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fanfictiongirlie · 2 days ago

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Marvel: I Have A Proposal For You

Parings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Description:

Reader has no luck with me her own age, they're useless and never put the effort in to make her cum, Steve offers to help her.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin

Words: 4,521

So I'm in a bit of a writing rut on my series, so I thought I'd write a quick little smut with Stevie rather than stress over my series. Hope you enjoy <3

You huff loudly as you walk into the Avengers kitchen at 1am, you didn't expect anyone to be awake, but of course with so many people living under one incredibly large roof, there was. Steve sat inside at the kitchen breakfast bar, drinking his small glass of whiskey.

"I hate men" You snap, huffing again as you lean against a counter, you hadn't said it specifically to Steve, you just needed to get it out, you had been thinking it for a while. A hour to be exact.

Steve watched as you walked into the kitchen, he noticed your annoyed demeanor and stands up, walking closer to you.

"What's up?" He asked, his blue eyes on you, worried something bad had happened.

"Men" You mutter "Well, specifically men my age, they're useless...I went out tonight, ready to party and have some fun, and went home with this guy, he didn't even make me cum! But when he was finished, he just rolled over and went to sleep!" You ranted, your thoughts thinking over the events of the night again, this was the last time you'd ever have a one night stand with a random man. They were useless.

Steve stood listening intently as you ranted, a small smirk forming on his lips as you continued vented.

"He just rolled over and went to sleep? Just like that?" He asked, he was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter now, his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles maybe distracting you just a little.

"Just like that!" You yell, you then notice the small redness over Steve's cheeks. "Oh...Steve, I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want to hear about my pathetic sex life" You say, feeling a little guilty.

Steve chuckles at your words, he took a step closer to you.

"It's okay. I don't mind listening to you rant. So, tell me more. This guy, how old is he exactly?"

"My age...well, twenty-three, so a year older than me" You answer, rolling your eyes at the thought of the guy again. At least he didn't finish inside of you...you kept telling yourself.

"And he didn't even make you finish, that's a little rude" Steve sighed, that smirk forming on his lips again.

"I'm telling ya, men my age are useless" You huff pushing yourself off the counter and taking a few steps away from the area. "Guess I'll go to bed, sort it out myself"

Steve notices the disappointment on your face as he watched you move. He couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance, not just at the way that guy had treated you, but at the thought of you having to 'sort it out' by yourself.

"Wait a second" The words formed in his mouth before his brain even finishing thinking them. A idea coming to his head. You stop walking and turn to look at him.

"Yes?" You ask. Steve then pushes off the kitchen counter he was leaning on and walks over to you, standing an arms length away from you. His eyes fixated on yours as he stood in front of you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

You smile up at him and nod. "Of course"

Steve stood another step closer to you, shorting the distance between you both, he held your gaze as he asked his question on his mind.

"If there was a way to...'solve' this problem of yours right now, would that be something that would interest you?" He asks, his voice low and husky. The breath within you was suddenly caught in your throat. You looked him up and down quickly, wondering if you were dreaming...your crush on the older man was something you'd had for a while, not that anyone knew. He was a lot older than you, so naturally you never thought he'd like you.

"And...how would you 'solve' my problem?" You ask cooly. Steve obviously noticed your lingering gaze, he could see the flicker of curiosity within your eyes as you looked at him. His heart rate picked up a bit as he watched your reaction, your cheeks had a slight red tint to them, and your tongue darted out to lick your lips, your eyes never straying from his. He leaned in a bit closer to you as he spoke quietly to you.

"Well, I have an idea"

"Yes?" You ask breathlessly.

Steve continued to observe your face, noticing the slight change in your breath as you spoke. He leaned in a little closer, stepping closer, your bodies almost touching now.

"You said that the guy you were with didn't...make you finish, right?" He asked, his voice soft and low as he spoke.

"He didn't" You answer quietly as you look up at him, his eyes sparkling down as he looks at you. You lick your lips again, your body feeling weaker and weaker as he spoke. You could guess what he meant, you hoped you were right in your thoughts. The feeling in your lower stomach was strong, the need and want for him growing.

"So you're all...pent up and unsatisfied, right?" Steve asks, he noticed your slight irritation at the fact that the guy didn't make you feel good. He felt annoyed on your behalf, but quickly he pushed that thought aside. You nodded, your eyes still on his, though you felt as if your eyes had a glaze of lust over them with how you were feeling right now.

"And you don't want to have to 'take care' of it yourself, right?" He asks, his voice lower and lower with every word.

"No" You answered quietly.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before speaker, his voice becoming a bit more huskier.

"In that case...I have a proposal for you"

"Yes?" You asked, your body tingling as you thought about the things he could do to your body. He took another step closer, if that were possible, you were touching now, hips to hips. He looked down at you, a hint of a smirk on his face.

"I can...'assist' you with taking care of that problem, if you'd like"

"I'd really, really like that" You whisper, Steve had lowered himself slightly, so your faces were close now. Close enough that if you just moved forward slightly, you'd be touching noses. You could smell his cologne he was so close, it only added to your current state.

"Then I'd be happy to 'assist' you, sweetheart"

"Please" You almost whimpered. You cursed to yourself in your mind for sounding so pathetic. Steve smirked and gently raised a hand placing it under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him more intently.

"So eager...I like that" He whispers, the breath from his words touching your lips in a way that makes you feel almost feral, ready to take him, let him have you however he wishes. The urge to please him bubbles up inside you, and usually you'd maybe feel embarrassed, but not today, not with Steve. You nodded pathetically, his fingers still having a hold on your chin as you move.

"Please Steve, I am"

"Don't worry...I'll make you feel good, I'll take care of you"

"We...we should go to one of our rooms" You whisper, hating yourself for breaking the wonderful moment between the two of you, but having another Avenger walk in on you was not on your bucket list. He nodded in agreement, his eyes roaming over your face, he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close, leading you towards the hallway.

"Let's go to mine"

"Okay" You say softly, letting him lead you completely. Steve kept his arm around your waist as he led you down the hall to his room. As he pushes the door open, he guides you inside, closing the door and locking it afterwards.

"Fuck, can't believe we're doing this" You whisper, almost in awe at one of your fantasies coming true. Steve couldn't help but chuckle at your comment. He led you over to the bed, guiding you to sit down before standing in front of you. You looked up at him, enjoying the sight of him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I promise I'll make you feel good" He says with a sweet smile. You nodded, and returned the smile hoping he'd understand you were willing to put your entire trust onto him. He must of because he smile widened and he began to unbutton his shirt, he pulled it off his body, revealing the muscles underneath.

"Wow" You whispered out-loud. You looked up over his body, your mouth watered at the slightly of his muscles and naked torso. He chuckled softly and began unbuttoning his trousers as well, keeping his eyes on your face as he dropped them down to the ground. He down stood in front of you with just his boxers covering his skin.

"You like what you see?" He asks, and your eyes were no longer on his, now looking at the large bulge in front of your face, trapping within the confinements of his boxers.

"God...yes...so much" You say with a slight smirk, you moved your hands from your lap and onto his hips, your fingers hooking just under his boxers. You heard Steve's breath hitch as you touched his skin.

"Someone's eager..." He teased, his voice a bit hoarse.

"Shut up" You answered as you slowly pulled his boxers down his toned legs. He let out a soft chuckle.

"Eager and rude" He said, still teasing you.

"You have no idea" You mutter, you were eager, for him. You pulled his boxers all the way down, his already hard cock bounced free from his boxers and slapped against his stomach. His boxers were now pooled down at his feet, and his cock stood to attention in front of your face, your stomach fluttered at the sight, he was large...Larger than you'd had before, but not only did he have ample length, he was thick...You could imagine how full you'd feel with it inside of you, you squeezed your legs together, feeling excited.

"God Steve, you're beautiful"

"Beautiful huh? You think I'm beautiful?" He asked, his voice a bit huskier than before.

"So much, god, I know this was originally about me finishing...But can I put my mouth on you?" You ask, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him. Your eyes flicker up to his momentarily as you ask your question.

"Go ahead sweetheart" He answers, his cheeks were flushed a little red now. It was enough to make you feel giddy. You moved your hands first, taking his hardness in your hand, it was just larger than both of your hands wrapped around it. You left one hand wrapped around his cock, close to the base as you moved forward, licking his head experimentally. Steve's breathing got heavier as you completely wetted the head of his cock.

Closing your eyes you really got into it, taking his tip into your mouth, moaning softly at his taste, he tasted clean, fresh, unlike so many men you had been with. You expertly moved your hand up and down his length whilst taking as much of his cock into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck. Your eyes were wet, small tears were streaming down your cheeks, he must of noticed because one of his hands moved to wipe them. Steve was moaning loudly now, he had moved one hand to your head, softly holding you, guiding you but not forcing you down. You would of smiled if your mouth wasn't busy, even in moments like this, he was ever the man with the manners.

You moved your mouth a little faster, your jaw had started to ache slightly, but you didn't stop, until his hand moved down to your throat, stopping your movements, you pulled off from him and looked up at him through your wet eyelashes.

"Why'd you stop me?"

"I didn't want to come before you darling" He whispers.

"Oh" You say quietly, he was perfect "Let me level the playing field and we'll continue" You smirk, standing up from the bed, you lift the dress you were wearing off your body, throwing it somewhere random in the room. Steve lets out a low breath as he watched you. You watched as he swallowed, his eyes fixed on your body.

"Damn, you're just...wow"

Your smirk only continues to plaster over you face as you take your underwear off, leaving you completely bare to him. He couldn't take his eyes off you, his eyes traveled up and down your body, taking in every inch of your naked form.

"You're absolutely perfect, sweetheart. You're so goddamn beautiful"

"Kiss me" You whisper, interrupting his rambles. Steve heard your whispered request and immediately he leaned down so he was level with you. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you against him, and pressed forward pressing his lips to yours. His lips explored your mouth hungrily, his tongue parting your lips and sliding against yours as he kissed you.

You sighed happily into the kiss, smiling against his lips, your naked bodies pressed together whilst you snaked your hands up from his shoulders into his luscious blonde hair. He let out a quiet moan into your mouth, he let his hands wander your body, exploring every inch and curve of your skin as he continued to kiss you with fervor.

"God, I can't take it...need you" You mumbled against his lips.

"I need you too, sweetheart. I need you so damn badly"

You moved your hands from his hair down to his hips, holding him as you walked backwards, guiding him to follow you, when the back of your legs hit the bed, you fell down onto it, smirking up at him. Steve followed you, hovering his body over yours. His lips move onto your body, whilst his hands held onto your hips as his lips worshiped you.

He continued to trail kisses down your body, his lips moved over your skin so delicately, exploring and worshiping every inch of you. He took his time, wanting to make sure you savored the sensation, letting his hands also roam across your body, caressing and touching you in all the right places.

"Mmmm Steve...oh...that's so nice"

He carried on kissing you and touching you, listening closely to every small noise and whimper you would let out. He paused for a moment to look up at you, a smirk on his face.

"You that that, sweetheart? Like my hands on you, my mouth on you?"

"So much" You whimper quietly as you look down at him.

He smiled as you answered him, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on you, the way you were responding to him, the way you were reacting to his touch. He continued to kiss and gently suck at the skin of your breasts, as one hand moved to touch your nipple, playing with it in between his fingertips.

"You're so beautiful, you know that? So goddamn beautiful..." He mumbled against your skin.

"Steve, I need you...need more" You begged, your senses were overwhelmed with a need for him. You shivered as he moved one hand down your body, his fingertips trailing against your skin as he moved, his eyes were still locked on yours as he mouths your skin, his fingers moved down in between your legs finally touching you were you needed it most.

He expertly moved his fingers in between your wet folds, dragging your wetness from your hole up to your clit, he slowly circled two fingers over your clit as his lips moved up to your collarbone, sucking a small mark into your skin. You moaned loudly, moving your hands to grip his arms as you spread your legs further for him.

Steve knew exactly where you needed him to touch, and he was more than happy to provide it. He moved two fingers away from your clit, and you were ready to whine at the lost of contact, but he soon made up for it by pressing those two fingers inside of your wet hole, you gripped his arms tighter feeling your body shudder slightly at the new feeling, his fingers were thick, and felt amazing within you. You grind your hips against his fingers slightly, only grinding harder as his thumb pressed against your clit, the little bundle of nerves shooting electric throughout your body.

"Oh...wow...Steve...jeez, you're good with your fingers" You moan out in a whisper.

He chuckled, his lips still on the skin of your chest, he smirked, obviously feeling a bit proud of his skills with his fingers.

"You like that, huh? Like how I'm making you feel with my fingers?"

"Yesss!" You whined as he pumped his fingers faster into you. His fingers didn't slow as he kissed lower, his lips trailing down your torso and down past your stomach. He continued to kiss you, moving his mouth lower and lower, his goal becoming more and more clear as he approached where his thumb was.

"Oh! Yes! Steve!" You whined loudly, feeling your body close to it's edge. You body shuddered hard as his mouth replaced his thumb against your clit, he sucked hard and kept his fingers moving at a fast pace, you body shook as he brought you to your finishing point, you came hard around his fingers and over his face, he didn't slow his movements, moaning softly against your wet skin as you grind against him. Your body shook in the aftermath of your pleasure, your legs closing around him.

Steve looked up and smirked, his free hand moved to hold down your leg, making sure you kept them spread. You body trembled against him, you were still shaking slightly.

"Don't close those legs, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet"

"Fuck, I hope not"

He chuckled again, moving his lips back to your clit, he licked down towards his fingers, opening them slightly to slide his tongue inside of you, alongside his fingers. You moaned loudly, moving one of your hands to his hair, holding his head for support whilst your other arm flew to rest over your eyes, your mouth was wide open, strings of loud whimpers and moans never faulting as they left your lips.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm nowhere near finished with you. I plan on taking my time with you" He says, his lips moving against your hole as his fingers move slowly inside and out, his tongue darting out every few words as he spoke, tasting your hole.

"God...I'm yours" You whisper as your body shivers with excitement. You had forgotten about that loser of a guy from earlier in the evening.

"Damn right you are. You're mine sweetheart. All mine" He spoke quietly, his eyes shut as he dives back in, his fingers began moving again at a past which made you feel dizzy. His mouth was over your clit as he sucked and licked, moaning as he tasted you.

"Steve....oh...oh...oh my god" You moaned, becoming a moaning mess underneath him. You were shaking with pleasure as he made you come again, and again. You had a daze of happiness washing over you body as he crawled back up to you, he smirked and brought his lips down to yours, moving his wet lips against yours, you tasted yourself on him, not caring one bit. He moved one hand to cup your cheek, holding you so softly it made you feel fuzzy inside. You moved your hands to the back of his neck, holding him against you as you kissed.

As you kissed Steve's hips rutted gently against your hip, his hard cock leaving a wet stripe of precum over your leg, you smiled into the kiss causing him to pull away and cock his head at you.

"What's so funny?" He asks.

"Nothing...What's...uhh your favourite position?" You asked, feeling a little bashful at the question, but after what he did to your body, you felt like he deserved his favourite position.

"You really wanna know?" He asks, his cheeks flushing red slightly.

"Please?"

"Well, my favourite position is usually missionary. Just being able to look at your face and see your eyes whilst I'm on top of you..." He said, almost bashfully.

"Oh Steve, you sweetheart" You say, a soft giggle on your lips.

Steve felt a smile on his face, he was so damn attracted to you.

"What? Seeing your face as I'm on top of you watching your eyes as they close and your expression changes...it's quite a sight" He explains.

"Well then, why don't we make it a reality" You say softly.

"I was hoping you'd say that, sweetheart" He chuckles, moving slightly so he hovered over your body completely, his arms rested by the sides of your face and his cock trapped in between your stomachs. You moved your legs slightly, spreading them so he had space to slot in between them. Steve positioned himself a little, his eyes were all over your body, taking in your form as he moved a hand down to his cock, taking himself he lined himself up to your hole.

He didn't push in yet, choosing to drag the head of his cock up and down your wet pussy a few times, causing you both to moan softly, he moved down to press his lips to yours, kissing you softly, almost savoring the touch and taste of your lips on his as he slowly pushed his cock inside of you. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt. It wasn't an awful pain, it was one you almost welcomed, the slight twinge of pain adding to your pleasure.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asks, his lips still on your as he spoke, neither of your eyes opened anymore.

"So good, keep going" You answer, your legs were pressed to his hips, holding onto him as he finally pushed his entire hard cock inside of you. You had never felt so full, but feeling his entire length was beyond amazing, he was thick, thick enough that you could feel the veins of his cock against the walls of your pussy. You clenched around him a few times, causing him to groan loudly as he kissed you, you used the moment of his groan to slide your tongue into his mouth, losing yourself into him. You nodded slightly, hoping he'd know what you had meant. You needed him to move, needed him to pound into you like there was no tomorrow.

Steve understood your meaning, his lips stopped moving against yours slightly as he concentrated on moving his hips, he slowly dragged himself out of you, leaving just the tip, the feeling alone causing him to feel close to his edge, he then moved his cock fully back into you, a few times, just to make sure you were both completely covered in wetness. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails digging slightly into his skin as his hips began moving. Slowly at first, but soon he picked up the pace.

Steve's lips moved away from yours, kissing had been forgotten regardless, you both held your open mouths together, swallowing one another's moans rather than kiss. His lips moved to your neck, resting there as he slammed his hips into yours. The only noises in the room are those of both your moans and the loud slapping of his hips against yours.

"Steve...m'close" You whine, your legs beginning to shake. Steve, who was sucking yet another mark into your skin moved one hand in between your bodies, moving it down so he could press to fingers to your clit, he messily moved against the bundle of nerves, helping to push you over the edge.

You moaned loudly, gripping onto his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you body, even with closed eyes your vision went fuzzy and spotted with black dots, you giggled softly as you came down from the high, Steve had slowed his thrusts, his face lifted to look at you, a large smirk on his lips.

"You good, sweetheart?"

"So good" You say with a light giggle, feeling over the moon with pleasure, your legs went slack against the bed, they jolted slightly with every thrust of Steve's cock. Steve's thrusts started becoming faster, his fingers no longer on your clit, which you were thankful for, feeling close to overstimulating, both of his large hands were on you hips as he held you tightly, his fingers leaving little imprints on your skin as he used your hips to thrust into you harder. Your hands were lazily on his shoulders, you moved them over his chest, feeling his muscles in your post haze state.

"Come Stevie, come inside of me" You whisper, your voice trailing off slightly into another moan, his cock still stretching you perfectly.

"Are...Are you sure, sweetheart?" He asks, his hips slamming into you messily.

"Yes, wanna feel you" You whispered, clenching your pussy against him.

"Fu..fuck" He groaned, you giggled slightly at hearing Captain America swear, you clenched your pussy again as he thrusted into you, his movements becoming messy and sloppy as he became closer to his edge. "Gon...gonna come...fuck!" He moaned loudly, slamming his hips into you once more, letting your pussy cover his cock completely as he buries himself into you, spilling his seed deep within you, he drops his head down to your chest, his sweaty forehead connecting with the skin in between your breasts. You move your hands to his hair, holding him as he lays there, obviously catching his breath.

"Wow" You whispered.

"Yeah, wow" He replied, his voice quiet as he pressed a kiss to your skin.

After a few moments, Steve slowly removed himself from you, both of you wincing from the overstimulation, he then leaves the bedroom, only emerging from the bathroom when he had a wet flannel in hand. Steve smiled sweetly down to you as he washed your lower body of his seed, he kissed along your lower stomach as he did so.

"You did so good" He whispers.

"I did?" You ask, smirking down at him.

"So good, I'm glad you liked my idea" He grinned, it took you a moment to realise what idea he was talking about, suddenly remembering the real reason this had happened between you both.

"Yeah, well I think I'll be coming to you from now on, rather than a useless guy my own age" You answer with a smirk.

"Good, because I meant it when I said you were mine" He answers, moving forward to kiss your lips.

And finally you ended the night how you had wanted, in the arms of a man who knew how to make you feel good. And the fact that it was Steve's arms you were in, well that was just a bonus.

(I do not consent my works to be posted anywhere else, by anyone other than myself.)

#fluff #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #captain america x you #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #captain america fanfiction #marvel smut #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu x reader

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weemssapphic · 14 hours ago

Text

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 26

previous chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

words: ~ 4.7k | ao3 link in title

A/N: after a little over a year and a half, we've reached the end of this fic - never did I ever think that that smutty one shot would turn into 26 chapters and over 90k words. thank you, deeply, for everyone who has stuck around til the very end, even when it sometimes took me ages to update. thank you to everyone who commented, sent me asks, inspired me to keep writing. I felt this was the most authentic way to end the fic - I hope you like it! and let me know if you want to see more of these two 🥰

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You could sense Larissa tensing up beside you at the sound of the voice, her eyes widening as they fixated on the doorway behind you. Turning in confusion, your eyes landed on a woman clad all in black, with long dark hair and a sultry air about her. Though you’d never seen this woman before in your life, between her sense of style and Larissa’s reaction it wasn’t hard to deduce that you were now face-to-face with Morticia Addams. Your grip on Larissa’s hand tightened, your knuckles turning white.

Morticia began to glide towards the bed with unparalleled elegance, stopping only when she seemed to finally register your presence by Larissa’s side. Her gaze drifted down to your intertwined hands, lingering there for what seemed to be half an eternity. Her expression went from confusion to interest and, finally, as she met your own (definitely hostile) gaze, shifted to understanding.

“Wednesday told me you’d been seeing someone.” Morticia’s eyes were still on you, but her words were clearly directed at Larissa. “I assume this is her?”

“Y/N,” you said rather coldly, introducing yourself before Larissa could respond.

“It’s a pleasure,” Morticia replied, painted lips curling up into a smile that was as seductive as it appeared to be sincere.

“I wish I could say the same,” you growled under your breath. Morticia clearly heard you, but her smile never faltered.

“Darling…” Larissa whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking.

Morticia laughed, the sound melodic. “She’s feisty, I like her.”

You scowled, wrinkling your nose.

“What are you doing here?” Larissa’s expression showed confusion and annoyance in equal measure, and she was clearly trying her best to speak powerfully and clearly, though her voice faltered on the last syllable.

“Can’t I check on my best friend after she nearly dies?”

Larissa’s own grip on your hand tightened, and you squeezed back in a show of reassurance and solidarity. “We haven’t been best friends in decades.”

The smile dropped right off Morticia’s face and she crossed her arms, an uncomfortable silence shrouding the room. “I know,” she whispered finally. “And I know that’s mostly my fault. But when Wednesday told me what happened, I had to come see you.”

“Well, you’ve seen her,” you hissed. Morticia smiled a little sadly - she deserved it, you thought. You would never forget the way Larissa had spoken of the way Morticia had treated her, as though Larissa had meant nothing to her - as though Larissa wasn’t good enough for her. The memory alone made your blood boil, and you were certain your anger and contempt at Morticia were visible on your face.

“I’ve always cared about you, Larissa…” The way Larissa’s name rolled off Morticia’s tongue left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you bit your tongue in a desperate attempt not to snap at the dark-haired woman.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Larissa croaked out.

“That may be true. But I do care all the same. I’m glad you’re recovering.”

You watched Larissa’s face carefully for her reaction - her emotions were at war with one another and she was, for once, too exhausted to try to mask it. She closed her eyes, leaning back against her pillows with a frown on her face, deep lines forming between her eyebrows.

“I appreciate you checking in on me,” Larissa said finally, sounding more resigned than anything as she attempted to remain diplomatic. She opened her eyes and pinned Morticia with a tired gaze. “I hope you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest a bit more before I’m discharged tomorrow.”

It was an elegant way of kicking Morticia out, and the raven-haired woman seemed to have gotten the hint. She gave a curt nod and smiled graciously. “I’m sure our paths will cross again at Nevermore.”

Once she reached the doorway, Morticia turned back to face the two of you, looking at Larissa with a sort of soft fondness that you wouldn’t have expected from her. “She’ll take good care of you, this one.” Her gaze briefly flicked in your direction, not deterred by the frown on your face. Then she disappeared, closing the door gently behind her.

You turned back to Larissa to find her already watching you, her gaze soft and affectionate, her lips turned up into a smile that bordered on love-drunk - her expression so different than it had been with Morticia just moments ago. She laughed at the way you glowered at the door, her laugh turning into a slight cough.

“Don’t be jealous, darling…” she hummed shakily as her cough subsided.

“I’m not,” you said adamantly, though apparently not quite convincingly enough, for Larissa’s smile grew even wider.

“There’s not a single alternate universe where Morticia and I are right for each other, where I’m not irrevocably in love with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you pressed your forehead to Larissa’s. “I love you,” you whispered. “I’m not jealous, I just hate the way that Morticia makes you feel. I want you to be happy…”

Larissa cupped both of your cheeks and tilted your head, until your lips were a hair’s breadth away from her own and her eyes had to dart back and forth to be able to meet yours. “I am happy,” she said adamantly. “You make me feel special.”

“You are special, Larissa.”

Larissa’s lips brushed against your own, the kiss soft and tender. You had little privacy in the hospital room, but still you could feel every ounce of love Larissa had for you in the way that she kissed you, and you smiled against her lips.

~~~

“Darling?” Larissa asked somewhat hesitantly that evening, as you’d just come back into the room from going to the restroom. She wrung her hands in her lap and her mouth was turned into an apologetic frown, and you cocked your head to the side as you perched yourself at her bedside.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just realized I don’t have my car here. Would you be able to drive me back to Nevermore when I’m discharged in the morning?”

Your brows knit together in confusion - you’d already assumed that’s what you’d be doing. “Of course. I asked Cass to drop my car off here tonight, I left it at Nevermore.”

Larissa seemed taken by surprise at the matter-of-factness in your tone. Her lips curled into a tiny smile, though her brow was still furrowed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Larissa…” You bit the inside of your cheek as you considered your words carefully. “Have you thought about how you’re going to get by when you’re back at Nevermore? I mean, you might need help or something for a few weeks, you know, getting around and things…”

Larissa stayed silent for a moment, clearly contemplating. “I should be fine.”

You frowned at her stubbornness. “Okay… let me word that differently… I know you can take care of yourself, but I would feel better if you let me help you. If you want me to, that is…”

“I don’t want to burden you, darling,” Larissa said softly, running a hand through your hair - the intimate gesture felt so nice, and you leaned into her touch. “You have other things going on, you should focus on your studies.” Her smile was warm and affectionate but her gaze was a little sad, and you took her hand in yours and placed a kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re not a burden, Larissa. I want to help you recover, that’s what I’m here for. The semester is almost over anyway, aside from exams I wouldn’t really have to drive to Burlington much until after the holidays.”

You could practically see the cogs turning in Larissa’s brain, her brow furrowed as her eyes darted between your own - no doubt looking for some miniscule hint of insincerity or hesitance in your own gaze, which she certainly wouldn’t find. “Would you… be alright with staying at Nevermore for a little while, then?”

Larissa sounded almost shy, and you grinned and adopted a playful tone. “Larissa Weems, are you asking me to move in with you?”

Larissa’s cheeks grew red and she wrinkled her nose at your teasing. “Only if you’d like to…” she said after a moment, her tone soft and gentle. “You know there’s enough room for both of us.”

A feeling of absolute giddiness bubbled up inside of you - the circumstances might’ve been less than ideal but, regardless, the idea of living with Larissa was enough to make you swoon. Waking up every morning to her beautiful face on the pillow beside you, burrowing into her arms each night - your definition of heaven on earth.

“You know I’m not going to say no to that.” Your grin was so wide that it smoothed out the crease between Larissa’s brows, and she pulled her hand from between yours to cup the back of your neck and tug you in for a kiss.

~~~

Both you and Larissa were awake early the morning she was discharged, both of you too excited and too nervous to sleep. You pottered about the hospital room, packing your belongings up and gathering the flowers and cards to bring out to the car, while Larissa ate her breakfast, complaining about the food between each bite.

“I could cook something? We have to pass by my place on the way back to Nevermore anyway, I’ll just raid the fridge.”

Larissa snorted. “I’m sure your friends will appreciate that.”

“They’ll get over it,” you teased with a grin and a shrug. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to carry our stuff to the car.”

You filled your arms with as much as you could carry and brought everything out to your car, piling it in the trunk. It took you a while to navigate the halls of the hospital and when you finally returned to Larissa’s room, she looked frustrated and a bit down, playing with a bobby pin between her fingers, one singular curl pinned up against the back of her head.

“You okay?” you asked, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you approached her bedside.

“It hasn’t taken me this long to do my hair in over 30 years… holding my arms up is too tiring…”

“Can’t you shift?” You feared the answer, figuring if she could, she would - Larissa shook her head sadly.

“Too much effort to maintain.”

“Oh… what if I helped you?”

Larissa seemed a bit surprised at your suggestion, but her frown was quickly replaced with a soft smile and she scooted forward a bit so that you could crawl into her bed behind her and help her with her hair. She would separate her hair into sections and start to roll them up, stopping and letting you finish and pin them in place when her arms started to feel too heavy. After a moment’s rest, she would start on the next section, until each strand of hair was pinned up against her head. It took twice as long as it usually would have, and it looked more than amateurish, but it was better than nothing.

“How does it look from the back?” Larissa asked a little anxiously, and you laughed as you took a photo for her and handed her your phone.

“It could use some work, I’m sorry…”

Larissa chuckled, twisting around to cup your cheek and press her lips to yours. “It could be worse,” she murmured affectionately.

“You just have to get to your office and then you can take it down again,” you said with a laugh, silently wishing you were better at this kind of thing and vowing to learn for Larissa.

“Thank you…” You could tell by the light in Larissa’s eyes and the blush on her cheeks how much your help meant to her, and you grinned as you pulled her in for a slightly deeper kiss.

Larissa insisted on wearing a bit of makeup, not wanting to be caught in the halls of Nevermore without her signature red lip - you traced her lipstick along her lip, your stomach filling with butterflies at the intimacy of the action. You helped her dress, letting her lean on you and doing up the zip on the back of her dress, then waited patiently for her to sign some paperwork.

After what felt like hours, Larissa was finally discharged and the two of you were in your car, on your way to stop by your apartment. In spite of everything that had happened, you felt a lightness that you hadn’t felt since that night at Nevermore. Larissa was sitting next to you, not in a hospital bed but in your car. Her hair was up and her lips were painted and she wore a dress, not a hospital gown, and she moved her lips to the lyrics of the song playing on the radio, and you seemed to realize all at once that she would be okay.

~~~

Cass must’ve been waiting for you, because she was at your car window the second you pulled into your usual parking spot in front of your apartment. You rolled down the window and she crossed her arms and rested her forearms on the car, popping her head inside.

“There’s no way you decided to tell us you were moving out over text?” she exclaimed, but her lips were pulled into a wide grin, making it clear she wasn’t upset. Still, you blushed and glanced at Larissa, who suppressed a smile and looked down at her own lap.

“I’m sorry,” you said with a nervous chuckle, and Cass rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be, it’s not like we didn’t see it coming.”

Now even Larissa’s cheeks were slowly turning pink, and you shooed Cass away so that you could open the door and slip out of the car. Larissa made to open her own door but you insisted she stay in the car - you’d only be a minute anyway, grabbing the most important things - you could always stop by later in the week for more of your belongings.

You made a beeline straight for your room, grabbing the most essential items - some clothes, your laptop, some stuff for uni, your toiletries. With some extra room in your bag, you tossed in a few trinkets, your favorite books, some more art supplies, then stopped by the kitchen to raid the groceries your roommates had no doubt recently bought.

“You can’t stop by the store on your way through Jericho?”

Pausing in your rummaging through the fridge, you glanced sheepishly over your shoulder at Robin, who leaned in the doorway with a faint smirk on her face. It was clear your friends were happier to see you back to your old self than they were annoyed at the suddenness of your plans.

“I promise I’ll send you guys money for this week’s groceries?” you tried, and Robin laughed.

“Yeah, sure.” She paused, the smile slowly slipping off her face. “We’re gonna miss you, ya know?”

And wasn’t that strange to hear. After over two years of living together, it would certainly be weird to no longer call Robin, Cass, and Christin your roommates. You swallowed against the lump that had suddenly appeared in your throat, feeling oddly sentimental amid your excitement to live with Larissa.

“Who knows, I mean I might move back once Larissa’s recovered…”

Robin laughed, letting out a snort and raising an eyebrow, her usual easy grin lighting up her features. “You really think so?”

“Well…” You could feel your own lips spread into a smile. “No, probably not.”

Pushing herself off the doorframe, Robin crossed the room and pulled you into a brief but tight hug. “Don’t forget about movie night on Sunday. Just because you don’t live here anymore, doesn’t mean you’re getting out of it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it,” you chuckled, squeezing her tightly.

When you made it back out to your car with all your bags, Cass still had her head poked through the car window and was talking animatedly to Larissa. You shooed your best friend away from the car, then gave her a brief hug, promising to invite her over soon - she waited in the parking lot as you pulled out onto the street, her waving form shrinking in the rearview mirror until you rounded a corner and left her behind.

As you drove down the winding road through the dense forest separating Burlington from Jericho and, beyond that, from Nevermore, it slowly began to sink in that you had Larissa back. Finally, after weeks of anxiety, overthinking, worrying - finally - you were sitting side by side, driving down familiar roads, safe in the knowledge that everything was going to be alright.

“Cassandra was quite shocked that I recovered so quickly,” Larissa mused, her lips quirked into a half-smile as she stole a glance at you. “Actually, how did she put it? ‘I almost didn’t think you’d make it.’”

You cringed at your former roommate’s bluntness. “Ouch… sorry about her, I know she didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“I know… you haven’t told her that I’m a shapeshifter, have you?”

“No.” You shook your head. You expected Larissa to continue speaking, but a silence enveloped the car instead. Glancing over at the shapeshifter, she was looking out the window, appearing deep in thought. “I mean I don’t think she’d mind… I just didn’t think you’d want anyone to know unless you told them,” you added, the silence making you a bit nervous.

“No… you’re right…”

“You know, it’s actually pretty cool, if you think about it,” you started, and Larissa glanced curiously in your direction again. “Being a shapeshifter kind of saved you - I mean how many other people’s organs can just shift to regenerate that quickly? If you weren’t a shapeshifter, we might not be sitting here right now.”

Larissa let out an audible breath through her nose. “I suppose that’s true…” Out of the corner of your eye you could see her turn in her seat, leaning the side of her head against the headrest so that she could face you. The smile on her lips grew a bit. “I suppose being a shapeshifter has its upsides, doesn’t it?”

“I can think of a few more upsides,” you quipped with a smirk, purposely lowering your voice an octave, and turning to look at Larissa just in time to see her cheeks flush a deep, gorgeous pink.

~~~

Arriving at Nevermore, you and Larissa were hounded by students as you tried to carry your belongings to her quarters. Your saving grace ended up being a protective Enid and a reluctant Wednesday, who told off their fellow students and made them give Larissa space - enough for the two of you to reach her office and lock yourselves inside.

“They’d be lost without you here,” you remarked casually as you dragged a duffle bag of your things towards the door to Larissa’s quarters - with your back turned, you missed the way Larissa paused and shifted away a blush, before hurrying after you.

The walk from the car to her quarters was enough to thoroughly exhaust Larissa. Though she was a shapeshifter and was likely to regenerate and recover quicker, she’d still lost a lot of muscle tone in the coma, and so (much to her chagrin) you had her settle on the bed while you hung your clothes up in the closet.

“Hey, Riss? Where can I put this?” you asked as you pulled a handful of paints out of your bag.

Larissa looked around the room - with the hospital stay and the short notice, of course she hadn’t yet been able to consider where you would actually put any of your belongings, and she tilted her head in thought. “There should be some space in the bottom drawer,” she said, pointing to a dresser against the wall. “We can clear up a better space later.”

You crawled over to the dresser from where you were sitting, opening the drawer. It was mostly empty aside from some extra linens, which Larissa instructed you to place in the closet, and a large, heavy photo album. You took hold of the leatherbound album and glanced imploringly at Larissa - she gestured with her hand, inviting you to pick it up.

Opening the front cover, it dawned on you that this was a family album - right on the front page, there was a black and white photograph of a woman in a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby. “Is this you?”

Larissa smiled. “Yes. Come here.” She patted the space on the bed beside her and you settled next to her with the album open on your lap. Larissa wrapped her arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple, before turning the page to another baby photo - in this one, both mother and father were present, baby wrapped in a quilted blanket and snuggled tight against father’s chest as they stood in the entryway of what appeared to be a large house.

“My parents,” Larissa supplied, though you didn’t need the confirmation - the man was tall, with Larissa’s shoulders, Larissa’s nose; the woman’s light hair and soft features had clearly been passed straight onto her daughter.

You flipped through page after page, photo after photo, of a young Larissa and her family and friends. Larissa at 2 on some rocky beach, in the arms of her grandmother, of whom both she and her mother were the spitting image. Larissa at 5 in a leotard and tights, sitting on the floor of a ballet studio and grinning up at the camera, with one front tooth missing. Larissa at 8 in her Sunday best, standing in front of a church, her father’s hand on her shoulder and her mother standing just off to the side. Larissa at 9 on horseback. Larissa at 11 with her arm around a friend’s shoulder. Larissa at 13 in front of the gates of Nevermore. A few shots of Larissa’s parents, of her grandmother, of an uncle on her father’s side. Of Larissa at Nevermore with other students, or with family on school breaks.

The more photos the two of you flipped through, the more Larissa seemed to lose herself in thought. Finally, her mood unnerved you enough for you to utter a quiet, “we don’t have to do this, you know. If it’s upsetting you.”

Larissa shook her head, a soft smile on her face, though the crease between her brows was deep and pronounced. “I’m alright, darling… I’d just forgotten this was here, that’s all.”

You knew that wasn’t all but, not wanting to pry, you kept your mouth shut. Instead, you leaned your head against Larissa’s shoulder and pushed the photo album off your lap, closing your eyes and letting Larissa process in silence - a silence that stretched so long that her next words startled you.

“I think you’d like my father.”

You raised your head in confusion, remembering what Larissa had told you about her parents. “Would I?”

That comment made Larissa chuckle. “Yes, I think you would. I think he’d like you, too.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

“Not in a few years… the last time my parents called, I had a girlfriend over. My mother heard her speak in the background and it caused an argument. My father reached out the next day but I remembered that I’m grown up and don’t have to tolerate that sort of behavior anymore… I changed my phone number that same day.”

Not knowing what to say and knowing you were treading on unknown terrain, you nodded along, watching Larissa’s expression carefully as it shifted between remorse, annoyance, wistfulness, and humor. Larissa carried on after another moment’s silence.

“Maybe it’s time I called him...” The shapeshifter’s expression was resolute, and she shifted her gaze from her lap to your face, a soft smile playing on her lips when she saw your eyes widen at her conclusion. “I think he’d be pleased to know I’ve found you… and it would anger my dear mother greatly.” Larissa’s eyes danced with mirth and it made you smile.

“There’s nothing I love more than pissing off homophobes,” you teased, drawing a laugh from deep within Larissa’s chest and making her pull you even closer to press her lips to your temple.

“That can wait, darling… First, I’d like you all to myself for a few days…”

~~~

As afternoon faded to evening, you moved from the bedroom to the kitchen, enjoying the blissful haze of each other’s presence as you prepared dinner. With the long hospital stay behind you and the heavy conversation about Larissa’s family long forgotten, you laughed and bantered as you had in the weeks prior to the incident - there was no Morticia to bring you down, no Wednesday to distract you, no monster to keep you on your toes, not even roommates to interrupt you. Even work was on hold before Larissa could meet with the school board to discuss her return to work. It was just you and Larissa, in the quarters that you now shared, partaking in the simple, domestic act of cooking together - which meant that you were dutifully watching over the salmon in the pan to make sure it cooked evenly, while Larissa sat at the table with her legs crossed, nursing a glass of red wine and smiling fondly at you.

It reminded you so much of the first time that you cooked for Larissa, just after the Rave’N, when you’d desperately wanted to make up for that disastrous evening. How happy you were back then to simply cook for Larissa - and now, you were getting the chance again.

After dinner, you insisted Larissa join you in the living room to continue the evening listening to music. You lowered the tonearm onto the record, then turned to find Larissa watching you with a faint blush dusting her cheeks. The opening notes to “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole began to play, a song you’d come to associate with your girlfriend. You stepped towards the sofa and stopped in front of Larissa, placing your hands on her shoulders and lowering yourself slowly to straddle her lap. Her hands immediately found your waist, pulling you down and holding you in place, fingers flexing against you, savoring the feeling of holding you.

“Sweet girl,” Larissa cooed with a soft, affectionate smile, running her hands from your hips to the tops of your thighs, then back again, seeming to marvel at being able to feel you beneath her palms again. You closed your eyes, resting your forehead against Larissa’s and humming the melody of the song.

“Darling?” Larissa asked softly, her warm breath tickling your face, and you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, silently urging her to ask whatever she wanted to ask you. “You said something about spending Christmas at the beach?”

You were taken aback by her question, your brow furrowing as you racked your brain to figure out what she was talking about.

“In the hospital,” she clarified quickly, and suddenly you remembered having spoken to her about going away for Christmas while she was in the coma. You smiled, pleased that she had heard and remembered that, and nodded. “Is that something you were serious about?”

Your smile widened. “Yeah, dead serious.”

“Well, perhaps we should look into flights then…” A smirk was slowly creeping onto Larissa’s face, and her hands slid from your waist to the swell of your ass, tugging you just an inch closer so that your front was completely flush with hers. You felt your grin would split your face in two and you eagerly bobbed your head ‘yes’.

The prospect of spending the holidays with Larissa seemed almost too good to be true. Just over a week ago, you weren’t entirely sure she’d make it to Christmas at all, and now you were sitting on her lap, with her warm body fitted snugly against your own, making plans for the future. Happiness bloomed within you and you cupped Larissa’s cheeks, your eyes dancing between her own. Your lips mouthed the lyrics of the song playing, and her own lips curled into the most adoring of smiles in response.

That's why darling, it's incredible That someone so unforgettable Thinks that I am unforgettable too

Taglist: @littledollll @nlr-33 @mysaviorfalsegod @imlike-so-gaydude @rainbow-hedgehog @enchantressb @alder-saan @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @amateurwritescm @brienneswife @principal-weems09 @messynessi @larissaoftarthweems @anti-bright-places @lvinhs @catechristiesstuff @ladyzmilf002 @milfsloverblog @opheliauniverse @orangeisnttheonlyfruit @im-a-carnivorous-plant @alexusonfire @bigolgay @kimiinou @wastdstime @scream-queenlover @imprincipalweemspet @justcallmelittleone @willowshadenox @milfsloverblog @leftoverenvy @yahaqueen @peggycarter3 @lilfartbox1 @makemyworldworthliving @crow-raven-crow @mosscoveredcrucifix @opalthefrog @barbarasstar @giogwensversion

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #lipstick stains #lipstick stains series #larissa x reader #principal weems #principal weems x reader

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theoddest1 · 2 days ago

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Okay so, ima type in what I typed to my friend here.

"Yeah Ima be so dead ass. ||Mel and Ekko carried the final for me, ESPECIALLY Ekko."

Yeah, they should have just kept [Viktor] being Ryze. That made more sense to me than whatever this is. And I am all for mlm rep, but yeah, this felt WAY too, Jayvikky. I liked it better that they were brothers to parallel Vander and Silco, who also found each other and became bros, but it seemed like they went with how popular JayVik was and stuck with it. And Jayce being strung with Viktor for wherever they went felt...kinda nonsensical. I'd rather that Viktor was thwarted and too far gone to then just suddenly have a change of heart and go with Jayce. I imagined that he would have a contingency where he, incase his body was destroyed, would then later rise again to try and enact "Glorious Evolution". It would go well with the themes of his beliefs anyway because every time he dies, he comes back stronger in a new body. I feel like that would better set the ongoing conflict and fit well with the game and why he looks the way he does currently.

I also don't like how quick he and Mel's reunion was considering how much he favored her along with his odd and sudden dislike for her decisions-- Seriously, where did that even come from!?"

[Thought it over further. Him calling her out on her actions isn't the issue. It's the timing and how this transpires that confuses me. He just came from a post-apocalyptic world where Mel, Viktor, and everything else came to mind. The lack of time for them to truly talk made the scene felt out of nowhere and not at all fleshed out. He goes on to place part of the blame on her when literally it wasn't. She DID manipulate but only politically. Everything else was on he and Viktor. Then, when he DOES confront Viktor, the vibes are different. Viktor hurt and caused a chain of events that led to several lives being taken to ensure survival and his "Glorious Evolution", why is this essentially overlooked? Maybe when I review this again, it will make more sense, but as of now, the way Jayce treats both Mel and Viktor is VERY questionable.]

"I would have been pretty happy if He at least gave her a hug, a kiss, something to make their relationship seem consistent with what we were shown. I know that he's been gone for a while and a lot more cold, but this was a very odd direction to go with. I am super happy about Cait and Mel fighting side by side and that Mel may be the main character for a new Noxus related show! [Which I knew they'd set up!] but this series, after seeing it in its entirety, DID suffer too much from the pacing issues. I assumed at the First Act that it was quick paced to go with how they've all been shifted into places they didn't see coming, but the pacing issues continued to bring down the quality. 3 seasons would have made way more sense and would go well with the 3 ACT formula they had used. I hope they learn from this and refrain from making similar mistakes.

[I responded to my friend who posted these images above] I knew they'd make a callback to this line eventually, and I am genuinely surprised people are not catching this obvious set up to Jinx living. Also, I am betting that Heimer did "die" but only that alternate version of himself. [Though obviously I could be wrong, though a life of various lifetimes where he helps each version of the main cast sounds very Heimerdinger of him, especially since he didn't wanna leave.]

The biggest letdown for me has to be Jayce and Viktor's story. It just...doesn't make sense with what we have been shown. Also, if Viktor KNOWS bad shit would happen when bringing Hextech to life and all, why TF would he give it to Jayce then???? Or if he STILL wanted magic to be tampered with shy doesn't he comvince himself in a way HE KNOWS would prevent what happens next, surely NOT EVERY timeline has it where you continue on the path of destruction! You see what I mean!?!? Leave the time crap to Ekko, man. This new inclusion makes no sense! And he does this in VARIOUS timeliness for some reason. Man, I wish it was just a random ass mage or Ryze, this added stuff kinda kills the finale for me🫠

I feel that making Viktor time travel ruins a huge aspect of the story, ngl, especially when Jayce argues that people can "craft their own path." The story also shouldn't have ended with what I could only assume both of them "dying" or traversing time instead. Also, the way Sky was treated and essentially replaced with Jayce feels....very very weeeeird."

[I believe that the ending just didn't land that well. I feel, now thinking over every character, Ekko, Mel, and Jinx carried this season HEAVY. These 3 were the most interesting parts of the season, honorable mention being Singed cause he be doing what he MUST. Also, what was the point of introducing Loris if all he was gonna end up being was a random guy who reminded Vi of Vander? I guess nothing is wrong with this, but when you're already stringing for time, these inclusions make no sense... I liked him, though, RIP Loris🤧. Oh, and Caut barely facing consequences is KINDA CRAZY but it goes with the themes of forgiveness/ acceptance. The Cycle would never end, after all, but yeah Vi and Cait made up WAY too fast and just shows that this needed another season. Let me know your thoughts!]

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estupidapendejaestupida · 4 hours ago

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My selkie Batfam AU! Where selkies are not only seals/aquatic animals, but can be other animals. Born with their pelt, and if they are separated from them since their birth it doesn’t really hurts them, but it makes them feel very empty, like they are missing something very, very important, but they don’t know why (kinda like Crack baby, by Mitski).

Bruce: lion (black) like his parents were.

Dick: wolf (grey)

Barbara: human

Jason: bear (brown)

Tim: human, but not really (lynx).

Stephanie: human

Damian: lion (brown) like Thalia.

Cass: tiger

Duke: human

Alfred: human

Who else should i have?

Ideas so far:

• Tim being mocked by Jason (during the attack at TT) and Damian (during his murder attemps) for being the only robin to be human. And btw, he isn’t living in the manor, he stays in The Nest.

• Damian being taught that he was bigger than his other soul and animal instincts, that if he wanted to be strong and worthy he had to control his animal soul and stop needing it or using it.

• I think I like the idea of Steph being a rat or something small like her mother, and her dad being all like “you useless fuck, ofc you had to be something weak and insignificant, you are weak just like your mother and blah blah blah”. Tell me what you think about it, and well make a decision together.

• Babs being human and not understanding selkie’s at all when she first began working with the bats, but then when she finds that B and Dick are both selkies she just becomes a master about their selkie cultures and habitats and how to treat with them and learns what to do and what not to do. So when another human of the pack needs help understanding one of the selkies, they ask for her help. Except Tim, tho. He kind of always got them at the first try… weird, huh?

• Alfred has to raise young selkie Bruce Wayne all alone after the Waynes' death, and as a human, he tried to teach him how to be a selkie. But a mere human is not really a good mentor for a selkie.

• Slade taking Dick’s pelt away when he was training him, and Dick suffering through feeling like half of his soul had been snatched from him. Feeling it so close, yet too far. And being forced to obey Slade’s every order, until he manages to take his pelt back and scape.

• Jason’s pelt getting burned in Ethiopia, and Bruce keeping it locked away, so when Jason comes back to life he is easier to manipulate by Thalia saying that Bruce threw away his pelt after he replaced him. And Jason blaming that on Tim when he attacks him on TT.

• SPOILER ALERT: Tim’s mom is a selkie, but since she got pregnant with Tim, she stayed as a human and hid her pelt away. She was hoping for Tim to be born completely human, and instead, he was born a selkie. She hid it from her husband, thinking that this way, taking his pelt since birth, he would grow to not need it and could live a normal life just like his human father. She did write a separate testament from his husband, way before she died, where she left a box for Tim. Inside the box is his pelt, and a letter explaining everything. Tim only gets to that box after she dies, and his dad enters a vegetative state after the accident overseas. The thing is that Tim never quite opens the box. He just leaves it somewhere well hidden in his old room at the Wayne manor. And since he never stays the night in his old room anymore, he just never got around to open it. One day, he will, tho.

Please tell me if I should keep this up? I already have a draft done, so if you guys like this idea, I'll publish it :3

I'll write many fics for every character, so it's not very 'one character centric'

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blackberrysummerblog · 11 hours ago

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Wow, it feels like FOREVER since I posted anything. Thanks so much for the tags today @roomwithanopenfire, @meanjeansjeans, @monbons, @orange-peony, @nausikaaa, and @forabeatofadrum. And thank you so much to everyone else who’s been tagging me! I really do appreciate you all <3 It’s nice to see so many people creating! I’ve been feeling supremely UNcreative the past few weeks, but these things come and go, especially when life gets busy.

I do have some things to share! Here’s a snippet from one:

“We can send it to Oxford if you don’t want it in the flat, love,” Baz tells me as I sit on the bed and stare at the floor. He sits beside me and nudges my shoulder with his. “I can hide it away so well that you never have to lay eyes on it again.”

I let my head flop over so that it rests beneath his jaw. “Yeah, maybe.” A little snort escapes me as I grab hold of that thought. “Your dad’ll lose his rag if he finds out it’s there, imagine.”

And another:

Simon is cute, I suppose, in an apple-cheeked hero-who-saves-the-day sort of way. He’s gotten taller this year, although we’re still about the same height. You can see he was made to be broad, and he’s put on a lot of muscle. His skin and hair are nearly the same colour—a literal golden boy. Simon looks like what everyone expects for me. My magic isn’t particularly exceptional, and neither are my grades, but I’m pleasant to look at and refined—I have better manners than to be wearing shoes on the bed and letting my skirt ride up over my knickers, like Philippa is doing right now. I’m the sort of girl people expect to see on Simon’s arm. The sort of girl who will raise his perfect children.

A different one:

“Please,” I whimper. It sounds pathetic, but his smile is like the sun bursting out from behind a cloud. We kiss for what feels like hours; I’ve learned that he likes to treat making out like a mission, one whose mysteries he has to unlock and pry loose to succeed. He likes when I tell him what to do, and when I praise him for getting it right. The day I found out what ‘good boy’ could do for him was a very, very interesting one indeed. And most of all, his name. I’ll never tell him that I deliberately hold back calling him Simon lest it lose its power. “Simon,” I whisper now, with his hands on my waist, his mouth latched on my throat. “Good boy, Simon.”

And finally:

Dev’s makeup is more dramatic than mine, but I have to admit that bright colours suit him. His searing red lipstick is somewhat unfortunately applied however, having been slicked on well after getting in his cups. He still looks brilliant, full of life. A deep, abiding warmth settles into my gut as I watch my little family—it feels good to be together like this again. Dev’s free spirit is catching, and I move behind the kitchen door to pull the silver dress on, much to Fiona and Ebb’s delight.

I hope everyone has a great week, and if you’re planning to celebrate Thanksgiving, have safe travels and good times with friends and family <3

No pressure tags: @rimeswithpurple @valeffelees @best--dress @stardustasincocaine @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @c0nsumemy5oul @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @tender-ministrations @basiltonbutliketheherb @ghostpepperworld @larkral @artsyunderstudy @letraspal @cows4247 @fiend-for-culture @palimpsessed @thewholelemon @hushed-chorus @shrekgogurt @raenestee @cutestkilla @mooncello @imagineacoolusername @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @iamamythologicalcreature @beastmonstertitan @ic3-que3n @supercutedinosaurs @stitchy-queerista @alexalexinii @asocialpessimist @shutup-andletme-go @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @wellbelesbian

#carry on fandom #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #Agatha Wellbelove #six sentence sunday #simon snow series #wip #some of these are from ongoing WIPs #and others are from finished fics for COC 2024!#and simon is always a very very good boy #six sentence saturday

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sim-songs · 15 hours ago

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Update time!

Hello my fellow simmers, it is me lmao 😜 I'm still on hiatus but some things to note during my absence!

I try my best to keep up with new CC releases for my sideblogs @simfluencer-network and @matchsim, but as most of you have noticed already that hasn't been the easiest task. The queue is running but that's to catch up with simblreen treats and older stuff 🫠

Basically, I prefer tagging those reblogs on my computer and I have to be, well, home to do that. I did a bunch of catch up today, but newer stuff gets added to my drafts to be tagged and reblogged later. That's just the way it's gonna have to be for now!

As for myself, I'm doing well. Still in the ole' psych ward, but it sounds much more dramatic than it really is, that's for sure! I'm home on Wednesday afternoons and every weekend, and everything is going pretty smoothly. In fact, I'm hoping to be home somewhere in December, in agreement with the ward and myself ofc.

So, as I said before, I'm still around on my phone mostly, but life has a way of going very fast so I'm noticing that I'm on here in waves, only to be gone for two weeks! I'll be back, but I have many other plans that will make me go on hiatus in the future, but I'm not jumping the gun on those plans so you and me will have to wait and see 😄

Anyway, lates! xoxo

#update #personal #hiatus

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lifenconcepts · 14 hours ago

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LIFE AND DEATH! For @canines-crown depicting the concepts as tangible forms, representing both wolf and I :)

Made with the silly “my favourite character x character trope” but ended up turning into just art of our concet selves. Hehhehdhdhjd. The text reads:

MY FAVOURITR CONCEPT TO SYMBOL(ism) TROPE: A natural process without enemies nor villains.

DEATH: Gentle & Compassionate. “It must be done”. Rest, child. All will go.

LIFE: Sporadic & Intense. “survive and thrive!”. Run, child. All has purpose.

more information under the cut

This took me just a little over an hour and a half to draw (the most I’ve spent on any piece of art. Period.) and I’m gosh darn proud! Very happy to be able to make this for you and now with the symbolism because I’m not satisfied with just giving you the finished art..

The foxglove and wolfsbane depicted on the right are a representation of just how merciless life can be and that something beautiful and seemingly innocent may bring along a harsh fate, a field vole depicted by the wolfsbane (technically not the right name but I like how it sounds) is a symbol of fragility of life and how curiosity is a given and yet can result in death. The dove, also a symbol of goodness, has been wounded and can be a stand in to the destructive nature of existence itself. The shroud and light above both figures faces both obstructs the identity but also acts as a key element in recognising them and I think speaks for itself (a looming darkness vs blinding light). On the left, alongside death, is the corpse of a long fallen deer, along with its fragility - it is now the source of life for carrion beetles, making it clear how in the end of one thing, there is beginining in another. Wolf also holds a hare, which clouded eyes and seeping blood make it clear it’s no longer breathing, and yet it is still being lovingly held and treated with kindness and respect. The fact that it has passed on is not of death’s fault and yet is now the responsibility that death must carry. Also, both are in a very specific position physically, Life - in a grassy marshlands that seems to be overgrown, and Death - in a more darkened and dulled over moss. Neither have any details in the body apart from human-like limbs and the beginning of a head, but for the most part is just the image of what personification could do to a concept. Ah, beautiful, ain’t it?

my personal thoughts on this piece is overall that I’m so proud of myself for doing this and hope you enjoy it! I did my best at incorporating different styles and techniques alongside a million brushes. I also utilised layers, ain’t that great!? Right. I do apologise though for the limited amount of space I had to draw both figures in so it seems a bit smushed together, but in truth, I also made the conscious decision of drawing you on the left, due to the psychology of things being read and seen by the masses from left to right, so even when someone scrolls by, the first conscious sight that their mind sees is you, or well, your representation.

And hey, I just wanted you to pay some attention to a few specifics:

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waynes-multiverse · 1 day ago

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Ooooh, Arty! I'm so excited for this series (and your FBI one, which I'm hopping into next) 😍 You know I'm obsessed with those things ��👏

Let's jump into it! 🍿

I can see why she'd need a bodyguard. Girl, you can't be sitting in a bar as a presidential candidate. Please tell me Secret Service has eyes on this "madwoman" 😂

Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

Yup 💯💯💯 Although, I don't think Shurley's up for the job... 😒

Bella sounds like me 😂 Are we redheads all the same?

You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

I love when authors add (funny) information in parentheses or strike words through! It adds so much comedy and is my favorite kind of writing style 🤍

That means you got… 64% of the vote

Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳

Suck it, Amara 😝

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Dude, she's winning in, like... life 👀

But there's something missing... Ah yes! Who will be the First Gentleman? *coughs*

And please tell me the girls are moving with her into the White House. I'd die 😂😂

“I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant.

Oh dear God, no... 😂 I had a feeling when she snuck up on me in this paragraph lmao

But is she okay? Why do I get the sense her eye bags don't come from being overworked? Is someone threatening her? Trying to gain access to Mme Pres. through her? I'm on alert! 👀

Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

That is a fair assumption 😅 Only one dude would be this crazy to apply to the freaking White House as personal bodyguard to the freaking president 🙈

A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery

Jesus effing Christ...

I wonder what really went on there? Can't imagine Dean, even AU!Dean, to be this damn cold-blooded without a somewhat (we do forgive him a lot) sound reason

Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Chills! Literal chills! 👏

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂

I love how his whole plan rides on "oh, I can get pardoned if I work for the president" 🤣 Dream big, I guess

Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.

That sounds almost like one Russell Shaw 😏 (Which makes sense, considering they're both the same person – thanks Jackles 😂)

neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

You did good, boo 😘👏

Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”

A realist, you might say 😂

His lawyer might eat his own ass after he gets out 🤣🤣

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles

I love her! She treats him like a human being already, and not like a murderous animal 🤍

He’s not being a perv.

Mmm, I don't quite believe you, Mr. Winchester 😅

“But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?”

Ah! And suddenly, it all becomes quite clear. Of course he did all this crazy shit for Sammy. And I bet Sammy, the prosecutor, just loves the fact that his brother is a hitman in prison 😂

You’re. Hired. He could die.

Arty, if this is foreshadowing, I will kill you. Hope you have your bodyguard ready 😝

That whole reunion with Sam made me tear up for real 😭 That was so sweet and genuine!

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Yes. Just been there last week again 😂

Her family also seems so sweet. She needs a good support system with this job, and it seems like she has that 🤍

Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.

I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?”

I'm with Steph on this one. Ben Affleck? Ew.

And I have a feeling those walls aren't as thick as the girls believe they are 😂

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled

DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!

That whole conversation has me rolling on the floor, girl 😂 There were so many gems here 🤍✨

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Joking or not, I can't believe Sam's entertaining this idea and encouraging him to hit on the president (and his only ticket outta prison) 😂

Wonderful first chapter, babe! 👏👏👏 So stoked to see where this goes, to have more wild girl chats, and more romantic as well as sexual tension! 😏😍

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.

“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.

“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”

Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”

“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”

Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.

“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.

“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.

You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.

Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.

“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.

But you did it with a grin. You were the President.

Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.

“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”

During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.

“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”

“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.

You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?

“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.

Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.

You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.

“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”

ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.

It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.

Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.

Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.

“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”

The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.

Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.

ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.

“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”

By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.

He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.

Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.

To Madam President,

I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.

Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.

By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

The next step was trickier.

Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.

“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”

“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”

Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”

Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”

Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”

Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.

The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.

Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.

“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”

Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”

Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”

The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”

Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.

Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.

Dean Winchester.

You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.

You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.

Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.

“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.

“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—

“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.

“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”

The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.

“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.

Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”

“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.

“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.

Then he swallowed. Shit.

But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.

Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.

“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.

"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"

Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.

“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.

Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.

"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.

The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.

“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.

“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.

You had to do that too, just to be clear.

“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”

Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.

But this answer was simple.

“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.

He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.

“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”

As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.

His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—

“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.

“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.

“Jerk.”

The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.

Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.

“Austin!”

The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.

You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”

The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.

By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”

You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”

“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.

“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.

“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.

“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.

Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.

“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”

Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.

“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”

“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.

“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”

“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”

Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”

“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.

Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.

Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.

You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.

Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”

“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.

You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”

“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”

She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.

Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.

You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.

Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”

Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”

Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”

You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”

“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”

The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”

Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.

The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”

Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”

As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.

The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.

You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.

Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”

“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”

Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”

You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.

“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”

“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”

Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.

You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.

Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.

You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.

“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.

You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”

Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.

“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.

For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.

Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.

As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.

“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”

Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”

“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.

“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”

Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”

Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”

Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”

“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.

You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”

Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”

The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.

If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.

When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”

Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”

Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?

“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”

“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.

“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”

Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”

“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”

Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”

Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”

“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”

You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”

“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.

“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”

You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”

“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”

“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.

Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.

But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.

“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”

You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”

“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.

You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”

Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”

Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”

“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.

Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”

The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.

“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”

“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”

Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”

You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”

“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”

Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”

“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”

Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.

The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.

Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.

Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.

Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.

“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”

“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”

Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.

“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”

Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”

Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.

“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”

As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.

“Uncle Dean!”

“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”

Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”

Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”

“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.

“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”

The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.

It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.

The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.

“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”

Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”

“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”

“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”

“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”

Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”

“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”

“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”

Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”

Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”

Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”

“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”

Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”

“I do,” Dean admitted.

“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”

Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.

The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.

“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.

As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.

NEXT UP:

“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.

Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.

Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.

“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.

His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.

By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.

“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.

In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.