#assassination nation angst

[runawrites-blog]

Past (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: You and Bucky's five-year-old son learns about his father's past as the Winter Soldier and has mixed feelings about it. While you wrack your brain over how to handle this situation, your son's fear of thunderstorms leads him back into his father's arms and gives you all an opportunity to talk. (Female Reader) Word Count: 2,628 Warnings: Angst. Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Past Mind Control/Abuse. Crying. No Y/N. Petnames (Sweetheart) A/N: I'm so sorry. This is pretty sad but it came to me when I saw this gif.

---

“Carry me, please, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled softly and quickly obliged, bending down to pick up your five-year-old son and setting him down on his hip, holding him securely with his arm. Your son Samuel smiled happily and leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder, cradling his favourite plush to his chest as he let his father carry him. Making his way to the kitchen, Bucky passed through the living room, finding the television still going and realising he must have forgotten to turn it off which his son helpfully pointed out.

“Daddy, you forgot to turn it off!”

“You’re right, buddy.” Bucky nodded before looking at his son, widening his eyes dramatically and making Samuel chuckle. “Don’t tell your Mommy. She’ll give me a lecture on leaving it running again.”

Samuel grinned back at his father before nodding and cuddling back to him. “Promise.”

“Not good enough, little buddy.” Bucky grinned and held out the pinky finger of his free hand to Samuel. “You have to pinky promise.”

Samuel quickly grabbed his father’s pinky with his own and nodded. “Pinky promise.”

“Now let’s turn off the television and then go see if your Mommy needs help with the dishes, alright?”

Samuel nodded and cuddled back to his father while Bucky approached the television and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, keeping his son securely in his free arm so he wouldn’t slip from his grip. Just as you appeared at the door and Bucky feared a lecture on leaving the television on, the topic on the news changed and he felt his blood run cold. He would have preferred a lecture from you over what was shown on the news.

“After the recent hostage situation turned bomb threat and the subsequent intervention of a group sent out by SHIELD, there has been a renewed spark of unease that swept the nation. The subject of this unease is one of the members of the group, James Buchanan Barnes or as America knows him better, the former Winter Soldier. Barnes has--”

You quickly swooped in to grab the remote from Bucky’s hand but his grip was tight as a vice, leaving you trying to pry his fingers off it while the news anchor kept talking and your son’s eyes grew wide as the news coverage dragged on.

“Now as my co-host has so kindly reminded me, Barnes was found innocent after a long trial and was cleared to go on these missions, but people are now asking the question of whether or not a former assassin, responsible for the deaths of countless people, is the right choice of--”

Instead of trying to get to the remote you quickly got between the two of them and the television, spreading your arms to cover more of it. But your son had heard enough and he turned to stare at his father in what you could only describe as betrayal and fear. Bucky saw his son’s head moving and turned to look at him. As soon as he saw the look on his son’s face you could practically see his heart breaking.

“Did you hurt people, Daddy?”

Knowing that lying would only make this situation worse Bucky gave a curd nod to which Samuel reacted almost immediately. With tears in his eyes, he tried to wriggle out of Bucky’s grip, using his hands to try and dislodge himself from his father’s arms.

“Put me down! I want Mommy!”

You quickly swooped in to take Samuel from Bucky’s arms, not wanting the boy to hurt himself as he wriggled out of his father’s grasp. Once he was in your arms, Samuel started crying, burying his face in your neck and clinging to you with his tiny fingers.

“Honey, try to calm down.” You cooed gently, rocking from foot to foot in the hopes of calming him down a little. “It’s alright to be upset but I promise we can explain this to you.”

“I don’t want you to!” Samuel screeched, clinging to you as he sobbed. “Daddy hurt those people. The people on the news said so!”

You were about to answer when movement from Bucky made you turn, finding him with tears rolling down his face as he looked back at Samuel. Then he turned to leave the room, making his way to your bedroom and shutting the door behind himself. But you couldn’t go after him because Samuel was still crying in your arms. Deciding that a change of scenery might be a good idea you left the living room, walking over to Samuel’s room.

There, you spent the better part of an hour calming your son down until he eventually fell asleep in your arms and you gently tucked him in. Then you made your way to your bedroom, unsure of what to do about this whole situation but vowing to comfort your husband. Bucky rarely ever cried and seeing him do so now made your heart ache for him and you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he must be feeling right now. He had been through so much and now all of this was coming back to haunt him once more.

When you opened the door you found him lying on his left side on top of the covers, staring out into the rain. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, you could see tears still running down his face even though he was perfectly still otherwise, not sobbing or shaking at all, still trying to stay collected despite how much he was hurting.

You knew he’d heard you enter, his senses keen after years of training, but he didn’t react when you sat down by his side. For a few seconds, you remained quiet, thinking of what to say and when you figured it out you tried to keep your voice as gentle as possible.

“Bucky, do you want to talk about it?”

But he just shook his head, right hand cradling his vibranium hand to his chest, knuckles turning white with how tightly he was holding onto it. Gingerly, you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, your thumb gently stroking his skin.

“Then I’ll talk.” You concluded, sighing deeply and scooting closer to him. “This was a lot for Samuel to take in but I know he still loves you.”

“My son is scared of me.”

“Sweetheart, he isn’t--”

“Don’t lie to me.” Bucky said, voice stern but strained with emotion as he shook his head mournfully. “I saw the look on his face. He was terrified of me.”

Your face contorted in sympathy and you slowly lay down behind him, arms coming up to wrap around his middle and your right hand covering both of his where they lay on his chest. “He is confused, James. He isn’t scared of you. He thinks we lied to him but I promised him that we’d explain everything tomorrow.”

Bucky was quiet for a few seconds before he released a deep sigh. “What do I say to him? What do I do now?”

“We will talk to him together. We explain what happened in a child-friendly way.” At Bucky’s silence, you leaned up to press a kiss to his tear-stained cheek, gently stroking his hand with your thumb. “I will think of how to explain this to him. We can figure all of this out together like we always do.”

Bucky didn’t answer but you felt his hand move to hold onto yours so you just inched closer, arms wrapped around him tightly. The two of you stayed like that, only moving so you could pull the blanket over your bodies. As you watched lightning crack across the sky outside your window you thought of how to approach this subject for a long time, thought of how to explain all of this to a five-year-old but you knew you had to do it somehow because both your husband and son were miserable. When Bucky spoke up again, over half an hour later, you couldn’t help but flinch, so deeply caught up in your thoughts that his sudden noise startled you.

“He used to feel safe with me.” He sounded nothing short of devastated, voice coarse and quiet but you still heard him, his words making your heart shatter. “Whenever he was scared, he used to come to me and I used to be able to calm him down, to make him feel safe.”

You remained quiet for a few seconds, once more at a loss of how to comfort your husband because while you were sure Samuel would still feel safe with his father you also knew that Bucky wouldn’t believe you if you told him as much. Gingerly, you pushed yourself up and from your new position you reached out to gently stroke Bucky’s hair, trying to comfort him at least a little.

“We will talk to him tomorrow and we will do it together.”

“Thank you.”

Lightning flashed across the sky once again and hit somewhere close by judging from the loud bang not far from your home. It made you worry for Samuel, knowing that your son was scared of thunderstorms and you were sure he would have been woken up by the loud noise of the lightning striking, followed by thunder rumbling across the sky.

“I will go check on Samuel.” You proclaimed, leaning down to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek before sitting up on the bed. “I’ll be right back, Sweetheart.”

But before you could even get off the bed you heard Samuel’s small footsteps running down the hall, followed by him barging into the room, tears running down his cheeks as he sobbed in fear. From the corner of your eyes, you saw Bucky sitting up, worried about how distressed his son was. You got onto your knees and opened your arms, ready to catch Samuel and comfort him.

To your surprise, Samuel passed you by, all but jumping onto the bed and crawling onto his father’s lap instead where he quickly clung to him. Bucky stared at you in nothing short of shock but his son’s sobs quickly broke him from his stupor and he embraced him tightly, rubbing his back and shushing him.

“You’re safe, Sammy. It’s not dangerous, I promise.”

“But it-- it’s so loud!” Samuel shrieked when another crackle of thunder rolled across the sky, fingers digging into the fabric of his father’s sweater. “Daddy, it’s so loud!”

Bucky nodded along to his son’s words, hand still rubbing his back in soothing circles. “I know, Honey. But it’s just loud, not dangerous. You’re safe. I will keep you safe.”

“Even if I made you sad?”

“Always.” Bucky promised sincerely, pressing a kiss to Samuel’s hair. “You were scared and-- and confused. I don’t blame you for wanting some space from me.”

“But I made you sad!” Samuel protested, looking up at his father with teary eyes. “You cried about it. I can see it. I made you cry!”

Bucky quickly shook his head, supporting his weight with his left hand and using the right one to gently rub his son’s arm. “Remember when we talked about boundaries? About how it’s alright to for example tell someone you don’t want to be with them for a while? It's alright if you feel this way about me even if it makes me sad.”

“Uh-huh.” Samuel nodded, reaching out to wipe at his eyes. “Daddy, why did you hurt those people?”

You watched as Bucky froze up a little, knowing that he was not only unsure of how to explain everything that happened but that it also still triggered unpleasant memories and feelings to talk about it. Gingerly, you placed your hand over where Bucky's lay next to him, squeezing it tightly and making him look at you. At your questioning look he nodded and you took a deep breath, having to now quickly come up with a way to explain.

“Samuel, we never told you this because you’re still very young and it’s a pretty scary thing to talk about, especially for your Daddy, but he had a really bad past. A long time ago he used to fight bad guys with your uncle Steve. And while your uncle Steve got his superpowers from the good guys, your Daddy got them from the bad guys against his will.”

“What does ‘against his will’ mean, Mommy?”

“It means he didn’t want it to happen. But they did it anyway and then when he got into a bad accident while fighting bad guys, they found him and took him with them. And then they gave him a metal arm and they made him fight for them.” You explained, biting your lip as Samuel looked back and forth between you and Bucky, waiting for you to go on while you wondered how to explain brainwashing to a child. “They used some technology to take away all your Daddy’s memories and did other bad things to make him do what they wanted.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours and you gave him another questioning look, worried that this was too triggering for him, but he gave you a tight nod, urging you to go on.

“It was your uncle Steve that found him and made all his memories come back. Then he took him in, helped him get better together with all his friends and now they work together for the Avengers, fighting for the good guys.”

Samuel looked back at Bucky, tears running down his cheeks again before he dove in to hug his father. “Daddy, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Honey.” Bucky promised but you could see how hard he was trying to control his breathing. “Your Mommy helps me a lot and so do your uncles Steve and Sam, your auntie Natasha and everyone else, like my doctors.”

“But you look so scared!”

“The things the bad people did to me were very-- very scary and when that happens to someone, sometimes-- sometimes when they think of the bad things they get scared again.” Bucky explained shakily, hand squeezing yours impossibly tight. “But I want you to know that I would never ever hurt innocent people again.”

“I know, Daddy.”

Gingerly, you got onto your knees so you could embrace both Bucky and Samuel. Releasing a deep breath Bucky leaned his head against your chest, whispering a quiet thanks at you to which you only kissed his head. Samuel looked up at you then, blinking against your tears.

“Mommy, will the bad people come back to hurt Daddy?”

“I wouldn’t let them. Steve, Natasha, Sam and all of our friends wouldn’t let them, either.” You promised to both Samuel and Bucky. “We keep each other safe.”

Samuel nodded before looking back at Bucky. “Daddy, are you still sad?”

“I’m fine, Sammy. I just hope you still feel safe with me.”

“I feel really, really safe with you, Daddy! You’re a superhero and-- and really strong and you love me and-- and I feel super safe with you!” Samuel exclaimed, drawing back from the hug to look at Bucky with wide eyes. “I promise.”

“And I promise to keep you and your mother safe.” Bucky said genuinely, holding out his pinky finger to Samuel. “I swear.”

Samuel looked at him for a few seconds before hooking his finger with Bucky’s and shaking their hands once and then he went back to hugging his father. You smiled, relieved that this issue had been somewhat resolved. Samuel would have more questions as he grew up but what was most important was that he knew none of this had been his father’s fault. When you looked up from Samuel you found Bucky looking at you with a teary but grateful expression, giving you a genuine smile.

“Thank you.”

“Always.”

[lemon-shark-kat]

The Genshin Impact fandom is fascinating to me when it comes to fanfics, because I feel like I struggle to find any fics that really *get* the characterization of certain characters and I'm loathed to write my own because dammit I just want to read the specific itch I crave without resorting to creating it. Give me three more months and I'll cave in.

For example, Diluc is one of my favorites and I find his backstory fascinating in terms of his father Crepus possibly being more morally ambiguous than most fans are willing to admit and how little we know of Diluc's murder spree in Snezhnaya.

For example which Harbinger(s) did he have a run-in with? Will we find out more about the secret intelligence network that took him in, that he apparently had a high position in? Did he ever find the answers he was searching for? The list goes on.

It's hard for me to find the specific characterization of him I crave for in fics because I think his platonic relationship with Kaeya is incredibly nuanced and complex but I feel like his character often gets assassinated for Kaeya angst but like, the man had the worst birthday ever?

Imagine being Diluc, living through a literal worst nightmare. Your dad is dead after you failed to protect him yourself. Not only is your dad dead but he died after wielding a delusion--you dont even know what a delusion is but its clearly bad news. Why the fuck did your father have it and how?

On top of this, the Favonius Knights--the organization you proudly served and the very organization that your father heavily encouraged you to serve--insists on covering up the truth because it makes them look bad. The Favonius Knights, who are supposed to be honorable and uphold integrity, are anything but that.

Then your adoptive brother, who you've known for years and trust with your life, shows up and tells you he's been spying for a foreign nation since you were kids with the intent of harming Mondstadt and everything about your relationship is possibly all one big lie and well--how do you not snap??

Now, I'm also incredibly fond of Kaeya and he was just as traumatized by Crepus's death. He was wracked with guilt for *feeling* relieved that he didn't have to worry about betraying his birth father for his adoptive father since Crepus was dead. He anticipated Diluc's anger and felt like their duel was a punishment for his lies.

To me, it hints that Kaeya probably didn't reveal the truth expecting Diluc's understanding, but rather he knew how he would react and perhaps he wanted Diluc to strike him down in that duel. Or at the very least, he wanted to distance himself from Diluc and cut off ties in order to avoid emotional attachment stopping him from his mission.

I personally head-canon that Diluc withdrew upon seeing Kaeya's vision because well--why would the gods bless Kaeya with a vision if he truly had the intent to harm Mondstadt? So in spite of what Kaeya revealed, he isn't a threat. But there's still a lot of hurt there to navigate through.

I think it's fascinating seeing where they stand in present game because Kaeya obviously has the ideology of working the system from within. He stayed in the knights (even taking over his brother's position) and with Jean rooted out the Inspector and his cronies.

Meanwhile Diluc just isn't that type of person. He doesn't settle, he refuses to work in a system he views corrupt, he rather accomplish what he can outside of it. Curiously, he doesn't challenge the status quo beyond being vocal of his distaste of the Knights.

This is head-canon fantasyland, but I like to envision Kaeya and Diluc do use a lot of the same informants and collaborate on intel relating to the safety of Mondstadt (especially since Diluc can move in ways against the Fatui that the Knights can't due to political reasons) but they struggle to have the same connection as before.

For example, Diluc's story quest--Kaeya was essentially giving Diluc an alibi with the Knights. Even if Jean damn well knows who it is, they still have to have official documentation stating otherwise.

Kaeya is good at reading people, he has to be given how he was raised to be a child spy. But I like to think he struggles to read Diluc like before. Diluc is much more jaded, pessimistic, quieter than before. He prefers to work on his own as much as possible. From Kaeya's pov, the only person he's seen Diluc willing to fully trust enough to work alongside with is the Traveler, and he states as much.

The opposite is true of Diluc. Kaeya was his shadow, a quiet but inquisitive, witty observer. Cavalry Captain Kaeya is much more outgoing and friendly, his charm on full display. Did he ever really truly know Kaeya or did he only show Diluc what he wanted him to see? Is Kaeya happier this way?

Fanon often depicts Kaeya as essentially being barred from the dawn winery from the duel by Diluc himself, but I don't think that's quite the case. Much rather, given the reason he told Diluc that night, I think he views himself as undeserving due to unresolved guilt.

Canon seems to hint at all of this through his hangout and Hidden Strife, the latter of which is unfortunately a time-limited event that occurred before I even played (hoyo please stop having heavy lore drops occur in time limited events).

I think the two want to trust each other again, but both are afraid of destroying the tentative truce they have so they leave all of it unaddressed. Kaeya refuses to be completely truthful ever again and Diluc acknowledges the past but refuses to discuss it. The tragedy in their relationship that neither is at fault for what happened--it's a twisted emotional mess of grief and heartbreak.

The last point I'd like to touch on is the parallels between Kaeya and Diluc both being essentially child soldiers for their fathers' causes.

For Kaeya, being abandoned in Mondstadt to be a child spy is the most overt. For Diluc? Despite Crepus's strong ambition to be a Favonius Knight and to have a vision--neither happened for him. In Diluc's vision story, it states that he views his vision being a result of their "shared" ambition, hinting that his vision was granted after Diluc's strong resolve to achieve his father's dreams for him.

We know Crepus heavily encouraged Diluc down this path at very young age, given Diluc received his vision at age 10 and became the youngest Captain at age 14. In some ways, I'm sure Kaeya was a bit jealous of Diluc for having a loving father present in his life that was overtly proud of him.

I am not saying Crepus wasn't a good father, I think he cared immensely for Kaeya and Diluc both, but I do think he did some morally grey shit.

Diluc abandoning his vision is fascinating and it's almost never explored in fics. He is the only vision holder we know of (aside from the Inazumauns whose visions were taken by force) that had their ambition for their vision shaken in such a way that they voluntarily discarded their vision for a time and only took it back after reigniting a new ambition to have it (and as far we know the only allogene that faced no negative setbacks from using a delusion long-term without their vision present).

I don't know where to end all of this, except if you have ragbros fic recommendations that you believe cover it in a more nuanced way, let me know!

[fahye]

a note on 'high heat, low stakes'

it's been interesting already seeing people react to 'low stakes' as part of the tagline and as a selling point for swordcrossed, because in this particular context it does NOT mean 'no conflict, no angst, all fluff'.

it's signalling expectations for where this particular book falls in the marketing category of romantasy.

low stakes for romantasy means that there are no fates of nations or armies or the very nature of magic hanging in the balance here. nobody is the crown prince of anywhere or a magical assassin sent to kill them. this is a romance novel about falling in love with your wedding vendor and trying to make it in the wool industry. there's conflict. there's angst. there's intrigue. there is fantasy worldbuilding. there are even sword fights!

the stakes for the characters involved feel monumental and very personal.

however, the stakes for the world as a whole are.......low.

which will mean it won't appeal at all to some readers, and some other readers will say THIS SOUNDS LIKE EXACTLY MY CUP OF TEA, THANK YOU, and that means - hopefully! - there's less chance of someone picking it up and getting a very different sort of book to what they expected, and being disappointed.

(if they manage to not expect the explicit sex scenes with that cover design, my existing reputation, and the words 'high heat'... well, we can chalk that one up to a failure to Read the Clues.)

[jeonjcngkook]

industry baby: bts jeon jungkook collab

lights, cameras, action!

turn the lights down low and the music up for the newst collab to hit mainstream screens around you. whether you’re reading about this through the hottest magazine in town, hearing about it through the newest tracks to hit streaming platforms or watching it all go down on demand; immerse yourself with the incredible seventeen new fics from our talented writers that are bound to be the newest talk of the town. afterall, we’re all part of the industry, baby.

title: part time lover | by @sketchguk​

pairing: investigative journalist!jungkook x daycare-teacher!reader

genre(s)&au(s): smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jungkook. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jungkook desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school. only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: the never ending man | by @joheunsaram

pairing: animator!jungkook x journalist!reader

genre(s)&au(s): ghibli studios au, documentary au, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, maybe smut

summary: reclusive award-winning animator jeon jungkook is known for works of whimsy, creating heart warming epithets that provoke reflection of the world. when the news of his early retirement shocks the world, you decide to bring the man behind the pen to the forefront, documenting his last work. his fans deserve to know him, much like you do. after all, in his ten years in the industry, you're the only journalist he has ever deemed worthy of interviews.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: malevolence | by @jeonjcngkook​​

pairing: vampire-pornstar!jungkook x human!freader

genre(s)&au(s): modern vampire au, porn star au, smut, pwp, predator pray

summary: in a world where vampires live amongst the human world, it is strictly forbidden that hybrid relationships exist between the two. but for jungkook, bending the rules is just as much fun as bending his women; so when the opportunity for him to break more laws occurs, it only makes sense that he hunts you down to join him on set.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: hi, baby | by @sailoryooons​

pairing: pornstar!jungkook x pornstar!freader

genre(s)&au(s): strangers to lovers, pornstar au, pwp, slow burn if you squint

summary: from the moment jungkook met you on set, he was head over heels. the only problem? you weren’t scripted as his partner for any of his sex scenes. but there would always be another chance to sleep with you - right? after months of bad luck,things going awry, and mismatched schedules, jungkook finally gets the invitation to participate in an episode of the aphrodite house where he’s asked to pick his favorite pornstar to film with. it’s his dream come true and he can’t wait to have you.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: chatroom | by @chryblossomjjk​

pairing: nerdy-virgin!jungkook x camgirl!reader

genre(s)&au(s): smut, a lil fluff and humor, strangers-to-lovers

summary: absolutely ravenous and sexually frustrated, jungkook decides to join a chatroom.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: best lover | by @joonberriess

pairing: stalker!jungkook x stalker-cam!girl

genre(s)&au(s): yandere, smut, angst

summary: a devoted fan leaves you in confusion and terror when he starts appearing outside of your streams. but whoever said you were innocent too?

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: ambivalence | by @mercurygguk​

pairing: pornstar!jungkook x pornstar!fem reader

genre(s)&au(s): enemies to lovers au, pornstar au, angst/smut, tiny bits of fluff

summary: you and jungkook used to be a thing before your careers took off but it ended badly, the result being hatred for one another. now, the universe is sick and twisted in all sorts of fucked up ways and brings the two of you back into each other’s lives; on the set for a porn video.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: tired of pretending | by @gimmethatagustd​

pairing: musician!jungkook x ghostwriter(f)!reader

genre(s)&au(s): non-idol musician, coworkers to lovers, slowburn, smut, fluff, angst

summary: jungkook is known for his sensual pop songs that profess a love so deep fans regularly speculate who might be the recipient of his affection. outsiders don’t know that you’re the one writing his songs as his ghostwriter. while jungkook gains fame and fortune by unknowingly singing love songs written about your love for him, you feel yourself growing even more invisible.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: industry baby | by @joonberriess

pairing: solo-artist!jungkook x prissy-brat!reader

genre(s)&au(s): enemies w/benefits au, smut, small amounts of angst

summary: solo artist jeon jungkook has always been one for controversy despite being one of the best out there. his notoriety for drinking, partying, and breaking hearts reaches a all time high when he drops a diss track, however not just aiming for the industry, but for you too. you don't know what's worse, him revealing that you fuck on the low or him calling you the "industry's baby".

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: rolling stone | by @kooktrash​

pairing: idol!jungkook x non idol!reader

genre(s)&au(s): idol au, friends-w-benefits, smut, angst

summary: he was a rolling stone with no ties to anyone or any place and that’s how he and his fans liked it. now he’s found you and it’s never been this hard to convince someone that he’ll stay.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: happily ever after | by @kookingtae​

pairing: shy!jungkook x freader

genre(s)&au(s): reality dating show au, angst, smut, fluff

summary: previously on a reality dating show, you had brushed off fellow contestant jungkook’s crush on you in favor of the exciting, toxic fling you had with taehyung. but now that the cameras have stopped rolling and you’re back to spending everyday life with the boy you friendzoned on national television, you’re faced with the realization that maybe you made a mistake. maybe reality tv isn’t reality at all.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: a case of you | by @jeonqkooks

pairing: actor!jungkook x actress!reader

genre(s)&au(s): enemies-to-lovers, slight fluff, angst, slight smut

summary: jeon jungkook is the show business’ golden boy ever since he rose to fame seven years ago. with a face sculpted by the gods, as well as oozing charisma and talent, it’s no surprise that he turns heads and steals hearts wherever he goes. but underneath that facade of the perfect man whom everyone adores and the highly acclaimed actor that every casting director wants to book, there are hushed whispers left and right that jungkook is a nightmare to work with. as the actress starring alongside jungkook in his upcoming drama, you have a front row seat to see if he’ll prove the rumors false, or if he’ll make the biggest project of your career go up in flames.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: love spilled canvas | by @caelesjjk​

pairing: painter!jungkook x actress!freader

genre(s)&au(s): friends to lovers, angst, romance, smut

summary: fame isn’t everything it’s made out to be. the pressure to be perfect. the highest of expectations weighing on your shoulders, it all becomes too much to bear. when it all comes crashing down, you seek out the person who has always felt like home and take up refuge in his gorgeous apartment that’s more than far enough away from your movie star life. jungkook is a painter. the most talented one that you know. but what you don’t know, is that he’s been in love with you for years. so of course he lets you stay with him for as long as you need. but when he finally lands an exhibit at a very high end gallery after you’ve gone back home, the last person he expects to see walk in is you.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: sticky situationship | by @rkivian​

pairing: tv host!jungkook x reader

genre(s)&au(s): fluff, crime au, crack, smut, great pretender au, the ugly truth au

summary: it isn’t lost on you, your local, hot shot tv host trying to distract you from the fact that he isn’t who everyone thinks he is, because he’s doing quite a terrible job. but… you might as well take advantage of it.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: not like the movies | by @here4btsfics​

pairing: screenwriter!jungkook x reader

genre(s)&au(s): enemies-to-lovers, angst, smut, fluff

summary: the biggest mistake you ever made was in college when you hooked up with the one and only jeon jungkook at a graduation party. you two had hated one another since high school when he betrayed you, and sleeping with him was a moment of weakness. fast forward five years later, you’re a successful screenwriter, mainly for romcoms, and you just got an amazing opportunity to help write for a movie for a major production company. the only problem? jungkook was signed onto the project as well and you two have to work together without killing one another in the process.

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

title: PR disaster | by @ughcore​

pairing: actor!jungkook x publicist!reader

genre(s)&au(s): enemies to lovers, smut, comedy

summary: after a slow year in the business, you unexpectedly find yourself employed by Hit Ent, tasked with the unfortunate role of taming infamous rake jeon jungkook in preparation for a movie role that could make his career. with the intention of cleaning up his image, you aim to find him a respectable fake girlfriend, hardly expecting to find the task a whole lot more challenging than it seems - especially when you get to know the guy behind the headlines…

➝ [PRESS PLAY]

hosted by: @jeonjcngkook​ & @mercurygguk | collab theme by: @mercurygguk​

[mariswxt]

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

“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.

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.

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.

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirits - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.7)

Summary: reactions from team avatar when they find out your ozais assassin

warning: mentions of scars, not very happy gaang, mean katara!, angst

masterlist: here!

most previous part: here! (all other parts can be found in my masterlist!)

authors note! hello!! idk if anyone will be reading this but if you are welcome!! i haven't posted to this series in YEARS so please forgive me as I'm very rusty at writing but please enjoy!

Unified screams erupted upon Appa. “YOU’RE WHAT!”

“Aang what have you done! You literally let a murderer on Appa! She’s going to kill all of us! Katara was right, and I can’t believe I ignored her.”

“I KNEW IT! Quickly Aang, land Appa and let’s get her off!”

Unable to take it anymore, Toph lost her cool. “Can you knuckle heads shut up! I highly doubt that she will kill us, why the hell would she listen to you guys fighting all the time when she could end her misery by taking you out.”

Reality hitting Sokka and Katara, they finally piped down, allowing Toph to continue.

“Look, what you said is highly questionable. I’m not saying that I trust you, but you’re going to have to give us more information than that or else I’ll throw you off myself. Got it?”

You sighed. At least someone in the group had more sense. “Yeah, of course. What would you like to know?”

“Well for starters a name would be great. Oh and maybe, I don’t know, how and why you’re the Fire Lords Assassin?!”

You almost wanted to pull Katara’s braid for the irritating look of satisfaction on her face. “Right okay… well my name is y/n. uhhh and I was forced to become his assassin when he caught me after I broke into the palace three years ago.”

“That’s it?! Nuh uh lady. I know he’s the Fire Lord and had done some awful things but why would he do that to a child?! You’re either lying or somethings still missing.”

There was a lot to weigh up. To suddenly reveal everything about you would be too much and would get you thrown off Appa anyway. Yet to reveal nothing wouldn’t let you gain enough trust to even last a day. Leaving you to share the one thing you knew so little about yourself that you didn’t care if they knew and hopefully enough of a miserable, pitying tale that they’d let you off the hook for the time being.

“My parents aren’t in my life, they never were. I don’t know who they were or why they did it. All I had was my trainer, Zemin. In his time, he was the most notorious Assassin in the entire Fire Nation and when he retired, he never took on any students to carry on his legacy - if you could even call it that. Every other trainer was ecstatic because this meant that their students would earn the most bounties. Until there was me. I don’t know why he took me in… he just said that he found me as in infant and regretfully took me from an islands rocky shore maybe to sell me off somewhere. I suppose he realised he could make even more money from me if he trained me until I could pay off debt for him raising me. I did the one thing assassins could do, kill. All the money I ever earned from each bounty went straight to him. Luckily enough, I learned quickly, and I got to my final payment when I was 13, then he would have set me free.”

Horrified, Aang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was nothing like this in the Air Temples growing up. “Luckily enough?! How in any universe is that lucky!”

“Most assassins in the Fire Nation, and others, are stuck paying off their guardians or trainers well into their adulthood. Because of… certain tactics and advantages, I became quite popular if you could put it that way and most of the people, I had to take care of were…” Halting, you knew that if you verbally said some lives are worth more than others, Aang would probably go into cardiac arrest.

“Well, some had more people wanting them gone so the bounty was higher.”

“How does this have anything to do with you working for the fire lord! I don’t see why Zemin would let you go if you were doing so much for him.”

Your strength was fading. You hated yourself for how much you scretly enjoyed having people around that weren’t as idealistic as those in the Fire Nation.  “He didn’t. I got an anonymous mission to take out a high general in the palace. So high, that it was going to be enough for me to finish my debt.” After not being met with screams you felt reassured to continue…. they seem to be taking this well…

You took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “On my way out, I got caught in the middle of an Agni Kai. The fire lord wasn’t too pleased I killed one of his generals or interfered with punishing his son. Yet somehow in his psychopathic mind he saw it as an opportunity to pledge my allegiance to him.”

The silence amongst the group was short lived.

“YOU MEAN ZUKO?”

“YOU KILLED SOMEONE.”

“AND YOU ACCEPTED?”

You scrunched your face. Maybe this was a bad idea to tell them. But it was too late to go back. “Yes, it was Prince Zuko in the Agni Kai, that’s how he got his scar. Yes, Aang I did kill the general, but to be fair I haven’t killed anyone since then… And Katara if you were being tortured every day for 8 months, I’m sure you would wear down too.”

The waterbender was unsatisfied with your answer. “Unbelievable! Of course, you did! Everyone has a choice in this world, and you chose the fire lord. You’re nothing but a coward.”

“My life was on the line! You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh please, y/n. I do. I know everything! Sure, you were raised to assassinate others, but you can’t expect me to believe you didn’t know what you were doing when you were standing before Ozai. I would have stayed in a life of suffering than go with him.” Shaking her head, she pierces you with a disgusted look, “You’re no better than Ozai. No better than Azula.”

As Appa continued to glide through the ever-ending expanse of the sky, it seemed nothing could break the suffocating tension that encompassed everyone upon his saddle.

Toph was the only one to speak up. “Didn’t you hear her Katara? She hasn’t killed anyone since then! She’s surviving. If you ask me… she’s braver than any of us, you never know what could have happened to her if she got caught not actually killing her targets!”

Irritated Katara only grumbled, turning away while leaving the two boys to think about how they felt about you. Despite giving them answers, they still had so many questions.

It was undeniably clear that Katara has made her mind up about you, and you were sure everyone else was the same despite the earth benders attempts at comforting you. Hence, as you sat there across from the four of them, you were the first to break eye contact, turning your head to the side as you searched for something to focus on out there in the sky. Bird, a cloud, anything. You didn’t have the heart, the courage, to argue against what she said.

Unknown to you, Aang shuffled closer to you scared that his angry friend might hear him going towards you. His words only just loud enough to hear above the wind he whispered to you… “Its okay y/n. I don’t really understand what you’ve done or what you’ve been through but when youre ready.. you can tell us.

That was the first time your heart ignited a comforting warmth.

As Appas soft paws skilfully landing on the hard earth, you felt your heart drop inside you. What do I do now? Mind racing through all the possibilities, Toph seemed to have decided what to do before you could even stand.

“Hey! Come with me.”

Jumping off Appas saddle you landed on your feet with such a skilled silence, Toph had to sense your heartbeat to even realise you were next to her. Setting off towards where she’d set up her sleeping area, it was best you stuck closely behind.

“Don’t think about what Katara said, she doesn’t get it.”

“How so?”

Stalling in her tracks, she turned her unseeing gaze towards you. “She doesn’t know what its like to be born into a life that you don’t want. And she definitely doesn’t know how hard it can be trying to escape it.”

Unsure with how to reply, humming in understanding was the best you could come up with.

“Just stick with me and you’ll be fine. I know you most certainly don’t need me, but I’ve got your back.”

The next day had gone by agonizingly slow. With Toph trying to teach Aang earth bending you were left to your own devices since Katara decided to tag along. Although you found yourself tailing Sokka as he went his own way looking for food unaware of your silent giggles seeing him get stuck in the ground.

“...big things eat smaller things. Nothing personal. But this time, it didn’t work out that way…I admit it, you’re cute…”

You decide to finally reveal yourself, tired of your lack of entertainment. “What are you doing down there Sokka?”

Letting out a girl like squeal, he’s horrified at getting caught in this position. “Nothing!”

“You look like you could use some help.”

“I don’t want help from you!” You dismiss it. Surely he has no other choice but to make himself acquainted with you.

“Yeah, right. It’s funny, you’re probably the third person that has ever said that to me. The second in about the span of 48 hours.” you cant help but divert your attention towards the cute animal annoying him. “Aweee look at this cutie!”

“Get away from it!”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I don’t want you to hurt it!”

“Please, I actually quite like animals. They’re a lot better than humans anyway.”

“I- well… fine! Just go away?”

You scoff, “Why’s that?”

“I don’t like you!”

“Hmm… is that so.”

“Yes, of course it is!”

You’re done feeling sorry for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t like me, or do you feel that way because of your sister?”

“I- well… argh! Fine! I don’t know.”

“Well… why don’t you talk to me and work it out for yourself? If you still dislike me so much I’ll leave you be and get someone to come help.”

A  silence fills the distance between the two of you.

He sighs, caving in, “So.. this Zemin guy. Did he REALLY not give you a choice?”

Looking up, you stare at the clear sky. “I learnt early on in my training that I didn’t have a choice or options in life other than what he wanted. Any exercise I rushed through, half assed, or tried to skip through when he wasn’t looking came with consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“The kind that keeps all of my clothing and bindings on so I don’t constantly get pitiful looks or too many questions.”

He scoffs, “prove it”

Staring at all your layers you sigh, “don’t say I never warned you.”

Peeling off all your layers one by one until your down to just your tank top and pants, you decide to take off your face mask last. Your eyes meeting Sokka’s, you notice him swallow thickly. But its you to break the ice first. “In all fairness, most of them are now from Ozai. The older they look… well I’m sure you can work it out for yourself.”

“b-but-“Fuck why did I have to make him uncomfortable.

Unable to take it any longer, you pull him out from the hole in the ground. “Its fine.”

You turn to walk away after helping him, but he grabs your scarred wrist, the feeling of the textured skin making him internally wince. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you expose yourself like that. Its horrible that you had to experience that… hell we look the same age!”

“Everyone is on different paths. Look, lets just forget about it..”

Sokka feels like he could bust into tears “No! you don’t understand. I’ve seen the effects of the fire nation… hell they took away my mum. I still remember it, sometimes I have weeks where I keep reliving it in my nightmares, only finding peace when im awake. Its like im being haunted. But- but you?! You have to face it whether you’re awake or asleep”.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you can’t handle the intensity of his words. Theres nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. You hug him. You don’t remember the last time you held someone. It feels weird, almost wrong. But as he squeezes you back, tightening the embrace, you understand one thing. You have an understanding with the water tribe boy, despite how dark it may feel.

Hours pass by as you sit with sokka talking about useless topics until the other three join you once more. Feeling weariness in their gaze, you realise you forgot to put your layers back on. Now everyone can see your face and scars.

Only Aang has the courage to speak with you.

“Hey. Uhhh, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I’m sorry for not speaking much with you since yesterday. I didn’t mean to, it was just a lot to process personally! Growing up with the Air Nomads, I was taught that killing is wrong and that under no circumstance should that be the answer. If I’m completely honest with you, I still stand by those teachings and to have someone who has… killed… so close to me and the people I care the most about is… unsettling.”

There it was. You knew despite how much he was trying; you knew he wouldn’t be able to see past what you did. What you are.

“I understand. I don’t blame you, or anyone for reacting the way they are, and I know what it feels like to want to protect those who mean something to you.” You glance at Sokka, remembering how he understood.

“Just… please understand that I’ve realised what I did was wrong and while I can’t change everything that I have done, I’m trying to move away from that way of life. I don’t want to be a killer anymore. I’m trying my best to fix it.”

“I know…. Its just-“

“You don’t trust me.”

“What?! NO! I mean…. I don’t know. You clearly have good inside of you but it’s hard to look past.”

“I get it. I’ll head off then, the world needs you Aang and I won’t be the one to stand it your way.”

“No! stop! Please! I know I said it’s hard for me to do, but I clearly see you trying your best. I know you won’t hurt me. I just… I suppose I need to open my eyes more. See you for who you are now, what you’re doing now.”

But what if you can’t? What if I’m still that person, no matter how much I try to shove it away. This is what I have been made to become?

“Okay.”

Letting out a nervous quiet laugh, he glances back to everyone. “okay well… lets eat!”

Zuko stares at the sky in the heavy downpour. “You always through everything you could at me. Well, I can take it. And now I can give it back!”

Lightning cacks in the sky before his eyes.

“Come on!”

“Strike me! You never held back before!”

Met with only the sound of the world around him, he feels helpless. Lost. Alone.

Screaming out, Zuko falls to his knees as the rain and guilt encompasses all of his senses.

His voice scratchy from screaming, he can hardly croak out… “You never held back from her."

taglist: ​​ @mangoberry43​​ @eridanuswave​​ @slythergirlimagines ​​​ @whiskeywinter89​​ @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins​ ​ ​ @calciumcow @ilovespideyyy @callums-keith @nnon-it-up @blackhood5sos @chewymoustachio @tiffy119 @reclusive-chicken-nugget @lozzybowe​ @scarletemeterio​​ @simpinforsukka​ ​ ​ @sokkassuki​ @spearbatty @kaylove12

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Moonlight Sunrise (Part 1)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Slowly making your way down the dusty, unfamiliar roads, you passed several guards waving large indigo-purple flags.

“Only two more days before the labyrinth opens!” they yelled, “Find the Luminite Stone and save the princess from the labyrinth!”

Several men, presumably the best knights and warriors of their kingdoms, crowded around the guards, sizing each other up and boasting about their wins.

As you passed by the crowd, you quickly pulled down your hood, trying to avoid any suspicion. There was a low possibility that anyone recognized you, as you were more of an assassin, always with your face covered. However, you were worried that others from the same profession might be present as well.

It was almost time for the annual labyrinth challenge, where warriors and knights from all over the world traveled to the Minatozaki kingdom, one of the most powerful kingdoms existing, to save the princess and win her hand in marriage. The only child of King Minatozaki had been cursed by one of the eastern witches after they were accidentally omitted from the baby’s birth celebration. It was rumored that she had one of the most angelic faces to grace the earth, but right after her 17th birthday, she disappeared from public view altogether.

A labyrinth of a thousand acres suddenly appeared at the borders of the kingdom, shrouded by dark clouds and vine-covered walls thousands of meters high. In the core of the labyrinth was the Luminite stone, a stone that grants the beholder any wish, and the princess’s soul was also bound to the stone. The princess was said to only be seen in the labyrinth, forever lost in the dark.

King Minatozaki loved his daughter dearly. Although he was reluctant to marry her off to just anyone, he knew that he himself couldn’t manage to retrieve the stone with his daughter's soul from the labyrinth. He wanted his daughter free from the grasp of the labyrinth, so the only way to do so was to hold a competition every year when the gates to the labyrinth opened.

Anyone who managed to make it out alive with the stone would be able to have their wish granted, but at the same time, as they now had the stone, they would be in control of Princess Sana, and the entire kingdom would be inherited. This prompted countless greedy men to try, hoping to have their deepest desires fulfilled and to possess the most beautiful human to grace the earth. However, not once had anyone made it out alive from the past ten competitions, all disappearing mysteriously.

You couldn’t care less about owning an entire nation, let alone marrying a random princess that you had never seen. You were there for the one wish that would be granted by the Luminite Stone. You had someone to save, and that brought you out from the private, invisible life as an assassin.

.

.

.

.

The sun was setting as you finally reached the golden gates of the castle. Its towering walls, adorned with intricate carvings and banners bearing the kingdom's crest, loomed majestically against the dusky sky. Each night leading up to the competition for the week, the King hosted lavish banquets within the castle's celestial halls.

These gatherings weren't just about food; they were a spectacle, ensuring the competitors were not only well-fed but also immersed in the grandeur of the kingdom. Newcomers were welcomed with open arms, and given the chance to register, mingle, and familiarize themselves with the labyrinth's complexities before the daunting challenge ahead. After all, this was probably the last time they would ever have something to eat before they met their end in the labyrinth.

The banquet hall buzzed with hundreds of men, their voices echoing off the walls. You spotted a few familiar faces from your past travels but made a beeline for the reception, preferring not to draw attention. After all, the labyrinth held not only unknown monsters but human threats as well.

“Name?” the page asked without looking up, his tired face buried in countless scrolls of paper.

“Hwang Y/N,” you muttered, shifting uncomfortably and pulling your hood even higher over your face.

The page paused, his hands trembling slightly as he looked up at you. His eyes widened in shock, and he pushed his glasses closer to his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Hwang Y/N? The NightWalker?”

You nodded, expressionless, as the man cowered in fear.

“I-I didn’t expect you to participate in these events.”

“Is that a problem?”

“N-no… of course not. I guess even assassins have an eye for beauty,” he nervously laughed, expecting you to agree.

You narrowed your eyes at his comment, disbelieving how even those who worked for the princess treated her as an object.

“You should keep your mouth shut before I cut off your tongue,” you whispered in his ear, watching with satisfaction as he fumbled with his pen.

Before you could do anything else, a warm arm wrapped around your shoulders. Instinctively, you reached for your small knife, but the intruder's hand firmly grasped yours, firm yet unthreatening.

“Now now, Hwang. That’s not how you greet an old friend, is it?”

You turned to see Momo, one of your close colleagues before she became head of security for the Minatozaki Kingdom.

“Hirai,” you sighed, pulling her into a hug.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger. It’s been, what, three years since I last heard from you?”

“Five,” you grinned, feeling more at ease with Momo by your side.

“Yes! Exactly! Ever since you took down the Kim Clan, you just disappeared,” she sighed dramatically, leading you toward a table filled with exotic cuisines. She grabbed a bottle of champagne, taking a sip before passing it to you.

“The hero of the century, gone without a sound, forever remaining a mystery. Face unseen, name forever known. Until now,” she said as if narrating a fairy tale. “She shows the world her face, to save the damsel in distress.”

You rolled your eyes and took a swig of champagne. “I’m not here for the princess or power.”

“Whichever reason you are here for, I won’t pry. I’ll just be cheering you on from the sidelines.” Momo smirked, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. Her respect for your privacy was always something you loved about her.

“Anyway, I have to get back to my duties. Let’s catch up tomorrow before the challenge.” She says loudly, before whispering in your ear, “take the door on the left, and go down two flights of stairs. You’ll find the backdoor to the garden.”

As if nothing happened, she straightened up and breezed away toward a small crowd that was about to break into a fight.

You watched Momo easily tackle a barbaric man down to the floor, without drawing her sword. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed as Momo stood up with one of her feet on the man’s stomach, looking challenging for anyone daring to cause more trouble in her land. She caught your eye and grinned, giving you a goofy thumbs-up before changing back to her serious face.

You chuckled, grabbing an apple and the champagne, before slipping to the darker corners of the kingdom undetected. Momo working here was a blessing in disguise, she gave you the chance to get to investigate the labyrinth before the challenge.

.

.

.

.

As you navigated down a murky corridor, the air thick with the scent of age and dampness, you descended what felt like more than two flights of stairs, each step creaking under your weight. At last, you stumbled upon a wooden door, its frame nearly crumbling with decay from years of neglect and exposure to the elements.

Pushing it open with a groan, you were surprised to find yourself greeted by a scene of unexpected beauty. The garden beyond was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, casting ethereal shadows upon the grounds. Dewdrops reflected the moonlight like diamonds on the grass, their gentle shimmering a stark contrast to the dark, cloudy skies looming over the labyrinth just meters away.

The metal walls that surrounded the garden appeared rusted and weather-beaten, their once sturdy facade now worn and rusted. You couldn't help but wonder if they were enough to keep people out, let alone the rumored monsters said to lurk within the labyrinth's depths.

Taking another swig of your champagne, you wandered around the walls, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the still night air. Peering into the swirling mist, you strained your ears and thought you heard faint roars emanating from within. Yet, in the eerie silence of the garden, you couldn't be certain if they were real or merely figments of your imagination, born from the ominous atmosphere that surrounded you.

"Guess I won’t be getting anything out of this tonight," you thought, sighing as you took a seat on one of the forlorn benches near the metal bars.

Taking an apple out of your coat pocket, you polished it on your sleeve. Just as you were about to bite into it, an eerily soft voice echoed from the shadows looming over the corner.

"Can I have some?" A hooded figure emerged, causing you to leap to your feet.

Despite your assassin training, you hadn’t heard her approach.

The figure slowly removed her hood, revealing long, almost white blonde hair that seemed to reflect the moonlight. She was around the same age as you, her face perfectly sculpted but haunted, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I mean no harm,” she raised her ghostly pale arms in surrender.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion but nodded nonetheless, despite the blood in your body pumping in a fight. It was obvious that this being was not entirely human, but you were in no condition to fight a monstrous being before the competition. The stone was what was important, so you were willing to do anything to avoid conflicts before the challenge.

The girl walked slowly towards you, her posture and grace as if she came from royalty, and sat down on the bench. She looked up at your standing figure expectantly, giving you a soft smile as you finally sat down.

You reached into your coat to pull out a small knife, and the girl immediately flinched. But you simply used the knife to peel the apple, before slicing a piece and putting it onto her hand.

“Thanks,” she muttered, before nibbling on the piece of apple.

You took a good look at the girl. She was thin, too thin, as if she would be blown away by the wind.

“You can call me Luna,” she said finally, still nibbling on the small piece of apple.

You gave a small chuckle at the irony of her name. She did indeed look like the moon goddess herself.

“What’s so funny?”

You shrugged, continuing to slice more pieces of apples for the girl. You saw her glaring at you from the corner of your eye, letting out huffs of frustration when you never said anything.

“Normally when someone introduces themselves to you, you do the same in return,” she said annoyed. Her annoyance made her seem human, and this eased your nerves a bit.

“I’m Hwang Y/N,” your lips twitched, trying not to smile at the way Luna chewed on the apple angrily.

“I like your name,” she said grudgingly, reaching over to grab your champagne without asking.

“What about it?” It wasn’t often that someone didn’t flinch when they heard your name.

“Hwang,” Luna explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, before chugging down half the bottle of champagne.

“It means bright, right? Like the sunrise.”

“Yeah, and?” you asked, reaching over to grab the champagne from her hands. “Stop stealing my shit.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the sun,” she muttered. “Wish I could see the sunrise.”

“Why can’t you?” you asked, turning around to look at her.

Luna ignored your question, instead turning her body towards you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” she raised her big eyes to look at you, her eyes suddenly glowing a faint crimson in the honey-brown hues.

She was definitely not fully human.

You shivered slightly, both in fear and something else, attraction. No, it must be because you felt sorry for her. The poor girl seemed to not have access to much food.

“Thought I could get some clues here before the challenge,” you said honestly.

“Are you looking to win the princess over, too?” she asked with a hint of bitterness in her tone. “To control her as if she was a puppet?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

You hesitated, knowing it wasn’t smart to share anything with strangers, you knew that. But there was something about this girl that you couldn’t seem to put a finger on, it was as if her aura could power all your feelings. You couldn’t do anything but tell her the truth. It was as if she casted a spell on you, her glowing eyes controlling every move.

“I need that stone. I need to get that wish so that I can save my sister.”

Luna’s eyes softened slightly, the glowing red fading and turning back to the original brown color. You felt your body instantly relax.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s sick. She’s been sick for a few months and there’s nothing the doctors can do. Time is running out so I have to hurry.”

The image of your little sister lying in bed, her once lively face now sunken and yellow, her eyes devoid of their usual spark, sends a shiver down your spine. The very thought grips your heart. It was her condition that drove you to show your true identity and take part in this dumb challenge, revealing yourself to the public eye, and relinquishing your assassin status. Now that everyone knew what you looked like, it was inevitable that a bounty would be put on your head.

“I’m sorry,” Luna said, her voice gentle.

Her hand raised slightly as if she wanted to hold yours in comfort but thought better of it.

You shook your head and looked down at your knees. You couldn’t let anyone sense your weakness.

You heard Luna get up from you, this time finally being able to hear her movements.

“I hope you win, Y/N,” she said, her voice soothing, passing warmth throughout your body, instantly making you feel better.

She put a small black object in your lap, a compass.

You looked up and found her walking backward towards the metal walls, a smile playing on her lips. She looked younger when she smiled, innocent even.

"Take the path on the far right, then follow my compass," she instructed, her voice echoing faintly as she effortlessly passed through the metal bars and vanished into the dark mist.

"I'll lead you the way."

You shivered, utterly enchanted and spooked by that humanlike being.

After a moment, you finally shifted your attention to the compass in your hands. It was an exquisite piece, adorned with golden rings and silver arrows.

You flipped to the back of the compass, and there, engraved in elegant wording:

Minatozaki Sana

Next chapter

Been wanting to get this out to you guys for a while now! It's quite different from what I usually write, so let me know if you want to see more of this.

[calderacitylovers]

Zutara SlowBurn FanFiction: Personal Favs, part II

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ATLA Season 3 rewrite, fills in a lot of blanks between canon scenes. From the Southern Raiders to Sozin's Comet through coronation and aftermath. Growing friendships, bonding, being there for each other, a carnival & a cave, epic spirits' appearance on the Ember island, sparring, nightmares, assassination attempts, political ruses, and covert operations. Lovely, sweet. Exciting plot.

 ·        ATLA Book 4: Ashes by elayne_cypher | Published: 2018-10-27 | 306K words | 34 Chapters

This action-packed story picks up right after Ember Island Players and continues well after the war. Zuko is facing many challenges as a new Fire Lord. Romance, tough decisions, rebels, traitors, out-of-body experiences, secret headquarters, angst, teamwork, fire jets. The story has a bunch of OCs.

 ·        Refraction by caroes3725  | Published: 2020-09-09 | 215K Words | 37 Chapters

After breaking up with Aang, Katara needs to figure out her place and role in the patriarchal world. As determined Katara stubbornly bulldozes her way through Fire Nation political scene, her feelings for Zuko grow. Diplomatic visits, Gaang reunion, bonding with Kanna, insights into the life of Caldera city, stuffy politicians, cute correspondence, tropical storm, women supporting women, assassination attempts, personal boundaries. A sweet well-written coming-of-age story with a healthy measure of slow-burn and mutual pining. Katara and Zuko are both POVs, but the story mostly follows Katara. Bonus: Mai is NOT a clingy resentful idiot, but a smart person and a good friend. Some explicit language here and there, a bit of mild smut.

 ·        I Asked You First by halfhoursonearth | Published: 2020-10-03 | 142K words | 22/? Chapters

Ongoing, incomplete. Post Southern Raiders ATLAS3 rewrite. Mostly canon-compliant with blanks filled in between familiar scenes. Zuko and Katara develop a close friendship built on trust and sharing each other’s fears and hopes. Includes mentions of implied child abuse, Lu Ten’s diaries, exploring Avatar Roku’s legacy, sharing a balcony, heart-to-hearts, a hot spring under the stars, an actual date, and artbending. It’s incomplete, but what we have is bliss. Slowburn, mutual pining. Zutara-centric, but also explores the personalities of Team Avatar and their relationships.

 ·        Katara Alone by cablesscutie | Published: 2020-05-31 | 21K words

Katara is not an “unnecessary accessory to a more powerful man”. After the war, she is willing to forge her own path as she turns to people who need her the most on her journey of self-discovery. Features character exploration, correspondence, exploring outback villages of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, sweet reunions, and new firebending skills.

 ·        THE PHOENIX AND THE DRAGON - THE COMPLETE SERIES by JasmineTeaLatte | Published: 2021-06-11 | 100K words | 31 Chapters

This story picks up after The Ember Island Players. Zuko and Katara get to know each other during a late-night conversation by the campfire. In this story, you will find healthy boundaries, protective Sokka, a dash of Taang, sparring, funny banter & lots of flirting.

·        HESITATE by tiffaniesblews | Published: 2020-07-11 | 22K Words | 12 Chapters

This story picks up right after Zuko's coronation and spans two years afterwards. Zuko & Katara talk, share a few beautiful moments, write to each other, and reunite for the 2nd anniversary of the war ending. Very sweet, fluffy story about two sweethearts figuring out their feelings for each other.

·        LIKE WE'RE MADE OF STARLIGHT by Naladot | Published: 2021-11-28 | 5K Words

Katara leaves her post as the ambassador to the Fire Nation to take up a new one as the ambassador to the Northern Water Tribe. Her absence makes Zuko realize that he's got an unfortunate crush, which he is determined to keep secret. Unfortunately for him, subtly has never been one of his strengths—especially when he arrives in the Northern Water Tribe and she keeps taking him on what seem to be dates.

·        FIGURE IT OUT by clearascountryair | Published: 2021-12-20 | 35K words | 13 Chapters

After choosing not to kill Yon Rha, Katara rethinks her sense of self and others' perceptions of her. Or,    In which Katara learns that there’s a really big difference between being kissed when you don’t want to be and being kissed when you do. Aged-up 3B/Ember Island AU.

-  I FOUND YOU by that_turtleduck | Published: 2020-11-01 Completed: 2024-02-24 Words: 157,541 Chapters: 28/28

After divorcing Aang, Katara uproots her family and travels to Caldera. There she finds comfort, kindness and support from an old friend. Katara tries to find her footing as an independent political figure. Great story & relationship dynamic of Momtara & Dadko in their early 30s (Ember island, diplomatic meeting, dancing, turtleduck pond, letters). Delicious slow burn with rewarding spicy resolution in the end (explicit open door). Titters on the side of Anti-Aang.

Here’s a link to Part I of my personal favorites.

Here’s a link to Wholesome Zutara Short Stories.

[tessa-liam]

Life Goes On

Marabelle Series

Chapter 15 – Part 2

Choices – The Royal Romance, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?

Marabelle Series Masterlist, My Complete Masterlist

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F!OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC), Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson

Most characters belong to Choices/Pixelberry Studios

Series Rating – M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence

Many thanks to @selina012 for pre-reading.

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement

Chapter Summary – Liam returns home to Cordonia to find Sophie and to address his nation about the university terror attack.

Music & Title Inspiration: Life Goes On, Ed Sheeran, Luke Combs; Run To You, Lucy Thomas

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

Aboard the Royal jet, Rashad peered outside the window and took in the white sands of Cordonia's shores passing by. Suddenly his ears popped, and the pilot spoke over the intercom, announcing the estimated arrival time was in 5 minutes. He felt nervous and helpless and could not help but repeat his fears in his mind: ‘There hasn't been any good news’.

Drake watched Liam walk away from his seat, his hand curled around a glass tumbler filled with an expensive scotch. He wondered if they would hear news before they landed. Remembering his best friend's emotional spiral downward after the past assassination attempt three years ago at the palace; this had the makings of that same pattern. This time though, Drake was not going to leave Liam alone.

The dire problem of not having any clues where Sophie was at the moment was suffocating.

As they waited to land, the minutes seemed to draw out. There was not much he or any of Liam's guards could do but wait and prepare to offer the crown prince their full support.

Liam finished off his scotch, the fiery liquid barely registering, and tried to review the notes for his upcoming address to his nation in his head while stepping into his private suite onboard.

There had still been no update on his beloved Sophie's whereabouts or circumstances.

He took a deep, long breath and turned to Bastien walking next to him with unmistakable determination. "Bastien, contact the security team back home immediately. I need all the current details on the scene and an update on the rescue operations."

Bastien sprang into action, calling the security team leader and putting him on speakerphone so that Liam could hear the conversation in real time. Captain Sean Wilson answered the call.

"Captain, this is Crown Prince Liam Rys, requesting an update on the incident at the University of Cordonia." Liam's voice came through the phone speaker, clear and strong.

"Your Highness, the situation at the scene is complicated and we have deployed additional rescue teams to help facilitate the speedy rescue and recovery process.”

The captain’s voice was tired but remained professional. "We have confirmation that multiple students have been injured in the shooting. We have increased security three-fold around the campus and are working diligently to track down the suspects."

Liam's fists clenched involuntarily, but he remained stoic as he continued. "I need a complete list of all the known casualties. I want to know about each and every one."

"Your Highness, we have established a comprehensive emergency response mechanism. At present, we are compiling the information and rescue teams are working at full ability. The list of casualties is being urgently collated, and I will send it to you via encrypted channels as soon as it is completed."

Liam nodded, and though he could not be seen, there was an unmistakable insistence in his tone: "I need this completed as soon as possible. In addition, please continue to strengthen the search and rescue efforts to ensure the safety of all students. At the same time, increase the manpower to hunt down the suspects and I demand that they be brought to justice in the shortest possible time."

Shortly after hanging up, the sound of an encrypted email rang on Liam's tablet, which he quickly clicked on; and displayed a list of known casualties on the screen as asked. There were fourteen people in the column of the dead, and dozens of names in the column of the injured. Liam took a deep breath and began to go through the list of names, one by one, each name like a sharp blade, stabbing at his heart. He searched carefully, afraid to miss any possible detail. But until the end, he did not find Sophie's name.

Liam clenched his fists, his eyes shining with unshakeable determination. "Bastien, as soon as the jet lands, we will go to the scene and assess the situation personally.”

Bastien, at once responded: "Yes, Your Highness. I will ensure that everything is in place."

Liam turned his head to stare out the window at the clouds; his heart was in turmoil. Although Sophie's name did not appear on the list of casualties, his fears did not diminish. He knew that the lack of news did not mean that Sophie was necessarily safe. That she might still be struggling, or that for some reason she might not be able to communicate with the outside world. He had to ensure that Sophie was safe personally.

Thinking of this, he took out his phone and touched Sophie’s number with trembling fingers. But all he heard on the other end of the line was a cold, robotic voice: 'Sorry, the number you are trying to reach is unavailable.'

Sending a text, he carefully tapped every letter, as he expressed his worries and thoughts.

'Love, please call me as soon as you get this message. I'm worried about you.'

___

'Where are you? Are you safe? Why can't I reach you?'

___

'I'm already on my way back to Cordonia. Please wait for me. Please.'

As the minutes ticked by, the 'unread' message on the screen was an ironic and cruel reminder of the futility of all his efforts.

Frustrated, he then tried to call Sophie's aunt and then sent a text message to Maxwell. 'Max, are you okay? Where are you? Have you heard from Sophie?'

Shortly after, his phone vibrated and Liam checked the text immediately .... only to see Maxwell reply,

"Liam, me and Daniel are at the Malic Hotel now, we're all right. But Sophie got separated in the confusion!!!!😢 I have been trying to reach her without success. I'm really worried about her.'

Receiving this update, Liam, although still anxious, was also relieved that Maxwell felt safe. He immediately replied: "Max, good to hear you're okay. Please keep in touch, I'll be back as soon as I can, and we'll find Sophie together."

Liam then picked up his phone again and sent a text message to Sophie's Aunt Bethany:

'Duchess Bethany, this is Liam. How are you? Have you heard from Sophie? I am very concerned for her safety.'

A few minutes later, Bethany replied to his message: 'Your Highness, I'm fine, but Sophie hasn't been heard from since the ceremony. I am also anxiously awaiting her contact. Please try to not worry, I'm sure she will be all right'

Liam's heart sank to rock bottom as he closed his eyes, silently praying that she would be found safe and unharmed. At the same time, he also felt a deep sorrow for all the innocent victims of the attack. He understood as crown prince, he had the responsibility and obligation, along with his father, to ensure the security of the country and its people. This attack was an acute test of his leadership.

University of Cordonia, Capital

As Sophie wandered aimlessly through the maze of people, her eyes welled up. The adrenaline of an earlier escape from the auditorium faded and she felt more sadness, fear and heartache than she had ever felt before. For a moment, she could not control her emotions and tears ran down her cheeks. How she wished it all had been a bad dream, that she would wake up and find that it had all been a false alarm.

An hour later, Sophie and other surviving students and guests were evacuated in an orderly manner to a hotel outside of the campus, the Malic Hotel. The hotel was temporarily requisitioned as an emergency shelter and was surrounded by police and security personnel to ensure internal safety and order. But even so, there was an indescribable tension and unease still in the air.

Sophie had been assigned to room 302. The moment she stepped into her hotel room; Sophie could finally catch her breath. She sat wearily on the edge of the bed, looking out of the window with empty eyes, but her mood could not be calmed. She was eager to know more about what happened at the graduation, especially the mysterious men in black masks, their identity, purpose and why they were there; all of these became lingering questions in her mind.

She instinctively wanted to turn on her phone, hoping to find some clue or news report that would at least give her a sense of what had happened. But reality threw icy water at her - her phone screen was broken and riddled with cracks. She quickly pressed the power button, but the screen only flickered a few times, and then no longer responded. Sophie's eyes flashed with despair, as her contact with the outside world was completely cut off.

Thoughts came like a flood. She missed her Aunt Bethany, who supported her no matter what she was going through, who gave her endless warmth and encouragement, and who always made her feel at home in Cordonia. At the same time, she missed her horse, Marabelle. Every time she mounted Marabelle's back and galloped across the wide fields of Ramsford, all her troubles seemed to go away with the wind. Marabelle's eyes were always full of trust and loyalty, and there was a tacit understanding between them without words. How she wished now that she could feel the freedom and joy of running with Marabelle again.

But most of all, she missed Liam. In this unknown and dangerous moment, how she wished he could be with her, give her support and comfort. Liam, the man she was in love with, who gave her strength. She had never been so impatient to see him, to feel safe in his arms.

Now, however, she could only face all this alone; tears in her eyes had slipped down once again. In addition to missing Liam, Sophie's mind was filled with anxiety about the attack. She did not know how many people had been injured or even killed in the attack; whether Candy and Tom would get better, or what was going on with Maxwell and Daniel. They were her friends and family, and their safety stuck with her. She prayed silently that they would be safe.

Amidst this anxiety, there was so many questions. Who were those men in black at the graduation? Why would they target innocent students? What is the purpose behind this attack?

What puzzled her even more was the emblem of the earth and the baby. What does it mean? What has it got to do with the attack?

Her mind was full of confusion and uneasiness, questions swirled with no answers in sight, leaving her breathless. She tried to piece together every detail of the night in her mind, hoping to remember a clue or an answer. But the images were fragmented, leaving her unable to grasp and put together any useful information.

"Liam ..." Sophia muttered under her breath. She recalled what Liam had said about what he had experienced as a young prince and the memories of an assassination attempt that had fear cutting through his heart like a sharp blade.

Exhaustion came flooding in, overwhelming all her thoughts and feelings. Sophie lay in bed, breathing smoothly and deeply, and her body relaxed, as if all her worries and pain had been temporarily released at that moment. She drifted off to sleep with all her doubts, uneasiness, sadness, and longing for Liam.

The Royal Palace, Cordonia

The press was relentless. Inside the throne room, King Constantine stood stoically, as members of the press core demanded answers about the campus attack. Constantine cleared his throat and addressed the press directly and with the assurance of his years of reign and released a statement:

“At this dark hour, I stand before you with profound grief and pain in my heart. Like many of you, I am mourning the lives lost today, and we pray for the wounded to make a full recovery.

While we grieve the senseless violence that struck our country, we are also furious with the loss and sorrow brought on by those responsible for this evil act. We cannot and will not tolerate the murder and harming of innocent lives simply because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Those who commit such unspeakable acts will be held accountable and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the crown.”

Stepping down from the dais, Constantine was at once escorted by his royal guard out of the throne room. He looked visibly shaken and gripped his cane, trying to stand straight and upright.

Constantine's face was pale, and his eyes were filled with deep sorrow, his elderly face looked worn. But he refused to shed tears, still maintaining his dignified manner, while in public.

Lawrence, his personal guard, moved quickly to his side, “Your Majesty, the Royal jet has just landed with your son.”

Malic Motor Hotel, temporary safe house, University of Cordonia

The second group of surviving students were transported to the Malic hotel in orderly batches by the police in the pre-dawn night. The bright lights in the lobby could not hide the tension and in these in the air. Police officers, security personnel and medical staff were busy shuttling through the hallways to ensure that every student was properly accommodated.

The noise of footsteps and a murmur of conversation broke the sounds of the night. Sophie woke up, opened her eyes slightly, and through a gap in the half-closed curtains. She saw several figures hurrying along the corridor, as if new survivors had been brought in. She got up and dressed. Soon the door was gently opened, and a figure slowly entered the room. It was a girl about Sophie's age, a little wobbly in her step, visibly shaken by the night's horror and still reeling from the shock.

"Hey, um ... excuse me. I was assigned to this room. Is it okay if I come in?" The girl's voice was small and trembling, and her eyes were slightly timid.

Sophie at once stood up and smiled back, "Hello, come on in." The girl came closer, and Sophie could see her face. She had an East Asian face, long deep brown hair, and large black eyes full of fear and confusion, as if she had just woken up from a nightmare.

The girl said softly, "thank you, my name is Hana. What happened tonight was terrible ..."

Sophie took Hana's hand and sat her down on the edge of the bed. "Hi Hana, my name is Sophie. I know we have been through the same horror. But it is all right now. We can talk together and maybe it will make you feel better." Sophie tried to sound calm and friendly, hoping to bring some comfort to the girl.

Hana gave Sophie a grateful look, and took a deep breath. She began with great determination to recount her own experience at the graduation.

"I was with friends and all of a sudden the lights went out and they were gunshots ... I tried to run away, but there were screams and chaos all around me. I really don't know how I got out. I was taken to the stadium with some people and stayed there almost overnight until we were brought here. But I never saw my friends again. I got separated from them, I do not know what became of them..." Hana wiped tears from her eyes.

Sophie listened quietly, with a surge of sympathy and understanding. She thought of her friends Candy and Tom, and her cousin Maxwell and Daniel, and a pang of worry filled her heart.

"Hana, I've had my own friends injured and go missing too. Candy's arm was hit by shrapnel, Tom was shot in the shoulder, and they are both in the hospital; and Maxwell and Daniel got separated from me when they escaped. I am really worried about them. But I'm sure they will be all right. Your friends must have gotten out safely, too. You must believe that."

Hana's eyes flashed with emotion and trust as she listened to Sophie's words. "Sophie, you are such a strong person. If only I could be as brave as you."

Sophie patted Hana's arm gently and smiled wryly.

"Hana, it's normal to be afraid in this situation. In fact, I am also afraid, and all the people who have been through this attack."

Then Sophie's tone became a little heavier, and she decided to tell Hana what she had seen. With that, Sophie picked up the paper and pen on the table in the room and drew the sign from memory. Hana's face turned pale when she saw Sophie's drawing; her eyes widened, and she repeated in disbelief, "you saw this sign?"

Sophie nodded, her words unmistakable, "Yes, I'm sure. It was a very strange sign. I saw it clearly. They acted quickly and in an orderly manner. They were not ordinary thugs."

Hana held Sophie's hand tightly, her voice shaking slightly. "This sign, I have seen on the news, but with what specific event, I can't remember. However, it is definitely unusual and must be the hallmark of an organisation or group."

Sophie's eyes sharpened, and she frowned in thought. "This is no coincidence. The men in black were clearly prepared, and their attack may well have been targeted. We must tell the police about this as soon as possible.”

Hana shuddered, her voice filled with fear and worry. "But... will that put us in danger? If they are really that powerful, will they retaliate?"

Sophie's heartrate quickened. Of course she was afraid. The scene of Candy and Tom being shot and wounded replayed again before her eyes. The blood staining their shirts, the pain and helplessness weaving in their desperate eyes. These were images that she could never forget.

Then, in her mind, the panic of people running away, their faces showing fear and helplessness. Screams, cries, and pleas for help made up the most tragic symphony of the night. Fires were burning, the smoke was billowing, and the whole evening was enveloped in despair and confusion.

But thinking of the students who had been victimized, of Maxwell and Daniel who were still missing, and of Candy and Tom who were still in the hospital ... Sophie took a deep breath and quieted her heart. She could not let her fear consume her. She knew that her friends needed her. ... 'If you do not step up, Sophie, this kind of tragedy will happen again.'

Sophie stiffened her resolve, her voice was soft, yet powerful: "No, Hana, we cannot stay quiet. Candy, Tom, and your friends are just some of the many people who were hurt tonight. If we stay silent because we are afraid, more people will be hurt in the future. We can't let this continue to happen."

Hana's fear was replaced by a kind of courage as she listened to Sophie's words. "You're right, Sophie. I won't back down," She nodded firmly.

"Sophie, I'm so happy to meet you." Hana looked sheepishly at Sophie, blushing.

"If it wasn't for you, I don't know what I would have done."

She touched Hana's arm and smiled, "I know you have determination, too, Hana." Sophie was genuinely happy ... happy to be friends with Hana.

Sophie hesitated for a moment, then whispered to Hana, "Hana,can you show me the news? My phone broke during the attack." She pulled out her cracked cell phone.

Hana nodded, and picked up her phone from the nightstand to open the news app. Together, they stared at the small screen, searching for news related to last night's university shooting.

On the screen, several shocking reports soon came into view. The mass shooting at the University of Cordonia had attracted widespread attention from the national and international community. The report detailed the chaos and bloodshed of the night, but also said that the police were fully investigating the incident and promised to bring the perpetrators to justice as soon as possible. As she read, she felt mixed feelings.

Sophie continued browsing. Suddenly, a marked headline hit her eyes and made her heart beat faster. --

"Crown Prince Liam Rys urgently ends his visit to Italy and returns home to respond to the shooting incident at Cordonia University."

She tapped eagerly; the live broadcast of the news began automatically.

On the screen, Liam stood in the doorway of the familiar white, shadowy auditorium, behind which the smoke had not fully cleared and live images of ambulances and police cars could be seen. Liam's figure stood unwavering behind press microphones.. He wore a black suit, his eyes were slightly solemn, but his face was more resolute and decided, that could not be ignored.

Sophie stared intently at the screen, every subtle expression of Liam tugging at her heartstrings. His voice came clearly over the phone, calm and strong.

Sophie's eyes were red and brimmed with tears. Her heart was racing, as she felt Liam's deep emotion coming through the screen. And then Liam's words turned to unquestioning determination:

Sophie stared at the screen, her tears spilling onto her cheeks. The moment she heard him say the words, 'Our Cordonian family', her heart swelling with indescribable excitement and pride; she wanted to run to his side and face all of this with him. However, this emotion was quickly overcome by reason, knowing that she could not expose her relationship with Liam, especially when there were other people around watching. She gently turned down the volume on the phone for fear that Hana would notice her emotional reactions. She clutched the phone tightly, as if she could feel Liam's presence and power in her hand.

"Sophie, what's wrong?"

Hana's voice sounded softly, interrupting her thoughts. Sophie suddenly came back to herself with a disguised smile, trying to sound natural. "Oh, nothing, I just didn't expect Prince Liam to be back so soon, it's only been a few hours since the shooting."

There was a subtle tremor in Sophie's words, afraid that her mind would be read by Hana and cause unnecessary trouble for Liam. She knew that at this particular moment she had to be careful not to reveal her relationship with Liam.

"Hana, could I possibly use your phone again? I want to send a text to my family and tell them about my situation."

Hana heard her words, a flicker of concern in her eyes. She seemed aware of Sophie's inner struggle and longing, but out of respect and trust, she did not ask any more questions, just smiled and nodded, "Of course, Sophie." You can use it whenever you need."

Sophie gave Hana a grateful look, and a warm wave came through her heart. She quickly opened the text messages on the phone, her fingers jumping over the keyboard, as she sent two messages. The first one to Aunt Bethany and the second one to Maxwell. In the text messages, Sophie told them that she was doing well and that they should not worry. She expressed concern for Maxwell and Daniel and hoped they were safe.

After sending the two texts, Sophie took a deep breath and began her text to Liam. She edited the text carefully ...

"Hi, Li, this is Sophie.

I'm all right. I am in Room 302 at the Malic Hotel at the university.

There was a shooting at the graduation, and I was lucky to escape. My phone is broken, and now I'm texting you on my roommate, Hana's phone.

I know you must be terribly busy and worried at the moment, but please believe me, I am fine and safe.

Don't worry about me. Just focus on what's needed right in front of you. I love you and look forward to seeing you soon."

The message didn't mention Liam's real name, and Sophie was confident that he would get her message. After pressing the send button, the words "Delivered" appeared on the screen. Suppressing her feelings, she quickly removed the text message, making sure it left no trace.

It didn’t take long for Sophie to hear back from Maxwell and Aunt Bethany.

Maxwell:

“Sophie, it’s so good to hear from you! Daniel and I are at the Malic Hotel too, and we are doing fine. We were looking for you, too. Just relieved to hear you are okay. We’ll talk more when we meet up.”

Aunt Bethany:

“Dear Sophie, I’m so happy to hear from you! Thank God you are okay. We are all so worried about you, but now we can relax. Be safe and we will see each other soon.”

After receiving notifications of incoming messages, the corners of her mouth cannot help but raise in a happy smile, a big stone in her heart finally fell to the ground. Sophie held the phone and re-read their loving words, feeling the warmth and support from her family.

A ray of sunlight penetrated a gap in the curtain and gently spilled into the hotel room, shining on Sophie's face. She gently closed her eyes, quietly feeling the warmth of the sun, the soft light made her very at ease, like a pair of warm hands, smoothing her fear and anxiety away. She was relieved that Maxwell and Daniel had escaped safely and that she could tell Aunt Bethany about herself.

And Liam will know that she's safe. Sophie found a trace of comfort and strength in reaching out to him.

"Thank you, Hana." Sophie smiled and handed the phone back to her new friend.

Hana took the phone and put it away, quietly watching it all, with a warm glow in her eyes. She may not know the story between Sophie and Liam, but she could sense that there was a deep emotion and connection with him in Sophie's heart. In this time of uncertainty, they were supporting each other and facing life's challenges together.

Cordonia International Airport

The Royal motorcade was situated on the tarmac in wait to take Liam and his men to the university.

Liam strode quickly and confidently to his SUV after his security detail had provided Liam with a report of all the victims and fatalities. Sophie's name was not listed, and Liam's heart remained uncertain, until he saw her with his own eyes.

His duty of keeping alert and informed for his country allowed Liam to control his fears of the possibility of seeing his beloved injured or worse. He fought against every fiber of his being to not burst through the chaos, with full disregard, to search for Sophie among the evacuated students. Liam, surrounded by his royal guard, Drake and Rashad, he walked onto the university grounds.

Drake, on the other hand, was not worried about propriety and cared for none of it. He rushed in and did not pay attention to anything but finding Sophie and Maxwell. He broke past some of the law enforcement and was met by a swarm of flashing cameras and press microphones.

"Back away!" He snapped, having to put his forearm up, and not relent. The flashing bulbs, whirring of camera lenses and questions being thrown at him was enough to drive any sane person mad.

"Don't you have decency? What type of scoundrels and fiends are you?"

An officer who recognized Drake, yelled, "settle down, everyone, he's an American friend of the prince's, stand down and don't crowd him."

On the campus of the University of Cordonia, even after several hours had passed, the chaos in the auditorium had not abated by a minute. Several police cars and ambulances, flashing their warning lights, stood by the side of the road at the ready. Police officers and ambulance workers were busy moving around the scene, serious and focused, although physically and mentally exhausted, but still stuck to their posts, to deal with the incident.

A police cordon has been placed around the scene to seal off the auditorium from the outside world. Liam saw the chaos and destruction ... and the despair of his people.

Liam took a deep breath, adjusted his emotions, and walked resolutely into the crowd and up onto the raised dais. The crowd grew quiet, and all eyes turned to the crown prince.

" Last night, our university campus has experienced an unprecedented trauma. On behalf of the royal family of Cordonia, I extend my sincere comfort and deepest condolences to all those who have been hurt and who have been affected by this tragedy. Your pain is the pain of all Cordonia. We will do everything possible to provide the necessary support and needed assistance to make sure everyone gets through this."

At this point, Liam's eyes flashed a subtle tenderness, that is his endless miss and love for Sophie.

But Liam took a deep breath and condensed his emotions and anger into a powerful determination.

"We will not sit idly by and let go of any of these terrorists. I promise that the Crown will use all resources in its power to track down the attackers and punish those responsible for this tragedy. We will bring justice to the victims, and to our people, to our Cordonian family."

***

The sky in the east gradually lightened as the night slowly faded; like the tide falling, as if in response to his words. A ray of dawn pierced the darkness, and the sun rose at last. The golden light slowly and gently spread over the campus, silently dispelling the darkness and cold; to bring a touch of warmth to the morning. There was renewed trust and hope in the eyes of the crowd. At this moment, they are silently praying, their hearts are full of deep hope: may such a tragedy never be repeated, so that the dead can rest in peace, and so that the living can find the strength to move forward; In the hope that the murderer will be punished, and there will be no hiding places of any crimes and evils.

As the Royal guard escorted Liam from the stage, Bastien approached with Liam’s mobile phone in hand.

“Sir, Lady Sophia has left you a message.”

Thanks for reading ❣️

@choicesficwriterscreations

@selina012

📌tags in the comments, please let me know if you want to be added or removed.

[torio12539]

Too Little, Too Late: Prologue

Series summary: You were hired as an assassin to kill her, unfortunately you struggle to find an opening, and the scope of things get out of hand

Series tags: Fem!Reader, reader is an assassin, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers if you squint, mentions of murder, there might be a few things I missed I'm kinda new to this

Chapter summary: You meet your latest client at a tavern, they're commissioning you to assassinate the 4th harbinger

[part 1]

When you walked into the tavern it was already late at night, most of the people who were there were already drunk off their asses, that was exactly what you wanted.

You made your way to the most secluded corner you could find, just to make sure the least amount of people will be able to hear your very illegal conversation, if it was up to you, you would have done it in the middle of the forest where no one is watching, but your client didn't like that, and because they were willing to pay a large amount of money you decided to humor them. Besides if someone knew how to be secretive it was you, and if you had the slightest suspicion someone caught onto you, you could just kill them too.

They arrived and went straight to you, sitting down "You said you have a big job for me in that letter, mind elaborating?" you ask them "Yes, well you see when I was little both my parents were killed by this evil organization-" and then they proceeded to tell you their entire life story, how much they struggled without their parents, how they vowed to get revenge on said organization they have come to know as the Fatui, hmm, Fatui you've heard about them, some sort of Snezhnayan diplomatic organization, surprising that a diplomatic organization would kill someone's parents, what even prompted them to do that- "Anyways, so I think she's the one who overseed the operation, I want you to kill her" they said and gave you a picture of a tall woman with black and white hair and strange looking eyes with X shaped pupils "What's her name again?" you ask "she goes by Arlecchino, if I'm not wrong she runs the house of the hearth whose members killed my parents, it's in Fontaine I'm 99% sure, of course I'll make sure travel costs are covered and your living situation there settled" they responded, Fontaine, what a nice place, being from Mondstadt a nation quite far from Fontaine you don't think any of your assasinations took place there, most of the time your operations took place in closer areas like Liyue harbor and Snezhnaya, though you'd never dare to do something inside your home city, Mondstadt was rather civil, most people got along well enough and besides even if the target was from Monsdstadt you'd never be foolish enough to carry out a murder inside your home city, but you usually wouldn't go further from those areas for multiple reasons mostly because most people didn't want to pay the costs of travel especially to places like Fontaine, most of them would cheap on you even with the further parts of Snezhnaya so let alone Fontaine, what more they usually wanted the job done as soon as possible which is why they'd ultimately go for someone closer, the only place that seemed less likely to you was Inazuma, simply because there was a massive ocean between it and you, or Natlan, but honestly that's also partially because of the Abyss situation, or so you heard.

And wait, didn't this person mention her running an orphanage there? You doubt this mission will be easy "You said she runs an orphanage?" you ask "Yes, the house of the hearth" they answer "Don't you think she'd be very skilled? I mean I'd wager to run anything for the Fatui you'd have to be pretty high up the ranks, how do you expect me to kill her?" you were just fucking around with them now, she was very intriguing so you were gonna take the job - if not to kill her then to know her "Well I don't really know, I thought that'd be up to you, but I guess just sneaking up on her won't work, you need a strategy, hmm, maybe try to get close to her, get her to trust you, find an opening and then strike!" they offer, honestly an appealing plan, again not just because you have to kill her, but just because you wanted to somewhat know her before you do "I guess that'll work fine..." you say "Well then, how much should I pay you, and should I expect any updates?" they ask "The payment is of 10,000,000 mora, not including the additional expenses and since the mission is so dangerous I expect half of it up front, as for updates, in the early stages you can expect some updates, though I'm afraid that if I am successful in getting close to her updates will have to cease since sending them will be to risky" you inform "I completely understand, I think I brought enough mora to cover the up front payment here" they say as they give you a bunch of sacks filled to the brim with mora.

*Time skip brought to you by chibi reader trying her best to catch chibi Arlecchino's attention*

You step out of the station to the court of Fontaine, your new temporary home, a small suitcase in your hand with only the necessities for the week, you'll get yourself new clothes tomorrow, today you'll focus on settling in to your new apartment the rent covered by your client, with a fake name and fake identity ready to start your life here.

A/n: Finally uploaded this yipee! honestly this has been on my mind for a while but I've only gotten motivated to write this now, constructive criticism is always welcome so long as you're nice and respectful and if you'd like to be notified when I make new chapters let me know and I'll make a taglist.

Stay safe :)

Dividers by: @lavendergalactic

[tinietaehyun]

The Ballroom Facade

[Assassin!Yeonjun x Royal!Reader] [One-shot]

Pairing: Assassin!Yeonjun x Royal!Reader

Genre(s): Royalty!AU, masquerade, romance, forbidden lovers, enemies to lovers, fantasy, historical fiction, fluff, angst.

Contains: Mentions of arranged marriage, societal pressure, mentions of blood/injury, assassination plot, suggestive themes.

Link: MASTERLIST

Summary: His black feathery mask shimmers under the chandeliers with its illustrious specks of glitter. That’s nothing compared to his icy but intoxicating gaze that pierces through his mask into you. His firm grip on your waist inches dangerously low, his other hand - gloved fingers intertwine with yours intimately.

You peer at him breathlessly as you await the answer to the question you put out into the air. The man’s lips form a sly smile as he nonchalantly murmurs, “Oh sweetheart, I’ve come to kill you of course.”

“Huh?” You stammer; your eyes widening through your mask. A darkly amused chuckle escapes his lips, “Though, I think you’ll find yourself rather lucky tonight.”

————————-••••••••••••••————————

“This may be your birthday ball darling, but I expect no slacking off and I expect your behaviour to be just as outstanding as it always is.” You nod peering at your mother; seeing her weighty crown glimmer under the light of the chandeliers. She continues, “As always, remember to keep smiling, remain confident but not arrogant. You, after all, represent your father’s legacy and his reputation. Furthermore, you are the heir to the throne. We’ve taken the liberty to spend much on this masquerade ball for you this year despite the current battle taking place between our kingdom and the kingdom of Dunamis.”

A dreary sigh escapes your lips. You weren’t exactly surprised you were receiving a preparatory lecture from your mother before entering the ballroom, for your birthday celebration ball. Everything you did, everything you said, your facial expressions, actions, tone of voice were all perceived with such scrutiny and open to much criticism. Thus, you had to behave with utmost care and caution.

You peer at your reflection on the sleek tiled floor as your mother continues to talk. Your eyes glimmer at your ballgown which your parents had custom made for this occasion. You knew the cost of this gown was unfathomable for the common folk. Everything from the layers upon layers of dull pink tulle, the floral embroidery and translucent puffed sleeves with sequinned floral embroidery to match. To top it all off was a matching custom mask with sequins, flowers and pearls. An illustrious style befitting your status.

“Darling? Are you paying attention?” Your mother cuts in and you peer up nodding, “Mother, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I won’t let you down. I will conduct myself with honour, integrity and respect befitting the royal family.” Your mother’s lips form a gleaming smile pleased with your answer. You knew she’d be. A dreary life you led, so repetitive, so predictable. Every aspect was controlled with such care and effort.

As incredibly grateful you were for this position, you wish it allowed you some more freedom. You were restrained, held back by the title of ‘heir to the throne’ and ‘Crown Princess.’ You had barely even socialised with your own people excluding the elites and nobles of other nations. How pitiful, indeed. You had not even seen half of the beautiful scenery and nature of your kingdom yet you knew every single particle of everything that lies within the palace walls. It was your home as well as your luxurious prison.

Regardless, you had to put away your selfish desires for the sake of the people. You were grateful and you wouldn’t toss this lifestyle aside so simply. Who would? “Come darling, they’re waiting for you, after all.” You nod with a curt smile. Not too wide, after all. Just right.

You descend the grand staircase holding your mother’s gloved hand hearing a roar of applause at your introduction. The applause and seeing such elite people clap for you and peer at you with adoring gazes and expressions makes you feel as if you’re buzzing. The sea of masks adorning everyone’s faces hide their identities. You walk down with a delicate wave at everyone and bow of the head. Your mother releases your hand and whispers, “Good job, darling. Now, socialise and mingle. More allies, the better. Smile and enjoy yourself tonight too, it is your birthday after all. That is most important, after all.” She gives you a quick peck on the cheek before scurrying off to a group of noble women.

You stand there frowning for a second before painting a neutral expression on your face. Within seconds, numerous noblemen and women approach you with praises, felicitations galore! It becomes quickly overwhelming and you try your best to maintain etiquette and respond appropriately. As kind as they seemed, you knew deep down they were all looking for a loophole, something to pin against you.

You would have to scoff, as if. You had perfected your facade. You would not disappoint. You couldn’t disappoint. The weight of the crown was too much to bear yet you had no choice but to partake in the verbal tests and mind games everyone seemed to want to play with you and your parents. In a way, the theme of masquerade you had chosen for this year, fit perfectly. Everyone was just playing a facade.

You make your way around the large ballroom talking, mingling and socialising with all sorts of nobility. All the while your father and mother do the same paying no attention to you. Once again, another birthday celebration which felt like another diplomatic excursion or mission.

Drained, you excuse yourself from your umpteenth conversation and walk towards the buffet table. You take a drink to relax your throat from all the talking and you find yourself a seat to relax in. You shoo away the maids and butlers politely wishing to be alone for a while to gather your thoughts. For the first time tonight, you observe the ballroom itself.

The way everyone’s figures reflect on the squeaky clean black, gold and cream coloured tiles. The crowds of nobles conversing under the glittering chandeliers surrounded by the numerous windows that glimpsed the dark outside and encompassed with grand tassels and ribbons of black and gold. Your ears are delighted to hear the royal orchestra playing, the music soothing you. It was something you enjoyed incredibly from a young age.

Something you’d grown accustomed to, something which you loved but now grew to become bored of. Not that you didn’t like it, you were just bored. You sip your drink as the smile slips from your lips. Your eyes scan around once more and you stiffen seeing a tall man dressed in an ebony petticoat jacket with feathery details at the edges and sleek boots. A dark yet luxurious look befitting a prince even with dark raven hair sprawled over his alluring mask. His mask itself was intricate with glitter and gold accents and small, fluffy feathers lining the edges of it. A shiver runs through you at the intensity of his gaze.

You pry your eyes away. Who is that? What type of nobility is he? It’s so difficult to tell with the masks, though, you suppose that’s the entire point! The way his eyes pierced into your own. How long had he gazed upon you? Just now? The entire night? Had you not noticed him?

You slowly peer back in the direction you saw him and you refrain from flinching. He was walking towards you. An aura of mystery and allure surrounds him with the way he strides confidently, uncaring of those around him. His eyes lock onto yours unwavering; a confident, perhaps even arrogant smile graces his lips. You’re seated stiffly as he finally steps in front of you with an outstretched hand. You peer up at him, your lips trembling slightly. Something about him…made you curious. He was different from those here. No one else dared to approach you so boldly to dance.

“Would you grace me with a dance, your highness?” His voice sends another shiver. It’s smooth, seductive in a way. A small playful hint to it. You’ve been asked to dance numerous times before, but this was different. You felt compelled. For the first time in a long time, a shot of excitement rushes through your veins. Something unpredictable had walked up to you.

With that, you stand up with a polite smile, “Of course, good sir.” You take his noir gloved hand and he escorts you to the central floor under the grandest chandelier. The orchestra begin playing a new piece. The couples around you peer in curiosity at who has taken the interest of the Crown Princess. Who indeed? The violins, cellos, flutes and clarinets merge in perfect amalgamation.

“May I, your highness?” He asks. You nod looking up at him. He intertwines his fingers with yours and places a delicate hand upon the small of your back. You shiver at his touch and sly smirk graces his lips before he trails his fingers to your waist instead. A step forward, a step to the side, again, and again. Then a spin. It was almost like you were caught in a trance. You knew whoever was under the mask would be gorgeous!

“Is the princess always so quiet? I saw you talking quite a bit earlier,” he murmurs dancing with you. You hum, “I prefer quiet, talking is a chore.” A laugh escapes his lips, “Isn’t that all you do? Drawl about yourselves and your power.” You scoff at his assumption, “I do no such thing. Aren’t you a noble too?” You both spin. “Indeed I am, nothing quite compares to being the heir of the royal family though, no?”

Something about his tone and words irk you. “Well, you could perhaps say that. It is a big responsibility to bear.” He hums nonchalantly, “How unfun. Boring, it must be. To be restricted in so many aspects. Played like a puppet with strings. I know the feeling well.” You stiffen, “I am not here to get counseling from you, good sir.”

A chuckle escapes his rosy lips, “I’m aware, your highness. Merely a thought of mine.” He was incredibly articulate and composed. His footwork was impeccable. Just who is he? “Who are you? May I ask?” His voice takes a playful pitch, “Oh? You don’t know who I am? I am wounded, your highness. Am I not elite enough for you to know by name?”

Your jaw clenches, “Well, you have a mask on. I also don’t happen to remember hundreds of names of nobles I talk to around once or twice, perhaps thrice a year.” The man slyly hums stepping forward with you stepping back, “Oh do you not? I do.” A scoff leaves your lips, “Really now? Do not take me for a fool.”

“I never did, your highness. I am merely stating my ability.” You gawk at him as your eyes narrow. This gentleman was trying to outwit you, outsmart you perhaps. What was his game? “I wish to know your identity.” Another gentle spin. “Ah, ah, so eager to know are we? Am I to take this as the princess showing interest in a gentleman like me?” You glare, “No, I merely wish to satiate my curiosity.” He leans closely whispering, “Oh? Have you not heard how dangerous curiosity is, sweetheart?”

You shudder at his low tone; his breath fans your face. He squeezes your waist; almost teasing. “You look stunning tonight, your highness. This gown…truly is a spectacle to behold.” You feel his eyes run down your face, neck and body as his lips quirk up into a charming smirk. You suddenly step forward taking him off guard as you dance but he recovers, “Thank you…” You were irritated, dumbfounded, bamboozled. You couldn’t figure him out. You sway together as the pace of the music changes.

“Thinking hard, princess?” He interrupts your thoughts. You mutter, “No.” The man grins, “Surely, the princess isn’t lying to me? You’re infuriated. I can tell.” “I’m not,” you snap lowly. Your eyes widen for a second before calmly murmuring, “No…I’m not. I’m merely…” you try to find words whilst keeping your patience in check. “Frustrated?” He finishes. Another slow sway, “Call me Jun, for now, your highness.” You arch a brow, “Jun?” “That’s as much as I’ll give you,” he comments.

You sigh, “You are indeed a strange man.” He laughs before leaning flirtatiously in, “You are indeed an ethereal princess. Even in that mask of yours.” Heat floods your cheeks and your heart pounds in your chest. “Which territory are you from? Are you from another kingdom perhaps? I can’t seem to recognise you.”

“Mm, so many questions coming out of those lips of yours,” he cooes. You deadpan, “And so little answers.” In and out, a step aside.

“You are irritating,” you observe unamused. “Thank you, your highness. I do try,” he hums, making you groan in exasperation. This was getting nowhere. “Jun, I believe this conversation is growing rather tiresome,” you drawl glaring into his playful eyes. He grins, “For me? Or for you? I appear to be the one to be getting interrogated by the crown princess herself. How terrifying, hm?” You snap lowly, “Do not mock me.” “I would never, sweetheart,” he feigns. How bothersome!

“I think it’s best to end the dance here,” you huff. He pouts, “Oh dear, and here I was just about to tell you a little about me.” He hums spinning you gently, “But who am I to go against her highness’s wishes?” You gawk and scoff, “No! No, go on.” He chuckles breathlessly, moving his feet alongside yours. His aura darkens making you shiver in his grasp.

His black feathery mask shimmer under the chandeliers with its illustrious specks of glitter. That’s nothing compared to his now icy but intoxicating gaze that pierces through his mask into you. His firm grip on your waist inches dangerously low, his other hand - gloved fingers intertwine with yours intimately. “What’s your purpose here? Who are you?”

You peer at him breathlessly as you await the answer to the question you put out into the air. The man’s lips form a sly smile as he nonchalantly murmurs, “Oh sweetheart, I’ve come to kill you of course.” “Huh?” You stammer; your eyes widening through your mask. A darkly amused chuckle escapes his lips, “Though, I think you’ll find yourself rather lucky tonight.”

Your eyes narrow and you snap, “What hoax is this? Do not toy with me.” Jun darkly laughs, “It’s not a ruse or hoax, sweetheart. You’re quite the target you know. Quite the price on your head.” You stiffen. He chides, “Ah, ah, don’t trip up, the song is yet to finish. Keep up.”

You snarl lowly, “What? I am supposed to believe you are some sort of assassin? Here to dispose of me? You would not dare.” Seething, you say, “There are armed guards, and this is utterly public, it would be imbecilic of you to do such a thing.” He lets out a sadistic cackle, “How naïve of you to think I am not skilled enough to send a poisoned knife to the neck, slit it, and escape on my merry way, your highness?” Your blood runs cold at his words.

He leans in closer, “Oh? Are you afraid? You were so headstrong a few moments ago?” He continues as you dance, “I am an assassin, sweetheart. That is the truth, and tonight I have come to take your life.” Your heart palpitates in your chest rapidly. You were dancing with a hired assassin. Who sent him? On your birthday of all days? It must be the enemy kingdom! Why hasn’t he killed you yet?

“You said I’d be finding myself lucky tonight. In what manner is this lucky?” You snarl. Jun hums amused, “You’re still alive aren’t you?” You threaten, “For now. What’s your plan, assassin? I could report you now. I could scream and all eyes would be on us.” A sly grin appears, “Oh? But you haven’t, have you? Even now. Nevertheless, allow me to correct my phrasing from earlier. I had come to take your life.” Had? He hums, “I had observed you for days prior to this through some informants of mine. Tonight I saw the famous and ever adored princess with my own eyes, and I was not let down.”

You grit your teeth, “Come to the point, Jun.” He hums, “I am. What I am saying is I was debating whether to kill you or not. Particularly when I observed you tonight at this ball, I found you to be charming, delicate, beautiful. Upon dancing with you, it appears you are witty and articulate, intelligent unlike many other royals who merely spout nonsense for the sake of it.” Intently you listen, finding it fascinating how he’s encapsulated your character. Could you trust him? Probably not.

“I don’t believe this charade you are putting up, you’re merely trying to make me lower my guard.” The music quickens and so do you both in your footwork. “I am finding myself falling victim to your charms and allure, your highness.” Your eyes widen, “I…” He hums a softer tone to his voice, “You are indeed radiant, witty and a pleasure to be around. Pragmatic and not so caught up in the theatrics of the nobility.” “I try not to be,” you murmur frowning.

“I had come with the intention to make it swift, and end it all tonight. Though, it appears you are making it difficult for me. For how could I plunge a blade into the heart of one so pure?” He feigns. You scoff, “Oh stop with the dramatics.” You become serious, “You won’t kill me, then.” He shrugs, “I suppose not, perhaps.” You snap, “Perhaps?”

The music ends grandly and he steps away from you as you both bow and curtsy respectively. A sense of allure, attraction and thrill fills you. You’ve never been so intrigued, so excited even about something or someone. It was…fun even. Not that he should know, of course.

Jun takes your hand placing a kiss upon it. You wished you could feel his lips on your skin instead of through a glove. His seductive gaze peers at you, “It was a pleasure dancing with you, your highness. An unforgettable experience.” You murmur in shock, “That’s it? You’re leaving?” He grins, “Oh? Will you miss me?” You scoff, “No- I… I just…” you’re at a loss for words. You didn’t want the moment to end. You didn’t want this bickering to cease.

“How about this?” He hums, “Leave your balcony doors open tonight. I’ll consider paying you a visit.” You refrain from snorting, “How preposterous, it is on the highest floor.” Jun gleams smugly, “Oh? Nothing I can’t handle.” You glare, “That is trespassing.” “Not if you let me in, sweetheart. Then, it’s an invitation.”

You scoff, peering at his face; at his mask. You wanted to see underneath it. A tempting offer. You wished for the thrill, something like this. You mutter, “This sounds like a poor attempt to disguise an assassination attempt.” He laughs, “I promise you it’s not. I’ll take my mask off, we can talk truly face to face.”

You bite your lip in thought; his eyes getting drawn to the motion immediately. “I…it’s too dangerous.” “The mask?” He hums almost in a sing-song manner. Rolling your eyes, you say, “Keep your measly mask on. As if I care.” He coos, “Oh but you do. You’re curious, I know it.”

“What a pest you are,” you deadpan. “Why thank you, your highness. Good night.” With that he grandly bows and turns to walk off leaving you dumbfounded. That’s it?

“My, who was that you were dancing with?” Your mother chimes in, “A potential suitor, perhaps?” You grunt, “Do not get me started, mother.”

———

The ball had ended. Fatigue hangs on your body as you slip into your nightgown and sit on the bed feeling empty. Where was he? Would he truly visit you? You peer over to the corner of your chambers where a large pile of gifts resides then at the balcony doors which were currently locked. Your fingers and legs twitch, having the strange urge to unlock the doors. As you sit up waiting for sleep to caress you, a whirlwind of questions enraptures your mind about the devilish stranger you met earlier.

Going against your better instinct, you march towards the balcony doors pushing aside the frilly curtains and place one hand tentatively on the golden handle. Just as you’re about to press down, you hear clambering and clatter followed by a grunt. You yelp upon seeing a black dressed familiar figure pull himself up over the stone railing of your balcony. He stumbles before standing on your balcony brushing himself off and he meets your appalled gaze. The male leers, giving you a bow before striding to the balcony doors and giving the glass a knock.

“I have no weapon on me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he declares. You glare to which he pouts in response, still adorning his raven mask. Reluctantly, you open the doors letting him brush past you. “You could have just left it open if you were gonna let me in anyway?” You click your tongue in irritation, “Don’t make me regret my decision.” You inhale deeply, “I have questions.”

“Do you now?” He drawls. “I’m serious, Jun,” you avers. “Ask away then,” as he makes himself comfortable on one of your velvet-tufted sofas by crossing his legs, lying down resting his head on the palm of his hand. How arrogant!

“Who wants to kill me?” You interrogate. His eyes glimmer, “Hm, well, that’s rather confidential. But for you sweetheart, sure. King Choi Dang-Eun.” You freeze, the king of the kingdom your battalion had been fighting over territory and borders for years? Jun hums, “He thought that assassinating the only heir to the throne should be a rather low blow to your nation, no? Quite the sadistic one isn’t he? He knows how much your father treasures you.”

You’re mortified at his words. You knew that kingdom was bloodthirsty, particularly their king. You’d witnessed firsthand their brutality with each battle your father came back from. Despite having numerous (failed) diplomatic meetings, nothing has worked out. Even their royal family, the heirs are rumored to be bloodthirsty warriors.

“How much has he paid you?” The man before you chuckles bitterly, “Oh you’d laugh if I told you the truth. You’re worth a lot though.” You snap, “Say it.” Jun remarks bitterly, “As much as you’re worth, I am getting paid nothing. Consider it…a duty of sorts.” Your brows furrow in confusion, “Duty?” “Don’t think too hard on it, princess,” he says amused.

“You…accepted to kill me…for free? Do not be absurd!” You proclaim. Jun rolls his eyes, “Not like I had much choice, sweetheart. I would have loved to receive payment just as much as you.” You blurt frustrated, “That’s not the point!” He merely chuckles. Frowning, you ask, “You’ve still not hurt me. You’re even entertaining my questions. I don’t understand you?”

“You’re fragile, princess. I am used to slaughtering soldiers, orcs, griffins, thugs. Not pretty princesses like yourself. This mission was tough for even me,” he admits making you feel rather odd inside. Your eyes narrow, “What are you going to say to the king? He’s known to execute those who disobey, no?” Jun bitterly chuckles, “Don’t worry about me. Nothing I can’t handle.” You frown, “But-“

He hushes you, “Trust me, I’ll be fine. Really, sweetheart.” Jun grins, “Worried about me sweetheart?” You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You inquire. He peers at you with an intensity before standing up and walking towards you. Further and closer until you feel your back hit your dressing table.

His arms trap you between the table and him encasing you as he presses against you. “Such pretty lips asking all the right questions.” He glimpses at your lips, “To be honest princess, I am fond of you. I have a feeling you’re not gonna tattle on me so easily. You crave this excitement, this thrill.” “I don’t,” you murmur breathlessly. “You do. That’s why you haven’t called the guards yet? You haven’t screamed or even now…you’re not pushing me away?” Silence remains on your lips.

“You feel it right? This. This feeling between us, it’s exhilarating, no? From the moment our eyes met, to when we danced to now,” his whispers caress your ear. Your heart races and body shivers. “The height of royalty, the heir, Crown Princess, someone so untouchable, yet here I am.” Your eyes glance intently at his mask. You had to see his face. You had to! He takes note of your gaze and with a dark smirk trails his fingers down your arm to your hand. Grasping your right hand, he brings it behind his head where you can feel the satin ribbon. With a sharp tug, the mask falls clattering to the ground.

Your lips part in awe. The most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes upon. His sharp eyes, nose and jawline. His luscious lips and raven hair that sprawled over his pale forehead. His features worked harmoniously together as if sculpted by the gods themselves. “Hm? Stunned speechless, sweetheart?” Heat courses through your body.

“No,” you spout feeling flushed. “I think you’re falling in love,” he utters playfully. “With someone I just met, I’m not daft.” He goes quiet for a moment before chuckling, “Ah, of course. You’ve not seen me before tonight, but I’ve seen you.”

“Impossible.” “Possible, in fact, it’s true,” he grins. “Where?” He purrs, “Ah, but that would ruin the fun.” “How insolent,” you vent.

He leans even closer, “Anyway, I think the real question you have to consider is, you letting a man with questionable intentions into your chambers at night?” You huff, “Guards are right outside.” “So? I’m trained to take people out in seconds.” He chuckles, “Not you though. I thought I made that clear. It’s cute, that fear in your eyes.” “Sadist.” “Perhaps, I got that from my father.”

“Well your father is horrid then.” Jun releases a bitter laugh, “That, I can agree with you on.” Your heart pangs. “Is he an assassin like you? Is it a generational thing?” You question. “Well, I suppose you could say that.” His expression sours for a moment before he hums amorously, “Anyway, you got what you wanted right? To see my face. Is it to your liking?”

“Perhaps.”

“What can I do to convince you? Would seeing my body change your mind?” You gawk appalled, “How vulgar,” Jun snickers, “Oh sweetheart, that’s nothing.”

Suddenly, he drags his nose along the curve of your neck, “I’m sure you’re not as innocent as you portray yourself to be princess.” You glare, “What makes you come to that conclusion?”

“Letting a dangerous man like me in your chambers. Letting me pin you against your dresser. Something tells me you crave for this? Crave for someone to give you excitement. I know it too well, The yearning to be free from the golden cage and watchful eyes.” Your eyes meet in mutual understanding and your body feels incredibly warm. Your breaths are shaky. You whisper, “Who are you really?” He slyly murmurs into your ear, “Ah, ah, that is something I will refrain from sharing with you tonight. I’m just Jun.”

Your shoulders slacken and a pout graces your lips. Jun teases, “Oh how adorable.” You shove him back, “Do not call me that.” You gasp as you feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you against him, “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to kiss you since I laid my eyes on you.” You shakily breathe. “Push me away, if you wish to not continue princess.” You’re surprised at his gentleness. A gentleman indeed.

You contemplate for a second before you place a hand on his shoulder and whimper, “Please.” Immediately, he obliges by pressing his lips roughly against yours. How devious for the princess to be locking lips with a malevolent stranger. This was what you craved for. Your arms wrap around his neck as his nose brushes against yours as he kisses you deeper.

Lips move against yours; his tongue slipping in occasionally, nipping and tugging. This was something you’ve never experienced; it felt as if you were ascending. You gasp parting from him as he lifts you, sitting you roughly on the dresser.

Panting, the both of you gather your thoughts. His eyes widen, realising his action, “Princess, my apologies. It appears I got carried away.” Not that you really minded. Jun runs a frustrated hand through his ebony locks of hair and sighs, “It’s best if I leave.” He picks up his mask re-tying it onto his face. Your eyes widen in panic and confusion, “What? What’s the matter?”

He doesn’t respond walking towards the balcony pulling the door open. You grasp his arm, “Wait!” Why are you so drawn to him? A look of surprise crosses his features before he quickly hides it. “Wait, why are you leaving so abruptly? Did I do something?” You quiver. Jun removes your hand from his arm gently, “Keep looking at me with eyes like that and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave you with merely a few kisses, princess.” An oddly sweet smile appears on his lips as you become flustered. You mutter, “Idiot.” He chuckles, “Indeed, I am.”

You didn’t want this moment to end. You knew deep inside you’d never see him again. You didn’t even know his name. What if he got executed? You could do nothing. Who were you to stop him? An assassin?

Jun clambers over the railing and peers at you one last time, “Don’t look so sad, princess. I’m sure we’ll meet again, some day.” “As if,” you scoff. He shrugs, “If not…” he frowns for a second before masking it with a flirtatious grin, “Then, keep this memory and cherish it in your dreams. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?” You nod wordlessly. Pain stings you.

The night seems to take longer than usual to pass. You barely sleep; your mind filled to the brim with images of your encounter with him. How silly of you to get so caught up with a stranger, to think you could escape the cycle of everyday monotony. How could you be so foolish to be swayed by his tempting words and seductive gaze? You scoff, annoyed with yourself. He probably saw you as nothing but a treat for his eyes. Right?

Soon days pass by as usual - dull and dreary. New duties now thrust upon you as you were now of proper age. You aimlessly zone out as your parents and advisors speak about the current situation between the two rival kingdoms. The war had become stagnant- a stand still.

The other kingdom was running out of resources and their despicable king (who tried to get you killed), had suddenly fallen ill. Your father proposes, “They’re weak, surely we can propose another peace talk. They’re backed into the corner now. What say you dear?” Your eyes widen, “Oh, yes. Excellent idea, father.” Your mother deadpans unamused at your lack of attention as your father chuckles, “So be it then. Get the scribe, a letter shall be sent.”

To your surprise, an acceptance letter is sent. Not signed by the king, but the heirs of the throne. He had two children, twins both vicious. How odd, you think. “You must be present in the meeting dear, it’s important you pick up on the skills.” You sigh, “Yes father.” He was right. Two weeks pass and the time nears.

A neutral spot was chosen to hold the peace talk in which a small group of soldiers from both sides were present for protection. You are seated beside your father and your eyes fix on the stunning woman opposite you: Princess Choi Ji-Ah.

Her sharp gaze and strict manner of speaking sends shivers through you. You notice the empty seat beside her. She is indeed built to rule firmly. Yet, she has a softer edge to her, than her father. You notice various scars littering her arms, battle or training scars perhaps? She meets your gaze and gives you a soft smile taking you off guard.

Ji-ah’s poise and elegance makes your eyes widen, “Your majesty, your daughter is indeed as beautiful as they say.” You murmur bashful, “Thank you,” as your father chuckles, “I am pleased to discover you are nothing like your father.” Her eyes darken and an eery smile appears, “Ah, of course. Regardless, he’s very ill, he won’t have long left.” You feel a chill at her tone.

“Ah apologies, Ji-ah, I am here! I managed to sort the supplies out,” a voice interrupts. It’s familiar. You feel your entire world spin as you set your eyes on the male. “Yeonjun,” she grits out, “I’d appreciate it if you were more punctual.” Yeonjun bows apologising to your father. His eyes scan over and his eyes widen meeting yours.

Jun. Yeonjun. “Prince Choi Yeonjun of the Kingdom of Dunamis,” his sister introduces. This was preposterous!

You glare darkly at him to which he greets back with a bright gleam. “A pleasure to meet you, your highness.” You grit out, “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Father, I need a moment, I have a headache. Please excuse me, Princess. My apologies.” They both nod as you rush out. You shakily breathe. You had kissed your enemy, well ex-enemy now. Whatever it was! Butterflies flutter into your stomach. Yeonjun looked regal, ethereal in his royal attire. Oh damn him!

“Princess,” you hear him approach you. You don’t turn around. You hated how happy you were to see his stupidly handsome face. How you dreamt of him, just as he asked. Fate had brought you together again.

“I’m sorry for not being able-“

“Silence,” you sharply quip. He halts as you turn and march up to him, “Assassin and crown prince, huh?” He hums amused, “What can I say? I’m a man of many skills.” You scoff suddenly pulling him down by his collar, “You filthy, atrocious, abhorrent-“

His lips meet yours chastely, “Mhm, go on.” “Ugly, imbecilic-“ another kiss, deeper. You part from him glaring, “How bothersome.” “Delightful you mean.”

“You missed me, no?” Yeonjun hums. You murmur after a moment of silence, “Perhaps.” He chuckles breathlessly, “It’s never a yes or no from you, is it?”

He whispers with an alluring smirk, “I have a feeling we’ll become more than just allies after today.” You hum, “In your dreams.”

“Oh don’t fret sweetheart, you are.”

[gomzdrawfr]

[oc x cannon rambles]

OKAY. Continuining from this.

New Au that originates from Royal AU -> Isekai Royal AU

more rambles/lore/fic/explanation/art below (compiled it into one post so i dont spam yall's tl with my bs LMAO:

[wARNING: big sad, MCD(Raven), angst, death, violence, injuries]

In the ending of Royal AU, King!Price married another Queen and had a kid, Royal Guard!Raven got promoted to Commander, they go their separate ways for the sake of the nation

The kid, aka the Princess, has everything Price had, the exact blue eyes and all except she was blonde like her mother.

She was rather fond of Raven, and always sneaked out to find Commander Raven despite Raven warning her not to.

Raven's still a softie though, so in the end, she ended up growing soft for her.

Until it all falls apart.

First it was a scream, and before she could register it she was bolting towards the voice.

It was the lil girl's scream.

She regretted not wearing armour that day, but somehow she managed to escape with the Princess in hand, stumbling down to the deeper part of the woods that was safe for now.

"Shhh...don't cry Princess....you're safe now"

Raven coos the trembling young Princess, her poor face pale from the shock and bruises on her delicate skin.

Lost count of how many arrows were on her back, she knew it was only a matter of time before it will take its full effect.

Poison arrows, the fletching bearing a black greenish gradient.

It was an assassination attempt on the young Princess.

"R-Raven...Raven I'm scared...."

"It's okay, it's okay...don't be scared....help's on their way..."

"Papa...I want Papa!!"

"......"

She sighs quietly, it stings, not from the arrows itself, but...from the weight of it all.

"I want your papa too....Princess"

She mumbled in a dazed, blood loss and her dizziness making it hard for her to decipher if she was thinking, or talking out loud, one thing she is certain was she can no longer hunched forward as she slumps to the ground.

"R-Raven? Raven!"

"....listen to me well...lil one..."

"...your papa....the Emperor...your majesty...is a great man..."

"he was a man who loved with all his heart...."

"your papa loves unconditionally....and the one thing he loves most in the world...is you"

More sniffles were heard from the lil girl, who were shaking worse than before, Raven reaches her hand out in an attempt to calm the young lady, only to smear some of her blood onto her pretty pink dress, she frowns at that...but...she was tired...

So so tired...but she kept going.

"....papa may be scary sometimes...and he scolds you...or punish you...but it's for your own good"

"....papa is also very kind...when he needs to...he bought you the tiara you really wanted...remember, Princess?"

"y-yes...I love it..."

"that's right...and you are a pretty girl...pretty eyes like your papa...yeah?"

Raven smiles, the pain subsiding into a blur

"and you have the brightest smile...don't cry...Princess...because a smile suits you better...please?"

She knows this is all wrong, that the poor princess will be traumatized forever because of this.

But the Princess was obedient, and smiles through the snort and tears.

Raven chuckles quietly, nodding weakly.

She'll be alright.

"...treasure your papa...Princess..."

Her eyes closed once, twice...and it was getting harder and harder to open them, or to hear anything else, not even the sound of horses gallop that was getting closer and closer

"...do it for me..."

And then she was swallowed by darkness

In her last moment, she watched a couple sitting side by side, she knew this scene.

The last time they were allowed to be with each other.

"Maybe in another life..." "I'll look for you in every single one of those lifetime" "yeah...you'd that for me, birdie?" "mhm..." "just remember...I love owls" "pretty vague if you ask me..." "you'll know it when you see me" "....that I can guarantee..."

The scene before her morphs into nothingness when she tried to reach out for it, a blinding light forces her vision to go white as she struggles to move.

When she does open her eyes again, she was heaving, sweating and....grabbing the air?

She blinks a few time, this doesn't feel like dying, wait-

She quickly sat up, and realise she was in a room, dimly lit but there were light at the balcony, she dash towards it, opening the windows only to be greeted with something she wouldn't expect.

She recognise this place...the ocean, the city, the flags, the castle- this castle-

How the hell did she end up in the Umbralis Citadel? [bear with me here i literally cannot come up with names of places LOL]

She quickly strolls back to her room, stopping before a mirror as she glanced at her reflection.

A Princess.

She has reincarnated as the Veil Princess.

=================

anywyas yeah thats sort of the fic SO the premise for the first art itself is moreso Princess Raven who managed to finally see King!Price after some careful planning and such, took the opportunity and meet him.

At first she gaze from afar, because she got emotional seeing him after...after everything they went through (she didn't even get to say good bye to him before she died).

Her attire choices was deliberate, although she was already rocking the modest, simple look since as the Veil Princess, no one really pay attention to her (she's the youngest in the royal family).

So she finally approaches him...AND THE STORY BEGINS-

[impossibleprincess35]

Hey, I'm Sig.

I post incessantly about Obitine (Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine Kryze), and Steggy (Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter), on here, and that's basically my Tumblr persona.

I also write Obitine fanfiction, so here's the master list for quick reference:

<<<<< EUCLID Series >>>>>

A ridiculous amount of words to tell the story of how Obi-Wan and Satine met ("The Echo and the Stain") and how their lives progressed during the Clone Wars had they kept in touch and our girl hadn't been fridged ("Asphodel"). Romance, longing, angst, whump, and suffering, and a little bit of smutty goodness. I touch plenty of grass, but I just can't seem to stop thinking about them.

An Accident of the Fates [Rated: G] A two-part story about Satine and Bo-Katan Kryze's childhoods, and how their separate ideologies came to be.

The Echo and the Stain [Rated: Mature] A 345k+ word count take on the "year on the run" as an assassination attempt on the Duchess of Kalevala’s life puts her in the hands of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, as the New Mandalorians are looking to end the Great Clan War.

Petals for Armor [Rated: G] Satine addresses the Galactic Senate when the Council of Neutral Systems is formed.

Asphodel [Rated: Mature] A 500k+ word count retelling of Satine and Obi-Wan's interactions during the events of the Clone Wars, and their commitment to putting duty over love is continuously challenged as tensions rise with the escalation of terrorism in Mandalore and the fall of the Republic.

A Sky Full of Stars [Rated: Mature] [Please review tags.] An additional text relative to chapter 18 of “Asphodel.”

The Sundari Archives [Rated: G] Snips, blurbs, prompts, etc., that supports all this and doesn't fit anywhere else.

<<<<< SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS >>>>> I was that dork who had burned CDs (I’ve aged myself *sigh*) for every mood and hyperfixation, so of course, I have playlists for some of my fics.

The Echo and the Stain (Spotify)

Asphodel (Spotify)

<<<<< ADDITIONAL OBITINE >>>>> Some multi-chapter modern AUs, some one-shots, and some pieces for event weeks here.

Reputation [Rated: Explicit] A modern AU Obitine story set to the album “Reputation” by Taylor Swift. She rules a country. He works for the United Nations. They’re reunited 16 years later when a terrorist attack puts her at risk. This is a ridiculous ploy to put them in a modern AU.

The Sapir Mercantile [Rated: Explicit] A modern AU Obitine story. Satine gets a spa gift certificate from her co-worker Padme, and discovers the spa is owned by her ex-boyfriend, Ben Kenobi. An excuse for kinky stuff. Porn with plot.

La Cantina de Bloomita [Rated: Explicit] Obi-Wan Kenobi and Quinlan Vos find themselves in a cantina on Dantooine, and when Obi-Wan drinks, he drunk dials; Quin’s trying to get laid, and Obi-Wan’s showing holo-photos of Satine to pirates. *Sigh*

Peace [Rated: G] A one-shot fic where Satine and Obi-Wan welcome baby Korkie together. Total tooth-rotting fluff. [Obitine Week 2023]

In Vain [Rated: G] A one-shot fic where in a post-Order 66 universe, Obi-Wan finds himself in Kalevala searching for pieces of Satine’s memory. [Obitine Week 2023]

Hard Candy [Rated: Explicit] A one-shot fic where Satine and Obi-Wan partake in namana fruit and end up doin’ the dirty. Definite smut. [Obitine Week 2023]

Satine’s Lament [Rated: G] A quick 1,000 word one-shot where Obi-Wan encounters Satine in a ghost window post-“Obi-Wan Kenobi” series. [Ghost Window AU 2023]

Much Ado About Christmas [Rated: G] A modern AU Christmas Obitine story. Anakin, Ahsoka, and Korkie try to set up Obi-Wan and Satine so they’ll take a vacation together for some time alone.

[imagine-darksiders]

Not your time - A Darksiders oneshot.

Hey everyone!

A commission from the lovely and generous @humboltsquid, who requested a female Reader who barely survives an assassination attempt that's carried out in front of the Horsemen.

CW: Blood, guns, assassination attempt, mild descriptions of bullet wounds, aftermath, protective Horsemen, whump, angst, fluff, Death centric.

----------

A sudden flash of dazzling light bursts in front of your face, and try as you might to keep your eyes open, you just know that come Monday, there’ll be an unseemly photograph of you squinting out of the front page of a local newspaper.

“Perfect!” the photographer grins without casting so much as a glance down at the screen of her camera.

Blinking rapidly to disperse the shadow floating in front of your eyes, you take another look out at the crowd gathered on the square below the steps of Haven City Hall.

Most, if not all of their attention is rigidly devoted to you as multiple pens sit poised over tattered notebooks, though there are some people who throw envious glares at the photographer as she retreats back into their ranks.

You have to admit, you find yourself wondering where she managed to scrouge up a working camera.

It’s hardly been a few months since Humanity pulled itself out of the rubble of an unrecognisable Earth.

Word of the Apocalypse, its aftermath and the reasons behind it spread like wildfire – words that originated from your mouth, at the behest of the Four Horsemen, all of whom agreed that you’d make a fine ambassador for your species.

Death made it apparent that he and his siblings thought very highly of you after your involvement in clearing War’s name and surviving trials no human ever had before.

You’re starting to wish they thought a little less of you now, though. This is the seventh ‘press conference’ you’ve been subjected to in the past month. That’s without all the one-to-one interviews you’d been forced into with world leaders, heads of national security, historians, religious leaders, scientist… The list goes on.

Today is just more of the same; a whole lot of reporters clamouring to quote you for their articles in cobbled-together newspapers that have finally begun to crop up around the globe.

At a glance, it would almost appear that you're standing on the steps alone. But upon further inspection, it isn't difficult to spot four, hulking figures eyeing the proceedings from the shadows.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Death, Fury, Strife and War. Your guardians. And quite possibly the best friends you've ever had, no matter their quirks and social ineptness.

They've grown tired of the constant questions from your fellow humans, even Strife, and no doubt the only reason they're here at all today is to watch your back, despite how often you try to tell them that they don't have to worry about you.

You might as well be throwing words at a brick wall and expecting it to break.

In the corner of your eye, there’s another flash, and a split second where your heart starts to sink at the prospect of yet another photograph circling the papers. However, in less than a blink, something smacks into your abdomen with a dull, wet ‘thwack,’ forcing you to stumble onto your backfoot.

Startled, you drop your mouth open and look out at the crowd, dimly wondering why one of them had thrown something at you…

A rock, perhaps?

Strange…

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s an explosion of motion all around you.

From one moment to the next, War hauls his immense bulk in front of you, dousing you in his shadow as he rips Chaoseater from its scabbard and swings the terrible sword out in front of him, shoulders bristling with a rage you can’t yet place.

At almost the exact same time, Strife appears as if from nowhere to your right, roaring like a wild beast and, to your horror, whipping Mercy and Redemption out of their holsters and pointing them out at the anxious crowd.

A woman screams, loud and shrill enough to hurt your ears, sending blood coursing through them until you’re left grimacing at the sound, only dimly aware of the tiny burn blossoming to life in your abdomen, just beneath your left breast.

No sooner have the brothers locked their legs rigidly into place than someone fills the space behind you– Fury, if the warm body pressing a little too firmly into your back is any indication.

“Strife! The rooftops!” she shouts urgently, and you can’t help but grimace again as her voice thrums through your head like a claxon.

Bewildered. you twist yourself sideways, meeting the stare of the last Horseman, Death. He was the furthest away when the rock hit you, though now he seems to warp through the air towards you with the grace and swiftness of a shadow moving across the square, and all the ferocity of a bull charging down its quarry.

Your mouth hangs open, lips twitching as the burn in your chest grows as if an insect has lodged its stinger inside your skin, and you’re about to ask what in the world they think they’re doing when you pull in a breath.

All at once, your chest hitches painfully, and you hurry to throw a hand over your mouth to catch the hacking cough that takes you by surprise. You pull a face at the sensation of thick saliva spattering against your palm.

It had been a sunny day not moments ago, but as Death approaches from your left, the temperature around you plummets by a staggering degree, as if you’ve been cast into the eye of a polar storm. Growing increasingly alarmed by the second, you pull in a smaller breath, one that rattles and wheezes in its way in, but doesn’t quite manage to fill your lungs as you move your hand away to call Death’s name.

The last thing you expect to see when you briefly glance down is the splatter of rich, glistening blood freckling the previously unblemished skin of your palm.

It’s only then that the thought occurs to you; it may not have been a rock at all…

“Death?” you whimper shakily, lowering your trembling hand and touching your fingertips gingerly to the spot on your torso that’s beginning to feel even worse, as though instead of an insect, a lit cigarette has been jammed against your skin with no signs of cooling.

You’d flinch away from the sensation were you not being tightly boxed in on every side by four, bridling forces of nature.

The eldest of them, Death, is upon you in an instant, dragging the shadows of buildings along in his wake as if, for just a moment, the darkness itself is beholden to none but him.

There’s a fire raging in the Horseman’s wide and simmering eyes that contradicts the icy hands that reach out to catch you by your shoulders when you take a faltering step towards him, only to crumple as the numbness in your legs makes itself apparent.

A familiar chill pours down your spine. One you’re all-too familiar with.

They promised you had nothing to be afraid of, not while you have Four of them in your corner.

But you can’t help it.

Right now, as War bellows a thunderous battle-cry out at some unknown recipient, and the breaths start to leave you in great clouds of billowing, white air, you’re scared.

 ---

‘No, no, no, NO! NO!’

Death’s ever-churning mind howls with outrage and disbelief, even if his lips remain tightly sealed beneath his bone-mask as he holds you upright by your shoulders, suspending you an inch above the ground in his haste to scan you for injury.

He’s mutely aware that the crowd of humans have already begun to scatter, though whether they’ve been driven away by the Horsemen’s sudden act of aggression or the culprit who has just made a foolish attempt on your life, Death can’t be bothered to guess.

He knows… As soon as he caught the flash from a broken window that overlooks the city hall, he knew. And he knows, for the rest of his wretched existence, that he’ll be trying to atone for standing too far away to reach you in time. For growing complacent.

They've all grown complacent, though he’ll shoulder the blame for his siblings because they – however unwittingly – follow by his example.

He thought this would be safe.

You weren’t supposed to get hurt, this was just another question-and-answer session you’ve done dozens of times before. Curious humans seeking gaps in their knowledge from you.

Who in their right mind would dare, would even have the nerve to try and hurt the human who has been so obviously afforded protection by the Four? Not even Samael, arguably their strongest adversary, would think twice before attempting to antagonise the Horsemen.

He can feel your warm breaths hitting the exposed skin of his sternum as he clings to you, rolling his eyes down until he spies the patch of crimson blooming outwards underneath your quivering hand.  

The acrid stench of blood – your blood – is quick to slip between the cracks of his mask and into his unwilling nostrils.

Death’s muscles bunch at the intrusion and he clamps his gnashing teeth down on the primal growl that tries to escape through them.

He’s aware that at any moment, his siblings are going to catch the same scent on the wind, and it’ll be all he can do to stop them from levelling the entire city, just to ensure that your would-be killer doesn’t get away. Hell, it’s all he can currently do to keep his own Reaper Form from tearing itself loose and raking up the souls of any human in the vicinity.

As unhappy as his siblings already are though, they’re about to raise merry Hell when he makes his next announcement.

“She’s been shot,” he spits, pulling the metaphorical trigger on three, loaded guns.

As if from nowhere, a maelstrom whips up around Strife, who only just manages to lurch sideways far enough to spare you and his siblings from being crushed as he erupts into the titanic, armoured beast; Anarchy, shaking out his mane and tipping his horned head back to screech up at the sky.

Steeling himself against your sudden whimpers of alarm, Death barks, “Seventh story window to the North. Go!”

And without needing any further spurring on, Anarchy launches himself into a gallop across the street, leaping up to latch his monstrous claws into the wall of the building and hauling himself straight up the side of it, hand over hand.

War and Fury don’t look as though they’ll be far behind their brother, but Death’s voice is enough to still them before they too can unleash their true forms and give chase.                                                                                                                   

“Fury.”

Snarling, his sister whips around towards him, her expression faltering when she sees how carefully he slides his arms beneath your knees and hoists you off your feet, cradling you against his unforgiving chest.

“Rampage is the fastest of our horses,” he continues, “Find Azrael, meet us at Y/n’s home.”

She looks as though she’s about to argue, far more interested in joining Strife to enact some well-deserved vengeance in your honour, but another glance at you reminds her that this isn’t the time for personal vendettas.

Fiery hair bobs as she gives a resolute nod, then turns on her heel and raises a fist in the air. “Rampage! To me!”

Death’s attention flits back to you, secure in the knowledge that at least two of his siblings have been distracted from going on the warpath.

Speaking of…

“Brother… Is she...?” War’s voice has dipped and bowed with rage, lending him the cadence of a beast.

Before he can say another word, Death speaks, his magics flaring about him like coiling snakes, though is tone is deceptively calm. “War, I need you to guard us as we ride.”

Without another word, the Horsemen summon their steeds, and Death is forced to relinquish you to War for a second whilst he hauls himself into Despair’s saddle, immediately reaching to take you again when his brother gently lifts you towards him. You scream as he does, trying to curl in on yourself until you’re deposited in the saddle between Death’s sturdy thighs.

Then, in a moment so rare, not even his siblings can remember the last time they saw it, Death slips his hand underneath yours, trying not to let his stomach squeeze at the feeling of your fingers latching onto his. He meets your eyes, loathing the wide, terrible pain that’s been placed inside them.

Pain has no place in your life, not so long as they’re here to protect you from it.

“Not yet,” he breathes, damn-near begs, spurring Despair into a thunderous gallop with Ruin snorting wildly at his heels.

----------

It’s the agony that wakes you in the end, a raging hellfire that ignites in your chest as you startle to consciousness, never recalling how you’d come to be unconscious in the first place.

As if the unexpected pain weren’t bad enough, your heartbeat thuds strongly in your ears, which are ringing with the shouts of several, booming voices, all far too close and spilling over one another in a furious rush, leaving you feeling as though you’ve been placed inside an amphitheatre.

“- the Hell wasn’t someone watching the buildings!?” Fury’s voice, easily distinguishable from her brothers’ and absolutely drenched in her namesake.

Gritting your teeth, you screw your face up when Strife almost roars back, “Keep lookin’ at me when you say that, and I might start thinkin’ you’re blaming me for this!”

“Perhaps I am! You’re the firearms expert, as you so often like to remind us!”

“Why the Hell should that mean-!?” He cuts himself off midsentence, granting you a second of relief before he promptly redirects his attention to one of his other siblings. “WAR! If you don’t stop pacing, you’re going out the goddamn window!”

Ah, you wince, so that wasn’t your heart beating in your ears.

War’s thundering footfalls come to an abrupt halt somewhere to your right, and he promptly responds to his brother’s threat with a rumbling growl, the kind that emanates straight from his chest and spills across the room like a roll of thunder.

They’re fighting about something…. Which isn’t unusual. But lately, they’ve been getting better at not doing it around you.

God your chest hurts. What the Hell happened?

“Mmgh, ugh…” You feel like you need a crowbar to pry your eyelids apart, but at least the pitiful sound you made is enough to stop their incessant bickering.

A new problem arises though, when they instantly start to exclaim anew.

“She’s awake!” Strife gushes.

“I can see that for myself,” Fury sighs, though not without a hint of relieved laughter.

War’s relief is quieter, but no less palpable.

Through the gaps in your eyelids, you spot a flash of red surging towards you as you try to heave yourself upright, but not a moment later, a strong, uncompromising gauntlet engulfs your shoulder, pushing you down to lay flat on your back.

“Stay there,” War’s baritone thrums, as gentle as you’ve ever heard it, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Tears of pain are already trailing down your cheeks, but you suppose he means you’ll make it worse. Blinking to clear your vision, you peer up at the three, titanic figures looming over your head.

Strife’s eyes are the first you meet, glowing like raw gold from beneath his silver helm. They pinch at the corners, a telltale sign that he’s smiling under there. “H-hey, gorgeous,” he swallows thickly as if he’s about to choke, “Glad to see you’re awake again… Scared the Hell out of us back there, you know.”

You know it must have been bad if he’s admitting to fear.

“How’re you feeling.”

Before you can open your mouth to tell him that it feels as if your chest is being split in two, Fury scoffs, turning to shoot Strife a scathing look.

“She was shot, you fool. How do you think she’s feeling?”

“Sh-shot?” you croak, once more attempting to sit up, but with War’s gauntlet pinning you in place, you only succeed in squirming weakly on the-… Are you on your bed?

Your breath starts picking up, throat bone-dry as more tears spill down your cheeks. “I was shot?”

To her credit, Fury swiftly clamps her jaw shut, biting her lip and looking at least a little ashamed for blurting that out. War emits a troubled hum whilst Strife hurries to reassure you.

“Hey, hey,” he hushes, reaching out to drop his enormous hand over the top of yours, “It’s over. It’s over now. Azrael fixed you up. You’re okay.” There’s conviction in his words, but you don’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or you.

You roll your neck down slightly to look him over, and it’s only now that you see the blood smeared across his chest plate.

With a sharp gasp, your heart rate skyrockets.

War follows your wide-eyed stare and grumbles, “I told you to wash that off…”

Glancing down at himself, Strife quickly snaps his head up to offer you a shake of his head. “No, no, don’t worry about that. It’s not your blood.”

Despite his efforts, this does little to reassure you.

“It’s yours!?” you bleat.

“Nah, ain’t mine either. S’from the guy who shot you.”

 Your abdomen squeezes in protest as you strain out, “Strife! You killed someone!?”

For a moment, he falls silent. All of them do, flicking pointed glances between one another as a creeping chill begins to seep inside the room, reaching your skin even under the blankets that have been tucked around your neck.

“I gave the order.”

All eyes dart to the open door of your bedroom. You can’t help the aborted breath you draw in when you see Death filling the wooden frame.

His bulging shoulders heave up and down slowly, and that dark, brooding stare is adhered to your face, causing you to squirm uncomfortably as if you mean to escape it.

 “Finally decided to stop beating yourself up, have you?” Fury mutters under her breath, earning a glare from Death so frosty, you could swear you see her shiver.

“But… but I don’t understand?” you wheeze, furrowing your brow wearily and shifting to try and ease the ache in your lungs, “What do you mean you gave the order?”

“Some fool human made an attempt on your life,” War supplies, “Strife did what we all wished we could do.”

Once again, you try to sit up, and once again the weight of War’s gauntlet stops you.

Grunting, you argue, “But, you can’t… kill someone just because-!”

“-Because what?” Death snaps, stalking towards the bed an effectively silencing you in a heartbeat, “Because an overconfident zealot thought you deserved to die simply because you spoke a truth that didn’t align with his doctrines?”

He may be the shortest of the Horsemen, but that doesn’t mean that Death isn’t several feet taller than you, able to loom over your bed like a storm cloud.

“Were we to stand idly by whilst one of our own was threatened?”

You glance up at the others, taken aback by the ferocious, steadfast frowns on War and Fury’s expressions, and the familiar glint of steel in Strife’s eyes. Not one of them are contending Death’s bold declaration.

That you’re one of theirs.

It’s a hell of a claim to come from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Ancient Nephilim of legend, laying claim to a human?

You wet your lips, but a response doesn’t come.

Death, however, seems only too ready to fill the space of your silence.

In a single, fluid motion, he lowers himself onto one knee beside your bed, and that action in itself is as poignant as his words.

Death never kneels.

The other three don’t look half as surprised as you’re sure you must, not even when their eldest, their leader, reaches out, hesitates, then rests the tips of his cold fingers gently under your jawline, directly over your pulse.

Wide-eyed, you can only stare into the sockets of his mask, breathing shallowly, missing the way his shoulders slump at the sensation of a strong, steady throb beneath his fingertips.

“You’re under our protection,” he states matter-of-factly, backed up by a concurring grunt from War on the other side of the bed, “And when the Horsemen have your back, nobody touches you. Is that understood?”

You press your lips together, both horrified and equally humbled that you could have earned the devotion of such powerful, ethereal beings.

Holding your gaze, Death firmly repeats, “Nobody.”

You still have questions. No end of them. But right now, frightened, hurt, and vulnerable, you’re wrenching heart seeks safety in one of the few places you know can offer it.

It hurts to raise your left arm, but you bite down hard on your tongue and slip your hand around what you can of Death’s solid neck.

The first sob escapes you when he leans towards you, pretending to be guided by your pitiable strength until you can wrap more of your arm around the back of his shoulders and push your damp face into the column of his throat, shivering slightly from the chill on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper against him, feeling his muscles turn lax underneath your touch.

In response, the Horseman nudges his mask closer to your ear and in a whisper that’s meant for you alone, he utters, “You’re not the one with anything to be sorry for…”

Unseen by you, the ancient Nephilim’s eyes glare holes through each of his siblings, daring one of them to comment on his moment of rare, uncharacteristic indulgence.

Per the norm, Strife is the one who struggles to keep his mouth shut.

“Aw, how come Death gets a hug?” Strife whinges petulantly, “He doesn’t even like ‘em.”

“And you believed him when he told you that?” Fury snickers.

On the bed, your grip just tightens around your guardian’s neck as his protective hand lays gingerly against your back, cold fingertips drinking up the warmth of your human body with a reverence known only to Death.

[mjanelupinblack]

starving creatures | chapter two 🖤

pairing: xu minghao x reader // jun x reader (mainly lol)

description: starving creatures have arrived at your homeland in forks. little do you know, they not only intend to drain the blood out of you... they'll also to break your heart in two.

genres: slowburn (please bare with me), fluff, angst, vampire!au

warnings: blood drinking, lot of blood related themes, repressed emotions, family issues, miscommunication, kinda toxic friendship with cheol? blood and smut will be mixed. emotionally and physically starved vampires oops. did i mentioned blood?

minors dni!!!

Check out the fic’s playlist 🖤

CHAPTER 2

Not even two days were necessary for your neighbors to become a sensation at the school hallways. Rumors are quick travelers, as you told Joshua before. But you forgot to warn him about how easily they tend to blend with the truth. Especially when they linger around people with such an enigmatic aura, like Jun and Minghao. How maddening it is to know that they have so many adventurous stories to tell, but neither of them dares to share a word about them! How unfair to admire their beauty from afar, since they won’t come close enough for one to scrutinize their eyes. Locals get upset with strangers who refuse to comply with their requests...

That’s when fantasy starts to play its game.

Who are they? Orphans of neglectful parents. Why did they leave California? A girl accused Jun of leaving her pregnant but he’s actually not the father and she ruined his reputation and his life. Some people even say their parents kill themselves, but there’s no way of knowing the truth. So, what are they doing in Forks? Protecting each other. Trying to heal from generational trauma. Finding refuge. Surviving. And it is a heart-rending story. Minghao would do anything to protect his younger brother and the only reason why you’d find them separated from each other would be because of school… where Jun sits next to you.

And who are you? Of course, Cheol's friend, but they've never seen you around that much. That is probably because you used to miss the majority of your classes and now you don't because Jun is here, so you must be a gold digger. A freshman asserts he heard you and Cheol get into a fight because of Jun the other day. Another one is saying that your aunt is sick. But one of your classmates bets that, actually, she's a witch. So maybe you are one too. Who lives in the middle of the woods in plain XXI century anyway?

You never liked the attention. You neither want it, nor need it. It’s impractical in a town like Forks. So, during history class, you decide to confront your seatmate about it.

“I would like to know how you handle all this stuff, because it’s driving me crazy.” You say, assuming he will know exactly what you’re talking about. Most of the time, he does.

“Ignore them,” he advises. “They will find someone else.”

“You ignored them, they found me, how do you fix that?” you say. “They say I’m a witch.”

He chuckles. His usually petrified gesture gives up and breaks into a wide smile. You start laughing too, given the ridiculousness of the situation. Rumors are so dumb.

“Mr. Wen,” Professor Moon calls. “As you are so distended in my class, I’ll assume you know by heart all of the themes we’re talking about in this lesson. Please, enlighten us with your knowledge. Let’s go back to World War I. Maybe you can tell us why it was initiated.”

“That’s a tricky question, professor,” Jun answers, still cheerful. “But if you want a concrete answer, I’d go with the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary.”

“Place and date?”

“Sarajevo. 1914.”

“You said a concrete answer. Let’s go with the wider one.”

“I’ll have to ask you to be more specific about it. What do you want me to talk about? The alliance system? Economic factors? Nationalism? I can go on all day.”

Well, well, well… If someone had told you Jun would’ve been so thrilled about playing trivia with Professor Moon, you wouldn’t believe them.

“That’s enough, kid.”

After that, he comes back to your conversation.

“You could be a witch, you know?”

“Sorry?”

Before he can say anything, Jun stops himself.

“Nothing,” he answers. “It’s a compliment.”

•••

Minghao avoids discussing the details about the night he got turned. As for most of his kind, it’s a sensitive topic; no one wants to remember the moment they lost their right to die.

He hardly discusses the topic with Jun. Primarly because his brother was the sole reason he ventured into this sick lifestyle.

After a century of consumption, it would be easy to believe that Minghao would have grown accustomed to replacing his bitter coffee with morning packs of blood, but that isn’t the truth. The heavy liquid turns his stomach the same as the first time he tasted it. However, after all these years, the feeling comes hand in hand with the pleasure of satiety and the twisted desire for it not to come from an animal, but from a palpitating neck.

An unthinkable notion that no one dares to speak out loud, leaving Minghao feeling horrible about it.

Joshua tries to reassure him. He says that, in terms of nutrients and structure, pig blood is the most similar to human blood. They’ll have to endure it for a couple of months, at least until Vernon gains the trust of the hospital staff and it becomes easier to sneak out some bags of human blood.

Minghao envies Josh’s lack of interest in human nourishment. Many times he tried to free himself from his appetite, but his instincts won every battle, obliging him to succumb to hospital blood. His instincts are stronger and also wiser than he is. Nevertheless, he tries to suppress them every chance he gets. He does so by exercising, or perhaps painting. He no longer dances because he found movement is a catalyst that, sooner or later, will make his needs erupt like a volcano. So he replaced it with painting, meditation and pottery.

Given the circumstances, his knowledge as a nurse is only a remote memory.

“Hi.”

He’s grown accustomed to suffocating his desires to the point where he completely forgot how to experience them. You, on the other hand, aren’t quite as skilled at concealing your emotions.

“You’re Minghao, right?”

Minghao answers without ceasing his task. With his upper body unclothed, you find him outside his house, leaning over his pottery wheel, his clay-stained arms embracing the wet piece as if it were a long-awaited lover. A wave of heat quickly flushes your cheeks. Your neighbor stares at you, likely curious about the reason for your interruption. He’s used to being interrupted while working. Encountering a nearly naked man in the middle of the forest isn't something you can claim to be accustomed to, on the other hand.

“Sorry for interrupting. Have you seen a white cat?” You ask, with a jar of sardines in your hand.

“Cotton ball-like fluffy, with a black spot on his left eye…”

“Sorry, I’m afraid not,” Minghao answers. “What’s his name?”

“Cat,” You say, a bit embarrassed of your thirteen years old self. “Just cat.”

“I’ll let you know if I find Cat then.”

“Great! I’ll keep looking. Thanks.”

As much as you’d love to continue chatting with Minghao about anything —truly anything— else, your lack of creativity doesn’t stop at your difficulty to name your pet. He continues working on the edges of his raw ceramic vase; fingers sticky from the wet paste he tries to stick the handles with. You don’t have the heart —nor the ideas— to interrupt him once again. And that’s when your seatmate comes to save the day.

“You’re not going anywhere, y/n,” Jun says, appearing next to you like a magician mesmerizing everyone with the trick of teleportation. “I mean… not alone. Especially with a storm coming. Where are your manners, brother?”

“Shouldn’t you be studying or something?”

“Get your ass off that wheel and help us look for the pet. One cup less isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”

“It’s a vase.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t care less.”

You thought he’d be harder to convince, but as soon as Jun orders it, his brother stops the wheel and puts on the t-shirt he was sitting on. Minghao's resistance to the cold weather impresses you. His muscles don’t even flinch at the freezing breeze coming from the north.

“A penny for your thoughts?” your neighbor teases.

“You’re so annoying.”

•••

It was a huge mistake not to get rid of that mirror the moment they got it.

There was no use for it in the middle of the living room. But there was also no reason to keep it in the basement, as Vernon had insisted. It usually wasn’t pleasant to get into a discussion with his friend. So, as he attended his interview to get a job at the town’s hospital, Joshua found himself following his orders and carrying the furniture down the stairs and to the basement.

The material it was made of felt unbelievably heavy, even for a human-fed vampire. Like Sisyphus, Joshua repeated the same routine until he reached the cellar; going down two steps, stopping abruptly, and trying to catch his breath before continuing.

When he finally reaches the ground, he understands the reason behind Seungkwan’s little present. And he’s grateful that Vernon is not there to see it.

In front of him, he finds his own image. First young, like he hadn’t seen it in more than a hundred years, and then gradually rotting until his skin starts to detach from his cheeks. So that’s the infamous Life Mirror. There are very few in the world, and Joshua never thought he’d get to see himself in one. The more you mesmerize yourself at your young image, the more crudely it’s going to show you the reality of your soul. Joshua used to believe it was just a myth from the vampire folklore. But he should’ve known better. Myths tend to be history for the immortals.

“Son of a bitch.”

That's the last straw. Joshua doesn't care about Vernon's instructions when the Boo Family's welcome was, in fact, a declaration of war—a war they're not ready to fight, nor would they be even if they wanted to. Years of weakened minds and bodies are not so easy to recover, not even with a gallon of fresh blood.

He needs to destroy that mirror before his friend comes home. But his knuckles aren’t strong enough to do it, and the hammer is near Minghao’s workspace, who’s most definitely going to be curious about the reason behind his urgency. As a temporary measure, he decides to throw an old blanket over the structure.

He needs air.

Outside, the ground shakes with the wind. Minghao is no longer at his station, yet the piece he was working on lies unfinished over the wheel. Rain will catch it any second, converting it into a liquid vestige of what could’ve been a beautiful plant vase. That’s an odd behavior from him. Where could he possibly be?

His question is quickly answered by laughter emanating from behind the lodge. Joshua follows his senses until he finds Jun and you jumping like crazy to reach one of the thickest branches of a tree.

“Stop! You’re scaring him.” You tell Jun, who insists on being the one to bring the cat back to the ground.

“Scared? No! He rubbed his head on my wrist.” Jun complains. He sounds very determined.

“Jun, Y/n is right. It’ll be better to bring a ladder. He doesn’t know you.”

“I got…I got him!”

“Wait! He’s gonna…”

Blood. Lots of it pouring from your hand. Maybe trimming your cat’s nails would’ve been a wise decision to make before throwing yourself in the territory of four very thirsty vampires. Your scent is strong, like cold pennies resting on the palm of your sweaty hands, but it is also sweet. Pig’s blood could never be that sweet. The thought of it makes Jun’s fangs start showing without him being able to notice. Minghao notices and quickly grabs your wrist. He turns you around to face him, leaving a trace of dry clay over the spot your blood flowed.

Clay and blood, intertwined.

Your heart races. Minghao's touch is both frightening and tender. He worked hard on his self-control just to be able to handle these types of situations. If you saw Jun in that state, it would be over for them.

“Are you okay?”

But now that he thinks about it, your blood smells like candy taken out of its wrapper. And it running so fast due to your nervousness releases a scent he never sensed before. One that has him dying to let go of his virtues and succumb to sin.

And Joshua notices.

“T/n! Come here, let me see.”

He rips you out of Minghao’s clutcht to check at your wound and you head inside together.

“Guys, grab the cat and come inside before it rains. T/n, does it hurt too much?”

In another scenario, you might have noticed he was trying to distract you. But right now, the spot where Minghao's hand was grabbing still feels hot and throbbing when Joshua touches your hand. It’s hard to concentrate. He gestures for you to sit on the sofa, and you comply. Not even two seconds later, he returns with a first aid kit. You can't help but contrast Minghao's firm grasp with the compassionate way Joshua is holding you while disinfecting your cut.

“You must think I’m a terrible mother,” you say, watching Joshua shake his head as he kneels in front of you to examine your hand more closely. “He’s not usually like this. I don’t know why he got so scared.”

Animals rely on their intuition. They detect danger and protect the people who love them and take good care of them. Joshua knows you’re not a terrible mother. It was Jun’s hand your cat was trying to sever.

“Don’t punish yourself,” he says. “He’s lucky to have you. It was Jun who drove him crazy.”

“He was so nice though, trying to help me,” you hiss at the strong liquid Joshua pours over your skin. “Do you think Hao is okay? His eyes went all weird when he looked at the scratch.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“I don’t know, dark? I think it disgusted him.”

Thank goodness you think that, among all the things Minghao’s look could have made you think.

“Oh… Yes. Hao can’t stand blood. There’s no wonder he refuses to become a doctor.”

“He doesn’t need to. He’s so talented in ceramics.”

“He is. He will appreciate it if you tell him. Do you see all of the pots and vessels in the house? They’re all his work. Minghao is an artist, he’s always been.”

He truly is. The fact that the piece he was working on has already lost its shape due to the rain makes you feel sad and guilty about interrupting him. You're amazed at how your neighbor achieved most of the patterns and textures. They highlight the house, once yours, with the sparkle you thought it would never regain after your uncle’s death. It’s fascinating to realize that Minghao’s mind is so vibrant with colors.

“You don’t stay behind,” you say to Joshua, as he bandages your now disinfected hand. “Suddenly it doesn’t even hurt.”

“You are too kind,” he answers, smiling shyly while he stands on his feet. “I appreciate the compliment. But I hope I never have to display my skills on you again.”

“Sorry. I’ll pay you next time.”

It’s heartwarming to make him laugh. Before making the comment, you had a hunch that Joshua would crack a smile if you told him something along those lines. His smile is not only kind, but also genuine. It makes you wonder how many of the ones you were given before might have been only half as sincere.

“God, no, t/n,” he answers. “Please just take care of yourself.”

After a few minutes of watching the storm shake the trees, a soaking wet Jun opens the door for his brother, who enters with your cat purring in his arms. You wonder if your eyes are deceiving you. Cat is an animal of strong character and delicate temper. Yet, he sleeps like a baby in your neighbor's embrace, as if he has been charmed into tranquility.

“He liked Hao best,” Jun explains, with his hands on his waist. “I don’t care. I’m not a cat person anyways… Now, who’s making dinner?”

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

Heyyyyyy let’s play a game. I write and you tell me how many taylor’s songs possible references you find ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (there’ll be many lol)

Taglist: @90s-belladonna @milopenne @angel-ishere @cheiyoma @hipsdofangirl

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚

masterlist | next chapter (soon)

[harque]

" vows "

summary ੭୧ 0.8k — SFW “innocent” prince kunikuzushi, only son of the almighty shogun, is desperate to overthrow his mother after being abandoned. he ends up marrying the leader of an enemy nation, who promises to help him get his revenge.

features — gn!reader, kingdom! au (?), reader in a suit, enemies and lovers, manipulation, mild angst, murder mention, kuni's planet sized ego (we love to see it)

As Kunikuzushi gazed into the vanity mirror, mindlessly smoothing invisible creases from his flowing veil of purple tulle, he could hardly bring himself to believe that the vision of beauty staring impassively back was his reflection. His hair was perfectly arranged, his makeup was precise, and if he tilted his head the right way his eyelashes would catch the candlelight and cast a sparkling shadow across his cheeks.

With an expert touch, he straightens to apply the tiniest amount of blush to the outside of his eyes, a blossom of color to freshen his ghostly complexion. Then, he adjusted his narrow lips—adopting a look of serenity closely resembling his Mother's calm, composed frown.

(Where was the carefree boy who loved craft and dance more than anything in the world? When had he been replaced by a man with ancient eyes?)

He'd been molded into a perfect copy of her.

Kunikuzushi's passive expression twisted into something between rage and disgust at the sight. He wished his reflection showed someone else. Anyone else.

“You know, you look a little pale, doll,” came a voice from behind, and he turned to see you leaning in the doorway. “If you're getting cold feet, it's not too late to change your mind.”

“I'm fine,” Kunikuzushi huffs dismissively, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. The suit you're wearing is immaculately clean and well tailored—the expensive fabric drapes tastefully over your figure, demanding attention. (It's ridiculous how well it fits you.)

“Don't you have somewhere else to be right now?” He knows his voice sounds more sour than he intends, but he can't help it. You annoy him.

“Oh please,” you scoff, brushing past the door frame. “I'm just here to check up on you, I thought you might need some company.” He watches you casually saunter over to him, your footsteps making quiet clicks against the marble flooring.

“I don't.” He answers flatly. However, he already resigned himself to your presence, shifting to make room for you on the plush bench. You sit, smiling, taking a moment to observe him.

His simple, yet elegant white kariginu robe fit snugly, but it was the dark purple veil embroidered with flowers that gave him an air of softness. You don't think it was supposed to look gorgeous, but he'd always been pretty, it was hard not to notice.

Kunikuzushi's gaze was now directed at the wall, carefully blank and eying decorations, as if he's trying to avoid letting you see any hint of feeling.

Cute. If he could trust you fully, he wouldn't be able to keep his eyes off you.

“I'm sure you do, no need for all the attitude.” You lean your shoulder against his, the scent of your fragrance filling the space between you. His nose wrinkles, trying not to inhale too deeply.

“Besides,” you say, brightening your tone. “I do have another reason for visiting! The Shogun just sent a letter inviting us to the capital.” Kunikuzushi whipped around to give you an incredulous look.

This is the opportunity he's been waiting for, after all—the chance to eliminate his mother in a public setting.

You've already mapped the assassination out together very thoroughly (so precisely to the point where every detail was accounted for). However, you also know there is a slim opportunity to seize the throne after. He wasn't thinking about that right now, but with a little nudge he was sure to pick up on the rest.

“She wants to officially recognize our union with a celebration. I think we should go.” You stand and pull him up with you, flitting past the vanity, twirling him out into the empty space as if he was your personal puppet.

“The entire empire will be there for us. They'll applaud the bravery of their precious prince for his sacrifice... marrying a monster to spare them from war.”

When you tug him back in, he automatically rests his free hand on your waist. You adapted easily, splaying your opposite hand over his shoulder. There was something undeniably hopeful in those dark eyes of his, a glimmer of greed he could try to choke down all he wants, but you know him too well to ever truly forget.

Kunikuzushi guides you in a proper dance, the veil swaying behind him with enviable grace.

“...they'll be cheering for her too, of course. The poor citizens will believe it was all her idea.” You went on, sounding wistful. “Soon, they'll have no choice but to see she is nothing but a pathetic imitation of a person; a shadow designed to deceive. They deserve someone real.”

You feel his delicate hand pressing into the small of your back as he makes a particularly sharp turn, leading you into a dip.

“You can be real. What do you think, doll?” The words slip from your tongue, but you don't even feel it.

“I think,” he finally responds, leaning close enough so his breath ghosted against your lips, “you should stop calling me that. I'm not a doll.”

“I never said you were,” you amended, tilting your head. “It's a term of endearment. What would you like me to call you instead?”

His heartbeat is pounding so forcefully that you can almost feel his pulse through your own chest.

“Lord,” he says.

That was the only confirmation you need. He's so eager, you find it sweet that he already confidently claims the title. Oh, the things you do for him…

“Fine,” your smile widens. “If you insist, my lord.”

© harque — all rights reserved — notes & reblogs are much appreciated ¡¡¡( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! thank you for reading!