeah, and Sammy will probably have a plate of cookies waiting for him on the table," Dean answered.

"Wait. Mr. Eat-A-Salad-With-Every-Meal eats cookies?!?" Jody exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, but only the ones she makes for him. It started after we got back from that werewolf hunt that went so bad," Dean explained with a grin. "At first, it was how she let Sammy know that he could talk to her about it or anything else if he wanted to. However, I think it's evolved into something more than that at this point," Dean said.

"Hmm. Maybe now it's her way of showing Sam how she feels. She might be too afraid to say it out loud," Jody suggested.

Neither Dean nor Jody had heard Sam come in from the kitchen. He heard the tail end of their conversation, the part about the reason you'd been leaving a plate of cookies out for him. "Hold on a minute. That's why she's been making me cookies?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Jody and Dean looked at each other, debating on what to say next. Dean finally rolled his eyes and spoke first. "Come on, Sam, add it up," he started. "I've seen the two of you making goo-goo heart eyes at each other when you think the other's not looking. Then there's that phone conversation between you today," Dean smirked.

"What about our phone conversation?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing, just that if you smiled any wider while you were talking to her, your face would've split in half. And somehow, I don't think this is a recent thing for her," Jody chimed in.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Sam wondered.

"Well, remember the last time we all got together with Donna and Doug, about six months ago?" Jody asked and Sam nodded. "I noticed how her eyes seemed to follow you as soon as you entered the room. Then she looked away when you smiled at her and had caught her staring. How her face fell when you started talking and laughing with another woman," Jody finished quietly.

"H-how was she looking at me, Jody?" Sam asked, even though he pretty much knew the answer.

"Like a woman in love," she replied gently.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "Really?" he asked, his voice higher than usual.

Dean nodded. "So, the question really becomes, how do you feel about her, Sam?"

"I think I need some air," Sam said as he got up and walked out to Jody's back deck.

Once outside, he tilted his head up to see the endless array of stars shining in the night sky. Get it together, man, he told himself. This is your best friend you're talking about. You've known her for years. Do you really want to lose that if she doesn't feel the same? he silently asked.

Looking at the other side of the argument, Sam asked himself what would happen if you did feel the same, and how he would know. He loved the late-night conversations you had when neither of you could sleep. The warm towel you placed outside the shower for him after a cold morning run. Your laughter at his usually lame-ass jokes. Even that heartbroken look on your face as he flirted with another woman at the bar was enough to indicate how you felt.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he marveled at how he didn't see it sooner. It was all in front of him this whole time, the little things you do to show you care. Comforting him after he'd had a nightmare, buying his favorite veggies for snacks.....making cookies. You were in love with him.

Sam was suddenly desperate to have you in his arms at this very moment. As the two of you gazed at the stars, he knew your eyes would sparkle with amazement. Then you'd turn your focus on him and give him one of your heart-stopping smiles.

At that point, Sam knew he'd be a goner. He wouldn't be able to resist capturing your lips in a searing kiss, if your mouth moved even a fraction of an inch in his direction. That last thought was what sealed it in his mind. He was in love with you. If even half of what Jody and Dean said was true, then he didn't want to waste any more time before telling you how he felt.

He walked back through the house and into the living room, where he'd left Jody and Dean. When Sam entered the room, they stopped their conversation, because to them, it looked like he had something to say. "Hey Dean? Um....Could we...." he fumbled.

"Yeah, we can leave for home in the morning, Sam," Dean replied with an understanding smile.

"Thanks," Sam sighed with relief.

"Go get 'er, Sam," Jody remarked in support, bringing a smile to Sam's face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had just pulled Dean's pecan pie from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. With any luck, it would be cooled off enough and ready to eat when he got home. There were also a few dozen snickerdoodle cookies you had made for Sam, resting on the wire cooling racks. You took out a plate from the cupboard and a tall glass. You placed about six cookies on the plate and set the glass next to the plate.

Taking out a blank sheet of paper, you folded it and tore it in half. On one half, you folded it into a tent and wrote "For Dean", then placed it next to the pecan pie. For the other half, you folded it the same, and wrote "For Sam" on the outside, then turned to write something on the inside.

Several minutes ticked by and you hadn't written anything. You couldn't think of a movie quote or line from Shakespeare to adequately express how you were feeling at the moment. You thought about your last conversation, the one where you heard he'd been hurt. Sam said it wasn't serious, but it was enough to cause you concern.

You decided you didn't want to hold back anymore when it came to your feelings about Sam. A hunter's life isn't always known to be a long one, and you were done wasting time. A smile broke out over your face as you resolved your writer's block. You wrote the three words that you felt best fit the situation, then left the note next to the cookies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam convinced Dean to drop him off at the bunker so he had some time alone to talk with you. Dean said he would use the time to go back to town for a pizza or something. Sam first went to the kitchen, because he smelled the evidence of your baking endeavors. He saw the plate of cookies and bit into one as he read the note. As soon as he read the three words, he ran out of the kitchen.

A knock at your door startled you enough to make you drop the book you were reading. You took a deep breath then turned the doorknob. As soon as the door was open, Sam's hands were on you, cradling your face as he smashed his lips to yours. The urgency of his kiss made you gasp in surprise, creating an opening for Sam's tongue to slip inside. As you returned the favor, you could taste the cinnamon and sugar of the cookie he ate before he knocked on your door.

You broke the kiss when you needed to catch your breath. "Wow, Sam," you whispered. "That's some 'welcome home' you've got there," you chuckled.

"Couldn't help it, I had to see you, baby," he murmured. His right hand slid behind your head, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Then I found the cookies and the note you'd left in the kitchen," he explained. Sam dove in for another kiss, but this one was slow and tantalizing, full of everything he was feeling at the moment. He pulled back from the kiss and guided you so you were both sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your hands slid up his chest and clasped behind Sam's neck. "I couldn't think of anything clever to put in the note this time. The more I thought about you, the less I wanted to hide how I felt about you. So I wrote the three words I believed would best fit the situation, and figured I'd explain once you read the note," you replied.

Sam grinned. "It said, 'Come find me', and how could I do anything else? I've thought about you so much these past couple of days. I don't want to hide how I feel about you, either. I love you," he declared, dipping his head lower to capture your lips with his own.

"Oh, Sam," you whispered. "I've felt this way for such a long time, but didn't know how to tell you. So, I baked," you both laughed. "I love you too," you replied softly.

You were about to pull Sam in for another kiss when you heard the bunker door slide open, which meant Dean was home. The two of you looked at each other and laughed, Sam's forehead leaned against yours. He gave you one last peck on the lips before he got up from the bed, his hand held out for you to take. You took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers as you walked out to see what Dean brought for dinner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

[ilguna]

Anteric - Chapter One (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing, KNIFE MENTION.

wc; 8.9k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

On the second day of every third month, you’re allowed to stand in front of the mirror. Four times a year, you get the chance to see how you’ve progressed over the months in between, and it’s only for a short amount of time. It’s vain to stare at yourself--to even take a peek--but it’s hard not to when you’re sitting right there.

It’s even harder considering you’re the one cutting your own hair. 

You steal a glance every now and then, curious as to what your face looks like now. The last time you saw yourself, you were still baby-faced, and people found it easy to pick on you for it. Now, as you see yourself in bits, you think that you look older, even if it’s only a little bit. The bullying stopped a while ago, but the other kids always have much worse names to call you.

To worry about them would be self-indulgent, since you’re not supposed to care what everyone else thinks of you. And to some extent, it isn’t really a problem for you in the first place. Considering that they mostly resort to name-calling, it’s easy to miss what they’re saying most of the time. You stopped listening a while ago. It’s when they get physical, do you start to have trouble.

It’s taken a while to perfect it, but you don’t immediately retaliate anymore. Mostly because it started to reflect onto your family, and it’s not really something you guys need at the moment. You’ve already got a few heads turned your way, which is going against the entire premise of the faction. And it also expresses what type of parenting has been going on inside of your house.

You wish you could say that it’ll be easy to stay under the radar from now on. With the problem found, the easy route would be to just be on your best behavior for the rest of high school. Unfortunately, it’s not like that, and you have a sticky feeling it’s not going to be that way for a while.

You thin your hair out between your fingers, eyes fixated on what you’ll be trimming. If you take off too much, it’ll be harder to put your hair up. Then, you’ll have to find an alternative way to style your hair so that it looks as boring as possible. Or, as everyone else in the faction says it, unnoticeable. 

You snip the hair, watching as the little bits float in the air, slowly making their way down. You place the scissors onto your lap before running a hand through your hair, getting out anything that’s loose. They fall together in clumps, joining the rest of the hair that’s on the floor.

Judging by touch, you think that the length is fine. The only real way to test it is to pin your hair up, so you use the hair tie around your wrist to do so. When you look in the mirror to make sure that nothing on your head is straying, you see your brother, Reed, standing behind you.

“Good morning.” your voice is fairly quiet, not trying to wake up your sister.

You’re also hoping that he hasn’t been standing there long enough to see each individual time you’ve snuck a look at yourself. He might be your brother, but he’s the only one keeping you in check, making sure you stick to the rules. Sometimes, you’re allowed to get away with acts of defiance like this, especially in the confines of your own home. On other days, he won’t hesitate to call you out on your behavior. It’s hard to tell what mood he’s in all the time, he hardly expresses what he’s feeling anymore.

“Good morning,” he says back, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. If he were annoyed, he would’ve voiced it by now, “If you needed help, you could’ve woken me.”

You shake your head, “No, I thought I’d let you sleep.”

You get off the stool, being careful not to step in your own hair. What you said to Reed is only half-true. Lately, Alyssum, your sister, has been waking up early in the morning, making it impossible for either of you to sleep in as much as you would like to. You decided that asking Reed to do something for you was fairly selfish, and you were also unsure if he would get mad about it. And the second reason why you didn’t wake him is because you’re hoping that he’ll take care of Alyssum so that you can make breakfast.

Oh, and the final reason is because Reed isn’t very good with a pair of scissors. He’s been giving you haircuts since he got custody of you, but he isn’t improving as quickly as you hoped he would. The only thing that he’s mildly good at, is spinning the scissors around his thumb while he finds the next spot in your hair to butcher. You’ll have to give him some credit, in all the times you’ve watched him with the scissors, he hasn’t once cut himself. He deserves a little praise for that fact.

“Okay, thank you.” he says.

You set the scissors onto an adjacent table, fingers finding the broom handle. You give Reed a smile, watching as he goes to leave the room. He’s halfway out the door before he stops, pulling the grey panel on the wall to cover the mirror. You disappear before your own eyes. The next time you should see yourself in the mirror will be three months from now, if things go how everyone in your faction hopes.

Reed doesn’t look at you again as he leaves the room and goes down the hall towards Alyssum’s bedroom. It looks like you’ll get your way with making breakfast after all. You don’t actually mind Reed’s cooking, as there isn’t much he can mess up in the first place, but taking care of Alyssum is a handful. 

You sweep all of your hair into the dust pan, before carefully dumping it into the garbage can. When the lid shuts, you place everything back to where it was before you grabbed it. This is where it’ll likely sit for a couple of weeks, until Reed volunteers the house up for company. Then, you’ll need to help clean.

In Alyssum’s room, which used to belong to your parents, you hear the faint sound of cooing from Reed to calm her down before she has a meltdown. You pause on the top of the stairs for a second, staring at the open door with a slight urge to go over and look in to see the room before you leave for school today.

Then your feet begin to bring you down the steps, saving you from a morning of grief.

--

The condition of the road out where you live makes it practically impossible to drive a car. Because of this, your family decided a long time ago that it wasn’t necessary to buy one to drive you and your brothers to school everyday. Especially not when there’s perfect public transportation at the ready, that’ll get you there all the same.

Even now, when it’s just you, Reed and Alyssum, Reed didn’t find a need for a car either. He also didn’t think it was necessary to relocate to a smaller place, with only two bedrooms instead of three. Abnegation says that opposite genders can’t stay in the same room--except if you’re married, of course--but it doesn’t hold the same weight when it comes to housing sisters. Reed nearly went ahead and put you and Alyssum into a room together, until he realized that an entire room would be going to waste. So, she got your parents’ room all to herself.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t jealous over it. She’s staying in that room, and she’s not even old enough to comprehend the fact that she is, much less that she should be appreciating it. She’s in an intimate space, one that you had begged for multiple times. The only reason why Reed said no is because he was sure it was self-indulgent at this point.

It’s not. You know why you wanted to. It’s because it was your last effort to make it feel like you were still close to your parents. With Alyssum, the room had to be changed so that it would fit her needs, but the room the way it was before would have worked just fine for you. Now, you’re left to nothing but hazy memories that only seem to fade the older you get. 

There’s nothing you wouldn’t give to hug them one last time.

The public bus comes to a slow stop in front of you, brakes squealing loudly. You and a couple more Abnegation teenagers stand at the stop. When the doors open, you don’t hesitate to go inside first, otherwise you’ll be standing there all day trying to decide an order. You head down the middle, eyes landing on a free spot off to the side.

You sit, scoot yourself as far back as possible, and then ball your fists when the bus starts moving. The ground is uneven, which makes for an awful ride out of your neighborhood. The good news is that the further you go, the more the asphalt begins to smooth out. There’s a few more stops on the way to the school, which allows you to watch as the bus fills up with adults, on the way to their work. 

On the final stop, you watch as an Erudite woman with sleek black hair and electric blue glasses comes onto the bus. She’s the last person to get on the bus, all of the seats are full. Her eyes search anyway, with that sort of knowledge unknown to her. As she draws closer, you get to your feet, hand reaching for the bar above you to hold onto.

She notices your act of kindness, but her eyes narrow into slits anyway. You stare at her, and then you look towards the front of the bus. She sits where you were moments before, and not a single thanks leaves her mouth. In Abnegation, it’s expected of you to give up your spot of comfort for someone else. Apparently in Erudite, it’s not custom to express gratitude. Either that, or the hate speech they’re preaching is pretty effective, you can’t tell the difference anymore.

The road smooths out completely as you near the Hub, which means that you don’t have to brace yourself for potholes anymore. Still, the bus sways and groans as it tries to navigate through the streets. When it stops in front of the school, you readjust the backpack straps on your shoulders before making your way out.

The Upper Levels building--the high school, in other words--is the oldest building in the city. It’s tall, made of steel and glass. In front of the building is a large metal structure, symbolism for something. After school, the Dauntless like to climb it, and see who will reach the top first before they fall. You’ve never seen someone make it all the way up.

Sometimes you’ll stand around and watch them climb. You’ll note where they place their hands, where they wedge their feet in places that shouldn’t be possible. And you also notice when exactly they go wrong. Maybe they’ll shift their footing a little too hard, or they don’t move quick enough to the next piece of jarred metal. The Dauntless are fearless, but they retreat the fastest when they know they’re going to break a bone.

A part of you would like to try and see how they do it. Climbing it can’t be that hard, can it? You think that if they put a little more thought as to where they’re going exactly, they’d be up the structure in a heartbeat. The other part of you says that the idea is stupid, you’ll only get yourself hurt. You’ve never done something like that before, so how do you know that it’s easy?

After staring for a couple of seconds longer, you head inside of the school. The hallways are already pretty crowded, with students covering every inch of what would normally be open floor. The energy inside of the building is contagious, everyone here has an antsy feeling about them. They only seem to get louder, move quicker, and mess around with each other.

All classes are cut in half today because of the Aptitude test that’ll be taking place after lunch. This is why everyone is so antsy, the test will be the decider of where you’ll be spending the rest of your life. Which faction you’ll choose to go to tomorrow during the Choosing Ceremony. After today, you’ll never have to step foot into this building again. It’s more than just a relief.

You start toward your first class, gritting your teeth at the thought of the test. You’re sure that it wouldn’t be such a bad event if it weren’t for the fact of what happened last time someone in your family got to choose. He went quietly, without a word, a look in your direction, or a goodbye. You were thirteen then, you still remember the ache in your chest as you helped fold chairs with the rest of your faction. Reed didn’t even say anything.

He still hasn’t said anything.

You wait outside of the English classroom for a moment, looking down the hallway in the direction that you just came. All you see is the different colored clothing moving around, Erudite joining Erudite against the wall, Amity playing hand-clapping games in the middle. It’s only a few seconds later you’re seeing your best friend

As always, he’s hunched over, trying to look like he’s not as tall as he is. He’s in the middle of a growth spurt and if he stands at his full height, he can see inches over everyone’s heads. Last year he didn’t have to worry about ruining his back, but now he has to, otherwise he’ll start calling attention to himself. Which is hard enough considering the fact that he’s Finnick Odair.

You’ve known him since you were a kid, the two of you grew up side by side. You’ve seen him at plenty of dinner parties, volunteer movements, and at school. It was only a matter of time before you grew to be friends, and it just so happened to be sooner rather than later. If there’s anyone that you’d trust with your life, it would be Finnick. 

He wears the same grey Abnegation robes that you do. His hands are stuffed into his front pockets. Per Abnegation rules, his hair is pretty short to keep it from distracting himself and getting in the way. His face starts off straight, but the closer he gets, the more he smiles, until it’s a full-on grin. He does this every single day without fail.

“Good morning, I see that your hair isn’t mauled this month.”

You deadpan. Leave it to him to immediately pick out your hair like an ass, “I see that your mom refused to let yours grow out more.”

Finnick makes his usual mocking face at you. He can’t really say what he wants to, there’s always people listening in on conversations. So, he developed a special face to give you each time to mock you in retaliation if you mock him. You’re still working on your face, but in the meantime, you mirror how he looks.

“Ready for testing?”

“Yeah, I think that I’m going to rig it so I don’t get Abnegation.” Finnick pulls a hand out of his pocket to scratch his arm.

Another thing about Finnick that’s important, he hates it here more than you do. There’s times when Finnick’s personality completely overlaps the Abnegation ideal’s. He doesn’t like to be quiet, he doesn’t like to give up his seat on the bus for rude Erudite women, he hates the constant reminder by his parents to do ‘his part’. You can’t blame him.

“What’re you going to rig it for? Erudite?”

You watch the smirk cross his face, “Even though that would definitely piss off my parents, I think I’ll have to pass.”

Finnick’s not completely thrilled by what Erudite has to say about Abnegation, either. Finnick might not like it here right now, but it’s his home. He was born here, raised here, and his family lives here. He can’t turn his back completely to it. Besides, what Erudite is doing is stooping low.

“Are you going to take it seriously?” he asks, turning toward the classroom.

Just before you go inside, you give him a half-shrug, “Might as well.”

During lunch, you sit across from Finnick. The two of you eat quietly, occasionally talking if a topic pops into your head. You mostly pick at your food, not really hungry. You’re honestly feeling nauseous. The teachers all day have been reminding their classes that the aptitude tests are nothing to worry over. But they are when you have things that are tethering you to the faction.

The test administrators call ten names at a time, one for every testing room. Most of the administrators are Abnegation volunteers, naturally. But there’s a Candor man and a Dauntless woman in two out of the ten rooms, because the rules state that you can’t be tested by someone in your own faction. So, you’ll be stuck with either the man, or the woman. The rules also say that you can’t prepare for the test, or talk about your results after. The aptitude test is a complete mystery to you. The idea alone is adding to the nausea.

The tables inside of the cafeteria are split up into different cliques. With the Abnegation at one table, sitting quietly--with the exception of a few people like you and Finnick--and trying not to inconvenience anyone around you guys. If you were to do something that your faction doesn’t normally allow, it would call attention to the Abnegation. This is why no one at the table speaks above a whisper.

The Erudite table is piled with different books, some of them being handed around like they’re toys to play with. They have no disregard for how loud they are when they discuss what they read--just like the Dauntless and Candor. The entire Candor seems to be split two ways in an important debate. There’s a couple of people standing, shouting over the others to try and get their point across. A few people are laughing, smiling, and pitching in as a joke. 

As for the Dauntless, they’re always loud. Cheering, playing games, their laugh echoes across the entire cafeteria. Everyone is used to them, so no one turns a head when there’s a sudden scream coming from their side of the room. At the moment, they seem to be putting things on the line as they play an arm game. Whoever overpowers the strongest will win it all, but have to play the next person in line as a repercussion.

And finally, the Amity are all doing different things, almost as loud as Dauntless and Candor combined. There’s a group of girls at the end of the table singing a song together, which slowly seems to spread and infect the rest of the table. On the other end, some girls chitter and giggle to themselves.

A single thought comes to mind, about how all the rest of the factions are allowed to have fun. While the Abnegation have to sit and be as non-distracting as possible. You know that you love it here, but sometimes jealousy strikes when she sees just how little you’re able to do. In moments like these, you can see why Finnick doesn’t want to stay. And it almost feels like a good enough reason why you shouldn’t either. Your results have to be Abnegation, though.

The test administrators come out of the hallway together in a group. They read the ten names, which consists of two people from each of the factions. You are one of the names called, with Finnick being the second one. Together, the two of you rise from the table and join each other’s side. As you follow behind the other testees, you say nothing.

The hallway where the aptitude tests are administered is typically off limits, considering that the rooms are for the sole purpose of the tests. Today will be the first and last day that you’ll ever get to see the inside. The rooms are separated by mirrors. You’ll get to see yourself for a second time today.

Before you head into the room, you share a brief look with Finnick. He raises his eyebrows, gives you a childish grin, and then goes inside. You smile a little to yourself before you head inside room 8. Inside is the Dauntless woman, she shuts the door without a word. You resist the urge to take more than a peripheral glance at yourself in the mirror.

The Dauntless woman is tall, she has tan skin and wears a pure black suit. Her dark hair is long, and pinned out of her face. When she looks at you, you’re sure that she’s glaring, but it has to be her natural look. Her eyes shift away from you as fast as they came. You trail behind her.

The mirrors cover every wall in the room, making it practically impossible to avoid staring. You keep reminding yourself that you looked this morning, that it should be good enough, that you didn’t change in a few hours. To save it for three months from now, when you’ll have passed the Abnegation initiation and you’ll be more satisfied with who you are.

The ceilings are white, and the light that it emits is also white. In the middle of the room sits a singular reclined chair, where you’ll be sitting when you take the test. You stop next to it, not sure if you should go ahead and just sit on it. You look to the Dauntless woman for guidance, but she doesn’t seem to notice for a while.

When she speaks, her voice is smooth and calm, as if she never has a reason to raise her voice, “My name is Laurel. Go ahead and take a seat.”

You nod, slowly sliding onto the chair. You place your head on the headrest, and at the angle you’re sitting, the white light has a perfect opportunity to shine straight into your eyes. Laurel doesn’t say anything else as she works on the machine, which is to your right. You stare at her, still trying to get the thought of just a peek at the mirror, out of your head.

When she’s done with the machine, she produces two electrodes that she places onto your forehead. The third belongs to her, right in the middle, and then she attaches a wire to it, and then to you, and then to the machine. She works quickly, she must do this often if she’s so confident in her movements.

As you watch her move, you take notice that besides the dark clothing she wears, there’s no other hint that she’s in Dauntless. No piercings blatantly on her face, no tattoos on her arms, face or neck. She could belong in any faction, and you wouldn’t have a clue which, if it weren’t for the black clothes.

And as you continue staring, you finally see it. It’s just a peak of a tattoo on her forearm, the only reason why you’ve caught it is because her blazer sleeves don’t go down to her wrists. It ends in the middle of her forearm. You didn’t get a good enough look at it the first time, but when she stretches and reaches for something next to the machine, you can see a mannequin. A headless one, just the body on a stand. There’s no color to it, it’s just shaded in different tones of grey.

“I like your tattoo.” you say, as she moves behind you. Not being able to see her directly anymore makes you a little anxious. 

You calm down some when she speaks, “Thank you.” She appears to your left, now. A vial of clear liquid in her fingers, out in your direction. You carefully take it from her, “Drink.”

You look at it for a moment, figuring that this is where the test starts. Not when you drink it, but whatever comes after. You’re careful not to let any of it spill onto your clothes. It tastes just like water, but your head feels heavy. Laurel takes the vial from you, you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

--

When they open, you’re not in the reclined chair. You’re not even inside of the aptitude testing room, you’re in the empty cafeteria, void of all students. The silence is overwhelming, you’re used to the screaming, laughing and singing. Now, you’re the only person here.

In front of you, on the table, sits two wooden baskets. Inside the one on the left, sits a hunk of cheese, a healthy yellow-orange color. While in the other basket is a knife, with a long silver blade. You stare at them for a moment, and nearly jump out of your skin when a voice breaks the silence.

“Choose.” The woman says behind you.

“What will I need them for?” you ask, eyes flickering between the choices.

“Choose.” The woman repeats, impatience growing in her voice.

Your fingers reach for the knife. When it’s in your hands, you stare down at it. The only times you use a knife is when you’re the one cooking dinner. It used to be a chore shared between everyone in your family, but now it’s only you and Reed. Depending on who starts the week off cooking, you’ll make dinner four times a week, or three.

The baskets disappear, the cheese with it. The only thing that stays is the knife, which you turn over in your hands, trying to find a comfortable way to hold it. A door creaks behind you, making you turn halfway to see what made the noise. You’re met with a dog, slowly inching its way towards you, lips peeling back as a growl rises in its throat.

In Abnegation, no one is allowed to have a pet. Whether it be a dog, a cat, a fish, or anything else. If you own a pet, it must be for your own pleasure, and not for the benefit of the animal. Therefore, owning an animal would be self-indulgent. The other factions don’t have to follow this rule, though. They’re allowed to own anything they’d like to.

Unfortunately, this means you have no experience with dogs. All you do know is that when you take a step backwards, the growl turns into a snarl. It’s loud and threatening enough to make you reconsider running away. You drag your foot back forward, and stare as the animal gets closer. 

The dog thinks you’re a threat, right? So, what’s a way that makes you look friendly? You try your best to find an answer while the dog gets closer. Soon, it’ll be right on top of you. You’ve got to work quicker than this. It can’t be that difficult. You close your eyes and try to remember all the times you’ve seen Alyssum or Reed afraid. Reed is practically impossible, but for Alyssum, it’s all the time.

She doesn’t like strangers, Reed says that this is common among little kids because they don’t know who is coming towards them. Reed says that you used to run behind your mother’s legs until the stranger seemed more approachable. You try to imagine a scene where someone would look more approachable.

And then it comes to you.

Your eyes open, looking at the dog, who is mere inches away from you. Slowly, you lower yourself into a crouch, giving the dog a smile. You hope that it can tell the difference between a smile and you baring your teeth. To further your friendliness, go you ahead and gently set the knife against the tile flooring, the blade makes a clicking sound.

With the sudden urge to hold your hand out toward the dog, you follow your instincts. It’s your only choice, you’d hate to use the knife against the dog. You’ve never owned one before, never came across one. To have your first encounter be a murder would be miserable, you’re sure that it would stick with you for a while after.

The dog doesn’t stop moving, but you were right to hold your hand out. The dog carefully lowers it’s lips back into place as it touches its nose against your palm, sniffing. You just want to be friends, you’re not here to hurt it. All the dog has to do is calm down. You slowly lower one knee to the floor, trying to make the situation even better.

It works. The dog licks your hand, and then nudges its head into your hand. Gently, you rub its ears, letting it come closer. The dog licks your face, right up the side of your cheek. You knock back a gag at the smell of its breath as you use the sleeve of your shirt to wipe off the slobber. You keep with petting it.

One second, it’s only you and the dog in the cafeteria. The next, you see a little girl standing across the room. She wears a white dress, so she must be from Candor--the faction’s colors is black and white, as truth and lies are black and white, with no grey area. She stares, her eyes land on the dog, and then a smile spreads across her face.

She starts towards you, “Puppy!” she calls, hands outstretched. 

You don’t think there’s a problem at first, but as soon as she starts to run, you tense. You reach your hand out, grabbing the back of the dog’s neck, hoping that’ll be enough to keep it in place. However, all it takes is one lurch towards the girl, and your hand slips. The girl stops in the aisle, eyes widening at the sight of the aggressive dog.

With how fast you get up, you nearly slip on the polished floor, chasing after the dog. It isn’t until you’re right next to it, do you remember the knife that’s still sitting on the floor, waiting to be used. It’s too late, you’re too far away, and if you turn back now, the dog will attack the girl. The dog goes to spring, you jump towards the girl.

Your hand curls around the back of her head to protect it from slamming against the tile. Her small arms wrap around your body like a hug. The floor draws near, and you tense again, bracing for the collision. But it’s all gone. The dog, the girl, the cafeteria. You’re back inside of the testing room, still alone.

You accidentally glance at the mirrors, and find that there’s no reflection. You go a little closer, hands touching the glass, a small frown appearing on your face. When you go towards the door, your handprint leaves a clear streak across the surface. Your hand turns the doorknob downward, and you push the door open.

There is no hallway on the other side of the door, only the bus you rode to school this morning. Carefully, you go out to join everyone else, but find that all the seats are full. You reach up, toward one of the metal handles on the ceiling just in case today’s ride isn’t smooth. When you look behind you, eyes searching for the door you came through, you see the bus. There was no door.

You stare out the window, over the top of a man’s head to watch the world outside blur. In his hands is a newspaper, opened wide enough to cover his face, but you can still see his hands. Slowly, you watch them clench around the paper, making it crinkle under the pressure.

“Do you know this guy?” The man asks you. You hum slightly, raising your eyebrows to see where he’s pointing to on the front page. The headline is bolded, “Brutal Murderer Finally Apprehended!”

You frown slightly, looking down to the picture next. You stare at it for a while, not sure what to say. The woman in the picture stares straight ahead, she has bangs, the rest of her hair is behind her shoulders. She doesn’t have any sort of facial expression, she’s just… calm.

“Do you?” he insists, your eyebrows push in.

You don’t know. Maybe you’ve seen her around somewhere at school? But she looks older than you, and you don’t know any older women. You can’t shake the expression on her face, though. You do know her? That can’t be right. You look to see the man’s face behind the newspaper, but you still can’t properly see. What do you tell him? You can’t just admit to something that you’re not sure is true.

“No.” you say slowly, hoping that’s the right answer. Up until now, you’ve been sure as to what to say and do, but now you’re caught in the unknown. 

The man is silent for a moment, before he slowly raises to his feet, newspaper dropping to the ground. Your eyes land on his face, which is angry, his eyebrows pulled downward. He clenches his fists, towering over you. When he breathes, all you can smell is tobacco.

“You’re lying, I can hear it in your voice.” he snaps, voice raising.

“How is it lying if I’m unsure?” you ask back, staring him right in the eye, “Would you have rather me said yes even if I didn’t know? That would also have been a lie.”

This is a situation where you lose either way, isn’t it? Unless you were supposed to say yes, that you do know her. Just because you vaguely recognized her doesn’t mean you know her. It means that you’ve seen her before. Then again, this is all a test, none of it is real. Which means that he isn’t real either.

“If you know her, you could save me.” he says, and when you don’t budge, he shouts, “You could save me!”

You lean forward a little bit, “No.”

--

You wake with a jolt, your hands finding the arms of the reclined chair. There’s a breathless feeling in your chest, as you struggle to get a hold of yourself. Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that it takes a while before you can even focus on anything else.

Laurel slowly picks the electrodes off of your forehead, and then hers. She says nothing to you. Somehow, her silence is louder now than it was before you went into the test. She sets everything back into place next to the machine. She takes a deep breath, “I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

You stay where you are, watching as she leaves through the door you came in. This is not supposed to happen. You’re practically told nothing about the test, what you’ll do inside, and what happens after. But it doesn’t take a genius to know that there is something wrong. You just don’t know what it is, and she hasn’t told you just yet.

Minutes pass, you pick at your nails with your fingers to keep from gnawing them off. The problem is the test. You did something inside of the test to cause this. But what part of it? The knife? The dog? The girl? The man? You did all of it the way you would, which is what you need to do in order to get the most authentic test results. It’s the whole point of the test in the first place!

You can hear the doorknob turn before Laurel walks back in. She still gives you no indication as to what she might be thinking when she comes over. She stops right next to you, fingers rubbing over the mannequin tattoo on her arm. Her lips are pressed together as she stares at you.

“Your test results are inconclusive.” she says.

You open your mouth, and then close it. Inconclusive? There’s been no result?

“Each stage of the simulation is supposed to eliminate one or more of the factions. But you managed to only rule out two of the five.” Her face is calm, her voice suggests otherwise. When you don’t interject, she continues, “Grabbing the knife is a Dauntless-oriented response, which got rid of Amity completely. You threw yourself between the dog and the girl instead of attacking the dog, so Abnegation. But you can’t be Abnegation because of what happened on the bus.

“Which then, also, ruled out Candor because you didn’t tell the truth. However, when the man said that you could save him, you still didn’t say anything, which isn’t normal for people in Abnegation. The question you posed to him on the bus suggests Erudite, same thing for how you handled the aggressive dog.” she stops talking.

You’re quiet too, “So if I’m not Amity and Candor, I’m Erudite, Abnegation and Dauntless?”

“You hold equal aptitude for each of those factions, yes.” she says, and for the first time, you see a frown appear on her face. It looks unusual on her, especially now that you’ve figured she doesn’t typically show emotion, “(Y/n), when tests are inconclusive… it means the person taking it is Divergent.”

Suddenly, you don’t feel like you should be calm with this news. You’ve never heard of the word before, but the way she whispered it tells you that it’s not good. No matter what context it lies inside, no one should want to be Divergent. And here you are, stuck with the label.

“Do not tell anyone of your test result.” Laurel straightens up, “Not family, not friends, not the leader of the faction you choose next. Being Divergent is dangerous, and so is standing out.”

She moves out of the way, allowing you to get to your feet. She moves back over to the machine. You dig your nails into your palm.

“You have to report the test results, don’t you?” you ask, watching her.

“Yes.”

You press your lips together momentarily, “What are you putting me in as?”

Laurel’s fingers pause, thinking this over. When she looks at you, her eyebrows are raised, “What do you want it to be?”

You don’t want to make this choice. This should not be left up to you to decide. You didn’t even know what you really wanted going in, how are you supposed to know now? Especially when there aren’t any answers being given to you? But then you remember what you thought in the cafeteria.

“Abnegation.” you say.

It has to be Abnegation. There was no choice about it.

“I’ll put in Abnegation, then.”

You stand in the room, unsure of what to do next. But you guess that you can’t just disappear. If you’re already in deep trouble with the Divergence, then that means leaving on your own will could raise eyebrows. You just have to tough out the rest of the day, as soon as you’re alone, you’ll be able to think.

And convince yourself that you’re making the right choice.

--

Instead of taking the bus home, you walk with Finnick to the Abnegation housing so that you can spend as much time together as possible. This will be the last time the two of you will get to hang out and talk before the Choosing Ceremony tomorrow. Then, you’ll be left to switch to a different faction, or stay with the one you’re in now. Even with the time you’ve burned walking here, thinking to yourself, you’ve made no progress. 

You thought that it would be over as soon as you picked Abnegation, that you would be able to move on immediately. But it feels like you’ve made the wrong decision. You don’t feel complete or satisfied with the answer you gave Laurel. In fact, each time you think about what you told her, you feel sick. You can’t be regretting it, can you?

If you are, you have less than a day to fix it and make up your mind.

Finnick kicks a rock, sending it flying down the asphalt. You watch as it slowly skitters along until it falls into a pothole, temporarily out of sight until you pass it when you get up there.

“So, you going to tell me what you got on the aptitude test or not?” you ask, looking at Finnick.

A smile cracks onto his face, “You’re not supposed to ask, you know.”

“Out of all the rules we’ve broken, you think this one matters the most?” you raise your eyebrows, “Wow, maybe you do deserve to stay in Abnegation.”

Finnick shoves your shoulder hard enough to make you barely lose balance. You laugh, he tries not to. But the longer it lasts, and the louder it gets, he can’t help the smile that comes across his face.

“It’s not funny.” he says, chuckling slightly.

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because you won’t shut up.” he shakes his head.

You wait a moment, before trying a different angle, “Did you end up rigging it?”

“Nah, I was too nervous to. Plus I got stuck with the Candor guy so that kinda ruined it.” Finnick then cracks up, “All I did was look at myself in the mirror and the guy said: ‘That’s not very Abnegation of you’. So I told him that the Candor aren’t supposed to lie, speaking their mind wasn’t included the last time I checked. He wasn’t very happy.”

“I’m sure he called your mom immediately after.” You’re laughing.

“He probably cried after I left.” Finnick says, trying to keep a straight face. A second later, he’s laughing hard enough for him to stop so that he doesn’t fall.

Here, in the safe confines of the Abnegation neighborhoods, you’re not held under the same weights as you are inside of the school. You don’t have to be composed here, which means that you can be as loud as you want. You can laugh, joke, and play around with Finnick if you really wanted to. You’ve done it plenty of times in the past, before. It’s only when you’re in public spaces, around the other factions, when you’re supposed to be forgettable. 

This is a reason why you don’t think that staying here could be bad. You will always have time to goof off, it’ll just have to be in private.

“How did your test go? You looked worried after.” Finnick stands his full height, reaching his arms into the air as he stretches. When he’s done, he grabs the backs of his shoulders and lets his elbows hand in his face.

“Oh, you know, my worst nightmare came true.”

Finnick falls quiet. Just like how you know that Finnick doesn’t want to be here, he knows that you don’t exactly find this place pleasant, either. There’s a lot of memories that have attached themselves to you against your will. Plus, everyone in this faction knows your secrets and what has happened to you in the last couple of years. It’s practically inescapable.

“So, you think you’ll stay?” he asks.

The two of you stop in front of your house. He lives further down the road, so Finnick has the perfect chance to walk you home everyday. On some days, you don’t like it because he’s more high-energy. But today, you wish that you could walk and talk with him for a little while longer. Take paths that you’ve never taken before, see new things and find a reason to stay that you haven’t thought of just yet.

You give Finnick a shrug because you don’t know. You may have made your results Abnegation, but they don’t tie you down. Just because you score something on your test doesn’t mean you have to stay. You didn’t get Amity and Candor, but tomorrow you could still choose to go there. It’s your choice, but you have to remember that it’s permanent. It has to be a choice that you can live with.

“I’m still looking for a reason not to.” you tell Finnick, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you’ve gotten?”

Finnick gives you a half-smile, “You’ll have to wait and see tomorrow.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, “It better be good.”

“I’ve decided to become a brainwashed Erudite.” Finnick says, he pretends to push up glasses that aren’t on his face, “According to my calculations, the chemical solution that you are currently holding in your hand--”

“Okay, you can shut up.” you laugh, “It’s horrifying enough trying to picture you in glasses.”

Finnick smiles again, “No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll be okay, right?”

“Finnick, you’re my best friend. You’ll have to do a lot more than leaving me behind to make me mad at you.” you hold out your hand for him to take. In Abnegation, greetings are always done through head nods. You’re not supposed to get physical with others. However, this could be it. And you’ve broken so many rules, why not another? 

Finnick places his hand in yours. You go to shake, figuring that the Candor greeting could be good enough, but he pulls you in. You collide with his body, feeling his arms wrap around you as a hug. For a moment, you stand there, arms hovering over his body. But then you place your head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. You might not have been cut out for Amity, but a goodbye like this feels natural.

“Choose what you want, not what everyone is telling you to.” he murmurs.

“Same thing goes for you, okay?” you pull away, giving him a warm smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Stupid’s my middle name.” Finnick backs up, and then holds up his hand, “See you on the flip side.”

You give him a wave, and then head inside of the house. The door clicks shut behind you, you stand in the doorway, staring into the living room. Reed is at work, Alyssum is next door, being watched by the neighbors. You walk through the quiet house and to your room. It’s bland, only the bare necessities in here. There’s no decoration on the desk, shelf or walls. You let the backpack drop to the floor.

You leave the house to go next door, knuckles hitting the door hard enough to call attention to the fact that you’re outside. You wait patiently, looking toward the direction where Finnick had gone. You’ve only been to his house a few times, and it was always to have dinner with his family. 

The door in front of you opens to reveal Naida Dorazio, a family friend. She’s the mother of one girl, and four boys. Her two oldest kids are already gone and in different factions. The girl, Calandra, is well into her twenties, like Reed. She’s the oldest, and transferred to Erudite long before they started releasing reports about Abnegation. As for the second oldest, his name is Caspian, he was in Reed’s grade. They were good friends just before he transferred, you can’t remember where he is now.

Because Naida has three boys to take care of, who are all in either Lower Levels or Middle Levels, she stays home most of the time. She has a job, but it’s part-time. It’s her husband, Amon, who works full-time. She volunteered to take care of Alyssum during the day for your family so that Reed could go and work. You just have to be sure to pick her up after school.

Naida gives you a wide smile, “How was your test?”

“Good, thank you for asking.”

“It’s an easy decision, I hope.” she says.

You smile back, “Yeah.”

She disappears from the doorway for a moment. When she reappears, she’s got Alyssum in her arms. Upon seeing you, Aly stretches her arms in your direction, similar to how the little girl in the aptitude test reached for the dog. You bring Alyssum into your arms, she places her head against your shoulder.

“Thank you.” you say.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

She shuts the door when you start towards your own house. Alyssum will probably be put down for a brief nap so that you can make dinner, even though you made breakfast this morning. Technically, it should be Reed’s turn. But without any homework to do, and with how tired Alyssum is, you need an excuse to busy your hands.

Alyssum falls asleep almost immediately, you end up in the kitchen, humming to yourself. You defrost chicken, and start with a can of vegetables on the stove. You do the dishes, and bounce back to cook the chicken when you’re done. By the time that Reed comes home, dinner is ready, Alyssum is already in her high chair, and you’re setting the table.

Reed sets his things by the door, then helps you set the rest of the table. You place the food into serving plates and bowls, then set it on the table too. Reed has to make a separate plate for Alyssum, but she knows to wait until you and Reed are situated. You let Reed start and pass the bowls and plates to you so that you can serve yourself. In Abnegation, no one eats until everyone has a full plate.

The room is filled with forks and spoons clinking against the glass plates until Reed breaks the silence. You don’t speak first anymore. For a while, you used to. You just wanted something to talk about, because you can’t guess what Reed feels like. But after Reed got upset at you enough times, you stopped. How are you supposed to be Abnegation if you’re not comfortable in silence? 

“How was your aptitude test?” he asks. For once, he actually watches you answer. Reed will ask questions out of courtesy of you. Like you said, you used to speak a lot during dinner. Sometimes he can tell when you just want something to talk about. Your day at school, his day at work, a dinner plan with a family, whatever.

Today is not one of those days when you need to speak about what happened. 

“It went well.” you say, looking at him.

Most of the time, Reed won’t actually stare when you answer his questions. It’s like he’s always half-here, half-somewhere else. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t listen, though. He’s always listening, and if you aren’t careful about what you said, he’ll bring it up later, in a different conversation.

“If it went well, then why did you make dinner?” he asks, eyebrows raising slightly as he cuts into his chicken.

He acts like you can’t do anything nice in this house, “I didn’t have any homework. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to start dinner early.” you pause for a moment, not sure whether or not you should ask the question that’s burning on your tongue. But it’s coming out either way, because you’re not a child, and Reed can’t keep seeing you as one, “Is there a problem with that?”

Defiance is not a natural Abnegation trait, obedience is. 

Reed doesn’t say anything in turn. He can’t ask about your results, Reed is a rule-follower. But maybe you saying that is a big enough hint of what you might have gotten. Laurel might have put you in as Abnegation, but you’ve got two other factions right on it’s tail. Some stronger, and a much better option for you, than others.

Tonight, dinner ends in a tense silence. Reed doesn’t allow you to clean the table, or the dishes. And there will be no time together in the family room tonight, either. Which is probably for the best, you’re not all that upset. Reed will need time to calm down before he speaks to you tomorrow morning. He doesn’t lose his composure often, but when it happens, it’s not pretty.

You go up to your room, shutting the door behind you. You stand in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. Tonight could be your last night inside of your room, inside of the house that you’ve called home for sixteen years. Or, you could come back to it tomorrow evening, after folding chairs and helping the other Abnegation clean the room.

The more today drags on, the more your sight begins to blur.

You’re not sure you can stay in Abnegation. Not without Finnick here to be around when you’re having a hard time with Reed. And if you stay, there’s a chance that he might too. Finnick is completely capable of picking things for himself, but you know that there will be a certain amount of guilt when it comes to him. You’re his best friend, he’s seen you in every condition that there is to be in.

Which might be all the more reason to go live somewhere else. It could mean something better. A fresh start.

A sick feeling rises in your stomach when you realize that this must be the exact confliction that Mox must have been in the night before his Choosing Ceremony. Mox, who seemed the most selfless out of the three of you. And still he had the courage to switch factions and try something new.

The question is, do you?

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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Coach Cavill - Chapter 9

Summary: Before they go to the autumn market, Amelia, Benji, Isabella and Henry have to talk about what happened the day before.

Coach!Henry Cavill x Amelia Jung (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 6.3k

Warnings: None

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I wake up before the kids do, as I usually do. I mean, maybe it’s a habit that I adopted back in Korea, because in the first fifteen years of my life, I wasn’t able to function properly before ten in the morning. However, during my trainee days and when I was still in Forever Hope, that meant starting the day at six in the morning. You had to eat breakfast, get ready for the day, dance practice, singing lessons, improving my Korean, going to the gym. By the time I moved back, my biological alarm goes off at six a.m. and I always get up then, since I can’t help but to get up early.

This habit comes in very handy, as I’m a mother now.

I take a quick shower, get myself ready for the day and I catch myself putting in extra effort for my appearance. I put on a little blush, put on some light lipstick and I spend a lot of time on my hair. I descend downstairs, where I make myself a cup of tea, before I plop on the coach. I think I only got one hour of sleep at the end of the night, because I kept worrying. Worrying about what this might to do Benji and Isabella. How the dynamics will change between them and their father.

Oh no, I haven’t even thought about how this will go over in town. I remember when the people in Luna Meadows got ear of what happened between Dean, me and how Mindy Simpleton was involved. However, that barely had anything to do with the kids. To some extent, of course it had something to do with the kids, but it was mostly about me and Dean. This however, is between Dean, Mindy and my kids.

Tears burn in my eyes, the same tears I have been holding every single time I looked over at my kids while they were asleep. Why does everything has to be so complicated? Why did I have to get divorced in this manner? It’s not that I have anything against divorce, but I just wished that it was one where Dean and I just fell out of love, but we still had the kids best interest in mind. That we would work together, just like we did when we were still together.

But that is not the case, not at all.

My phone rings, indicating I have received a message and I look at the screen. My heart starts to race, my hands all of the sudden get really clammy. Henry is already texting me? It’s only seven in the morning…

Henry: I hope I’m not waking you up, but I was wondering what time the Jungs would like their breakfast? 🤗

I let out a small chuckle, as the tears of either sadness or happiness—I don’t know at this point—run over my cheeks again. The fact that he uses an adorable emoji, one that is my favorite too… I don’t even know how this makes me feel.

Amelia: I’m up already, so whenever you want.

Henry: The place opens up at seven thirty. I can come right after I picked it up?

Amelia: Sounds good.

Henry: Want some cappuccino with that as well?

Amelia: You know me too well

Henry: I’ll bring you a cappuccino and I think Benji could use some coffee. How about I also bring some smoothies with me for whoever wants to?

Amelia: Just make sure the smoothie doesn’t have pineapple in it. Isabella is allergic to that.

Henry: Noted

Amelia: Please bring the receipt, so I can pay you back

Henry: You can pay me back with your presence, Amelia. That’s good enough.

Henry: I mean that

I lean back on the sofa, as I let out a deep sigh. Time slowly passes, as I continue to sulk over this. When I just started dating Dean, I never thought about having kids and neither did Dean. When I missed my period, Dean actually went to the store, to buy me some tests. They were all positive and despite being terrified, we both were also over the moon. It felt complete and I was so happy, just like Dean. We were going to be parents and he promised me that he would be there every step of the way.

As I told Henry on our date, I had to recover quite a few years after I had Benji, before I even dared to have another child. I wanted two kids, wanted that my firstborn had a companion, someone that no matter what happened to Dean and I, was there for them. But after two kids, I knew that it was enough for me. I have no desire to expand my family and I thought that even after the divorce, he would keep his promise to me: no more kids for us.

But Dean is doing what he promised me we wouldn’t do. I know that it’s unfair to want him to keep his promise…

I remember his face when Isabella was born. He missed the birth, being unable to get out of his meeting in time. It was rough, it was painful and unexpected and I so wished he was there with me. But he looked so happy, as he was holding Isabella in his arm, sitting down next to me on the hospital bed. ‘I’m so sorry that I wasn’t here,’ he whispered. ‘But thank you for this beautiful human being.’

I leaned against his shoulder, nuzzling my face in his shoulder. ‘I don’t think we should have more kids,’ I told him. ‘Unless you want me dead.’ I couldn’t believe that Eve tried to tell me that the second time giving birth would be easier and worse: that I blindly believed her. ‘Two is enough, don’t you think?’

He softly chuckled, visibly scared to wake her up. ‘I do think that two is enough. I love you, princess,’ he told me, kissing my temple. ‘I’ll forever do that.’

What a fucking liar.

The doorbell rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. I quickly jump up and rush to the door. When I open it, I see Henry with some bags in his hand, Kal—who is excitingly wagging his tail—standing right next to him. ‘Good morning,’ he says with a smile. ‘Kal and I come bearing gifts in the form of breakfast.’

I want to say something, want to be polite or funny or at least grateful, but I can’t seem to find the words.

Except tears.

‘Oh, no,’ Henry says, placing the bags on the porch. ‘Come here.’ He holds out his strong and protective arms and I don’t even think a second letting myself being engulfed in his arms. ‘You look exhausted,’ he notes.

‘I am,’ I mumble. ‘I don’t think I have slept more than an hour last night.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispers. ‘Let’s get breakfast settled, okay? You drink the cappuccino while Kal keeps you company. I can make myself at home and set the table. How about that?’

‘I don’t want you to think that I only invited you so you can serve as my butler or anything.’

He holds onto my shoulders, so he can look me into my eyes and says: ‘I know that is not your intention and nor is that the case here.’

‘Thanks once again,’ I say, placing my hands on his. ‘You’re amazing.’

‘Not a single problem.’

He grabs the bags, before I step to the side to let him and Kal in. We walk to the kitchen and he hands me my cappuccino. This is exactly what I need. I lean against the kitchen island, as Kal presses his cold wet nose against my hand, urging me to pet him. ‘Henry,’ I say, to gain his attention. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday.’

‘Don’t,’ he says, in a tone a lot sterner than I have ever heard him use before and Amelia, I swear, don’t let your mind wander. ‘Don’t you dare feel sorry about it, not even for a second.’

I’m not listening. ‘I’m not just apologizing for last night’s events,’ I say. ‘I’m especially apologizing for that kiss. I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Why not?’ Henry asks, placing the smoothies on the table, checking the labels again.

I shrug, but he isn’t looking at me, so I add: ‘I don’t know, felt… Wrong. Weird. Too much too soon.’

‘Well, if this eases your mind: I don’t think it felt wrong, weird or too much too soon.’ Henry smiles, causing my stomach to twist in a way that I forgot that was pleasant and I smile back at him. When was the last time I felt like this? ‘And besides, I didn’t mind it one single second.’

Maybe it’s a good thing I hear two sets of footsteps storming down the stairs, so I don’t have to think about an answer for this. ‘Coach!’ Isabella yells, before rushing up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he crouched down for her. ‘You’re here! For what?’

‘I brought breakfast,’ he says to her. ‘I have four smoothies and you can pick the first one, how about that?’

She smiles brightly. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Henry confirms.

She looks over at me with a hopeful and happy smile on her face. It’s such a change from yesterday. ‘Mom, I get to pick the first smoothie.’

‘Make the choice worth while,’ I say with a smile.

Isabella’s eyes fall on Kal. She jumps a little, as Kal trots over to her, pressing his cold nose against her cheek, causing her to squeal.

Benji carefully approaches. ‘Hi coach,’ he says.

‘Hi Benji, slept well?’

‘I did,’ he answers. ‘Thank you.’ He stands next to me, lets out a long sigh and then says: ‘Good morning, mom.’

‘Good morning honey. I’m glad to hear you slept well.’

He nods. ‘Did you?’ My silence must be his answer. ‘I’m sorry. I think Isabella and I both forgot how this situation must be tough for you too.’

Henry looks over his shoulder, as one corner of his mouth curls up as he looks over at us. I sometimes wonder what I did in life to have two amazing kids, who are very considerate towards me and others for that matter.

‘Don’t you worry about me,’ I tell Benji. ‘I’m all okay. Go help set the table.’

He holds my hand for a brief second, giving it a squeeze, before walking over to his coach to help. My phone beeps, only to tell me that Dean send me a text.

Dean: You up?

Amelia: We don’t want to talk to you yet. If we did, I’d text you, remember?

Dean: I want to talk.

Amelia: Please, just read my previous message and for once think about your kids first, instead of yourself.

Sometimes it stuns me that I was married to him. Was he always this selfish and nearly childlike or did that change the moment he exchanged me for a younger model?

Who he got pregnant. Oh my, I still can’t believe that.

‘Mom, you can pick your smoothie now. I chose the orange with tangerine juice. Benji chose the one with banana, oranges and coconut milk. There is a banana mango one and a strawberry raspberry one left,’ Isabella says, dragging me out of this virtual conversation.

‘Banana mango, sweetie,’ I say, as I walk over to the table, to sit next to her. I look over to Benji and Henry, as they sit across from us. Henry thanks Isabella as she hands him the smoothie that is left and I let out a deep sigh. ‘Okay, we have to talk about the elephant in the room.’

‘We know,’ Benji says, though he looks like he’d rather be somewhere else. I mean, you and me both, kid. If I could, I’d skip this conversation, but if there is one thing motherhood taught me, it’s that the most painful conversations, the ones that deprive you from any sleep, are the ones that are very very important. ‘If there is something that you only want to tell me, maybe only to each other or only to Henry, you can just say so. I won’t judge and neither will anyone else at this table. Is that clear?’

‘Yes mom,’ the two of them say.

I nod. ‘Yesterday it became pretty obvious that you weren’t happy about Mindy’s pregnancy. How did they tell you about this?’

If there is something I have learned over the course of this divorce and trying to make this co-parenting work, is to always ask about the entire situation, so I know all about the wrong things their dad said, so I can make it up to them as we go.

Benji clenches his jaw, as he looks away from us. Isabella looks at me and decides to speak up. ‘We were sitting at the table in the kitchen. Mindy made us cupcakes and it had the text: ‘Congrats big brother’ for Benji on it and ‘Congrats big sister’ for me on it,’ she says. ‘Benji asked if it was a joke and then dad told us it was not and we should be happy about it.’ She looks at her big brother, before she says: ‘That was when Benji got pretty mad.’

Benji scoffs. ‘Well, he can’t fucking force me to be happy, right?’

‘Language,’ I say. Maybe Kal senses that he needs the most support right this moment, because the big dog struts over to Benji, placing his head against his arm. ‘But you are right,’ I say. ‘People can’t force you to feel a certain way. What happened after that?’

‘Well,’ Isabella continues, ‘Benji went upstairs to grab his stuff and came back with mine as well. He told dad that we were going home, that we had to think about this. That’s when dad got very angry. He told us that we should stay here and celebrate this. I told him that I wasn’t feeling very festive. He then said to me that I had to suck it up and fake it.’

When I was still together with Dean, he wasn’t the most well equipped dad, with the greatest parental decisions. I mean, he was a well loved English teacher in high school and to some extent, he is actually good with kids, but only for a certain amount of time (read: a maximum of three hours spread over multiple days). Naturally, he isn’t a good father. But when we were raising Benji and Isabella, he was willing to listen to me, to at least try his best to make the right decision. Though I sometimes wondered what on earth was going through his mind from time to time, I saw that he tried and I loved him for that. He admitted multiple times that he wasn’t naturally a good parent, not in the way I was, but that he was willing to learn from me. It was rough, but it was also doable, since we worked as a team.

The second he moved out of this place to move in with Mindy, it seemed like every parenting tip I had ever given him over the course of fourteen years, was thrown right out of the window.

‘Right,’ I mumble, thinking about Dean’s “fake it” tip. I gave the kids that tip once, when they had to go to parties thrown by kids they both didn’t like. Then it was useful, now it feels depriving our kids from having their own emotions. ‘Okay, then what?’

Isabella looks up at me, taking a sip of her smoothie. ‘Then I said I wanted to go home with Benji, but dad told me that it was too late for me to go home. Benji told him that if I wanted to go home, he was going to take me home, no matter what time it was. He grabbed our things and we went home.’

‘But he followed us in his car, continuing to say how we broke Mindy’s feelings and while that wasn’t my intention,’ Benji continues, ‘I was just mad, because he ruined everything.’

‘What did he exactly ruin?’ I ask him, though I think I might know where he is going.

‘Our family.’ He stares at the muffin in front of him, as I see tears form in his eyes. Henry gently places his hand in the back of Benji’s neck, almost as an encouragement for him to continue talking, but also for letting him know that he is not alone. That we are all here for him. ‘He ruined us. He betrayed you, mom,’ Benji says, his voice breaking in the process, something that on my end breaks my heart. ‘Now… He is betraying us, because he is not a good enough dad for me or for Isabella. How is he going to love another kid, when he doesn’t even love us? What if he loves them more than he loves us? What if that kid is better than us?’

No ‘recently divorced’-blog prepared me for this, at least not the ones that I have been reading. Fuck, how do I respond to this? I mean, his worries are obvious and valid, but as his mom, there is something that I can say that will help him in understanding and dealing with this situation. I clear my throat, as I look over to Henry. He bites his lip, as he seems to be at a loss for words as well. I really have to figure this one out all by myself. I wished Johnny and Eve were here as well. Or even my parents for that matter.

‘He did ruin our family,’ I eventually say. ‘He did betray me and I don’t understand why he is starting a new family, when he indeed has shown that he wasn’t the greatest dad to either of you.’

‘You are going to say but, aren’t you?’ Benji asks.

I look at my smoothie. ‘Maybe,’ I say. I take a sip of my smoothie and say: ‘I will let you decide what the two of you are going to do with this. But I’m going to tell you something that you have to keep in mind, okay?’

The two of them look at me, both with a nearly identical frown, a trait they inherited from their dad. ‘Okay.’

‘This is going to be a very happy time for Mindy.’

‘How do you know?’ Isabella asks. ‘You weren’t even there.’

‘True, but I have been pregnant two times. Knowing that I was expecting you two, were the two best moments of my life. Mindy will have a kid of her own and that is very exciting. Being a first time mom, or a second time mom, third time, whatever, for most people it’s wonderful. Hearing that she went out of her way to tell you guys, means she is very happy.’

Benji frowns and Isabella doesn’t seem too sure of what I’m trying to do here. I don’t really know how to continue this, if I’m being totally honest.

‘What your mom is trying to say,’ Henry decides to butt in and I’m so thankful for that, ‘is that you don’t have to go your dad anymore, but that you can send a card for example, to wish Mindy well. You can write that in a card, with something for their new baby.’

‘Why would we do that?’ Isabella asks.

‘Because that is the mature thing to do,’ I explain to them. ‘I mean, there are a million things I would rather do, but I am mature and will not do that.’

Benji sighs. ‘But if we do that, we don’t have to go anymore?’

‘Well, you don’t have to go in the first place,’ I say, ‘but if you do this, there isn’t any reason for your dad to be angry at you. He probably will be, but we didn’t hand it to him on a silver platter.’

Isabella nods. ‘We can buy something for the baby,’ she says. ‘And we can write a card. Maybe you two can help us.’ She points to me and Henry. ‘You are actual adults, so you probably know what to say.’

‘Henry can help us with that,’ I say. ‘He was born in England and he might be a little bit more polite than I am.’

Benji chuckles. ‘Because you might be very mature about this, but you actually want to tell them that this is a bad idea?’

I let out a laugh, but I also have to hold in my tears, because… That is exactly what I want to do. While I’m not the biggest fan of Mindy at the moment (or ever will be for that matter), she is a young woman and from the looks of it, she is not very happy in the life that she rolled into from the last few times I saw her, so… This is a bad idea, for both parties involved.

But I’m not interfering with other people’s love life, especially not in theirs, since it is not my place to do that.

‘Is there anything else that you want to tell me?’ I ask.

‘Well,’ Benji says, ‘just one thing, to all of you: I’m sorry for yesterday. I know that I scared Isabella, I know that I broke some things here and I know that I hit coach.’

‘It’s all good, kid,’ Henry says. ‘Don’t you worry about it.’

‘You know I don’t care about those types of things,’ I say to him. ‘As long as no one is injured, we’re all good.’

Benji looks at his sister, who blinks her eyes. I can already tell that for dramatical sake, she keeps quiet. ‘Well,’ she says, looking at her smoothie, ‘you did scare me a little bit.’ Isabella, honey, for your brother’s sake, don’t drag this out… ‘But I understand that you get mad from time to time, so I’m not mad at you. I forgive you.’

Benji is visibly relieved and nods. ‘Well, good then.’ He takes a bite of his muffin and Isabella copies his movements.

‘That’s it?’ I ask, a little bit confused.

‘That’s it,’ Isabella confirms. ‘Benji and I are going to be mature.’

‘Okay…’ I have no idea what I have to say to them now. ‘Remember, if you change your minds, that’s okay. You can always think about it again and if you want to you can always talk to me or Henry or Eve and Johnny about it.’

‘We know,’ they say in unison, both taking another bite from their respective muffins.

Have I done parenting exceptionally good? Was sleeping on it for a night, enough to digest this easier? Am I a successful parent? Should I write a book or something, to share my apparent wisdom with others?

I look over to Henry, who has a smile on his face as he nods approvingly. We eat our breakfast and Isabella is the ever drama queen, while Benji continues to seek approval from his coach, something that will forever warm my heart.

I tell them that we’re going to the autumn market and that they should get dressed. The two rush upstairs, already fighting who can shower first, and I lean back in the chair. Kal sits next to Henry on the floor, his head against his arm. It must be nice, to have a companion like that. ‘Answer this for me: have I found the perfect formula for parenting?’

Henry smiles. ‘I think you might have,’ he says, finishing up his smoothie. ‘How are you?’

‘I think I’m good,’ I whisper.

‘Come here,’ he says, as he pulls back the chair where Benji was sitting on a few moments ago, patting on the seat. I walk over to him, plopping on the seat. Henry pulls the chair closer to his and honestly, that is the biggest power move I have ever seen someone of the opposite sex do.

Before he can say anything to me, I ask: ‘I’m doing good, right? It was the right thing for me to tell them to be mature?’

‘It was,’ he says. ‘You are an excellent mother.’

Oh no, this shouldn’t make me cry. I bite my lip, before I let out a soft sob. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘No, no, no,’ Henry says, ‘This is all totally understandable. This is a lot of change and quite the stressful time for you, Dean and your kids. But remember, you are doing good.’ Just as he did with Benji, he places his hand in the back of my neck and smiles. ‘When we’re at the autumn market, we should not only buy something for their new baby, but maybe, if you allow me, I can buy something for the kids. Something they want.’

I let out a chuckle, wiping away my tears. ‘You are a very interesting man, mister Cavill,’ I say to him. ‘Very smart too, working your way into my heart, by being kind to me and my kids. Men around the world should take notes.’

He smiles, as his cheeks turn red. For a second I wonder why on earth he does this. The fact that I have kids is not scaring him away. My ex-husband and the way he and his new fiancée are involved in my life, doesn’t make him leave.

This man is the jackpot.

‘Henry, I’m sorry you rolled into this whole family mess,’ I say.

‘What did I tell you about apologizing?’ he asks me.

I smile, as I shake my head. ‘I should save it, I know, I know. Let me say this instead: Thank you for staying. I know many others wouldn’t have done that.’

Henry smiles, but he can’t say anything to it, because we are brutally interrupted. ‘Mom!’ Isabella yells, ‘Benji won’t let me in the bathroom.’

I chuckle. ‘Duty calls.’

✰ ✰ ✰

‘Dear Mindy,’ Isabella reads from the card, ‘congratulations on your baby. We are very happy for you. However, co- consi- Benji, what is this again?’

Benji scoots closer to his sister, reading the card. ‘However,’ he continues, ‘considering the circumstances, we find it very difficult to celebrate with you. Please accept this gift for your new baby and we wish you nothing but the best. We hope that we are welcome when we want to come over. Lots of love, Benji and Isabella.’

We are sitting at a large picnic table, with some hot chocolate and extra whipped cream, specifically asked for by Isabella and me. Henry, who sits next to me, has placed his hand on my leg and that is exactly the kind of support I need. I have wrapped my arm around his, to place my hand on his. My fingers play with his. ‘You agree with this?’ I ask the two of them.

‘I do,’ Isabella starts. ‘It sounds very mature, don’t you think, Benji?’

‘It does,’ he agrees. ‘Thank you, mom, coach… I feel better already.’

‘Want to drop it by or send it to them?’ Henry asks. ‘If you want, I can drop it off, if none of you want to bring it.’

We Jungs all agree a little too quick.

This causes Henry to smile. ‘Well, I’ll do that and before you worry, Amelia, it’s all good. I don’t mind.’

‘Coach,’ Isabella says, ‘you like my mom, don’t you?’

Henry nods. ‘I do like her and I sure hope she likes me too.’

‘She does,’ she confirms for me. Am I that obvious? ‘Do you like us?’

‘Very much, so,’ Henry says. ‘And Kal really likes you too.’ Kal sits next to Isabella, licking her cheek. ‘I really like spending time with the Jung family. Makes me feel less alone.’

‘Do you miss your family?’ she asks.

He shrugs. ‘Maybe a bit, but not a lot.’

Isabella nods, before she says: ‘We like it too when you are around.’

‘That’s wonderful to hear,’ Henry says and it almost sounds like he is touched by it.

She looks at her brother and coerces him to say something, with just her eyes. Since Benji has a very hard time saying no to her—ever—he nods and adds: ‘We like it that you make our mom happy.’

‘Oh guys, that is really not necessary,’ I say, hoping they would stop, but Isabella won’t zip it, because she adds: ‘Our mom deserves someone. She always tells us that we are her greatest treasures and while we believe that, it’s nice to see someone who cares.’

‘Okay, now you really need to stop talking,’ I laugh, ‘because I’m going to cry if you keep going.’

Henry squeezes my leg, before he admits: ‘You have wonderful kids, Amelia. Both of them.’ And that on their end, causes Benji and even Isabella to blush.

I nod. ‘Yeah, I sure do. Now, enjoy your hot chocolate, before it is cold.’

‘Can we go into the ferris wheel?’ Isabella asks, licking some of the whipped cream of her drink. ‘Please, mom?’

‘Of course,’ I answer.

‘Will you come with us?’ she pushes.

Benji nudges his sister. ‘Bella, remember that mom is afraid of heights.’

‘You’re afraid of heights?’ Henry asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

‘Maybe a bit,’ I confess, ‘but the last time we went was three years ago and I think I have grown. Besides, we have a wonderful dog and a Henry with us. I think I can manage.’

Henry starts to laugh, as well as Benji and Isabella, who give each other a high five, because we’re going in a cart together. ‘Coach,’ Benji starts, but Henry shakes his head.

‘When we’re not training, you can call me Henry,’ he tells them. ‘Both of you.’

‘Really?’ Isabella asks, her eyes starting to sparkle with hope.

He nods. ‘Really. I might be Benji’s coach, but when I’m at your place, I’m not. I’m just Henry, okay?’

‘Copy that,’ Benji chuckles, before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. ‘Henry.’

When we finished our hot chocolate, we get in line to go in the ferris wheel. Thankfully for my kids, dogs are allowed, otherwise I’d happily stay behind on the ground with Kal. We get in and I sit next to Henry, as Benji, Isabella and Kal sit across from us. ‘This is okay,’ I say, looking around me.

‘Mom,’ Isabella laughs, ‘we’re still on the ground. Don’t be ridiculous.’

Benji holds back a laugh. ‘You can still get out now.’

‘I’m totally fine,’ I say, but that’s such a lie. I breath in deeply, before slowly breathing out, hoping to calm my breathing a bit. The cart moves and I let out I high pitched scream. Thankfully the cart is closed and no one can hear me, except everyone here. My two kids start to chuckle and I scrunch up my nose. ‘Is it too late to get out?’ I ask.

‘It is now,’ Henry laughs. ‘You two are being awfully mean to your mother, laughing at her like that.’

‘One time, coach— I mean, Henry, mom, dad, Benji and I went to California and we also sat in a rollercoaster that stops for a while at the top. Mom was crying.’

‘Don’t share those stories with him,’ I say. ‘That is not… Oh no, we’re so high! I don’t like this.’ I close my eyes, as my shoulder tense up and are near my ears.

I can feel Henry laughing silently next to me, before he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

‘Are we nearly down yet?’ I ask.

Benji laughs. ‘No, mom, we’re almost at the top.’ The cart shakes as we come to a halt and I nearly puke from the sudden movement. ‘We can see our house from here.’

‘Mom, open up your eyes,’ Isabella says. ‘Please, mom, just look. For us.’

For us. She knows exactly what buttons to push. I open one eye, wince at the sight of the entire town, before opening the other one too. ‘Maybe you should breath,’ Henry chuckles.

‘Shut up,’ I chuckle nervously. ‘Oh, we can indeed see our house.’

Isabella stands up and I nearly yell at her that she should sit down, but this cart can handle movement. Besides, I don’t want to come across as that kind of mother. ‘Henry, can we see your house?’

He nods. ‘Right there, with the orange garage.’

‘You live in Miss Bonny’s old house?’ Benji asks. ‘They say her spirit still lives there and she eats little kids.’

Henry smiles. ‘Well, I’m all alone with Kal there. No spirit of Miss Bonny. It’s still a bit bland though.’

‘You want me to make something for you?’ Isabella asks. ‘Or maybe we can help you decorate it. Mom is really good at decorating. When dad moved out, the three of us completely redid our living room. We can paint, we can hang up wallpaper and we can find decorations.’

‘I would love that,’ he says with a smile. ‘Besides, I could use some help. I’m utterly useless when it comes to decorating.’

Benji smiles. ‘Then we really should help.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Henry and I watch as Benji and Isabella are in the arcade, playing away after Henry gave them like a billion quarters. We sip on our tea, with some cookies in the middle of us, as we sit across from each other. ‘So, how do you like the Luna Meadows autumn market so far?’ I ask him.

‘I absolutely love it,’ he admits. ‘This is such a lovely town. I’m happy I moved here and I’d like to take you guys up on that offer, of the three of you helping me decorate my place. I have been postponing it since the moment I arrived.’

‘Of course, let that be our way of thanking you for today. I honestly did not expect you to buy all of us matching pajamas, including a pair for yourself,’ I laugh. ‘And you’re sure you don’t mind bringing that package? I mean, I can send it to them or ask someone else to drop it off…’

‘I can just place it on their doorstep, right?’

‘You can, but… Don’t you think that it’s weird? Considering that there is something going on between the two of us.’

He shakes his head. ‘I want what is best for the kids and you. Really, I honestly don’t care about what your ex husband might think of it, what Mindy might think of it or the entire town for that matter.’

‘Gosh, you have such thick skin, Cavill. It’s admirable, really.’

He shrugs. ‘Barely.’ Henry holds out his hand for me to take and I hesitantly place mine in his. His thumb gently caresses my fingers. It feels so familiar, as if we have done this forever. For a second I’m afraid that people might see, but on the other hand: I don’t care. I’m happy right now.

I look up. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Why did you marry your ex in the first place?’

Even if he was taken by surprise, he doesn’t show it. This man has an incredible pokerface and maybe it’s a blessing that I can’t even play poker; my face is an open book and Henry seems to read it with ease. ‘My parents thought we were a good match,’ he says. ‘I mean, I’ve known her since high school and I liked her as a friend, but… The both of us, we were never a match. However, she started dating my best friend behind my back, we finally got our divorce and I never saw her again. That’s the short, less pathetic version.’

‘Oh my, Henry, I’m so sorry. Did you date after that?’

‘I did, but it never felt good,’ he confesses. Henry tilts his head and smiles. ‘It never felt like how I feel about you. The second I lifted up that tampon box and looked into your eyes, it just clicked.’

‘Shut your face about the tampon box. When someone asks us how we met, we’ll just stick with the ‘you’re Benji’s new coach’-story.’

Henry smiles, while I am at a loss for words, since I’m drowning in his beautiful eyes. I don’t really understand why some parents would force their kids to marry someone, they don’t feel comfortable with. I still feel like there is so much more to the story then what he has told me, but I’m not going to pry. The fact that I completely tell him my entire life story, doesn’t mean that he has to.

‘Mom, Henry, look!’ Isabella yells, as she rushes back to us. She sits next to Henry and holds up her lion stuffed animal. ‘Benji won it for me.’

Benji sits down next to me, as I pull my hand back from Henry’s. ‘I don’t have any quarters left.’

‘We gave you tons of quarters,’ I chuckle.

‘Yeah, it may have cost me all of the quarters to win two,’ he confesses.

‘Two?’ I ask him, since Isabella is only holding one.

He holds up a little bear, twice as little as Isabella’s lion. ‘For Mindy’s baby,’ he says, causing Henry to look up as well. ‘Make sure it’s in the package,’ he tells his coach.

‘You’re a good kid,’ Henry says, taking over the bear from Benji. ‘You’re really going places, mark my words.’

✰ ✰ ✰

Dean: Your new boyfriend brought over the gift.

Dean: I honestly don’t get what the big deal is.

Dean: That you don’t like this, whatever, but the kids should at least have the human decency to bring over the package themselves.

Dean: The kids are coming over next week again.

Amelia: If they want to.

Amelia: And by the way: you’re welcome.

Dean: For what?

Amelia: The gift the kids prepared for Mindy.

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Special Occasion

Sam x Rowena, 2750 words Summary: Sam loves all the pretty little sexy things his lover wears. When she hints that she might like him to take a turn in the lingerie, he plans a surprise for her.  (This story fits in the Celebrations AU) 

With all the thanks to @cracksinthewalls, @there-must-be-a-lock​ and @mskathywriteswords​. Longer AN at the end. 

*** It was late morning, or early afternoon, Sam never really kept track of time when he was with Rowena. He woke up slowly and rolled to face her. She still slept, her curls spilling over the satin of her pillowcase, a deep blue-green color that made her skin, even in sleep, seem to glow. He leaned over to kiss her softly, and without opening her eyes, she shook her head.  “Beauty sleep,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. It was an old joke between them, her insisting that at her age, beauty sleep was a must; and him replying that she could sleep all she wanted but she could never look more beautiful.  He trailed his lips warmly over her jawline to the shell of her ear, where he whispered, “What if I make you tea?” That got her to look at him, the sleepiest of glances, and the tiniest nod. He got out of bed, pulled on jeans, and padded out to the kitchen barefoot. Rowena had this electric tea kettle thing that turned out to be surprisingly handy for all the cups of tea she drank. The habit had grown on him, and this morning, he was preparing two cups of Five Roses. No sooner had he gotten out the teacups than he heard Rowena’s light footsteps. He turned around to see her yawning as she slipped into a chair at the table.  “What?” he teased as he placed her tea in front of her. “Do you think I need supervision to make a simple cup of tea?” She arched her brows over the rim of the cup as she lifted it and lazily blew on the steam rising from it. He took the moment to look at her. She had slipped into a light green robe with swirls on it. Paisleys, maybe, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have the words for half the things she wore. He didn’t have the words for her.

“Can I have a biscuit, my dear?” Her request interrupted his thoughts. 

Sam shook his head but obeyed. As he set the tin of shortbread down on the table, he asked her, “You always get whatever you want, don’t you?”

“As long as you’re here to give it to me,” she retorted. The glint in her green eyes, the saucy curve of her lips, hinted at much more than tea and biscuits. 

Instead of answering, he bent to kiss her. His hand skimmed over her shoulder and down her back to pull her closer. The green robe was sleek under his touch. It felt good, and he took a moment to enjoy the sensation of smooth fabric against his calloused palms. “I like this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Rowena acted almost offended at his suggestion that she would wear the same thing twice. 

Sam was pretty sure her closet was part of some magic spell, because there was no way this apartment had room for half the beautiful things she wore, even if some of them were nothing more than bits of sheer cloth and lace. 

“Too bad I just have to take it off of you,” Sam teased as he folded to his knees in front of the chair where she was seated. 

“Oh do you?” She lowered her gaze and batted her lashes, putting on the tiniest pout. She was flirting hard, but he was such a sucker for it. She took a long drink from the teacup. 

“Maybe not yet,” he murmured as he pushed the hem up over her pale thighs, parting them with his fingers before pulling her forward. He trailed kisses up from her knee to her warm center, and when his lips finally pressed against her there, he heard the cup hit the saucer with a shaky ringing sound. 

*** Rowena forgot about everything when she had Sam between her legs like that. He was so good, knew her body so well. Sometimes he drew it out, teased her, made her beg. Not today. He seemed as eager to please her as she was to be pleasured. 

He drew a soft orgasm from her easily with nothing but his lips and tongue. It was her first of the day, but she knew it was far from the last. ***

Rowena was still trembling when Sam scooped her up in his arms and carried her back to bed, her body warm and yielding under the robe. 

“You know,” she said as she settled back against the pillows, eyes wide and sparkling, “It’s not only women who can wear beautiful things.” 

“Oh?” Sam grinned, trying to think of what she could be getting at. “Do you have a me-sized robe in that magic closet of yours? Want to dress me up in something short and shiny?”

“Please,” she whispered, but if she meant, “Please as if I would waste the space” or “Please I wish you would” he didn’t know. Maybe please was a response to the way he was rising up over her, pinning her wrists back with his hands, nudging her legs apart with one knee to open her up for him. 

In the close heat of her desire, Sam forgot all about the conversation. 

But he remembered later, when he went back home to the bunker. Thinking about the whole thing made him feel some confusing feelings. A little curiosity, more than a little embarrassment, but also, if he was honest, kinda turned on. It wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. So one day when he had his laptop open, he started searching.

He had picked out lingerie for Rowena before, so he started on those sites, but it was very obvious very quickly that nothing there would fit him.

Then he typed in “lingerie for men.” For the most part, it was a series of very brief underpants, many of them paired with a collar or cuffs that were somehow supposed to indicate a character. He browsed with an increasing sense of confusion, wondering if Rowena wanted him to look like a cowboy or a Chippendale’s dancer. 

“Whoa there.” Dean’s voice startled him and he slammed the laptop shut. “When you said you were doing research I didn’t think --”

Sam leapt to his feet and turned to face his brother. He could feel himself blushing, but he may as well be honest. “It’s not what you think.”

“Look, dude, some of those guys are good looking. I get it.” 

Sam tried to nod and shake his head at once, and ended up just heaving out a big sigh. “It’s not that. It’s Rowena.” 

“Oh I should’ve known, that kinky little witch!” Dean laughed, head thrown back and shoulders shaking. “Wait. Do you really think she wants you to look like a Halloween store Village People?” 

Sam smacked his brother across the back affectionately. “Some help you are.”

Dean calmed down at that. He put one hand on Sam’s arm. “Think of what the lady wears. Slinky things, lace, garter stockings, right? That’s what she likes.” 

Before Sam could ask how Dean was so sure Rowena wore a garter belt, he was gone. Maybe it was obvious, or maybe it was that one case where she had hidden a cursed dagger in the band of her stockings. 

He waited, looking over his shoulder as he opened the laptop, and carefully typed in, “garter belt for men.” Ohhhh. Maybe it was because of how strongly he associated them with Rowena. Maybe it was because they were at once more serious and more soft than the silly outfits he found first. For whatever reason, he liked these more. They looked sexy. 

Sam ordered a bunch of things, not the incredibly complicated things that were mostly straps, or the leather things. He didn’t think he was ready for that. But he got a garter belt, and a couple of pairs of stockings. He got a few different panties, because how was he supposed to know if he liked briefs or bikinis? He ordered it all in black, because that was foolproof. 

He didn’t think he should be barefoot for this look, but he was also pretty sure he couldn't walk in heels. Instead he bought a pair of low heeled men’s dress boots, reasoning that he could always wear them when he was pretending to be the FBI. 

He remembered how much he liked the feel of Rowena’s robe under his fingers, so he got himself a short robe too. And with that, he gave himself an out -- if she hated this look, if he felt too silly, he could just put on the robe until he could escape to the bathroom and take it all off. 

Sam waited with nervous excitement until the packages arrived, and then he tried on his new things. He tore the first pair of stockings he tried on, and then a quick internet search informed him that he had to roll them up from the toes. He thought about shaving, but ultimately decided against it. He was already putting in a lot of work to look good. 

He hadn’t much thought about looking good before, or putting effort into appearing sexy. Clothes for him had always been a necessity, something he bought cheaply and used until they wore out. What he liked hadn’t ever mattered much. And buying something this impractical? It was an entirely new experience. Even the robe was more revealing and indulgent than anything he had ever owned. 

But he did want to do what Rowena asked, loved the idea of giving her a happy surprise. So he texted her. When can I come see you again?

Friday. I’ll be out until dinner but you have the key.

Perfect.

He arranged for a late dinner to be delivered and got there early, giving himself plenty of time to get dressed. Belt and stockings, boots, a pair of satin panties trimmed with lace. He wrapped the robe over top, tying it shut at his waist while he waited. 

He found himself pacing the floor, listening to the strike of his heels. He kept the lights off but lit all the candles scattered around the room. He hoped he wasn't wrong. He hoped this was what Rowena wanted. He had paused for a moment to look out the window, trying to calm his racing heart, when the door opened. 

"Samuel?” He heard the surprise in her familiar lilting tone. 

*** Rowena knew Sam was there, sensed he was up to something. But never in all her three hundreds years had she thought she would see him all dressed up in bits of lace. 

“Ohhhhh,” she sighed softly. 

Even in her favorite fantasies, nothing she had imagined had prepared her for the way Sam looked. When he stepped away from her window, broad shoulders backlit by the city below, there was the slightest sway to his walk, a little sass she had never seen before.

When she untied his robe, felt the cool silk brush against his warm skin, and saw what he was wearing underneath -- it was all she could do not to fall to her knees in front of him right there. He had the longest legs she had ever seen, and yet the stockings fit perfectly, hugging the shape of his calves and his sculpted thighs. 

That broad expanse of bare skin, so warm and golden, framed in the skimpiest bits of black satin -- the contrast of his strength with the delicacy of the lace -- he looked like a god, and he was hers, all hers to worship. 

She wasn’t sure who moved first, him or her, just that suddenly she was in his arms, pressed up against the length of his body as he bent to kiss her, dark hair brushing her face before his lips ever met hers. She had always loved his height compared to hers, the way he could loom over her if he wanted, and his heeled boots only emphasized it. She slipped her fingers around his waist, enjoying the texture of fabric under her touch, and under it, the curve of his perfect ass. 

***

Rowena held out her hand and Sam took it, lacing his fingers in with hers and allowing her to lead him to the bedroom. She flicked on the bedside lamps to get a better view. Sam tried to stand in an attractive way but he had no idea how. As her gaze took him in from head to toe, he grew self conscious. 

"I'll bet I look pretty silly,” he said. 

***

“Silly, never. Pretty --” 

Pretty didn’t even begin to touch it. Beautiful, maybe, the way a piece of art was beautiful, an astounding specimen of the human form. She looked him over from head to toe. He tried to pose, the mighty hunter suddenly awkward, but she could see how he was trying, how every much he wanted her to like this, and it made him all the more endearing. 

When her gaze settled on his face, she saw hesitancy, as if he was afraid to disappoint her, but not a shred of shame. In fact, he looked almost proud, an impossibly delicious smirk curling his lips and pushing dimples into his sculpted cheeks. 

But there was more to it. Sam was so dead earnest, nothing silly or joking about him, only a burning desire to please. Even through his shyness, she could tell, he was also faintly aware that he looked amazing. He knew the effect he was having on her, was getting turned on by feeling desirable, and his kaleidoscope eyes sparkled with delight. 

***

Rowena laid her hand on Sam’s chest. He obeyed her slighted touch, settling on the edge of the bed. Then he drew her in close to stand between his knees, a familiar position that put their faces at the same height. 

“You like this?” he asked. The look she gave him, all sizzling desire, would’ve been answer enough. Her eyes and hands roamed his body before she finally spoke. 

"You have no idea,” she said, closing her sweet mouth over his for a passionate open mouthed kiss. She trailed her fingers slowly up his thighs, over the seams of his stockings, treating him to the most delicious friction as the delicate netting tugged and shifted over his legs.

"I had no idea,” he gasped. “Feels good, so good --"

But before he could finish the thought, she folded to the floor in front of him.  Her touch trailed under the bands of his stockings, sharp nails brushing his skin. She wound the straps of his garter belt around her fingers and twisted. He felt the close tugging friction all the way around his hips. 

Leaning forward, she closed her lips over him through the satin and lace of his panties. It was the most amazing feeling, damp and close but still muted by the silky fabric. All other words deserted him except for her name.

"Rowena." He sighed. "What --"

"Just enjoy this," she purred before her lips closed around him again. Her hands slipped around his waist and into the back of his panties to cup his ass. When she spoke again, she murmured the words against his skin. "Such a good boy, doing whatever I ask."

She pleasured him until he was breathing hard, until his fingers tangled in her long red curls, until he could no longer hold back a ragged moan. Then she pulled away, standing up to strip down to her own intricate lingerie. 

She tied his hands up with the sash from his robe before settling astride him. He tolerated that just long enough for her to get off, and then turned the tables with the sash around her shoulders, holding her close. The two of them reveled in each other's bodies and all the sensations of lace and silk. Over and over, orgasm after orgasm, curses and cries and laughter all mingled together. 

When they were finally sated, both of them long since bare before one another, Sam turned towards Rowena. She was already facing him in bed, freckled skin flushed, curls tousled and clinging around her face. 

“I always knew you liked the garter belt and stockings.” 

She just raised her brows and batted her lashes slowly. “I think you like them too.” 

He cupped her face in one broad hand and she met his kiss-bitten lips with her own, one more time. 

“Maybe.” He winked broadly. “But only for special occasions.”  *** AN: this started in a writing chat when I asked, “How many times is too many times for one character to wear a garter belt and stockings?” @cracksinthewalls answered: “Rowena wears them every day, but Sam, only on special occasions.  @there-must-be-a-lock wrote a head canon on this that also involved a certain angel.  Pictures were exchanged (purely for scientific purposes, of course) and now ... here we are. @cracksinthewalls and @mskathywriteswords​ provided the prereads. It’s a little different for me but I hope you enjoy! 

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho​​ @dawnie1988​​ @deanwanddamons​​ @defenderrosetyler​​ @divadinag​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​​ @idreamofplaid​​ @kalesrebellion​​ @kickingitwithkirk​​ @maddiepants​​ @magssteenkamp​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​   @there-must-be-a-lock​​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @tloveswriting​​

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia​ @sammit-janet​ @lovealways-j

Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach​​ @lilsylvia​​ @pansexualdarling​​ @songofthecagedmoose​​

[marshthat]

My Jedi master Eeth Koth headcanons!

Eeth Koth has been my comfort charcter for quite a long time, and still is now (and I hope still will be in the future also, bc I cant imagine me existing without my love for Eeth anymore).

So, I've decided to share my most prominent master Koth headcanons that I've accumulated at this point

As promised, I'm posting only general ones, without any specific implied pairings or other relationships!

note: (due not so much info about Eeth in Canon and Legends (unforgivably little actually), maaaaybe I'm projecting some of my own mental stuff on him, but eh, this is unevitable I guess :)

Have fun reading these!

1. Change of the profile

In his youth, Eeth was a Jedi Guardian, a.k.a "Jedi-on-the-front-line", and carried a blue lightsaber. But after the death of his master, followed by him joining the High Council, Eeth calmed down his inner rambo and changed his profile to a Jedi Consular. And so he chose a path of a diplomat, built a green lightsaber (with a hilt very similar to his dead master's one, as a remembrance) and eventually became famous in the Jedi Order exactly for his ability to resolve conflicts peacefully. (that's why no big missions on his part before the Clone Wars era apart from his participation in the Yinchorri incident)

2. The acceptance issue

Eeth pays a lot of attention to his appearance: carefully brushes his hair, makes sure his clothing is perfect, and so on.

Some consider this a simple whim, but in fact this will to have an ideal appearance is a consequence of some issues Koth now has because of his difficult childhood. Due to the fact that Eeth spent his first four years as a ragged orphan in the filthy slums of Nar Shaddaa, he sometimes feels as if he doesn't deserve to be in such a clean and nice place as the Coruscant Jedi Temple. (And the fact that his membership in the Order at first caused a lot of controversy among the Council masters only worsened this fear)

That is why Eeth tries his best to always look as perfect as possible - to be suitable for the beauty of the Temple and to not feel himself a stranger in its walls.

3. Long meditation hours and self-reflecting

He does meditate on his issues quite often, in order to get rid of every irrational fear he has, like the one described in the previous headcanon. Usually he does that in the evening, after all the tasks are completed - he gives himself time to reflect on what happened during the day, what he did and said and how the others reacted. This does help, but still some thorns can be very hard to get out of his hearts. His favourite meditation place is his own quarters in the Temple, where he can have a nice view on the evening/night Coruscant, which is somehow more relaxing to him than the gardens in the Room of Thousand Fountains.

4. A little peek into the apartment

Eeth’s master-quarters in the Temple are decorated with effort and thought. The most significant part are the long heavy thick and soft curtains, that, if closed, take all the light in the room away, leaving the nice pleasant semidarkness atmoshphere. Also Eeth has a lot of various cushions around the whole apartment, along with an enormous supply of aroma candles! 

5. The tragedy of the Padawan

Eeth's first and only Padawan learner was Sharad Hett.

Sharad's will to quit the Order deeply hurt Eeth, even if he didn't say that out loud, as he put a lot of effort and dedication in his promise to be the best master possible for Sharad. Also he lowkey agreed with the accusations of other masters telling him he was responsible for Sharad's departure because Koth failed as a teacher - so he does feel himself guilty of failing both Sharad and the Order.

After the Hett's incident, he actually vowed to himself not to take any more Padawan learners, so as not to let anyone's expectations down again. (And, like master Saesee Tiin, chose to put his efforts into other fields rather then teaching)

(these panels still hurt me somehow qwq 

Sharad made Eeth cry, for kriffs sake!)

6. But he's still very friendly to kids

Despite the unpleasant exprienece with his own Padawan, he did let go of his initial frustration and now he is quite happy to give younglings and young padawans some general lessons! Also sometimes he takes other masters' students to group trainings or supervises them during the Trials of Knighthood. And young Jedi do love master Koth a lot - because he's soft and very patient, and does allow them some liberties :)

7. The social butterfly

Eeth is a "social butterfly" or a "caretaker" (ESFJ mbti-type)

He is used to being among a large number of people, but even though it seems that he gathers these people around him, in fact this is not true - his natural charm and outgoing personality allow him to easily make new acquaintances, interact with friends and encourage conversations, but he more follows his more assertive companions, adapts his behavior and words to them in order to create the most comfortable atmosphere possible, than directs them himself.

In other words, he offers the fun, but enjoys more the others' reactions to it, than the fun itself!

8. Sweet tooth!

Eeth LOVES sweet things! He generally likes all sorts of sweets, starting with various desserts and finishing with sugary tropic fruits. (Gaining weight? Naaah, the zabraks physiology allows him to consume a lot of food because of the higher metabolism due to the zabraks having two hearts. And also he does a lot of physical exercise in the training halls. So it's not a problem at all!)

9. And he is sweet himself too

This love for sugary things is not only for sweet treats actually, but also for the scents of cosmetics too! (And he does use a lot of that stuff). That is why Eeth usually smells of something nice, either caramel, or vanilla, or fruity etc.

This is often favorited by his colleagues on the Council, who definitely enjoy the pleasant aroma Eeth always brings with him to the Council meetings.

10. Energy drinks!

He got badly used to them during the Clone Wars era, because he really needed an additional energy resource when staying up all night brushing through various diplomatic documents and strategy plans. Caf wasn't much of a help because it just turned out to be not strong enough for the zabrak, so he eventually replaced it with cheap but more effective sweet energy drinks. It doesn't really matter to him which drinks to buy exactly, but the meiloorun-flavoured ones are among his favourites.

11. Form of lightsaber combat

Form III - Soresu!

I actually did a separate essay analyzing why Eeth’s form of combat is definitely Soresu, but if keeping brief: he uses Soresu mixed with some Ataru moves. Ataru was his initial style, advised by his master due to Eeth’s small complexion and natural agility & flexibility, but after changing his Jedi profile to a Consular he also adopted the main Consulars’ style - Soresu (usually called “the diplomat style”, “the most peaceful among the seven'' etc.). Koth’s Soresu moves can clearly be seen in the “Grievous Intrigue” episode in particular. Also Koth’s stance in the "Intrigue" is different from the famous Kenobi's "point-fingers" thingy simply because Eeth's pose is not an opening Soresu stance, but the brace-ready stance, which in Soresu is described as “having much in common with the "Ataru guard," with the hilt held at waist height on the dominant side in a two-handed grip for greater control, extended vertically upwards”

12. The double-bladed saber

Eeth wields a double-bladed saber almost as well as a regular one.

And in fact, it was Darth Maul who has inspired Eeth to try this kind of a weapon - after the High Council sent him to lead the investigation on the question of a zabrak sith on Naboo in 32 bby, he got genuinely interested in the possible perks of two blades in his Soresu and eventually mastered the double-bladed saber on quite a level. But he still sees this only as an interesting training option, but nothing more. So the double-bladed saber stays in the Temple and is used only in the Training Halls, but never on the battlefield.

13. An earring (yes, in the singular form)

Eeth has one of his ears pierced (right one), and he actually has several different earrings, mostly simple, like basic metal rings, which he usually picks every morning according to his mood. But to be honest, this earring thing is purely only for himself - because you can’t really see his ears under his usual three-ponytails hairstyle.

Though, he did abandon wearing earrings during the Clone Wars era - because since the war began and the potentially dangerous missions became more frequent, it wasn’t really a right place and time for such things, especially knowing that the Separatists can use some specific traps (like the ones they used to magnetize Jedi lightsabers on Lola-Sayu). The prospect of losing the whole ear due to such a trap is not the most pleasant one indeed.

14. HUGS (and other tactile activities)

Eeth very very VERY much loves hugs!

And for him, tactile contacts are more than just a way to feel comfortable - for him it's a vital part of the whole communication process. This issue dates back to his master, Kosul Ayada, who was a herglic (a race that is actually not very good at speaking Galactic Basic), and therefore helped himself with gestures and body language. And spending a lot of time around master Ayada, Eeth also got used to supporting his verbal dialogue by body language and tactile contact.

That is why while speaking Eeth actively gestures, grabs the other's hands, squeezes shoulders etc. And the hugs are his way to express sympathy and also to feel safe and appreciated!

15. Driving skills

Master Koth can drive, and actually quite well. And by driving I mean not spaceships, but smaller things that stay on land, like speeders.

And because he is a diplomat who often attends various meetings with senators and ambassadors, he also has a personal speeder, allocated to him by the Order for the ease of attending senator events and other diplomatic ocasions.

(But he does use it for other personal purposes too, because why not to, if there is an opportunity)))

(A panel of Eeth casually driving a speeder like a damn pro is one of my fav Eeth comics crumbs,,,,,,)

16. Singing

Eeth enjoys singing! But he usually keeps this thing to himself, making the quiet manthra-like singing a part of his meditative prep - it helps him to settle down his tangly thoughts a bit and tune his mind and body for the actual meditation.

(the hc was inspired by Hassani Shapi’s singing in one of his films, because Shapi’s voice is really beautiful and I’m sad they didn’t give him even a single line in the Phantom Menace when filming Koth’s Council scene)

17. Space soap operas...? (not so serious, sometimes treated as crack, but sometimes not)

Koth (secretly) likes soap operas on the late-night HoloNet, and often stays up to watch a new episode of something before going to bed. His favourite series is called “Lekkus of love” (my imaginary in-universe show I usually use in my sw writings) and it's about a twi’lek girl’s life, filmed in the style of our “Magnificent Century”, with lots of romantic intrigues and twists.

18. LOTS of feelings

Referencing the previous one - Eeth is very emotional, actually! Yes, he’s a Jedi and he knows how to keep his mind clear, but he’s still sensitive enough to actually cry over sad episodes of "Lekkus…" because “Poor Ai’sha, she worked so hard to get her man’s attention, but he still chose that togruta girl? This is outrageous, this is unfair! :ccc”

Also this can be in fact explained biologically. He's a zabrak, and zabraks are supposed to have a hot, blazing, higly-emotional nature (to match their home planet, Iridonia, wich is also boiling with acid seas and all that - otherwise they won't survive)

19. Podracing as a favourite sport

Eeth enjoys podracing. He first got into it back on Nar Shaddaa, when he heard a lot about racing and stuff from smugglers and bounty hunters (and at that time he even dreamed of becoming a cool podracer - but that was of course before he was taken to the Temple).

Now he doesn't dream of podracing that much, but still can and actually does enjoy watching annual championships via HoloNet. He also tries to keep in touch with the latest news in the podracing world (that interest he shares with the young Anakin Skywalker, and they do sometimes occasionally discuss podracing when they both have free time)

20. Horns

Eeth doesn’t really trust droids with trimming his horns, so he usually does that by himself, in the freshener, and that always takes a while. Also unlike a lot of male iridonian zabraks, who prefer to keep the tips of their horns comparatively sharp as a sign of their brutality and masculinity, Eeth chooses to make the tips humbly rounded and smoothed.

21. A pet? (Also not so serious - but sometimes it IS the most serious hc!)

Eeth has a pet loth-cat! The loth-cat is a she-cat, and she's big, fluffy and always on her own mind. Agen Kolar sometimes points out that the loth-cat is very similar to her owner in a lot of little things, like the way the cat purrs when being hugged and how she is obsessed with being clean and ideal too.

The loth-cat is also a bit jealous of her owner’s attention, so she will every time make herself comfortable on his knees when Eeth is meditating or working with documents to show that this is HER man. (especially when smb comes over to Eeth’s apartment - that's the case when she just NEEDS to state who’s the real boss here).

22. Participation in the first battle of Geonosis

I headcanon that Eeth was not directly on the Petranaki Arena actually during the first battle of Geonosis in the AOTC. Since he's not on-screen in that symbolic circle of survivors but is still stated as a participant, I assume that instead of being a part of the main group, Eeth joined Yoda on his trip to Kamino. Maybe not directly on the planet but still somewhere there, helping to gather clone legions to guide them to Geonosis.

(p.s. I know that Eeth's on-screen absence is because of Shapi being replaced with another actor and the new character turning out not at all alike to TPM Koth, but this little hc actually kinda fixes the hole without ruining anything…?))