#but also how he also seems to want it to be more than a formal/professional relationship and tries to encourage that

[sigurdjarlson]

I always found that sweet how a lot of the time in TLG Med would jump to reassure Khadgar or even apologize after snapping at him

And yet in some ways the cruelest thing Medivh said to Khadgar in my opinion was correcting him when he called Karazhan “Our Tower.” And reminding him he was there at his whim and he could send him away at any time.

And he never did apologize for that one and honestly I don’t really blame Med for that per se? It is his tower and Khadgar can’t tell him who is allowed there. What I mean is going by JUST the power dynamic they have as mentor-apprentice, Khadgar is absolutely out of line there

In some ways could have come off quite spoiled and entitled but the thing is I don’t think that was the case at all.

He’s become so comfortable in Karazhan he’d started thinking of it as his home. Then Medivh has in one conversation reminded him it very much was not his home and he could send him away at anytime if he so wished it

He’d finally found someone who cared about him, respected him and treated him as a person. He found a place where he felt he belonged for once in his life and…

No wonder he was so jealous of Garona for a while after that. He’d been reminded that all of it could be taken from him at any moment and here was someone stealing his Master’s attention.

Just thinking about how that jealousy so obviously comes with feeling like he’s not enough and insecurity about his place in Med’s life.

Just very interesting how I think it could very well have went over Med’s head as not that big of a deal too? One of those things he’d be like huh oh yeah I said that? Meanwhile Khadgar is spiraling about it

He could of also been absolutely aware of how harsh it was because Medivh does lash out like that on occasion (especially towards the end of the book as Sargeras gets harder and harder to fight) he can be a little shit we know this

(Don’t really blame him for that given being possessed by the demon lord Sargeras is probably just a teensy bit tiring /s)

Also seen valid and honestly very possibly canon interpretations where he’s also trying to push Khadgar away cuz he knows what’s coming and what Khadgar is going to have to do.

The more attached to him he is the more difficult it will be for Khadgar to do what needs to be done.

What better way to push someone away then hit them right where it hurts?

And yet even then I think those words hurt Khadgar deeper than he’ll ever know :(

[dead-boys-club]

†  a seat : the fatui.

❥ scenario: their s/o decides to take up residence on their lap --- during a meeting. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested.

❥ la signora.

she wouldn't give much of a reaction, her eyebrow raising and a barely noticeable hint of amusement to her gaze. open affection isn't something she's keen to show, especially in a professional setting but she wouldn't make you move. if anything, she would just shift in her spot and adjust her posture to make sure you were comfortable, though her movements wouldn't be big enough to draw attention. she would enjoy your closeness but would remain as cold and composed as always. after the meeting is a different story. while she may not show too much emotion, she wouldn't try to hide the smirk as she approached you. 'you certainly know how to make a statement, don't you, darling?' she asked, reaching out to gently tip your chin up with her pointer finger, 'don't think you can distract me so easily.. you'll have to do better than that.' there was a clear affection and appreciation in her gaze, despite the words, honestly enjoying your boldness.

❥ scaramouche.

at first, he genuinely wouldn't even know how to respond, frozen for a split second before brushing it off, not wanting anyone to notice. he'd look at you, eyes flickering as if looking for an answer to your sudden actions. scara isn't one for such open displays of affection, or any at all, especially in such a formal setting - he would fight between irritation and silent, frustrated acceptance; he didn't want to cause a scene. 'what do you think you're doing?' he would hiss under his breath, leaning close to your ear, enough though he wasn't actually trying to remove you. he would be annoyed for the duration of the meeting, though just accepting your bold statement that he, quite honestly, didn't understand. oh boy, he'd be so fast to corner you, arms crossed and staring you down. 'what was that all about?' he demanded, though something was off - his tone didn't hold the same hate soaked bite it usually did; even his s/o had to deal with that. you could see the ghost of a blush on his features but you knew he'd never admit to being embarrassed. 'you're lucky no one said anything,' he muttered, the tiniest hint of softness forming in his gaze. he wasn't as upset as he wanted to seem.

❥ childe.

it shouldn't come as a surprise that he would be the most openly and unashamedly amused, of course, having no complaints. as soon as you took your place, a grin would form and he'd offer your head a soft nudge with his nose. 'comfortable?' he'd ask in a whisper, teasing as always but still loving. his arms found their own place around you, keeping you close. to childe, holding onto you came easy, automatically knowing how to shift so you were comfortable. he wouldn't be concerned a single bit about the others, the glances only making him grin further. he enjoyed showing off the relationship you had. he'd be pretty excited once the meeting ended, the grin never leaving his features, though softening into a smile once he approached you. 'you made it pretty hard for me to concentrate in there.. that was an important meeting,' he teased, arms wrapping around you once more to pull you closer; if you were honest, neither of you had heard a single word that was said. 'i'm not complaining, though,' he'd chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. he was just happy to have someone who was so open to show him affection.

❥ dottore.

as annoyed as he'd be, he'd also be curious. were you testing him? were you crazy? had you.. taken something? he'd really be at a loss, especially as someone who wasn't exactly one for public displays of affection - meeting or otherwise. he would view your actions as a distraction and wonder just what kind of statement you were trying to make. 'this better be worth the interruption,' he muttered, adjusting his posture to accommodate you, shifting his focus back to the meeting. he would occasionally glance to you, jaw clenching as he tried figuring you out. once the meeting was over and you dismissed yourself, only to be closely followed by him. 'what exactly were you trying to achieve?' he asked, hand taking hold of your jaw to lift your head, though his touch wasn't as rough as you expected it to be. you only blinked and shook your head. there was a shift to his usual demeanor, something a little softer, letting you know he wasn't as displeased as you thought. 'you should know better than to disrupt my focus,' he added, leaning closer to you, eyes searching your own, 'you truly are a strange little creature..'

❥ arlecchino.

she would spare you a glance, expression unreadable as it always was. you taking a place on her lap wouldn't cause even the slightest of budge to her composed nature - you would have to do a lot more for that to happen. she does, however, rest a possessive hand on your hip, making sure to keep you close. there would be no open acknowledgement of your actions but she would make sure you were comfortable, attention never leaving the meeting. all you really needed though were her actions; the quiet protectiveness, even in such a formal place. once the meeting ended, you wouldn't be leaving your spot, held steady by her. she would wait for everyone to leave before speaking, 'that was quite bold,' she spoke quietly, a hint of approval to her tone, 'but you should know others may not be so understanding.' as she spoke, she got closer to your ear, offering your hip a gentle squeeze. arle knew very well how to stake her claim and the last thing she needed was for someone to misunderstand your easy show of affection.

❥ columbina.

like childe, she would have no issues with your gesture, even allowed a soft smile to grace her features. the two of you were known to play your little games and would see this as a simple, easy thing on your part. there would be no words but a soft hum of acknowledgement in the back of her throat. columbina would have no concerns when it came to the others, her attention easily balanced between the meeting and your presence. as she listened, she may let her arms loosely rest around you, head resting on your shoulder. once the meeting ended, she'd just tilt her head to nose gently at your shoulder. 'could you not have waited until after the meeting?' she mused, tone light. she wasn't one to make a big deal of anything, being considerably nonchalant about most things, brushing them off. 'next time, let's save the affection for when we're alone, yes?' she wasn't upset or bothered at all, she enjoyed the question affection, but she preferred keeping gentle, intimate moments to be in the privacy of your rooms.

❥ pantalone.

being the master of maintaining appearances, it came as no surprise that panta would remain composed, his expression calm and pleasant. not many things managed to crack his image, even you and your risky gestures. he continued to participate in the meeting with ease, a hand sliding to settle at your lower back, pulling you closer. 'how reckless of you,' he whispered, the brief show of a smirk evident against the shell of your ear, tone amused. he would enjoy the moment, all while keeping up his perfect little facade. there would be an amused glint to his eyes as he approached you after saying his farewell to the others. 'you realize the kind of attention such actions might draw, don't you?' he questioned, his tone giving no indication of being upset or annoyed with you. 'not that i mind, of course.. it certainly keeps things interesting.' panta was aways aware of appearances and his surroundings, as well as those around him. he would never openly express displeasure with your affection to him, but he'd make sure you understood. 'just be careful, my love.. not everyone will be as forgiving.'

❥ il capitano.

words are not something capitano needs to use often, his imposing presence often speaking for him. even with a mask on, his expression wouldn't change as you silently settled onto his lap - he also knew no one else would make the mistake of saying something to him about it. he wouldn't push you away or show signs of disapproval, he would actually rest a hand on your side, adjusting to accommodate you. he isn't one for grand gestures or openly displaying affection and his hold on you simply sat as a protective claim, however, him allowing you to keep your place during such a time would speak volumes of the trust he shares with you. he would continue as if you'd always been there, his grip on you tightening and loosening upon the subject shifts of the meeting. you didn't bother to move when the meeting ended, knowing he wouldn't let you slip away so easily. once everyone was gone, he spoke, tone low and calm. 'what was all this for?' he asked, though no annoyance or accusation to his words. he was genuinely asking. you knew a head shake wasn't exactly an answer but he accepted it, watching you closely. 'just be mindful of the setting next time,' he commented, this time soft yet firm, letting you knew the actions weren't unwanted but the timing wasn't proper. he was considerably reserved in nature but he appreciated your little moments of affection.

[seelestia]

✦ how can you tell? (of how easily i fall at your feet.)

⎯ oh, how love bleeds from just one gesture. ( some telltale signs that they might've fallen for you. )

#STARRING. neuvillette, wriothesley & lyney ft. gn!reader. { 2.4k words }

#TAGS. sfw, fluff & crack, major pining (!!!). more: neuvi has 1 extra part bcs i realized too late, wrio is a rascal /aff, lynette is a professional wingwoman here (everyone, applaud!!), mentions of various fontaine npc's.

#P/S. pardon my rusty writing and ideas but alas, may i entice you with some fontaine gentlemen on this fine day?? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ੭

★ 〜 masterlist.

© seelestia on tumblr, apr 2024. please do not repost to another platform, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

⎯ neuvillette's love is subtle, hidden behind a veil of formal courtesy. the iudex is the nation's symbol of impartiality; personal relationships, a common factor of inciting bias in one's judgement, are to be sifted through wisely. he can choose which he ends up keeping, yet he cannot choose which he ends up wanting. what of a relationship he desires but cannot keep? a conundrum but still, his affections for you seep through the crevices.

it's in the way. . . your name becomes a beloved among the melusines, you wonder why?

it goes without saying that every citizen of fontaine acknowledges melusines to be friendly creatures. all of them are sweethearts! ...but is it you or is there some form of hidden favoritism here?

for some reason, they always seem to go out of their ways to greet you on the streets. a “hello, mx. [name]!” from the right then a “good day, mx. [name]!” from the left. maybe a “stay safe, mx. [name]!” on days when it's crowded too... you're starting to think the quota of greetings you receive is much bigger than everyone else.

before long, even your arms are getting piled up with favors. one ticket for a seat in the opera epiclese from aeife, a slice of cake from sedene, some high-quality butter from muirne, a free beverage from menthe — you lost count of the freebies you've received already.

what's going on? it is as if there's a badge of approval from someone just hanging over your head. visible to a melusine's eyes, but not to yours. (you've heard that melusines perceive things differently than humans, though.)

but who are you to complain? you're not immune to their contagious smiles each time you pass by. on some days, you even entertain the thought that they are more familiar with you than you are with them. all in a humorous sense, of course.

ironically enough, this theory wouldn't take long to ring true: having received a bouquet of your favorite dessert from café lutece on your birthday from kiara, this coincidence only feeds into your suspicion even more.

a considerate gesture but surely, they don't do this for everyone? you don't recall ever telling your usual order and birthdate to a melusine before. your mind scrambles around for a memory you might've missed. who could've—

“oh, yes... i almost forgot,” kiara holds her chin in thought. “monsieur neuvillette says to send you his regards,” she nods, relieved that the message did not make its narrow escape from her mind. but blissfully unaware of the impact her words have left on you.

“goodbye, mx. [name]!” the melusine bids you farewell with a cheery wave. you murmur back a response but it comes out incoherent at best — you are simply too dumbfounded by the realization.

...so, that's who.

(wait a second, is arouet in on this too?!)

it's in the way. . . he begins to take longer breaks, hoping to run into you in front of the palais.

taking quiet strolls just outside the palais is, more often than not, neuvillette's idea of rest from work. although some might expect the iudex to have chosen a more 'creative' or luxurious location, but he digresses.

this place is near his office so less time is wasted on the journey back, liath also patrols here so he has the opportunity to inquire about her well-being — and occasionally, he stumbles upon you as well.

'occasionally' is the keyword: neuvillette has always preferred order and routine above chances and coincidences. but something about this idiosyncrasy — the tendency to linger beyond his usual duration, the act of stalling to hold onto hope that you might pass by today — is a indication of hypocrisy he wishes not to comment on.

sometimes, he closes his eyes so that his ears may be more attuned to the sound of your voice. sometimes, he opens his eyes so that they may look around for a glimpse of your face. who's to say if he'll ever be graced by your presence? it is all in fate's hands.

call it an odd method of manifestation, a childish one that even neuvillette scoffs at himself for. sometimes, it doesn't work, of course. not that he ever expects it to — but oh, when it does.

“...monsieur?” your voice cuts through the silence in his mind. he takes the sight of you in; a polite greeting on your tongue, several grocery bags in your arms and that beam on your face as you say, “what a coincidence to see you here.”

the iudex finds that he doesn't mind having his privacy briefly interrupted. not at all. not when it's like this, not when it's by you. alas, it seems that fate has smiled down on him today.

“yes, hello. what a serendipitous coincidence indeed.”

neuvillette smiles, he can't help it. perhaps, he might grow a soft spot for coincidences, after all.

(you sneak a brief glance at the sky with a squint. ...is it just you or are the clouds clearing up a little?)

⎯ wriothesley's love is beguiling, the kind of adventure that keeps you on your toes. a forthright gentleman; he is the type to know what he wants and he wants you. with him, you'll taste whiplash like never before. butterflies in your stomach, the urge to throw a shoe at him, you'll get it all. but an adventure isn't an adventure without breaks in between and it's at that very moment where you'll find you adore him the most... when he rests his head on your lap, momentarily free from worldly titles, breathing like the man who longs for warmth that he has always been.

it's in the way. . . he always offers you tea when really, he just wants you to stay.

everyone knows that wriothesley enjoys his tea — but that's only because he sees no need to hide his preferences; not his craving for a cup of tea when afternoon arrives nor his fondness for you either.

he doesn't conceal it, but doesn't bring attention to it either. wriothesley likes to think that only those with discerning eyes can pick up on the miniscule (???) hints he drops. that is, if saying “why not stay for some tea?” is even considered a subtle clue at all... maybe, he's mixing up polite courtesy with flirting a bit too much.

but who cares? in the grand scheme of things, the fun is seeing whether you'll figure it out or not. and let's be frank here; wriothesley is a patient man in all aspects, able to play the long game like no other.

don't worry, you may take as long as you want to — ironic since you're technically the only player in this 'game' — but hey, he has faith in your abilities! besides, you get to enjoy a cup of free tea (and with his company, preferably). surely, you can't complain about that? ...hah, he's just teasing you.

tick-tock! tick-tock!

the clock strikes twelve in the afternoon.

“ah, finally a well-deserved break.” the tone in which wriothesley pairs with that grin on his face is nothing less than devious. the glance he throws your way as he set aside the documents on his desk is something. or rather, it's suggesting something.

and frankly, you've experienced this many times enough to know what the underlying meaning is. “let me guess...” you let out a sigh, “you're asking me to have tea with you again?”

the emphasis on the last word is definitely, wholly intentional. you're sure wriothesley knows that too — “bingo,” he hums at you, sounds almost like a whistle. “you're getting more and more clever. must be all the tea i made you.”

“don't flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes at his attempted jest but you take a seat on his office couch, anyway. your own unique and adorable way of saying yes, he learned. still, wriothesley thinks that exasperated look on your face is an absolute marvel... and maybe, that little smile tugging on your lips you're trying to fight, too.

“same as usual?” he asks, pushing back his chair with a proud grin still plastered on his face that you wish you can wipe off.

but instead, you shake your head fondly at his antics. “mhm,” and rest a cheek on your fist. watching him tiredly, you realize you could get used to this. maybe.

wriothesley smiles to himself. looks like you figured out the tea has always been an excuse, after all.

(you've won the game, congrats! a subsidiary reward is a comment from sigewinne about how this tea routine between the two of you bears a resemblance to an elderly human couple's. she means it, innocently sincere.)

⎯ lyney's love can be faceted at first, one with such a smooth surface that you never imagined there would be so many layers underneath. joy and bliss, sorrow and burdens; all cramped and stuffed together behind his mask of perfection on the stage, a mask akin to a child's treasure chest almost bursting at the seams. you can unravel him if you tried, you can take off that mask if you reached out. and when you do, you'll find beautiful violet eyes staring right back at you, thankful, imploring you to go further.

it's in the way. . . his bravado dissipates around you, nerves scattering like confetti that bursts from his hat on stage.

they say that the first impression is the best impression — or at least, lyney hopes that's the case with all of the interesting impressions he has left on you so far. his instinct by nature is to impress, to bedazzle and that hasn't stopped since meeting you for the first time.

trying doesn't always lead to success, however. you stuttered in front of them twice, lynette pointed out after the first time he spoke to you. that fact spooked the poor magician so much he stayed up rethinking the conversation under the cover of his blanket. lynette isn't wrong per se, but lyney firmly believes that he will leave a better impression... one day, somehow, no matter how many times it takes!

he is a magician; charisma and charms should have or rather, already have come easily to him. his persona on the stage is no lie — just a tiny concerted exaggeration, maybe — but you've been among his audience before. you've seen what he is capable of. so surely, you'd know that lyney isn't really as demure and easily flustered as you might think he is... because no punches held back, he acts like that every time you talk to him.

he can't help it and that, exactly, is what makes it worse.

how many times have he cupped his face and mumbled nonsense into his hands for failing to impress you yet again? you're so wonderful and he's just so... miserable. this is unlike him. he has to wonder why you still look for him after each performance when you know you'll be greeted by his being a wreck.

maybe they like you that way, freminet tried to help. or maybe they like you no matter what, lynette chipped in. that had lyney pondering for a long, long, long time which translates into weeks.

will the day come where he presents you with a rainbow rose and professes his feelings for you without losing his nerves? he can only hope (and try, one day).

it never gets old.

when his feet step off the stage and the curtains have fallen, the satisfaction that spreads all the way to his fingertips never fails to disappoint. but with that, also comes the imminent feeling of anticipation.

for each performance he delivers, a visitor is bound to linger. when all members in the audience would head to the entrance of the opera epiclese to leave, one of them would stay. waiting patiently to be beckoned to the backstage. it's been a routine for so long, after all.

“lyney?”

right on cue.

your voice greets his ears, a sound that he can admit he misses only to himself. he exhales, a placating act to shush his beating heart from growing any louder.

“ah, [name]!” the magician enunciates your name with a certain type of fanfare. “here to lend a hand again, i assume?” he tries to shoot you a confident grin, but you aren't gullible enough to not see the tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

you stifle a chuckle at his (attempt at a) bold opening. “of course,“ said with a nod and a silly thought along the lines of: he's cute.

your honest and calm response takes him by surprise. he blinks a tad. oh, it seems the thrill from the show a few minutes prior still hasn't worn off. perhaps, he's still all too used to the crowd's shouts and cheers... not that he expects you to start yelling, of course!

“i see,” lyney feigns a cough to recollect his composure. now that he is cognizant of the fact it's just the two of you, he shrinks down into a more casual version of himself with a nervous chuckle.

“will you... be staying for long?” he asks, bashful. the question sounds more genuine than just a mere pleasantry. his eyes look hopeful, twinkling at the thought of having your presence around. his fingers have even come up to scratch at the side of his neck, you don't think lyney even realizes he is doing that.

who are you to say no? you smile. “well, my schedule's pretty empty today.”

his lips instantly break into a grin, brighter than one he usually has onstage. “that's actually marv—” he starts.

“that's great,” a familiar monotonous voice cuts in. lynette peers from behind you with a hum, “we could use more hands to pack up the new props.” oh, and that brief glint of mischief in her feline eyes as she watches how lyney gapes at her sudden intrusion.

“sure!” you glance back at her, oblivious to it all. “thanks for letting me in, lynette. i'll try my best to help.” even if you admit that one of the reasons you're here is for lyney, but you can't discredit his twin sister for allowing you to enter here in the first place. a free backstage pass in exchange for free labor, quite a fair deal.

with your back turned to him, lyney takes the chance to mouth his own words of disbelief to lynette. incomprehensible except for that one i can't believe you're doing this! that she manages to catch.

“no problem,” she observes her brother over your shoulder with keen interest, “everyone knows how fond lyney is of you.”

there is a series of spluttering noises behind you. a certain magician finds himself at the verge of choking on mere oxygen.

“lynette!”

but really, she has no doubt that lyney has fallen head over heels for you. hook, line and sinker.

— thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are most appreciated. ♡

[retroaria]

hello! if you're not busy, then may i please request an interviewer!reader x the blue lock boys? in which they become enamored with their interviewers charm. a few specific characters i want are: sae, rin, nagi and kaiser. but feel free to add or remove characters as you'd like! you can do this in your free time, no pressure. thank you, and take care!

a/n: thank you for requesting!! i’m so sorry please don’t hate me for how long this took i am NOT a professional :x

⋆˙⟡ interviewer!reader x - rin - nagi - kaiser - ⋆˙⟡

• | BLUE LOCK M.LIST | •

nagi seishiro ᯓᡣ𐭩

*totally lovestruck*

nagi has always struck me as someone who considers himself to be “out of the league” for most people he finds attractive, so he doesn’t put himself out there and doesn’t really know how. if he was in a situation where he had to interact with someone he genuinely was enamored by, he’d be a mess.

and so he stands there, dopy, clueless, not even looking correctly in the camera and seemingly staring at…you? No, he’s definitely staring at you. his eyes are dull and dim, but they seem to be a little hazed, glossed over with a sheen of fascination. he shakes his head and nods and mumbles, unbeknownst to whatever it is you’ve actually been asking him.

this is not the look nagi ever intended to have when speaking to someone he finds this attractive, but he truly can’t help it. his minds gone blank and he isn’t sure if you’re standing perfectly under a spotlight or if you’re an angel naturally glowing in his presence. his internal dialogue is stuck between cringing at himself and taking mental note of every single feature he can gather with his eyes on you - all over you, i should say.

nagi would be way too excited to actually ask you out (also definitely not after staring you down like a creep), he’d be too afraid of losing his cool. but he would absolutely remember your name and ask around when he has the chance - would ask reo for help with this lol. through some industry path of team managers to stadium staff to news reporters, he eventually finds you again. would 100% stalk you on social media and follow you just to see where that goes .

just like rin, he’d try to be in the right place at the right time and do the right things to get you to strike some sort of non formal conversation with him in the hopes that’ll it’ll create an opening for him to ask you out :x

rin itoshi ᯓᡣ𐭩

*blushes and looks away…*

rin hates interviews. he doesn’t like open ended questions and he hates having a camera shoved in his face. most of the reporters that run up to him on the edge of the field just holler questions and statements at him that can often feel degrading and presumptuous.

when he was stopped just outside the stadium by you and your small crew, you spoke to him with a lack of crassness that he hasn’t been on the receiving end of in ages - so he agrees. his answers remain cold and striking, as they always are, but his demeanor is more loose than usual.

rin initially doesn’t feel anything for you other than respect and gratitude for treating him like a human unlike the other reporters he’s encountered. he was sure to get your name and properly thank you. he’s the type to think about you and hope that you’ll cross paths again. wouldn’t go out of his way to find you, but at every game and every event he scans the crowds in search of your smile that had welcomed him so tenderly before. not to mention your face has popped into his head almost everyday since he first met you and it’s freaking him the fuck out.

when he does see you again he accepts your interview request immediately, bullshits through all the questions, and sticks around a little longer to talk to you. he’s painfully awkward and even more painfully unaware of it, but once you notice the slight blush on his face you can steer him in the right direction lol

michael kaiser ᯓᡣ𐭩

*prince charming*

when you introduced yourself to kaiser in hopes of getting an interview you certainly did not expect the offer to be accepted so enthusiastically. kaiser isn’t necessarily bothered by interviews, but he hates having to think of answers on the spot.

he’d throw out some cheeky lines like “If I smile at the camera can I get a date?” and a classic for him, “Whatever you say, beautiful.”

you’re asking him questions he surely has been asked before, questions he’s probably been trained to answer, but his answers are boastfully and flirtatiously directed at you and you alone. your camera man leaned over and asked if he should just cut all the footage. you entertain him a little more, trying to see if you can get him to break his prince charming act and actually talk about the game he just played.

eventually he lets up and you get the interview done. as you and your crew are about to leave the stadium, he grabs your hand and lifts it up, planting a soft kiss to your knuckles (you think maybe this could be considered assault, but you’ll let it slide for him this one time).

unlike the other two, kaiser doesn’t have a bashful bone in his body in this situation. i’ve always felt that he isn’t as much of a manwhore as everyone thinks he is, which i still stand by!!! but if he sees you and is truly enamored by you he knows how to make his feeling apparent.

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[lvis44]

Cabin Fever - Pt. 3 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Lewis being an ass, allusions to mental health struggles, 18+ MINORS DNI, not edited

Word Count: 5.3k+

Summary: He's your Sister in Laws best friend, you shouldn't even have to deal with him. Always seeming like a cocky arrogant prick, and now here he is crashing your family Christmas. Can you handle a full week of Lewis Hamilton? Or might he not actually be as bad as he seems?

Notes: A bit more drama for you guys tonight but this is nothing compared to what we've got coming up, oopsie lol. Hoping to get the next part out quickly so it kinda aligns with the holidays in real time! I would also formally like to start an important conversation about why the hell this man only seems to own winter jackets the color of a highlighter (im sure it's for safety when snowboarding but pls). I love you all and I'm so happy you guys are enjoying our angsty little Christmas fic!

As always, I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy!

**italics are a jump back in time**

The moment you make your way downstairs the next morning you are ready to turn and run back up to your room. You can hear everyone in the kitchen already, much to your surprise. Their voices are much louder than you would have wanted but you carry on, aware that the only way you’re getting coffee is by showing your face in there.

“Well good morning sleepy head! I was wondering when you’d show up.” Your dad greets you warmly.

“Hey I was up long before any of you yesterday.” You argue as he pulls you into a side hug.

“I do believe I was up before you.” Lewis pipes up with a smirk.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” You grumble, trying to conceal the roll of your eyes but when you meet Lewis’ gaze you know you’ve failed, “I need coffee, lots of it.”

Tom laughs from over at the coffee bar where he seems to be making himself some sort of fancy espresso, “Coming right up.”

You thank him, taking a seat next to your brother at the island, watching the chaos ensuing on the other side of the kitchen. Your mother, Beatrice, and Vanessa are in what seems to be party planning mode. They’re rummaging through cupboards and running back and forth to the fridge, Vanessa has a notebook out creating some sort of list, Beatrice is loudly reading some recipe from her phone.

“How long has this been going on?” You ask the men at the counter, trying to keep your voice low.

“About twenty minutes, they’ve probably got another twenty in them.” Lewis says, picking up his coffee and watching the scene himself.

You let out a deep breath, already exhausted by the amount of energy flowing through the room, praying you don’t somehow get sucked into it as well.

“Y/N, thank goodness you’re up!” Vanessa says excitedly, finally noticing your presence on one of her trips around the kitchen.

“Good Morning.” You respond softly, trying not to allow any chance of being roped into whatever is going on.

“So,” Vanessa's voice comes out chipper and matter of fact as she puts her palms down on the counter, evidently ready to give you the full run down, “I felt so bad yesterday, I had so many things planned for a fancy breakfast and the weather just had to ruin it all so I really want to make up for all of it today. Thank you again for pulling that off yesterday, I was so grateful, but I want a big fancy family brunch, we haven't had one in so so long and I’ve been thinking about it since I started planning this trip. And I don’t want it to be our Christmas morning brunch, I want it to be its own special moment, ya know?”

You can tell that your eyebrows have gotten higher on your forehead with every word that she has said, speaking faster than you could ever comprehend at the early hour. You hear your brother take a deep breath from next to you as Lewis chuckles lowly.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, very talented ladies doing the cooking.” Tom tells his daughter before setting a delicious smelling cup of coffee down in front of you, “Here you go Y/N.”

“Thank you, it smells fantastic.” You say sincerely, happily wrapping your chilly hands around the warm cup.

“It better, I brought my own beans and everything. That should be the best cup of coffee you’ve had in your life.” He tells you proudly.

“It was a phenomenal cup of coffee.” Lewis says with an amused smile on his face, one that Tom seems to read as more genuine than you think it really is.

“Very good, very very good.” Dylan is quickly agreeing.

“Now listen,” Vanessa’s voice is quick to grab your attention again, “you did such an amazing job yesterday with breakfast and then helping with all the storm cleanup,”

Before she can finish Lewis lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff, cutting her off, “I don’t know if I would call whatever she was doing yesterday helping.” His voice is muffled by the rim of his coffee mug but you can hear the cheek to his voice, more teasing than the jabby tone it usually carries for you, you assume it's because of the current company.

You open your mouth to defend yourself but your brother is joining in quickly, “I mean she made a valiant effort but I do think I have to agree with Lewis on this one.” He’s laughing as he pinches at your side.

You try to find the right words to argue your defense but you realize you really can’t, thinking back to your ways of helping the day before. 

You had started strong, initially heading out after breakfast to try to clean up all the branches that had been blown into the yard, that lasted for only twenty minutes before Lewis and Dylan were getting the plow and skidoo out of the garage. Once the big toys were out you had no more interest in your handheld rake and shovel. You had gone over to inspect the new fun equipment but were quickly shooed away by both Lewis and your brother, both claiming you were going to get in the way and possibly end up hurting yourself. You had accepted defeat, heading back to your sad pile of branches before once again getting quite distracted by the fun sound of the engine on the skidoo. You had done your best to act as if you were still working but you had ended up watching Lewis zip around the yard for much longer than you would have liked to admit. There was something about his level of both control and chaos behind the handlebars that scratched your brain just right and it irked you and brought you immense satisfaction all at once. Once your brother had gotten into the swing of plowing, Lewis following him down the hill to keep Vanessa's mind at ease, you had gotten back to your sad attempt at branch removal, by the time they made it back up to the house you were collecting your armful. 

“Y/N you do know that it’s been a full hour and you don’t even have enough sticks to make a mouse a campfire, right?” Lewis had taunted you when he saw you walking across the driveway as he removed his goggles, your brother laughing as he hopped out of the plow.

“Oh fuck off, at least I was doing something, you were just joyriding.” You said sassily, quickly changing course so you weren’t walking directly past him.

“I,” He started, his voice long and drawn out to dramatically make his point, “was keeping your brother safe. The buddy system is very important, you know.”

“A knight in shining,” You started to say but before you could get the whole sentence out you were falling flat on your ass, your abysmal stick pile flying everywhere.

“Woah Y/N, shit you alright?” Your brother was quick to react, leaving his open truck door to run over to you.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Lewis huffed out, also quickly making his way over to you.

They had both been there within an instant, squatting next to you to make sure you were alright. Your brother was handling you like fine china even though he could tell you were okay, Lewis however was immediately giving you shit.

“You do realize we’ve been here for like twelve hours and this is the second time you’ve fallen in front of me, right?” The tone of his voice was unamused despite offering you his hand to help pull you up.

“I did not fall last night.” You had tried to defend yourself as he got you to your feet, your brother still giving you a worried look like he thought you had secretly broken something.

“Because I caught you.” He had quickly pointed out.

“Whatever.” You grumbled as you bent down to collect your stick pile, admittedly leaving a good half of them behind before once again heading toward your brother's brush pile off by the shed. Before you could even make it half way, a very well aimed snowball was colliding with your ass cheek, once again knocking the sticks out of your arms. 

“I am going to fucking kill you.’ You had exclaimed loudly, quickly gathering a large armload of snow to form into your own snowball before turning around and whipping it in their direction. You ended up hitting your brother, immediately feeling a little bad because you assumed it had come from Lewis in the first place. Lewis let out a cackle when the snowball hit your brother, evidently pleased that he hadn’t been the one to get in trouble.

“Oh hell no, that was meant for you.” Dylan had said, also laughing but incredibly serious, his own snowball already being packed tightly to whip at Lewis. Much to your pleasure, Dylan was much closer to Lewis and was much stronger than you so you could tell the impact didn’t feel amazing when it finally slapped into his chest.

“I just thought you should put some ice on it after that fall, I was trying to be helpful.” Lewis laughed as he put his arms up to guard himself from any further snowballs being sent his way. You and your brother exchanged a look, both of you loading up again, hurling snow in Lewis’ direction.

He screamed as he turned to run, his snow gear making him much less agile than he would normally be. He had finally found steady footing, his own snowballs being sent in both of your directions, all three of you in a fit of laughter. Somewhere along the line your alliance with your brother had crumbled, his snowballs being sent your way as well, no longer reserved for just Lewis. By the time you finally called truce you had all been absolutely soaked, your stomachs hurting from laughing so hard and your pile of sticks long forgotten. When you made your way back to the house you had found yourself very surprised at how playful and fun that time with Lewis had been but you decided that it must have been a bit of a fluke, knowing it wouldn’t last the rest of the day.

You try to think of a way to argue your defense but you have to admit to yourself that you really can’t, you truthfully didn’t do any actual storm cleanup yesterday.

“It’s the thought that counts, I tried.” You grumble into your mug as the two men laugh.

“Well, either way, you absolutely slayed it with breakfast and putting up with them,” Vanessa gives you a smirk, trying to take away their ammunition, “so I want you to just relax this morning, Moms and I will take care of all things brunch, you just enjoy the pretty scenery and your amazing coffee.”

You smile at her, mouthing a thank you, grateful that you are not expected to be part of the brunch circus that is unfolding in the kitchen before you. Your mother and Beatrice are still frantically figuring out if they have everything for some recipe that they have selected. You sit back, watching as Vanessa returns to her chaos with your mothers, seeming weirdly at home within it. Tom and your father begin loudly discussing just where Tom is sourcing his coffee beans, raising the volume of the kitchen just that much more. You go to turn to your brother, only to find him standing from his seat to rinse out his coffee cup. Lewis is grabbing his phone and eagerly taking a call, leaving the room rapidly. You let out a sigh, choosing to make your way into the den with your coffee, hoping for some level of peace in there. The room is cozy, a fire already going and a light snow falling outside the large windows. You try to settle into one of the plush couches but as you sit there you feel yourself growing more and more aggravated. On one side you can hear your family in the kitchen, all talking loudly about different subjects that don’t even meld together into anything coherent, on the other side you can hear Lewis’ muffled voice on the phone. You can’t actually make out anything that he’s speaking about but the low timbre is enough to be disruptive. You find it hard to believe that in a house of this size you can’t find any silence, yet here you are, you shouldn’t be shocked with it being your family. You decide you can only take so much and come to the conclusion that you would rather be out in the cold and quiet than in here with the chatter. You take your coffee and head off to the foyer to find your winter gear to bundle up, the better idea of just going to your room nowhere to be seen in your head. You get as cozy as possible, grabbing a blanket out of the den before heading back to the kitchen.

“I think I’m just gonna go sit out back for a little while and appreciate the view while I have my coffee.” You awkwardly announce as you make your way to the backdoor, raising your blanket in your hand as you do.

“That sounds absolutely lovely, enjoy yourself!” Beatrice exclaims, overly enthusiastic about your plans.

When you first step out of the house you begin to question your plans, the cold air immediately hitting your face and wrapping you in an unforgiving cocoon, but the moment the door closes behind you, you’re at peace. The door seals your family and their loud chatter away wonderfully, just the gentle howl of the wind and small noises of things falling in the forest left to be heard. You make your way across the covered deck, settling into one of the luxurious outdoor couches overlooking the large backyard and forest. You snuggle as far as possible into your blanket, trying to keep as much of your body heat as possible. You can feel a deep sigh leave your body as you take in your surroundings, admitting to yourself that as much as you hate winter, you do love the beauty of the blanketing of snow. You sit in silence for a while, just sipping your coffee and enjoying the peaceful way the world is waking up, the snow falling gently. It sadly doesn’t take long for your silence to be interrupted, the door opening behind you. You let out a huff when you see who is making their way outdoors.

“Ocupado.” You say sassily as you turn your attention back out to the view in front of you.

Lewis just scoffs, making his way over to sit on one of the couches near you.

“Seriously, I just need some silence. Do you have nowhere else to go?” You groan childishly, seeing him settling into his seat.

“I let you get warm in front of my fire yesterday, I think you can share the silence of your deck with me now.” He says, his voice just as sassy.

You go to argue with him, wanting to tell him that it’s not the same and his fire was in the den, a common area, but you quickly realize that this too is a common area that you have no monopoly over. You decide to bite your tongue, rolling your eyes as he settles deeper into the couch, pulling his phone out. You decide to do the same, feeling awkward staring into the trees now that you have company. It doesn’t take long before the first post from a friend is popping up on your feed. She is back in California, a small party dress on that would have you getting hypothermia here. The post is about a party that you had known would be happening, a fun Christmas get together with a bunch of your friends that you would have loved to have been at, carefree and ridiculous fun. You let out a huff as you scroll through her post, the fomo eating you alive as you do so.

“Thought you wanted silence.” Lewis grumbles from his spot at the sound of your huff, his voice already laced with annoyance. 

“So sorry to disturb you, your highness.” You fire back at him sarcastically.

“It’s just sir, I’m a knight, not technically royalty.” He replies, his voice so cocky that it makes you want to smack him, only stopping when you see the slightly teasing smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes again, not even having the energy to come up with something witty to say back to him in the moment.

“Seriously though, what’s got you in such a mood?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, much to your surprise. 

“I’m not in a mood.” You mutter, burrowing further into your blanket, your attention back on your phone.

He lets out a chuckle at your response, “Yeah the huffing and puffing really sells that narrative well.”

“Oh shut up, you know I don’t particularly want to be here, just let it go.” You say quietly, not wanting your family to hear your disdain for your surroundings.

“I know, and me being here probably isn’t helping that, but it seemed like there was something else going on. Thought you saw something that was upsetting you.” He says casually, shrugging like it’s a normal conversation for the two of you to be having.

You’re taken aback by his casual and genuinely curious nature, not being used to anything like this from Lewis. It takes your guard down, quicker than it should. You let out a sigh, deciding, against your better judgement, to confide in him a little bit. You know he could come back with some level of snippy remark but you were prepared for that, maybe he would actually have a normal conversation with you for once. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but seeing everyone enjoying their lives as adults and doing what they want, where they want, I don’t know, it’s just driving me a bit insane.” You divulge, not getting your point across in quite the way you meant to.

He raises an eyebrow at you, evidently rather confused by what you mean, “I mean, you’re an adult, you spend 99% of the year doing what you want, where you want. What’s the problem?”

You just shake your head, deciding to instead show him the post that caused the initial huff. You watch as his brows furrow while he scrolls through the instagram post you handed him. Quickly his face turns from curious to judgemental. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he finally hands you your phone back.

“So you’d rather be back in the smog of LA where you can’t even tell it’s Christmas, dressed in a skimpy dress with your friends? You’d prefer that to fresh mountain air, a white Christmas, and your family that loves you?” His tone is belittling as he reads the situation completely incorrectly, his questions coming out more as statements, as if nothing that you say now will change his mind.

Your jaw drops at the accusation, a loud scoff leaving your throat as you snatch your phone back from him, “How dare you, that was not the point I was trying to make.” You begin to argue before he’s cutting you off.

“You see those people all the time Y/N, how often do you see any of your family?” He raises his brow in challenge but doesn’t give you time to formulate a response before he’s carrying on, “We all know you don’t want to be here, just suck it up, a little bit of winter mountain air and family time isn’t going to kill you.” He doesn’t wait for a rebuttal, he just stands from his seat as if he’s just finished reprimanding a child and walks away, back inside.

He leaves you in your seat, silent and fuming but also leaving you feeling a tad guilty. He is correct, you don’t want to be here, but it has nothing to do with you preferring to be out in a skimpy dress in LA, it’s about your freedom. Having the freedom to do as you please and be where you want, something you haven’t had a ton of in your life. You hate that everyone knows that you would prefer to be somewhere else, making you feel as if you’re almost a burden. You hate that Lewis feels that he has the right to make such deep assumptions about you and treat them as fact and you hate even more that he feels he has the right to lecture you based on those assumptions. 

You end up staying out on the back deck much longer than you had originally planned, only finally making your way back indoors when Vanessa announces that brunch is served. You do your best to ignore him, not even looking in his direction. Instead you spend most of brunch quizzing Vanessa on things about her brunch that in all honesty you aren’t particularly interested in, but listening to Vanessa explain how he gets her eggs to fluffy is much better than having to even think about dealing with the man sitting at the other end of the table.

It irks you that you can hear him chatting so freely and happily down the table, as if he hadn’t accosted you on the porch mere hours beforehand. You find yourself already making a plan for escape before you’ve even cleared your plate.

Avoiding him throughout the rest of the day ends up being shockingly easy. You take an extra long time getting ready before helping Vanessa and your mom with some last minute gift wrapping. You can’t help but laugh when you see that Vanessa's “last minute stuff” actually appears to be a majority of her gifts, but you don’t complain, knowing it will take up more of your time, and in turn help in your game of avoidance. You can hear Lewis chatting off in the distance, your father quizzing him eagerly on his car collection after hearing he added something new. Lewis gushed with ease, thoroughly entertaining your fathers questions and while it could be considered a nice conversation you felt like it sounded arrogant, flashy. 

“Boys and their toys.” Your mom muttered with a laugh, also listening to bits of the conversation, your father now seemingly showing Lewis photos of a car he had back in the nineties.

“Tell me about it, I couldn’t for the life of me get Dylan out of that plow truck when we first bought it and the snow hadn’t even fallen yet.” Vanessa exclaims, shaking her head.

You just laugh as you lean back to stare out the window for a moment, admiring the way the world is beginning to turn blue as the sun goes down. As if he’s noticed it getting dark at the very same moment, Dylan is bursting into the room talking about Christmas lights.

“Get out, we are not finished in here Mr.” Vanessa is quickly squealing, throwing her body in front of the few remaining unwrapped gifts.

“Okay, okay,” Dylan laughs, throwing his hand over his eyes before continuing, “What I was saying is the lights in the forest look like they stayed up through the storm! It’s getting dark so I was hoping we could all take a walk out there, it’ll be beautiful.”

“That sounds nice Dyl, give us just a little time to get ready.” You say softly, eager to see the lights that have your brother so excited.

“Sweet, I’ll go let the guys know.” He says like a little kid, whipping around to go inform them of the new plans.

“He made an absolute wonderland out there, you guys are going to love it.” Vanessa says, already standing up to collect the remaining wrapping paper, shoving things away like she’s now on a time crunch.

You take that as your sign to go change and get ready for a winter walk. When you go to head upstairs you finally cross paths with Lewis who seems to be headed to his own room, you pause for a moment before flicking your gaze away and trying to move past him.

“Joining us on the walk?” He asks, his voice cold, sounding like he’s expectant of a no.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You waver slightly, caught off guard that he had any words for you at all. You wished your voice had come out stronger, not wanting him to feel like he had any sort of upperhand, that he had gotten under your skin.

He does actually look surprised, his eyebrows twitching up in a certain judgemental look of disbelief before he is once again turning on his heel. He doesn’t say a word, just walks away to his bedroom.

When you make your way back downstairs, everyone is there and waiting. Dylan is animatedly explaining how he set up with power for the lights and how they follow all of the groomed paths in a certain pattern. Once he notices that you’re there he is directing everyone to follow him to the back yard, still explaining his tree lighting process on the way. You can’t help the grimace that leaves your body when you step outside, the temperature having dropped drastically since you were out here earlier. You try to just burrow further into your coat, not wanting to complain after being made so aware of your attitude earlier today.

As you wander the paths you find yourself mesmerized, Vanessa was right about the absolute wonderland of it all. The glittery lights look like stars, spanning higher up trees than you would like to think about your brother being, but regardless they are breathtaking. You find yourself falling away from the group a bit, too caught up in admiring the gorgeous trees and trying to keep as much of your warmth in as possible. Your family carries on walking, unaware of your sudden slow pace, Lewis however seems to notice and slows down himself. So much that you almost trip over him, having been blissfully unaware of his presence.

“You okay?” He asks you when you’re steady on your feet.

“I’m just fine Lewis.” Your voice is as cold as the outdoor air as you avoid looking in his direction.

“Well, from where I’m standing, you’re shaking like a leaf.” His tone has lost its earlier harshness but still carries that bit of arrogance as you catch him smirking at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Just wore the wrong jacket, I’ll be fine.” You argue, keeping your voice short but still pulling your thin jacket tighter. You're mentally cursing yourself for not having worn your puffer.

“Do you want to head back? I’ll walk with you.” His offer catches you off guard, his voice sincere and almost kind as he continues to stare at you, the smirk gone.

“I’m fine,” You say yet again, your voice slightly quieter now, “Dylan worked hard on this, I’ll survive.”

Just as you once again reiterate your argument a gust of wind comes through, picking up the loose snow and blowing it around you sending yet another chill directly down your spine. Lewis evidently notices the cold seeping deeper into your bones, taking it upon himself to make the decision. 

“Y/N and I are gonna head back to the house, she’s getting a little too cold, gonna get her something warm, we’ll see you guys in a bit.” He yells ahead to your family against your will. 

“Oh, hun, are you okay?” Your mother is immediately concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m not going back.” You start to insist but Lewis is stepping in yet again.

“She’s fine, just wore the wrong jacket. The lights look amazing Dylan, well come see them when she’s warmed up.” Before you can say anything he’s starting to usher you back down the path, Dylan is thanking him and Vanessa is telling you where to find more blankets. 

Lewis is guiding you down the path, his body close against your back and his grip firm on your waist as if you don’t know the way. You hate the way he is manhandling you but you have to admit you are relishing in the warmth coming from the proximity. You don’t allow it to go on for too long, wrenching yourself out of his grip once you’re far enough away from your family. You pick up your pace, both in a show of defiance and actually quite wanting to get back to the warmth of the house. You hear him let out a scoff behind you as you throw your little tantrum.

The heat of the house is immediately welcoming, wrapping around you like a hug the moment you open the door. You take a moment to let the heat sink into your bones before even moving to remove your jacket. Lewis stands there watching you for a moment, just shaking his head before taking off his own large puffer.

“What?” You groan, assuming he has a comment to make.

“You know sub zero temps usually require a little more than a flimsy fashion jacket from the mall, right?” His voice is laced with judgement again, the kindness from the forest long gone.

“Oh, would you just fuck off!” You finally properly snap, whipping your head to face him.

““I’m just saying you’re a grown adult and you’re acting like winter is gonna kill you, you can’t even prepare for it” His response is quick, his tone just as snippy as yours, dripping with arrogance.

“I have a fucking parka in my room, I didn’t know how cold it was.” You throw back at him.

“Mmm sure, or you just wanted to look good for the little walk.” He accuses you, his tone condescending.

“Look good for who? I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere!” You fully yell at him, finally done with his jabs.

He ignores the question, his voice raising but not yet actually yelling, “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s good for you to be in the middle of nowhere once in a while?”

“I do not need some asshole who doesn’t even know me giving me fucking life advice, thank you very much.” You snap, no longer yelling but your voice is harsh.

“Well maybe you do because from where I’m standing you would rather be back in LA partying with your friends to post on Instagram than at your brother's beautiful new house with your whole family that loves you. They fucking want you here and you get to fucking see them, stop acting like its pulling fucking teeth for you to be here.” He actually yells this time, momentarily stunning you.

“Why do you even fucking care so much?” You just about scream, praying that your family is still far away from the house. The two of you haven’t even made it out of the foyer yet.

He just stares at you, his eyes hard and his chest heaving slightly. He opens his mouth before quickly snapping it shut, finally letting out a long, deep sigh. “Ya know what, I guess I fucking don’t. Go take a hot shower before you get fucking hypothermia.” He finally mutters harshly as he storms out of the room, his bedroom door slamming shut not long after.

You stand in the foyer, staring down the hallway where he disappeared, still dressed in your winter jacket. You can feel the tears pricking in the back of your eyes, immediately pissing you off that they can be caused by even Lewis. You bite lips, willing the tears to stop, but then you realize, there it is.

It finally feels like Christmas.

[kissatsumu]

OMFGGG I LOVE YOUR WRITTTING SM could you possibly write timeskip osamu, atsumu and kuroo dating a female pro volleyball player (who they met in high school) thanky ou so much <333

hq!! charcters x fem!volleyball player

characters: (timeskip) osamu, atsumu, kuroo, yachi

genre: fluff, dating headcanons, sfw, fem reader

notes: i added my girl yachi sorry i love her!

@fayeraa (tagging you bc you asked me to!!)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ MIYA OSAMU

you met osamu while your team was visiting inarizaki to have a practice match with inarizaki’s girls volleyball team. he remembers meeting you in the hallways before your team was getting ready to leave and you two immediately hit it off <3

you exchanged numbers and despite the struggle of dating someone from a different school, you two stayed together ever since

as someone who decided to not continue volleyball after high school, he’s very proud of you for pursuing a professional volleyball career

in the window of his onigiri shop, he has a poster of whatever team you play on

being his girlfriend comes with the perks of osamu cooking for you <3 makes you something to eat as soon as you get home. (his love language is acts of service he just wants to take care of you!!)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ KUROO TETSURO

you met kuroo because you two sat next to each other in class. he had the biggest crush on you and finding out you also played volleyball he knew he had to ask you out as soon as possible!!!

so you’ve been dating since your time at nekoma. although kuroo didn’t keep playing volleyball after high school, he’s literally your biggest supporter. also working in the sports industry makes you two even closer

he admires your strength and talent so much

he begs to play volleyball with you!!!

“are you sure tetsuro? you haven’t played volleyball in awhile.” “nah, i’ll be fine. don’t go easy on me, okay princess?” (he gets hit in the face by the ball while trying to block you)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ YACHI HITOKA

yachi met you during her second year at karasuno. as the manager of the boys volleyball team she’s bound to run into the girls volleyball team (which you were on) quite a bit.

she had the biggest crush on you!! always walking by the gym to see you and your team practicing. but sparks fly after formally meeting :)

she’s sooo supportive about you going pro. volleyball had been a big part of both of you two’s high school lives and she’s proud of you

tries to go to all your games if she isn’t busy at work n wears your jersey !!

when she comes home from work and you come home from practice, she loves having time in the evening with you to cook dinner together and relax before bedtime.

domestic sapphic life with yachi <33

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ MIYA ATSUMU

he met you in high school as you were on the inarizaki’s girls volleyball team. he had tons of girls fawning over him but he noticed you and was head over heels for you after seeing you play

despite having busy schedules as both being professional athletes, he always makes time for you

he does not shut up about you especially in interviews. he just wants to brag about you and how he has a girlfriend who matches his talent

his interviews are like “Your serves seem so tough to receive, it’s amazing.” “Yeah well you should see my girlfriend’s serves”

“Miya, how do you plan to celebrate your win” “I’m going home to my girlfriend”

istg on his professional account he posts more about your team than msby jackals (his manager tells him that he has to shut up)

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FOUR

04 : BEGINNINGS

CHPT. SUM. : beginning new things is always fun. getting to know your sons, them finally being able to experience having a loving mother, sirius going to school, and you planning for everything that was yet to come so that everyone gets to the happy ending they deserve. 

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; orion being a bad father ; original walburga being a nuisance ; reader being an amazing mother and an amazing cook ; regulus has food preferences ; brotherhood between sirius and regulus ; marauders spotted in the wild ; sirius and regulus being precious babies ; reader disrespecting walburga ; mentions of infertility ; mentions of divorce ; lots of future planning

← PREV. 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) | SERIES M.LIST

9th August 1971 

It, surprisingly, took very little to get past Orion on the topic of changing Sirius and Regulus’ private tutors. However, when you truly looked at his workaholic tendencies, your initial surprise should have been the more startling reaction — of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s too fixated on the happenings with his position on the Wizengamot to be aware of much else, discounting the protective wards he put up around the property. Nevertheless, it was good news for you and your boys. Finally, they would be getting more suitable tutors, who catered to their learning needs in a more digestible way. You had only recently sent out the notice, though, so you don’t expect many replies to be coming in soon. Your only wish was to have fallen into this universe sooner, that way you would have had more time with Sirius before he left to attend Hogwarts as a first year. 

Walburga didn’t have a formal occupation other than monitor her boys so having Sirius leave for his first year would mean less work for her and, subsequently, you. However, it’s not as if she needed the money; she’s the matriarch of an incredibly privileged family, meaning that her financial worries are close to non-existent. Both, the affluent family fortune and her lack of professional ambitions have you stumped, it’s something you’re not used to at all. Perhaps that’s why she’s so obsessed with control and the activity of her two sons; it’s not healthy and you don’t even want to attempt to understand what she was thinking—

“Of course you won’t!” Walburga snarls from the depths of your consciousness, her tone dripping with malice and a hint of something sinister. “I don’t expect someone who failed at becoming a mother to understand the right and true tribulations of bringing up children,” 

“…how did you know that?” you ask aloud, no longer satisfied with simply trying to call for the bitch - Walburga’s - attention in your head. She didn’t seem to want to reply, which only made your blood boil; her prolonged silence, the trigger to releasing your rapidly escalating rage.  How dare she?! How dare she strike you where it hurts the most, only to turn completely unresponsive when you demand answers, “Answer me!”  Thick tensions fill the room when she does not answer, the silence suffocating and poisonous. Taking a slow, deep breath, you engage control over your anxious heart and trembling hands once more. 

Work. You need work. Something to focus on so that you don’t dwell on memories that will only bring you heartache. It worked before so it’ll work for you now. It had worked so well, in fact, that you were able to build an empire out of it, perhaps you could replicate the same results this time. 

“Screw you then, ugly pig, I have more important matters to attend to anyway,” pulling out a drawer, you scatter your notes across the desk and move with fretful fever but, also, enthusiasm above them. No matter the change of environment, you can always trust in your habits to push you forward. Walburga mainly worked on keeping the boys in line as the official matriarch of the Black household but that’s all her world revolved around, she had no hobbies or any close friends other than her relatives whom she communicated with, somewhat, regularly. With a guilty ache in your chest, you kept a gradually growing stack of letters in the bottom-most drawer of the hard oak desk, not yet knowing how to respond to people you barely knew. However, you suppose their relations to a character like Walburaga make it slightly easier to ignore their communications. The affiliation doesn’t warrant your precious time. If you could send a passive-aggressive email, you might be more willing, but the extended process of having to write out the letters and then send them via owl wasn’t worthwhile. 

The priority on your list of important affairs is ensuring your boys’ happy and safe future. Sirius will not have to choose between Regulus and his friends, he will not suffer being blasted off the family tree, he will not have to be ashamed of his family, he will not have to witness his close friend’s death through another’s betrayal, and he will not be forced to go to Azkaban. Similarly, Regulus will not have to suffer Sirius abandoning him, he will not have to face his prejudicial parents alone, he will not be forced into getting the dark mark, he will not have to make the sacrifice he had to make at such a young age, he will not die a miserable and lonely death, and he will not be forgotten! You will make sure of it. 

Coming into the world as a Harry Potter and Marauders fan, you’re well-equipped with all the knowledge required to make the right decisions. The only problem is that the Marauders era has been a largely vague timeline that most of the fandom filled in for themselves so you’ll have to tread carefully. This will require meticulous planning, a steady rise to power and a conglomeration of useful allies to help set your plans into motion. Modern-day knowledge and business etiquette will serve you well here. You’ve survived toxic work environments, won in the race to riches, and dealt with all manner of manipulative, sexist swine you could ever think to encounter. If you play your cards right, you’re sure to win. 

“As if a muggle like you could conquer the wizarding world!” Walburga finally makes her appearance once again. And, of course, it’s for the sake of belittling you whilst making your head throb painfully from her distasteful screeches. 

“Shut up,” you hiss unapologetically, resisting the urge to smirk, “Unlike you, I know the future—” breathing the words aloud brings a blaring, singular thought to the front of your mind. The vision you witnessed at the Owl Emporium replays in your head once more…

How in the world did Walburga know about the biting habit of Sirius’ future owl?… 

Several moments pass achingly slow as you anticipate the aggravating screeching of Walburga to return. When no such wailing occurs or interrupts your train of thought, your mind immediately begins to spiral. 

How could Walburga remember being at the Emporium, shopping for Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts when she had yet to go shopping with him in the first place? They couldn’t have already gone, right? Orion would have said something if they were being inefficient enough to go a second time. That or the boys would have definitely made some comment… 

This felt like an urgent matter that needed your immediate attention but you had to prioritise other things for now. It’s not like the original Walburga was going to give you the answers you needed so it wasn’t any use pressing on the matter. It’s best to turn your focus and efforts elsewhere. Peering back at your scattered notes, you raise your newly acquired wand and utter the crafting spell you had learned recently. 

“Libeligare,” As you wave your wand over the desk, activity springs forth. In a flurry of animated pages and whistling currents in the air, your disordered notes compile themselves appropriately before binding themselves into a fresh notebook. It doesn’t have a hard cover and you debate on transfiguring a decorative letter set piece into one but think against it. This will do nicely for the moment. 

Finally, all your detailed plans are in one place. 

10th August 1971 

With nothing better to do and desperate for a decent meal, you address the home-cooked meals situation. Every dish served at the Black household was so unappetising and bland, that you couldn’t believe that the family was one of the most influential and richest families to exist in the wizarding world. You’re beginning to believe that the Blacks were the type of family to indulge in unpalatable spreads with the reasoning that they refuse to eat the same meals as those lesser than them. How childish. Even in your city-centre penthouse, you ordered take-out frequently and ate ordinary home-cooked meals that were comforting and warm. The memories make you compare all the meals you’ve had in Grimmauld Place and blanch abhorrently. This wouldn’t do, especially for your growing boys. They need to be well-fed so that they grow up healthy and strong. 

“Mistress!” Kreacher shrieks behind you, making you jump and spin around all at once. The hunched-over house elf dashes through the kitchen space clumsily and with much vigour, he pulls painfully at his drooping ears as his eyes bulge out from seeing you, his mistress, the matriarch, in the kitchen cooking! Without magic! 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kreacher,” you chuckle softly and turn back to your food prep, “I’m just trying to cook an easy breakfast for my boys,” if you could truly have it your way then you would cook enough only for you and your two darling sons to eat. Orion would have to sort his own plate. But you’re not divorced yet so you suppose this is a compromise you’ll have to make. 

“I-It is not mistress’ job, let Kreacher do it—!” the house elf, reaches forward to take the kitchen utensils from you but you’re too swift. 

“I want to cook the food Kreacher,” you argue and continue pottering about the kitchen as if it was just another Tuesday morning, all while Kreacher follows you around helplessly. He’s clearly stuck between letting you have your way or forcing you to let him cook instead. Both felt wrong in different ways considering his position as the house elf, and he was brought to a standstill. The poor guy looked ready to throw himself off a cliff from the indecision and panic.  

Having sympathy for the elf, you call to him over your shoulder, “Kreacher can you please pass me the eggs?” this feels like a good even ground to dance on. Soon enough you’ll be teaching Kreacher how to finally relax. Kreacher appeared happy to finally be doing something but as soon as he hesitantly handed over the eggs, he was back to being anxious all over again. Even though you are the matriarch of the household, you supposed you’ll have to share the kitchen with a very distressed house elf for the foreseeable future. 

For the rest of the morning, you’ve asked Kreacher to help you with crisping up the beacon, cleaning the mushrooms, opening up the can of beans, toasting the bread and laying out the table. No more tasteless, boring porridge for breakfast with no toppings, today you’re serving a Full English. Admiring the spread, you thank Kreacher for his assistance before undoing your apron and putting the finishing touches to the dining table just as the rest of the family make it down for breakfast. 

“What is all this?” Orion asks in slight surprise when catching sight of breakfast for the day, “Is today very important?”

“No,” nonchalance keeps your tone controlled just as your precious babies walk through the door and hop into their designated seats at the table, one more enthusiastic than the other, “I’m just tired of plain old porridge every day,”

“Porridge is delicious,” Orion defends.

“Every day?” from the look in his eyes, you don’t know whether or not you’ve bested him so turn a serene smile his way instead, “I can always ask Kreacher to make you porridge if you really want,” 

Orion takes a moment to observe the full, vibrant plate of bacon, toast, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs and beans. If he takes any longer to play indecisive, the food will get cold and your precious babies are waiting on his dainty, princess-ass to make a decision— can you hurry the fuck up?! you want to scream at him. Every meal is started after his first bite (the pretentious, narcissistic douche) so he needs to make up his mind quickly or else you’ll lose yours waiting around! 

“…it’ll be a waste, this will do,” he finally picks up his knife and fork to begin eating and you have to reign yourself in before you roll your eyes too noticeably at his conceited behaviour. Your babies behave better than him. The prick! 

Turning to your boys, you observe Sirius and Regulus digging into their own meals before finally taking a bite out of yours. It felt good to see their eyes light up like that, especially Sirius’ — it makes you want to giggle at how obviously he had been wanting to devour his beans and toast the instant he laid eyes on them. 

Breakfast continues pleasantly as everyone enjoys their meal until you begin to notice some peculiar movement in the corner of your eye. You try to be as subtle as you can, considering the uncommon calm that has fallen over the dining table; it isn’t usually this comfortable around the table so you wanted to preserve the ambience as much as possible. The source of your curious gaze was Sirius and Regulus. 

Covertly, Regulus sneaks spoonfuls of his scrambled eggs onto Sirius’ plate, who proceeds to eat up his younger brother’s share as quickly as possible. Regulus was doing this willingly despite this morning’s breakfast being the first appetising meal he’s had yet. It won’t be the last either. However, from the way Sirius is scarfing down the food whilst trying to remain as silent as possible, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sirius eventually suffers from a stomachache later on. You wonder what could be the matter with the scrambled eggs. Was the seasoning off? Kreacher helped taste test every element of the meal and gave his stellar praise for your unrealised culinary skills so you’re more than a bit confused at the scene. After swallowing all remnants of food in your mouth, you gently raise a question. 

“Regulus?” your youngest freezes up immediately, making your brows furrow but still, you continue in a soft voice, “What’s wrong?” Deep in your chest, you feel your heart clench in worry at the deer-in-headlights expression plastered across Regulus’ cherubic face. 

You are met with only silence, “do you not like your eggs, darling?” you try meeting your youngest’s eyes but he’s terrified to even face your direction. Instead, he’s firmly steered his gaze down to his lap and keeps it there, frozen in place. 

There’s a slam of the table and everyone stiffens. At the head, Orion stares disapprovingly at Regulus, who begins to tremble like a leaf, “How rude!” the patriarch spits with such force and bite that his saliva lands halfway down the lengthy dining table. He’s so scandalised by his son’s behaviour that the cold from his freezing gaze drops the temperature in the room lower than it already is. “How many times have we talked about this Regulus? Finish your plate at once or else it’ll be the last meal you eat today!”

“He’s not being rude!” you counter, flying out of your seat and making your way to Regulus, “And he shouldn’t be forced to eat something he doesn’t like nor punished harshly for disliking something,” Crouching down, you position yourself to block Orion from Regulus’ line of sight despite his frightened doe-eyes remaining transfixed on his lap. His small hands are turned into small, knuckle-white fists, gripping fiercely at the fabric of his trousers. A paralysed statue of fear incarnate, your little boy doesn’t deserve this! If you could ‘Avada Kedavra’ Orion’s pathetic, prissy ass, you would in a heartbeat. 

From your peripheral, you notice how Sirius had placed a comforting hand over one of Regulus’ closed fists and the sight made your heart bloom with pride and joy — seeing how well they take care of each other was so heartwarming. “Tell me what’s wrong, Reg…I promise I won’t get mad,” you make sure to keep your voice in a low whisper so that only your son can hear but also loud enough that Orion’s distant grumbling is disguised. 

“Do you not like eggs?” your prompting remains gentle and patient, hoping for a fraction of understanding. That’s all you really want. 

Sensing no antagonistic feeling in your tone, Regulus finally wills himself to speak, although barely audible from insecurity, “I….I don’t like scrambled eggs…”

“No? What about them don’t you like?”

"They feel weird in my mouth, I don’t like chewing them,” he explains shyly, his confession dripping with shame. His grey eyes look into your own remorsefully and, before he can utter an apology, he is stopped by the shaking of your head.

Smiling warmly, you pat his small hand and voice your reassurance, “That’s a reasonable preference to have. Do you not like the texture?” Regulus nods in confirmation as his small, tense shoulders slowly ease up, “Do you not like eggs at all or do you like them cooked in a particular way?” 

Regulus’ eyes widen with surprise. Never before had his mother been so attentive to his preferences like this. On the contrary, His mother was always the first to make him feel embarrassed for his picky tendencies when it came to food, especially over dishes that make him lose his appetite entirely, oysters and shellfish being the main culprit. He really didn’t like them at all. Many times, they were the appetiser to multiple-course meals hosted by pureblood, elitist wizarding families so Walburga was determined to season her son’s palettes early on in life. It was good etiquette to eat such foods and to know how to eat them properly. If he didn’t display appropriate dinner etiquette at the table then he is lesser, he is unworthy of the Black family name and blood running through his veins, he is unbecoming of his heritage, he is a disgrace— 

“I can cook eggs in many other ways,” you suggest thoughtfully, voice remaining soft and comforting, “I can fry them for you? Or I can boil them? Do you like your yolk runny or firm?” 

Regulus, spurred on by your softly placed questions feels the corners of his lips tug upwards, “fried eggs, please…”

His innocuous answer makes you beam, “with a runny or firm yolk, darling?”

“Runny, please,” Regulus finds your bright expression infectious and begins to smile a little wider too. Over the slope of his little brother’s small shoulders, Sirius is grinning from ear to ear; finally, Regulus isn’t going to be forced to eat something he doesn’t enjoy. The elation makes Sirius’ chest swell as his heart pinches slightly at the memory of his little brother retching up the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Those disastrous, past meals started badly and they ended badly too. Peering at you with smiling eyes, Sirius knows that he won’t need to worry about that any more. 

“Of course, right away," you’re eager to leave and fix up Regulus’ plate but you also worry about leaving him with Orion at the dinner table; your husband wasn’t too pleased with Regulus having preferences — the pretentious prick could choke on his food and die for all you cared, “how about we go to the kitchen together?” you offer smoothly as you begin to stand, “that way, you can watch me cook and make sure I do them just the way you like it,” smiling brightly, Regulus nods and easily offers his hand for you to hold, “Siri, would you like to come?” if one brother was coming with you so was the other.  

“Yes please!” Sirius happily walks to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with Regulus, whose other hand is fully wrapped up in your own. 

From the head of the table, Orion stares with his mouth agape at what he had just been a witness to. What was happening to his wife?! 

11th August 1971 

Sirius and Regulus stand by the fireplace, waving off their newly appointed private tutor as they floo away before eagerly making their way to your home office. Usually, their session catch-ups would make the two freeze up and drag their feet along the plush carpets of their family’s proud home but not now. Ever since your irregular activities leading up to your fainting spell and subsequent switch in demeanour, they’ve felt safer and happier at home. But only around you, their father still frightened them. The patriarch’s grey eyes swirled with a mounting turbulence that they would greatly prefer to avoid so they quickly make themselves scarce around him but not around their mother. Not anymore.

“I can’t wait to show Mother my cursive practice,” Regulus has a skip in his step as he walks beside his older brother, who beams at him proudly. 

“Yeah, you’re getting really good at that Reggie,” Sirius praises, a slightly envious tone edging into his words, but it all remained playful, “say, how do you do your swirls so good?”

“Practise!” 

Sirius rolls his eyes at his younger brother’s cheek, “There has to be a secret to it that I don’t know about,” Regulus only giggles at his older brother’s shortcomings. This had been a rare happiness to experience at 12 Grimmauld Place but, gradually, it was becoming common between the two brothers. Suddenly the walls weren’t so drab, the furniture not as boring and the decorations not as hauntingly placed. The atmosphere was much brighter as sunlight always seemed to pour magnanimously in from the windows.

“Sorry Siri,” from Regulus’ free-flowing, tuneful words, he isn’t sorry at all but Sirius can never will up any hatred for his younger brother. They’ve been through it all together and now that their recent joys were also being shared, of course, they would partake in harmless teasing — teasing that was usually frowned upon by their mother but was no longer a worry. They can’t remember the last time their mother frowned — the two greatly prefer this new version of their mother’s expressions much more.

As they approach your office door, the brothers’ footfalls quicken and they barely catch themselves from bursting through the door without knocking. But not before they catch sight of your figure through the crack of the doorway. Curious about your activity, Sirius hushes his younger brother softly and holds him back so that he can lean forward to observe your figure closely. Inspired by his older brother’s nosiness, Regulus leans forward also and the two peer at you through the doorway crack. 

You’re not at your desk but are, instead, seated on the plush, cushioned seats of the emerald sofa placed in front of your desk. Black robes and other familiar attire are piled up beside you on one side while the other gradually assembles the neatly folded aftermath of your sewing…embroidery? Was there even a difference? Nevertheless, you had a needle and thread in hand without your wand or the use of magic in sight!

“Mother’s sewing your name tags herself,” Regulus concludes in a whisper following a muted gasp of surprise. 

Sirius’ eyes widen ever so slightly, “and she’s not using magic…” he doesn’t know how skilled you are at sewing but Sirius doesn’t care, the gesture alone is enough to make his chest swell. Even his face began to warm up from the heat climbing up his neck as it tried reaching his ears. 

“…do you think she’ll sew my name tags too? When I start my first year, I mean…” Regulus asks shyly, the clear insecurity in his timid voice making Sirius slightly defensive. 

“Of course, she will,” he huffs before grinning widely, “and if we tear up our uniform ‘accidentally’ I’m sure she’ll sew those up herself too!” Regulus doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes his brother’s train of thought but smiles anyway; he’s just happy thinking about his mother paying as much attention and care to his first-year robes too. He can’t wait until he starts attending Hogwarts as well. 

Finally willing themselves to stop eavesdropping and return to their earlier task, Sirius and Regulus straighten their posture before knocking on the heavy wooden door. They don’t have to wait terribly long for an answering call to grant their entrance. 

“Come in,” you set your tools aside and smile when the door reveals your babies stepping into your office, “hello, my darlings,” from your periphery, you spot the time on the clock face and jump into conversation with them, “how was your tutoring session? Did you like your new tutor?” 

“Yeah!” the two answer simultaneously and with the same amount of enthusiasm — it makes you smile with content. Happiness looks good on them; their characters shine brighter and their faces are more child-like. They’re honestly the cutest little boys you’ve ever seen and now they’re your sons to love and protect.  

“That’s wonderful news,” you open your arms for each of them to jump into, “Tell me all about it,” you’re just about to magic away the robes and sewing equipment so that they can sit beside you but not before you spot Sirius inspecting your handiwork, “I’m afraid I’m not the best seamstress,” your confession comes out bashfully, “I should have had Madam Malkins sew the tags on for me—”

“No!—” Sirius interrupts, looking almost offended that you would consider such a thing, “I like your sewing,” you raise a brow and, together with Regulus, inspect your uneven, treasure map trail of stitches before turning to the eldest brother once more. 

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Yeah, only you can do the stitching on my uniform, no one else,” his firm answer makes your embarrassed expression melt into a warm smile.

“Alright then,”

“Thank you, Mother,” he gives you another hug that you happily return. 

“You’re welcome, my dear,”

Looking over your plans, you sigh in restrained frustration. This is going to be a little hard. Yes, you know what to do but it’s all about recruiting the right people, trustworthy people and ones who are right for the role you’re choosing to give them. There’s a lot on your plate too, with your most urgent goal being divorce. You’re convinced that it isn’t going to be easy, considering the controversies that will surround the separation of a prominent wizarding house. The laws surrounding marriage, divorce and custody at this time are also largely unknown to you. Thankfully, you’ve had the privilege of living in a modern ‘muggle’ society where marriage and custody laws were pretty equal and fair. Perhaps there’s a book you can read up on about these things. For now, it’s a safe bet to say that custody will favour Orion as a man in the 1970s — it’s better to over-prepare than be underprepared for any outcome. 

Despite the importance of this particular undertaking, you’ll have to wait until both, Sirius and Regulus, are attending Hogwarts to commence the divorce proceedings. You don’t want your boys to be front-row witnesses nor do you want them to rollercoaster through the typical, rough emotions of children caught up in their parents’ divorce. You’ve been through that already… and you barely made it out on the other side. You’re an adult and they’re just children; if you can protect them from the brunt of it, you will.

A stray thought pushes forward into your consciousness — it would be too optimistic to confidently wager on the boys siding with you. Although under abusive parenting, children are very loyal and you’re benefiting from that loyalty now; even though Walburga was incredibly cruel to her sons, they were still eager to give you a chance as soon as you took over and began treating them kindly. You need to be cautious. The silver lining of it all is that you’ll, at least, have some time to prepare affluently before starting the separation process. That, on its own, however, will require another bout of planning.  

Saving Regulus is another priority on your list. That requires getting rid of the Horcruxes and killing off snake-faced Voldy but you don’t want to be too hands-on with that, especially because you’re not very adept at casting spells yet — there’ll be more experienced and more willing people (Aurors) who would be able to handle this type of mission. All you have to do is pull the right strings and connect with the right people. Eyeing another task on your list, you spot a small connection and smirk to yourself. The nib of your quill dips into a pot of ink and bridges two of your obligations. 

“This could be quite beneficial on both ends,” if you play your cards right…

Making some more careful notes, you gradually begin to piece everything together. But then there’s the issue of Sirius being sent to Azkaban. It’s healthy to have faith in yourself but if someone’s life and wellbeing are in danger, especially if it’s your son’s, you need to have a second, third and fourth plan at the ready. There needs to be a second, third and fourth plan for Regulus as well. Luck and misfortune will always have some influence on the dice you roll, there will never be an exception to that. You’ve learned this enough times in your previous life already, not just in business but everything else too. 

Your quill stops and rests beside your plans as the cogs in your brain turn with more purpose. Sirius still needs to become an animagus and Regulus needs to learn how to be a strong enough swimmer so that he can cast a spell to repel the Inferi. It would be beneficial if they both become well-equipped in duelling. That’ll require your lack of interference (maybe even your support) until Sirius’ fifth year, getting Regulus sorted with swimming lessons and encouraging both on their Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. You make a quick note of both solutions and their reasoning before linking both back to your list of obligations. 

The progress you’re making with these intervention plans is making headway. You just hope that you won’t tip the scales too far so that what little control you currently have slips right through your fingers and you’ll be left floundering. 

20th August 1971

You’ve fully taken over the cooking for all meals and your boys are looking much healthier. It warms your heart every time you see them happily eating your cooking, it was hard work keeping up with the pantry inventory, planning meals and catering to their individual tastes but it was good work that filled your heart with so much content, you hardly felt the fatigue creeping into your bones. 

Regulus isn’t a picky eater, he simply has a preference for some foods over others. He doesn’t like his eggs scrambled, only fried and with a runny yolk; he can’t stomach oysters or shellfish; he doesn’t like pulp in his juice and he’d rather eat a raw onion than have any trace of offal trimmings in his food. 

Sirius can practically eat anything and does so healthily, however, he’s more of a savoury person, leaving Regulus to own the sweet tooth palette by himself. Both adore cheese and you often create mini charcuterie boards for them to snack on. It was so adorable. There was plenty of time on your schedule to assign towards aesthetic food presentation so you’ve mastered the creation of salami roses. You’ve also found that Sirius prefers caramelised onion chutney to go with his mature cheeses whilst Regulus goes for a sweeter fig chutney. 

Currently, you were making them their own mini charcuterie boards. Both were displayed on a circular board with their favourite chutney at the very centre, held in a small ceramic container. And, with decorative prowess, you place their selection of meats, cheeses, crackers and grapes around it. 

“Do they look good Kreacher?” the house elf peers over the countertop surface and gives an affirming nod with a barely noticeable smile. 

“The young masters will be very happy, Mistress,” helpfully he suggests bringing the carefully prepared boards and crust-less finger sandwiches up to the boys’ study room for you but you shake your head. 

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I think I’ll bring up the food this time,” you’ve met their new private tutor several times already but she was always so tense around you; you’re determined to improve her impression through some good old exposure therapy. “Please prepare some tea and bring it up as soon as you’re done,” with your wand and a softly uttered ‘locomotor charcuterie boards and sandwiches’, the items lift into the air just slightly and you begin to move them out of the kitchen. 

“What tea should Kreacher be brewin’ this noon, Mistress?” 

“Oolong would be lovely today. Be sure to brew some Earl grey for Orion too but deliver the Oolong to us first please,” Kreacher’s struggles with your utterance of the polite ‘please’ persists but he continues with his set tasks regardless. The hunched-over house elf has noticed you’ve been prioritising the young masters much more than Orion recently; whenever you want to do something thoughtful, you always think of your sons first. Only last minute do you finally remember your workaholic husband and leave the snack preparations for Kreacher to fulfil and deliver alone. It’s a peculiar shift in attention, the wrinkled elf admits, but seeing his young master Regulus so happy, he doesn’t complain. Kreacher also admits that he’s growing a slight, mutual fondness for the elder Black brother, the two share in their love for Regulus and loyalty to you; now they’ve become friendly acquaintances. The house elf is a little happier and much more willing than ever before to stay loyal to his mistress and young masters’ sides. And Master Orion too, of course.   

Making your way up the stairs, the pretentious cow stuck in your head makes her presence known with inconsequential complaints.

“You’re spoiling those boys far too much!” Walburga shrieks and immediately makes your temples pound, “Sirius and Regulus don’t need this much attention, if you continue this they’re going to grow up soft and weak and unable to carry on the Black family name with the proper dignity and class!” For the sake of avoiding the horrid healing potion Kreacher’s having you consume after every fainting spell, you’ve been training yourself to build up as much resistance to her incessantly obnoxious yapping as much as possible — you’re getting there but you still need some practise. Currently, you are traversing the stairs so you’re taking every step with extra caution.

“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” her confounded gasp doesn’t escape you, “so kindly shut the fuck up,” the sarcastic cheerfulness in your tone makes her gasp once more and, like a coward, makes herself scarce. It seems as though you’ve gotten better at shutting the shrew up but she has yet to acclimatise herself to your shameless disrespect towards her.  Hopefully, she never gets used to your comments; it’s always such a pleasure being able to render her utterly speechless. 

With a pleased smile, you give a soft knock on the boys’ study room before entering. The boys gasp happily as soon as they see the levitating charcuterie boards and the plateful of crust-less sandwiches float closer and closer. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I think you all deserve a lunch break,” the boys cheer and happily dig in while you face their tutor with a small smile, “please feel free to have as many sandwiches as you want, we have plenty on offer,” her smile is hesitant and slightly trembles under your hold so she’s quick to look away and fix her focus onto the plate of sandwiches — her own, personal reprieve from having to interact with you.

Peony Knight. She’s an incredibly timid individual who seems to be in her element only when teaching children rather than in the company of said children’s adult parents — she has yet to look you in the eye for an extended period. Her head is an organised plight of feathery, strawberry-blonde hair and her eyes are a pair of opal pendants, so brilliantly blue but incandescent with a kaleidoscope of other jewel colours. Her resume was astounding but her family wasn’t very notable so you could only imagine her surprise when she received your response to her application with a test run of her skills. It was important to you that she comes from an uncommon house and family, you didn’t want to draw too much attention over switching tutors. At her tutoring trial run, she started very shaky but eventually found her confidence when focusing on your two boys rather than your lurking figure from the corner of the study. She was a good runner-up and quickly became the perfect choice when your boys showed favour towards her – the other candidates appeared to have been more affected by your presence in the room and taught the way they thought you wanted them to. 

“She’s nice and patient,” Regulus commented when you went to him after her trial lesson. 

“I like the way she explains things,” Sirius added beside him. 

That was all you needed to hire her as their private tutor. Peony’s timidity of you as an authority figure played in her favour very well.  

Hidden within a thick pile of stacked parchments and a small mountain of miscellaneous scrolls, you found Walburga’s carefully curated curriculum for the boys and handed it over to Peony. Walburga would know better than you what would be useful for her sons to learn. However, you were surprised at the amount of ‘muggle’ topics on her curated list. Admittedly, you were only expecting foundational wizarding lessons maybe on wands or classic pureblood etiquette so your shock was justified. Walburga’s reaction, however, wasn’t.  

“I teach them proper pureblood etiquette myself, you useless girl! And how can I expect my sons to grow up well if they aren’t taught the basics?! They’ll be able to advance as better wizards of the Black family that way. Moreover, muggles stick to and remain in the basics so don’t get smug with me, you filthy mud-blood!” Walburga screeched without restraint and with much offence after your initial revelation, leading to another fainting spell — the disgusting bitch…

In addition to Peony’s private tutoring, you’ve taken to providing your own private lessons to the boys, much to their surprise and slight hesitancy. However, as soon as you began the extended lessons after their usual morning session with Peony one day, they’ve since grown to love it. This didn’t happen every time, however, only on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today was one of those days, a Friday, and you’re so excited to see their reactions to what you have planned. 

Their schedules typically consist of Peony coming over a couple of hours before noon and she teaches them for two or three hours sessions every day except weekends. Mondays were for English language and literature (wizard and muggle), Tuesdays were for Economics, Numeracy and Financial literacy, Wednesdays were for French and Cursive handwriting practice, Thursdays were for muggle sciences (basic biology, physics and chemistry) and Fridays were for history and philosophy (wizard and muggle).

You reserve the fun lessons for your boys with yourself as their teacher. These were composed of lessons that typically challenged their problem-solving, creativity and other fundamental skills to set them up with a good foundation for school and life in general. This included fun puzzle-solving, art (in every medium the boys wanted), some written/scenario problem-solving and role-play scenarios. The first Friday you did this, you had the boys act out from rough, child-friendly scripts you drafted inspired by the Shakespearian play, Macbeth. It seemed like an innocuous lesson but you wanted to gauge their ethical understandings and reasonings. 

Throughout the scenes, you would spontaneously make them freeze frame to ask prompting questions that typically go along the lines of, ‘what would you do in this situation?’, ‘do think that was the right thing to do?’, and ‘why did you think your character did this even though they knew it was wrong?’. Both engaged very well with their own perspectives on the situation. 

At one point they got into a small argument that you needed to break up due to slightly differing standpoints on the scenario. It became slightly more heated than you expected but you were thankful for the opportunity to teach them how to communicate well with each other despite their differences. The lesson ended after that because tensions were still high and they were equally very stubborn about who should apologise first. 

It was going to take more than one lesson to be able to make them understand the rules and the importance of healthy communication, but that was to be expected. This was just the beginning so you’re hoping that if you stay consistent with fostering their ethical reasoning, communication and problem-solving skills, they will be able to remain brotherly despite their opposing Hogwarts houses. In the end, you made them apologise at the same time (to the count of three) and had them hug it out before telling them to say one thing they like about the other person. Evidently, they weren’t used to your new way of doing things and making amends but they (grumpily) did as they were told — and looked absolutely adorable doing it, their pouty faces were too much to bear! 

Approaching the two boys indulging in their individual charcuterie boards and occasionally exchanging bites of their share, you kneel between them and begin pleasant conversations about their current lesson. 

“Are you two having fun so far?” you could practically see Peony stiffen up like cement behind you, just from the telling gasp she lets out in the background. Being so high-strung isn’t going to be good for her health so you hope she gets used to your presence soon enough. You do feel slightly apologetic for her but she needs to know that people can change no matter how drastically. Hopefully, she takes this opportunity to grow some confidence in herself too. Someone so intelligent should walk with broader shoulders and a higher chin. 

“Yeah! Did you know Pythagoras had a cult?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his chair.

“No, he had a school of very intelligent mathematicians and musicians,” Regulus countered after swallowing his bite of cracker, cheese and grapes. 

Sirius rolls his eyes but immediately jumps into another topic, “he discovered the theory of pitch which is surprising coming from a guy who’s scared of beans,” he cracks himself up laughing at the statement.

Again, Regulus interjects in defence of the philosopher, “he wasn’t scared of beans,” the two brothers exchange narrowed stares, “He just believed that beans were the vessels for dead people’s souls and didn’t want to disrespect them by running through a bean field,” a small argument ensues but you don’t act, instead, you watch as a bystander in the hopes that your presence alone can keep them in check. If you ever feel the need to jump in at some point, you will. 

All too well, Sirius and Regulus remain aware of your lingering attendance to their quarrel and make the silent agreement to not escalate things too far. For a moment, they share a knowing look after briefly glancing your way and glaring at each other once again. You watch them huff and inhale a slow, shaky breath. They actively turn their voices down whilst continuing with their argument. It didn’t seem to go anywhere but both concluded it with less heat and more of a calm acknowledgement of each other’s differing sides. 

“Two people can have different opinions and still be friends. They only need to respect that the other person holds a different view and that it doesn’t make them a bad person,” they remembered your sage advice from their first extracurricular lesson with you. It was a massive shift in perspective to their growing minds and the impact it had on both of them was enough to permanently imprint the message into their heads.  

Unprompted, you lean forward and press a kiss to each of their foreheads, Sirius first and then Regulus, “I’m so proud of you two,” you watch as their cherubic cheeks flush an adorable, pink hue. Sirius scratches the back of his head bashfully whilst Regulus fiddles with his pen, both of them equally biting back a small smile from the praise, “you remembered what I taught you,” they look upon your elated smile with shy fulfilment as they nod slightly. “Another person’s opposing opinions might be something we don’t share or appreciate as much as they do but…” they lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to consciously heed your elaboration on the topic, “hearing or witnessing a different view will expand our perspective on the world and help us grow as people. We need to keep an open mind for these sorts of things because they can teach us so much. It might be hard to do sometimes, but I want to ask you two for a small favour,” they nod silently, not questioning or hesitating at your words, fully trusting in your sensible knowledge — their mother was always a brick wall when it came to the opinions of others, they couldn’t penetrate her, especially when it came to opposite views on blood purity so, to see her encouraging such undogmatic behaviour, is peculiar but in a strangely motivating way. They find that they want to do whatever it is that you want to ask them to do no matter what, “I want the two of you to try to understand the other side of any argument or opposite view. The world isn’t as black and white as we think it is. We have to try to be understanding and empathetic people. There may be reasons someone sees the world a certain way and even if we don’t agree or like their opinion, the least we can do is try to understand them. Just try. That’s all… that’s enough,”

It was a lot to take in and it was a lot to ask of such young minds that were still developing. But you weren’t asking for them to be perfect at it. All you want them to do is try.

“Alright, Mother,” Sirius nods with solid determination in his eyes. 

“Whatever you wish, Mother,” Regulus says at the same time, also glowing with resolve. 

Smiling happily, you bring them into a group hug, your arms easily curling around their small shoulders as you press another kiss to their temples, “you don’t have to be perfect, just try,“ you reiterate in a whisper, “I’m so proud of you, my darlings, you make mommy so happy,” you don’t see it but you feel their bright smiles press into your neck from either side as they return your embrace and nuzzle their faces into the junction of your neck and shoulders.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their lesson ended a few minutes ago and, like routine, they wave off Peony at the living room fireplace while you set up the study with all the things you planned on having them do for the afternoon. You asked them if they wanted to take a break before your lesson but they said they were happy to begin right away. They were able to detect the sparkle of excitement in your eyes as you left after their lunch break and were now filled with the same eagerness to begin your lesson.

Setting up their table with tools, aprons and a protective mat warmed your heart. You had planned so many things to do with your future children in your original life, read so many books and attended so many talks, lectures and groups on how to be a good mother that your heart was finally able to heal the scars that resulted from the infertility diagnosis you were slammed with years ago. You felt like a failure, not only as a mother but as a woman to be told that. It wasn’t until you were able to recover from that debilitating news that you finally began to consider adoption. It took years and years and the building of a corporate empire to finally get to that point but then, you were doomed once more. At the centre of a collision in the busy city streets, you lost consciously accepting your fate only to end up here…it was all quite a blessing really. Now you have two beautiful sons to call your own and to love with all of your heart. As an added bonus, they’re also two of your favourite characters from the Harry Potter universe. 

You could barely contain your excitement when you heard a small knock at the door to the study. They were here. 

“Come in, darlings,”

Stepping into the room, Sirius and Regulus gasp in awe and begin jumping on the spot ever so slightly from feverish anticipation. In your outstretched hands were two small, grey aprons, one displaying Sirius’ name and the other Regulus’ along the upper seam of the apron’s breast pocket. Without being asked, they step up to their aprons and reach forward to put the article on themselves. As they do so,  you announce what you will be doing for the afternoon. 

“Clay sculptures?” Sirius almost squeals in excitement as Regulus bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“We’ve never done that before,” Regulus chimes as you kneel behind him to help with tying up his apron, eventually moving on to redo Sirius’ clumsy knot as well.

“It’ll be fun,” you giggle, “fun and messy,” Sirius appreciates the hint of mischief in your voice and rushes to take a seat at the table with Regulus toddling along close behind him. You take a seat too and begin to talk them through the little sculpting tools they have beside them, the small mountain of clay at their disposal and the use for the bowls of water within reach. 

Regulus is listening but he can’t help glimpsing down at his stitched-on name tag every few seconds or so. His chest feels warm and so so tight that he feels like he’s about to burst. You had hand-stitched his name tag onto the apron yourself. He recognised the inexperienced, inconsistent stitches but he thinks it’s the most beautiful display of embroidery he has ever seen. There’s also the revelation that Regulus didn’t need to wait to go to Hogwarts to know that you would be attentive enough to do the same thing for his clothes as you did to Sirius’. He feels special and he loves the affectionate attention you were giving him, all the motherly love he and his older brother had always dreamed of experiencing was finally happening, not only through kind words but in warm hugs, soft kisses and silent acts of service too. He feels a surge of wanting to do well in everything, from studying to writing to eating to sleeping — all of it! He’ll do well in all of it. He only wants to make you proud. 

“Let’s begin with rolling out a piece of our clay,” you start, encouraging them to get messy, keep their clay hydrated and not worry about the state of their tools because you’ll all be washing them at the end together. After that, you had them make little balls using their hands and then roll out one ball into a flat sheet using their small rolling pins. With another ball, you instructed them to attempt making it flat using their hands instead, which helped you explain that moving around the clay with their hands makes the clay easier to mould.  

“Have you two been learning about muggle sciences?” you gently ask as the two go about flattening their spheres a little more so that they can carve patterns into them using their small wooden tools. 

“Yeah, I like the one called physics,” Sirius grins, eyes still focused on his clay.

“Me too!” Regulus chimes and the two brothers grin at each other, which makes you smile. 

“That’s very good,” you nod, spotting an opportunity, “so where do you think the heat comes from when we roll out our clay?” 

“From our hands,” Sirius immediately answers. 

“That’s right, anything else?”

The question is open for the two of them but Regulus is the one who answers next, “From all the moving around,”

“Brilliant, my darlings,” you praise and they grin pridefully. 

“Now, can you name the types of energies those are called? If you’ve learned about them, that is,” The brothers look at each other before beginning to ponder separately. The silence draws on so you decide to give them a little help, “What are all the energies called?” They do just fine with regurgitating the ten different energy types and that seems to be enough to prompt Regulus. 

“The moving around is kinetic energy,”

Sirius jumps to answer as well, “and our hands transfer the thermal energy,”

“Good good!” you give them a small round of applause, which they bashfully smile at, “you two are so clever!… What did I hear about this ‘transferring’ of energy, Siri?” your question comes out in a nonchalant tone. 

“Peony says that energy is stored and transferred,” Sirius answers, “and that they sometimes turn into another type of energy,”

“I see,” you look down at your own clay spheres and sheets, “where is the thermal energy from my hands coming from?” once again, they’re silent, “I think this can link to biology, specifically our biology,” that gets the cogs in their brains turning again and you can’t help but coo at their adorable thinking faces. 

“It’s from…” Regulus begins, immediately catching both yours and Sirius’ undivided attention, your eyes equally encouraging him to continue with his answer, “It’s from the energy in our food,”

Eyes sparkling with delight, you prompt him once more, “And what energy is that called?”

“…Chemical!”

“Good job!” Sirius claps for his brother’s success and reaches up for a high five that Regulus happily hits and once again, they’re grinning at each other. 

“What about for the movement?” This was a trick question but your boys are clever so you have full faith in them. Regulus already answered his share so he silently backs out from the arena by looking up at Sirius who begins to ruminate. “…well the movement has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it?” you thoughtfully point out, beginning to play around with your clay and trying to look innocent about it despite it being a definite clue. 

“It comes from us!” Sirius explains and looks down to play around with his clay too. You stay silent as you let him think and reach the conclusion on his own but you’re already so so proud of their intelligent displays, “…so it’s the same answer, it’s also from chemical energy…” he seems unsure from his tone but the minute he looks up to meet your eyes, the smile on your lips and the applause from you and Regulus has him beaming. 

“My sons are so so clever! I’m very proud of you both!”

That was enough of that — you only remember so much from your younger science education — so you move on to teach them about hatching and being able to stick two pieces of clay together with a little bit of water in order to make a small box with no lid. Thankfully, that was the final thing you intended to teach them before letting them make their own creations. 

“Now, you can make whatever you want with your clay. After this, I’ll bake them so they become solid, and then, we can paint them together. If you run out of clay, just ask and I’ll get you some more,” the two buzzed in their seats from the excitement and you were just as eager to let them loose with their creativity. “You can also make more than one thing but limit yourself to just two or three, please. Also make sure that whatever you make suits a function, it can be anything at all; you can even get some ideas from this muggle book on clay crafting,” you present them with the children’s clay craft book and place it where they can easily reach, “don’t mind getting the edges dirty, as long as the main text and pictures aren’t too muddied up by clay, it’s fine. It’s supposed to get used earnestly anyway,” they smile at your proactive reassurance but only Regulus goes for the clay book while Sirius goes about making his desired creation right away. 

For a while, Sirius cannot decide what to actually make. His speediness into action makes his younger brother peer over at him anxiously quite a few times but his initial unease gradually fades when he realises his older brother keeps changing his mind, flattening a scarcely sculpted creation just as quickly as he begins a new one. You don’t want to interrupt their independent creative flows and get to work on something you’ve already planned to create, a modest gift for your darling boys. 

Some time goes by in silence before you call for Kreacher to play one of the vinyls you managed to buy from a record shop when out on errands to muggle London. You had bought several along with the gramophone at the shop. When you first bought it home, the boys were eager to find out what it was and spent a lot of time happily winding it up so that you could all listen to the records together. It would have been preferable to get the electrical one but it would have been useless in the predominantly magic-operated house.  

“Great choice, Kreacher,” you smile at the house elf who nods timidly by the gramophone and promptly disappears when he feels as though he is no longer needed. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album plays in the background as the soundtrack to your clay sculpting session for several songs-worth of minutes before you finally get up to independently ask the boys about what they had chosen to make. ‘Oh! Darling’ sings in the distant corner as you kneel beside Sirius and quietly ask about his creation and what its function would be. In a whisper, he replies without turning to look at you, far too focused on his creation to divert any significant attention from it.  

“I’m making plant pots,” he begins, his pink tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, “for the cooking herbs you said you wanted to grow in the kitchen, but I’m also making one for Reggie since he says he wants to grow a plant in his room,” after his nonchalant explanation, your heart soars. It would be a fair assessment to say that Regulus has spoken to him about exploring gardening. You didn’t know your youngest wanted to grow a green thumb but it was a pleasant surprise — you’ll see about taking him to a muggle plant shop soon, you don’t quite trust wizarding plants in the household. A succulent or mini cactus would be a good choice. 

Pressing a kiss onto Sirius’ cheek, you whisper a soft thank you and praise his thoughtfulness before moving on to Regulus. For a moment, the elder brother wishes he could grow out his hair so that you are less likely to notice his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. You also kneel by Regulus’ side to whisper the same questions about his creation. 

“I’m making a little jewellery dish for your rings and necklaces and earrings, Mother. And I’m also going to make one for Siri since he’ll be getting the family ring when he’s older. Sirius’ one is going to be star-shaped because he’s named after the brightest star and yours is going to be heart-shaped because…well…” Regulus can’t finish his sentence as his blush floods his entire face with heat. But he doesn’t need to finish his explanation, he’s said all you needed to hear to coo over his thoughtfulness and press a kiss to his cheek also. They’re such sweet boys. That bitch Walburga was blessed to have them and yet she mistreated them so much, they didn’t deserve any of that. Tender love and care is what they truly deserve and that will be your sole mission and life’s purpose for this existence. 

“What are you making, Mother?” Regulus asks unprompted when you finally sit back down by your humble creations again. The youngest’s question makes Sirius perk up and eye you with interest, his grey eyes flicking between you and the carefully shaped clay by your hands. 

“I’m making little star-shaped pendants for my little star boys,” smiling at their flustered expressions, you elaborate further, “I’m going to poke a hole near the top point so I can thread it through a chain and you can wear it as a necklace or a bracelet — you can choose,” you show them one with a carved ’S’ on it, “this one is for Siri,” next you present the one with an ‘R’ on it, “and this one is for Reggie,” they beam in happiness at the getting such a personalised gift from you and continue their clay projects with new-found vigour. 

It was relatively easy to create the small star pendants so, inspired by Regulus’ creations, you proceeded to craft minimalist ring bands, one each of you. Sirius’ you carved the same sort of archaic patterns as that of his wand, for Regulus, you did simple lines with an occasional dot and for yours, evenly placed mini daisies. At first, it was purely for making sure that Regulus didn’t feel left out from Sirius getting the family ring but, looking at your modest creations, your magnate mind begins to manifest an innovative idea you’re itching to begin. Your schedule is going to fill up very quickly and soon — there isn’t a chance that you’ll wait on this. 

1st September 1971

Today couldn’t have crept up on you quickly enough. One minute you were settling into a cosy routine with your darling sons and now you were sending the eldest away for wizarding boarding school. It was happening too fast and your heart was constantly breaking from being torn between freely letting him go and childishly begging him to stay so that you could spend as much time with him as possible. Even the novelty of rushing onto platform 9¾ through the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 couldn’t keep the tears from filling your eyes. However, your unhappiness and woe were quickly wiped away when Sirius expressed muted sadness at the idea that his father was too busy to see him off to Hogwarts. That morning, try as you might you couldn’t convince Orion to be there for his son. The git was lucky Sirius had interrupted your argument to express his acceptance and neutrality over the situation or else you would have clocked the pretentious asshole’s jaw. You would be surprised if the hypothetical punch landed hard enough to dislocate both of his temporomandibular joints. He would be eating through a tube if it weren’t for your little boy’s interruption but you’ll be sure to sink your teeth into your git of a husband as soon as you get home. 

Regulus seems to be whispering something to his older brother as they share a hug of goodbye. There was plenty of time for Sirius to get onto the train - you made sure of that - and you promised to wave him off as the train left the station so none of you were in any rush to leave the other. You kindly smile down at their wholesome interaction, completely drawn in by their innocence and heartfelt brotherly love for each other. Their relationship was worth preserving and building up. You were once saddened by Sirius and Regulus’ torn apart brotherhood but now, you’ll be devastated if your sons ever broke their bond like in the movies and books. So distracted by your loveable sons’ endearing display, you miss the shocked looks you were receiving from fellow parents of other children who were also boarding to attend Hogwarts — they simply couldn’t believe it! 

Everyone knew the matriarch of the Black family. However, the very picture of her now was not what was to be expected. Rumours of her cold and unsympathetic disposition appeared as slanderous lies when they took in your warm smile and fond stare, looking solely upon your two sons. It was well-known amongst the wizarding community that the famous Black family’s eldest son, Sirius Black, would begin attending Hogwarts this year. They expected to see a conceited and substantially reserved display of the family by the platform but not… not this! This is something for the papers! Had the matriarch of the most ancient and noble house of Black always looked this beautiful and kind? Surely not!… But their eyes weren’t being deceived, they were seeing the truth! Many gasped and openly stared, thankfully hushed down by the nosiness of the platform, whilst others didn’t know how to interpret the display and opted to avert their eyes.

Around his small wrist, Sirius keeps your clay star pendant around his wrist, which had been painted a deep black per his request while the ’S’ is marked with metallic silver paint. He has such good taste for aesthetics despite his young age. Every day there was something new to be proud of him for, no matter how little. You love being a mother!

“Oh darling, I’m going to miss you so so much. You must promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, don’t be scared about making friends,” you look him in the eye as you say so, combing your fingers through his hair and pushing away the curling locks from his forehead, “they’re going to love you just as much as I do,”

“Me too, Siri,” Regulus’ soft interjection brings out a mutual laugh from you and the eldest Black brother. Sirius brings Regulus into another hug that you are also brought into.

“And if they don’t like you then they can suffer having none of those mini pies I baked for you,” the two of you share a smirk and a wink. Sirius had requested some shelf-stable foods to bring such as his favourite chutney, jams and jerky, all homemade by you, especially for him. Of course, you didn’t say no. You even suggested bringing along something yummy for the train ride despite already providing him an allowance to spend on the trolley. 

“Regulus and I will write to you as often as we can so be on the lookout for our letters, okay?” he nods, eyes already sparkling from the anticipation and thought of receiving mail by owl solely for him. A letter addressed only to him, with his name on the envelope, and meant only for him to read — his feverish anticipation was to be expected. He couldn’t wait for his first letter. 

“I’ll write back just as much, promise!” 

“Good because if you don’t,” you scold playfully as Sirius bites back a cheeky giggle, “I’ll go to Hogwarts and demand a written letter back myself, I’ll bring Reggie with me too so that’s twice the heat you’ll be under young man, don’t forget,”

“Never,” Sirius whispers as he throws himself into your embrace once more. There’s never going to be enough hugging to satiate your aching heart, nor squash the sadness of watching your baby grow up too fast but, knowing the mischief and fun he’ll be getting up to, makes you almost giddy with excitement. You want to read all about it in his letters home! 

As much as you’d like to have said your farewells for longer, Sirius still needed to board and needed help with his luggage. Thankfully there were plenty of staff to help him lug it all around, which you smiled gratefully for. They seemed stunned by your courtesy but tipped their caps in acknowledgement and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ in return, regardless. 

Stepping back from the platform with Regulus at your side, the two of you try to follow Sirius along the train compartments as closely as you can until you finally see him settling into a box by himself. You wonder if he’ll be meeting his fellow marauders soon — god! You wish you could see them as adorable 11-year-old babies like your Sirius right now. 

Regulus toddles up to be closer to the window, opposed to the thought of separating from his brother and tries to hold one last conversation with Sirius as everyone waits for the train to depart. To hear him clearer, Sirius reaches up to open the window. Smiling at the pair fondly, you almost miss a heart-stopping sight. From your left peripheral, you spot an untameable mess of dark hair and round hazel eyes sparkling in jubilation, framed with an adorable pair of round glasses — you barely withhold your gasp of surprise. But all too soon, from your right, you glimpse a head of neatly trimmed but slightly grown-out brown hair, belonging to a rather spindly boy swamped under a cosy autumn-brown jumper. On his softly curving jaw is a light, nicking scar and when he turns his head ever so slightly, you see another more prominent scar marked across the pudge of his cheek. You’ve seen a wild, baby-ish James Potter and Remus Lupin. Almost all of the marauders were spotted getting onto the Hogwarts Express but do you even want to see the final member? No! Of course not! It was then that you noticed sandy-blonde hair weaving through the crowds of parents wishing their children farewell – a last-minute attempt at getting onto the train on time. Behind him, he is followed by a similarly blonde woman, his mother. Goodness, both share such startling similarities, both have curved edges to their silhouette, pink cheeks and sea-blue eyes. They looked like an adorable pair and you had to admit that Peter’s portly appearance made him incredibly endearing for his age. They looked like an ordinary, harmless mother-son pair, much like you and your boys…

A whistle pierces through the station and snaps you out of your daze. Finally turning back to your Sirius, your eyes tear up again for the umpteenth time that day. Regulus had rushed back to your side, clinging onto the long, black skirt of your dress with one hand as he used the other to wave goodbye. Silently, you mouth an ‘I love you’. He isn’t as surprised as when you whispered the same affection to him whilst still on the platform so he was able to mouth it back — ‘I love you too, Mother,’ — your heart pinches. Picking Regulus up, you sit him on the curve of your hip and wave Sirius off together. You see the slight shimmer of tears in Sirius’ eyes too just before the train moves too far and takes Sirius away with it. 

You miss him already.

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY →

A/N : surprise! goodness, this was a really big chapter hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! i also would like to gently remind everyone that i am no longer doing taglists but to be notified whenever i post something, please follow and turn on notifications for reblog side account: @thekqipond where i will be reblogging every new fic as soon as i post it! the reason i was able to post this chapter a month ahead of my official come-back in October was to test my taglist solution and the order of chapters i want to post by Christmas ;) i hope you enjoy!

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

[veltana]

Buy my heart - 3

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~1,2k

✦ Rating for this part: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Alpha!Bucky, Omega!Reader, slow burn, eventual smut, pet names (little darling/darling), mentions of gambling addiction.

✦ Series summary: In a desperate attempt to rescue your family from debt, you decide to auction yourself off. The alpha who purchases you turns out to be quite different from what you imagined, leading to a marriage that exists only on paper. However, when an omega moves in with an alpha who hasn't experienced a rut in years and is determined to keep things strictly professional despite his instincts, complications arise.

✦ In this part: The clothes arrive and you have dinner with Bucky.

✦ Note: Reblogs, comments and asks are much appreciated!

Series masterlist

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The contract is long. Bucky claims it's thin. Sitting at the small table at a window in your room, you do your best to go through it. The formal language makes it hard to decipher but so far you've been able to figure out a few things.

Bucky only needs a wife on paper. As far as you can tell, the contract doesn't require you to share a life or even a bedroom with him. There's also no mention of having kids, which is a relief. You're not going to live like a wife and husband, or an omega and an alpha. But still, there is an exclusivity clause.

A small part of you was hoping that now that you're with an alpha you wouldn't have to spend your heats by yourself. It's torture to go through it with just a toy, making it an endless spiral of pain where there should be pleasure. The few times you've had company during heats it's been great, but that was many years ago and he was a beta.

Also, how is Bucky going through his ruts alone? Does the clause only apply to you?

You're interrupted by a knock on the door and when you call for the person to come in, Natasha steps inside. “The clothes arrived, is it okay if they hang them in the closet?” Standing up, you nod dumbly, not really understanding what she means but then she gestures behind her and a slew of people swarm into your room.

In no time things are hanging everywhere in your walk-in closet. More clothes than you've ever had throughout your whole life. When the people are done they leave, but Natasha stays behind.

“As I said before, I didn't know what style you prefer, and not everything will fit. Just put that aside and we'll send it back.”

You find yourself empty of words, and tears burn the back of your eyes as you stare at the opulence of fabric.

“Hey, are you okay?” Natasha sounds concerned. “Here, sit down.” She guides you back down into the chair and takes the one opposite to you. A few straw tears roll down your cheeks but you quickly wipe them away.

“It's just a lot,” you confess with a wobbly smile. “The clothes?” “Yeah, and this,” you tap the papers on the table. “And this!” You wave your arm around the room. “This is the size of our living room at home that I shared with four other people.” Natasha nods. “Feels big?” “And quiet! I can't remember the last time it was quiet at home,” you sniffle.

Natasha smiles at you. “You'll be okay. And just so you know, you can ask anything but I can't guarantee it won't get back to Bucky. He's my friend and my boss.” “Why doesn't he marry you?” you ask. She laughs at that. “Oh, he asked! But he's like a brother to me.” “But he's not your brother by blood?” “No, we grew up close though. Our families cooperated a lot.” “Then wouldn't it make perfect sense for you to get married?” you ask confused. “It would. But I don't want to, and neither does he. He asked out of desperation, not because of some hidden feelings.”

You nod and start chewing your lip. “Anything else?” Shaking your head you just say, “Thank you for all the clothes.” “Don't mention it, I got to shop up someone else's money, it was fun,” she winks and stands up.

She seems to hesitate for a second but then decides to say. “I know Bucky is brusque sometimes, but he'll be the best alpha you've ever known, just give him some time.”

After Natasha leaves you read the rest of the contract and then decide to take a look in the closet. Previously you've only worn hand-me-downs and cheap stuff from the thrift store. Your sense of style is nonexistent and you're not sure what to do with all the options before you. Most of it is neutral but there are pops of bright colors scattered throughout.

Carefully you grab a skirt and hold it in front of you. It's soft and flowy. Too nice for you. From another place, you grab a shirt. It looks weird together with the skirt. Instead, you pick out a plain T-shirt. It reminds you of something you've seen other women wear at the coffee shop where you worked.

“I think that would look nice on you.” With a yelp you drop the clothes and turn to the door, finding Bucky leaning against the frame. “Sorry, darling, didn't mean to scare you.” “Don't worry,” you answer and quickly pick the clothes from the floor. “Dinner is in an hour and I wondered if you wanted to join me or have it up here.” “I'll join you, if you want.” “Yes, I do.” He looks around and nods in approval before his gaze shifts back to you. “Wear something nice.”

Choosing something nice proves difficult since everything is much nicer than anything you’ve ever owned. In the end, you settle on a simple, one-colored dress.

The bathroom is stocked with makeup still in its packaging and various hair styling tools and you do your best to look presentable. Once ready, you head to the dining room Bucky showed you earlier.

After taking a wrong turn and having to double back you finally find the room where Bucky is waiting. “Sorry, this place is a maze,” you apologize before sitting down across from him. “You'll learn in time,” he says, holding up his glass. In turn, you grab yours and he lightly touches it, the sound filling the room for a second.

The liquid is bubbly and slightly amber-colored, you think it's champagne. Carefully you take a sip and your whole mouth is bombarded with tastes you've never experienced before. You understand why rich people drink this.

“That's amazing,” you tell him. “Never had champagne before?” It's such a stupid question you can't help your response. “Yeah, that's why my family had to put me up for auction, to afford champagne,” your voice is filled with acid. A moment too late you realize who you're talking to.

Across from you, Bucky is not impressed, his eyes dark and his face impassive. “Sorry,” you say, avoiding his gaze and sinking into the chair, pulling your shoulders up to make yourself small. “It's lovely. Thank you.”

He puts his glass down. “Tell me about your family.” You'd rather talk about anything else but you don't feel like you're in a position to deny him a request like that at the moment.

“I lived with my parents and two younger brothers just outside the harbor district. Dad works there. I have two older sisters but I don't see them much.” “You still lived at home?” With a sigh you take another sip, hoping the alcohol will grant you strength to go through the memories.

“Dad works long days and mom works sometimes. We used to have it better, live more uptown, but…” you take a deep breath. “Turns out mom has a gambling problem and she had racked up quite a bit of debt with some bad people. My salary went towards helping to pay it off and I couldn't afford my own apartment. But I'd do anything for my family.”

Right then the food arrives. It's soup in a very small bowl. If this is what rich people eat for dinner, no wonder they're all so stiff and unbearable. They must be hungry all the time!

To avoid having to talk more about it, you concentrate on the food. It's delicious. One of the best things you've ever eaten. It's a shame the bowl is so small because you could have easily eaten double. Too quickly it's gone and for the first time you look up, noticing Bucky is only halfway done.

This dinner is turning out to be a real embarrassment for you. For the third time since you entered the room, you apologize for your behavior, and you feel it won't be the last. “I'm not used to eating slowly,” you explain. Bet Bucky is starting to regret buying you right about now. Maybe you can ask Natasha for some pointers on how to blend in more quickly. The servers soon come back to collect the dishes and you're left alone in silence.

“I have a question about the contract,” you say after a moment, hoping it will save you from discussing the previous topic more. “I said you're welcome to talk to my lawyer about any questions.” “I think I'd rather ask you about this one.”

A curious expression crosses his face. “Go on.” Gathering all your courage, you ask about the exclusivity clause, though you still feel embarrassed to bring it up. “If I understood correctly, there is no requirement to sleep together, in any kind of way.” “Correct,” he nods. “We're also not required to share a life, except for appearance's sake.” “Yes,” “What about when my heat comes, or your rut?”

“I haven't had a rut in years,” Bucky says matter-of-factly, then shrugs. “As for your heat, I'll make myself scarce and you're free to nest in your room as you like.”

The next course arrives before you can ask more questions. It's a very small sandwich with something gooey on top. The server pours wine for you into another of your glasses. You've heard about pairing wine with food but never done it in your life.

As they leave you ignore the food and ask him, “Are you on suppressants?” “No,” he answers shortly, clearly not fond of the topic. You can take a hint and you drop it, turning to the small sandwich. It's just as delicious as the soup but the conversation doesn't pick up after that.

next

[vaguely-concerned]

another really interesting thing in our man bashir to me is that I think this is the point where garak finally mostly relinquishes his self-appointed role as bashir's teacher. he seems to have taken it upon himself early on, for inscrutable but probably partially horny, partially cultivating a promising (and lovely) contact reasons of his own, to imbue julian bashir with some spysmarts and basic bastard thinking literacy skills, in the hopes that he won't go get his bright beautiful excitable ass killed at the first opportunity. there's a lot of mentor/protege undertone there in the early years. (if you want to get into asit stuff, very much in the same vein as palandine and garak's relationship in the beginning.)

but in omb garak really only has one of his little lectures, and it's basically about The thing about being a spy (and a person) that has most shaped his life: That's something else you've yet to learn, Doctor. A real intelligence agent has no ego, no conscience, no remorse. Only a sense of professionalism. There is no joy, no magic, no real delight to this, no winning, no recognition, and most importantly no connection; the reward for work well done is only ever the work itself. You don’t kiss the girl, get the key — you simply get on with turning yourself into nothing as best you can. and julian, who had just been trying to momentarily imagine a world where secrets can be cool and glamorous and for good, meaningful reasons that empower him to help the world rather than shameful and isolating and alienating and like a damocles sword hanging over him and everything he cares about, shoots back with 'well, but what if not that, though? that's the whole point of this game! this is my story not yours, trust me to know it better than you do. (I have more things to teach you too, if you’d just listen. And once he gets shot a little bit, garak does listen.)'

(somewhere beneath all this is almost exactly the same debate they will have explicitly later on -- "Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all"/"If that's true, that's one lesson I never want to learn". Something something the freedom to imagine and play around with different worlds in your head, no matter how cringefail james bond LARP nonsense that world is as long as it brings you hope and joy and new perspectives, kill the part of you that cringes etc. Garak you're allowed to get out of the closet in your head now, Tain is gone, you can imagine different things than what has been and no one will turn it against you. Im… sad)

through most of this episode garak is observing, and when he's not simply bitching about everything from the sidelines (<3), he's tentatively trying to throw in comments to play along, to figure out how the flow goes like he's learning a different language, and he's BAD at it hahaha. he barged in there to put himself in a position to learn something about julian bashir's ~*hidden inner psyche*~, but UH-OH spiritual uno reverse card time he's having to face some shit about his own psyche and the immense barrenness it's been forced to operate under for so long.

The learning between them has of course always been two-way (that’s partially what the whole relationship is built on), but in giving up the more ‘formal’ role — mask — of teacher, garak is also opening up space for realer emotional intimacy, letting one layer of artificiality fall and allowing more realness to shine through. even so he doesn’t let go of control completely until he’s faced with irrefutable (horny) proof that julian’s sentiments and ideals are backed by real conviction — julian knows (possibly better than garak does) what is a game, and what is real, and where he draws the line between frivolous and deeply necessary is different from where garak would and by the end of the ep I think garak trusts julian more, enough to leave the story in julian’s hands without trying to steer or form him even indirectly/sneakily. And to top it all off, the way julian uses his last dramatic speech to signal that he did also listen to what garak told him… augh.  

the teacher role, along with the lies (ever his swiss army knife god bless), has helped garak keep a sort of fine-tuned control of the level of emotional intimacy possible between them, stay in control of what narratives are even on the table. and I think finally letting that fade more into the background transforms their relationship in ways that can pay off big time down the line, for all that it leaves things a bit strange and tentative in the meantime. by garak standards he’s being positively transparent in this episode. for the first time he talks about his time in the order without any coy prevarication, he states his hunger for knowing julian better right down to his ~*hidden inner psyche*~ almost pathetically openly (<3<3<3<3). And this is just my headcanon and definitely not what was meant at the time of airing, the unplanned nature of the augment reveal being what it is, but in context of the whole show as it became it feels a lot like garak offering some of his own authenticity to signal that julian could trust him with his. It feels like garak has figured out at least the rough outlines of what julian has uh got going on and tried to make this gambit, having… perhaps underestimated the extent of the defenses julian has internally/psychologically against Being Known, quite aside from the practical real world consequences of his secret getting out. Anyway. Lots in this episode. Many thoughts.

[minnielvr]

PROD. KITKAT - CHAPTER 3 : "fine shyt"

while on the way to the jyp building for your first official job with stray kids, you wondered how it would be. would they be loud like they usually are? will they be awkward around you? you didn't have enough time to think about it though, you were already at jyp.

you scan your id badge and make your way over to one of the recording rooms. todays plan was to talk to stray kids and see the concept they had in mind for their new album and make some sample beats for music.

you find the room and knock on the door, you hear someone say come in and then open the door to find bang chan, changbin, and jisung. you bow your head and greet them and they do the same.

"good morning y/n, how are you?" bang chan asks you.

"good morning to you too, im doing fine, and you?" you replied back. you were still trying to talk formally with him, at least in korean, it felt more professional, especially since you just met him.

"im doing good too, excited to work with you today" he smiles at you.

you give a polite smile and nod your head in return. you thought that you should talk to changbin and jisung too. you turn your head toward them, but they are already talking and giggling with each other, you decided to just stay quiet.

bang chan called your name and showed you all the equipment in the room, which wasn't much different than all the other rooms you had worked in. again, you weren't really paying attention to what he was saying just letting it go through one ear and out the other, muttering the occasional "ohh, yea, really?, wow" here and there.

all of a sudden there was a loud knock on the door and the rest of the stray kids showed up. the room instantly became loud but not for long because felix spotted you in the corner of the room and said, "oh look, y/n noona is here!" after that, everyone went silent, and it got kind of awkward.

"well lets get to work then?" jisung asked, trying to break the tension.

the rest of the members sat down and explained what the whole theme and concept of the album was, as well as explaining what type of music they wanted. you took notes on your laptop, making reminders and such, while occasionally checking your phone. you discussed with them a little bit to go over everything and made sure you understood correctly.

after the little discussion was done, every member left except bang chan, changbin, and jisung. you figured now you guys were going to play around with some beats and see what you could come up with.

you guys did exactly that, for 2 hours straight. you also talked a bit with the boys, getting to know them more. they seemed like nice guys, you just didn't want to work with them. you missed working with your friends. (mainly because you didn't actually work)

changbin and jisung had to leave early with the other boys for dance practice or something like that, but you stayed with chan for a little longer. helping him sample some things and whatnot.

"so y/n," chan says in english, "what do you think so far? about us, i mean."

"oh uh, you guys are," you spent a good 10 seconds trying to find a word to describe them, "unique."

chan laughed, "unique?? whats that supposed to mean?" he said with a smile on his face.

you finally realized it could have sounded rude and your eyes went wide and you instantly started apologizing.

"oh my god im sorry i didn't mean it like that!!" you said while shaking your hands.

he laughed again, "im just messing with ya, i know what you meant."

you sighed, feeling relieved.

"actually, you and felix remind me of this other friend i have, his name is jake, hes from another kpop group" you explained.

"jake from enhyphen?" bang chan asked.

you nodded your head in response.

"ohh felix is actually friends with him, i think. anyway did you use to work with them too?"

"nah i've only worked here, i just know them because of itzy."

"ahh. so you have a lot of idol friends then im guessing?"

"not really, i try to keep it professional when im working but itzy are just something else. they always used to pull me around and take me with them wherever they went. we're like sisters to be honest. without them and enhyphen, i'd be pretty lonely." you say, reminiscing old memories.

bang chan looks at you with a little glow in his eyes, it reminds him of how he felt with his boys.

"ah, so all your other friends are back home?" he asked.

"yea, but i never really have time to go back, jyp never gives me time off. so we kinda grew apart, except a few really close friends." you said with a sad expression. you realized you were becoming a little too emotional and decided to change the subject.

"so anyway, whats it like being an idol? i heard you guys are like, at your peak right now and stuff." you asked.

"its..stressful to say the least. especially because i also have to produce the music. my old partners wouldn't really do anything so i was left making all the music. thats why we needed to hire someone different." he explained.

'shit' you thought to yourself. you barely do work yourself. what made jyp think you can work with a top boy group right now?

"oh damn, well, i assure you, i'll help you a lot. or - i'll try my best." you said with a smile on your face. he seemed like he need the help anyway, he always looked tired.

you guys carried on doing work and talking until it was 7:00, the sun had already set and you figured it was the best time to get going now.

you and bang chan wrapped up and walked out the door, he was making his way to the dance room and you to the lobby, you said your goodbyes and went your separate ways.

───────────────────────────────

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the taglist is open!!! pls comment on this post or send an ask if u wld like to be added!!!

authors note: me when fine shyt

taglist : @kkamismom12 @haven-skies @likeathunderoverflow @hwangrfrnd @xerces00 @hyunjinvoid @dansphil

[satsuha]

i've been very slowly replaying aa4 in korean because i emulated aa4 the first time i played it which means my switch cartridge doesn't have completed save data for 4... i thought about story mode-ing it all but i figured i might see something interesting if i play it in a different language

the korean aa localization isn't much of a localization because the names are the same as the japanese and the characters explicitly say they're japanese people IN japan but there are still a few differences that i find interesting that the korean version added:

in 4-2, when apollo meets trucy properly for the first time, he starts off by talking to her in polite/formal language because clearly he's here expecting a job interview or something, but drops it at one point when he decides he doesn't want to keep being formal with a kid LOL

Apollo: O-of course. This is the Wright & Co. Law Offices, right? (formal language) ???: ...That's what I thought. ???: Sometimes... we still get people coming here with the wrong idea. Apollo: ...Sorry, but I'm going to speak plainly. Who are you? (informal language)

what i find interesting here is that i went to cross check the japanese version and while it does seem like he Might be a little more informal than he was previously, he doesn't literally say anything about dropping the formal language with her.

Apollo: ...Er, who are YOU supposed to be?

here's the same exchange in english just as a reference:

something similar happens shortly after when they go see phoenix in the clinic, where phoenix drops the title in apollo's name - in 4-1, he refers to apollo exclusively as 오도로키 변호사 (lit. "attorney justice", the localized equivalent would be "mr. justice") but calls him just 오도로키 (his surname without an honorific, the localized equivalent would be "apollo") from this point onwards.

Phoenix: Hello. You're here earlier than I thought. Ah, I'll speak to you plainly from now on, Apollo. Apollo: Mr. Wright...

again, there's no mention of him explicitly dropping the honorific in japanese, particularly because phoenix calls him オドロキくん (his surname "odoroki-kun", localized equivalent would be "apollo") even during 4-1.

the "-kun" honorific equivalent does actually exist in korea but it's far less widely used hence the removal of the honorific entirely in korean... but i do find it interesting that the korean version had phoenix talk to apollo in a much more professional way in 4-1 and explicitly changing it in 4-2 once they're out of the courtroom.

Phoenix: Good morning. You're here faster than I expected. ...Apollo.

again, english version for reference:

none of this really means anything i just simultaneously find it a bit funny that despite not localizing any other part of it, the korean localization team still felt like they had to adhere closer to korean formalities instead of sticking to how the characters talk in japanese, but also i'm always interested in breaking down how characters talk to each other... since i do look at korean/japanese fanwork a lot it's interesting to see how these kinds of nuances affected different interpretations between languages too.

anyway i'm only halfway through 4-2 and also prioritizing playing other games so who knows how long this will take me but maybe i'll make a post every now and then if i see anything that interests me

[bookshelfdreams]

So the German dub is out and I would like to offer up to all of you how it deals with the problem of formal/informal form of address because it's really interesting

(Preface: all of this applies how we as modern people use these forms of address. In the actual 18th century, addressing any adult informally was very uncommon, even between close friends. But we're doing a DJenkins approach here)

(@rocketrouquine wrote about how it is handled in the French dub here; also very interesting!)

The thing to understand about formal vs informal you is that it's about politeness, yes - but that's just a very basic understanding. Yes, you are supposed to be formal with people you don't know, but what they don't teach you in highschool foreign language class are all the things choice of address can communicate. Namely, what distance there is between people. About the closeness of a relationship, what level you're interacting on, about signaling how far you will let a person into your life.

The crew of the Revenge all call each other Du (informal) - except for Stede, who everyone calls Sie (formal). Du is for friends and Stede is not their friend, he is the boss. There is a camaraderie and solidarity among the crew that Stede can't partake in. Sie, in this case, is like a barrier that you put up to keep someone from becoming too friendly with you and reminding them what kind of relationship this is (namely, a purely professional one).

This is underlined by the crew obviously and openly thinking Stede is an idiot - and by Stede calling everyone Du. Is it because he sees himself as a social superior who can address people informally but insists on formal address for himself? That's one way to read it! But more interesting and more accurate, in my opinion, is to read this as an attempt by Stede to make himself part of their ingroup. It's especially obvious when Stede invites Olu and Jim to sit with him on the couch in ep1; he's using Du while Olu very poignantly keeps insisting on Sie. It underlines how visibly uncomfortable Olu is sitting there trying to explain to Stede that people choose a life of crime out of necessity, while making Stede seem even more oblivious and out of place.

Interestingly, Stede uses Sie himself to put some professional distance between himself and someone else. Namely, with the tribe elder from ep2, who he addresses formally. Is this a sign of respect? Sure, he has a tendency to go for Sie by default. But it reminds me more of how one would be per Sie with a doctor or therapist; as a reminder that this is a strictly professional relationship. It's easier to be open and vulnerable with someone who you know isn't emotionally invested in your wellbeing, isn't it?

Stede comes from a background where one is expected to address everyone with Sie unless granted permission otherwise. This is a sign of respect, the same way lower class people on this show tend to use Du as sign of solidarity; on Nigel's ship, all the officers call each other Sie. So when Nigel uses Du with Stede, it adds a layer of disrespect, despite it being perfectly acceptable, since they have known each other as children. This is even more evident with Chauncey, who we see interact more with other pirates; when he wants something from someone (Izzy, Spanish Jackie) he calls them Sie, no problem, while Nigel's crew doesn't even make an attempt at showing some respect at the ep1 tea party.

And then there's Izzy. Izzy and Stede call each other every insult under the sun and also address each other formally the whole time, which is the funniest possible choice. Like. I'm not sure why "Sie Arschloch!" is 1000x more bitchy than "Du Arschloch!" but it just is. It's taking this whole game of distance and closeness to a whole new level; I despise you so much I would never entertain the notion of being friendly enough with you to use your first name. Sie Wichser. It's made even funnier by the fact that for Stede, Sie is much more intuitive than for Izzy. It seems like Izzy has to make a lot more of an effort to keep the Sie up, but he's not gonna be the one to break this particular stalemate first, goddammit.

Finally (because that's the really interesting bit, isn't it) Ed. Initially, in ep3, Stede calls Ed Sie, which, of course he would think to do that while he's laying there half dead and bleeding, I love him. Ed echoes this back, because he's determined to "do this right", make a good first impression, and I thought this would be it, they'd be per Sie until the kiss, like it often goes in media translated from English. Fine, I guess.

But then.

When Ed wakes Stede up, he immediately goes for Du. No warm up, no getting to know each other first at all. And it's great! First of all, because Ed of course is the type of person to just call everyone Du, but also because of what happens next: Stede calls him Du back. This is the first time this particular hand has been extended to him, and oh, is he excited to take it.

(Other people call Stede Du first, Spanish Jackie, the chief, but it's not like this; not an invitation)

Stede isn't meeting Blackbeard, he's meeting some guy named Ed. Someone he instantly makes friends with; someone who has already seen him at his worst and so, who he can be himself with. Someone he doesn't need to put up pretenses or worry about proper behaviour with. This scene would have lost so much had they decided to keep up the Sie.

Remember that camaraderie I talked about earlier? Solidarity among the crew that Stede tries but can't manage to share in? Here it is! Here is the guy who will play dress up with him, who will delight in his interests, who will be his friend.

Yes, sometimes an unprompted Du can be disrespectful. But sometimes it is like this: Hey. I see you. Want to be friends?

[copperbadge]

I was watching hockey earlier today and it got me wondering what sports are played in Askazer-Shivadlakia. Football & surfing’s been mentioned, what else is played in the country? Does it snow enough in the highlands for there to be any winter sports enthusiasts? What’s the state of women’s professional sports? Does the country compete in anything internationally? The Olympics are awful, but does the Ask send a delegation of athletes anyway?

It's not something I've thought a lot about outside of football, I admit, though thinking about the football program has clarified some aspects of it. Mainly I just am not entirely sure how a lot of sports...work, so I kind of stay hands-off.

Askazer-Shivadlakia has never been a super wealthy country. Jason was a bit of a traditionalist and Michaelis was concerned with modernizing but he wasn't an innovator per se, unless pushed; by the end of his reign the country was reaching a point where it had the kind of money to sustain a university or expand its public services fairly radically, but only just. Gregory is a big part of that because he trained as an economist, and while he's only been king for about two years, he's been working in the administration for much longer. He's been able to institute changes that have led to a comfortable surplus in the budget.

So for example, Michaelis wouldn't let the government fund a professional sports team of any kind because the money it would take was already being spent on the youth sports program. He felt that giving kids the chance to play sport was more important than sustaining a team, and said that their athletes were a gift they gave the world. And now that elite players are returning from playing abroad with money and the intention to spend it on supporting a team, his investment is actually, unexpectedly, paying off. Michaelis just wanted the kids of his country to learn self-discipline and good sportsmanship but in doing so he also ensured that if you leave the Ask to seek your fortune as an athlete, once you've got a fortune, you come back home to spend it. And Gregory's work means the government can help.

Football and F1 racing are the two big passion sports the Shivadh follow, though F1 is a fandom, not a pastime. There's decent surfing but that's more a tourist thing. Definitely there are regions that get cold enough for winter sports, but like surfing most of the ski/board sites are tourist-focused, places that ranch dairy cattle in the summer and then host tourists in the winter when the cows are in the warmer lowland pastures. Undoubtedly there are Shivadh snow sport enthusiasts and the country supports them if they compete internationally (both in terms of cheering them on and financially) but there's no program or deep tradition of it. If I ever actually write about those areas extensively that might change, though.

Women's sport has equal support to men's generally, whatever level that might be -- Askazer-Shivadlakia has always been relatively progressive but when Michaelis was elected, Miranda made it her business to push legislation that explicitly protected things like equal funding for women's sport and education and access to birth control and abortion. (She's also the reason weed is legal and Gerald can get Adderall in Europe, where it's banned in a lot of places; there's something to be said for the scion of old conservative nobility who is simply ready to wreck shit.)

There is no golf. Michaelis detests it personally and there's no room for it anyway. If they ever build Askazarama Amusement Park, they might get a mini-golf course.

I don't really know how the Olympics and other international competitions work. If there are talented athletes who want to compete and seem capable of qualifying, there's state funding for them, but there's no formal program where like, the MPs sit down every two years and pick out the top athletes they want to send. Likely most people interested in elite sport competition have to leave the country to train, and represent other countries as a result -- like Paolo in the football novel, who left when he was a young teen to attend a junior academy in France and entered professional play from there.

Shivadh still feel ownership of them, mind you. For example, Felix (the love interest in the football novel) played on the Italian national team and kicked a winning goal in a World Cup for Italy, but Askazer-Shivadlakia consider that cup theirs. A Shivadh did it, ergo it is a Shivadh victory. If an athlete were to say, represent France in an Olympic decathlon and take the gold, they would consider that to be a gold medal for Askazer-Shivadlakia.

The country is very excited about finally having a football team of their own. Shivadh Royal Football Club could lose every game it ever plays and still nobody would let a word be said against them. Fons-Askaz on match day is just a sea of hideous orange Shivadh RFC jerseys that say NARAN JUICE on the front. (Their major sponsor is local juice box and sports drink maker Naran Juice Box Co.)

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 3

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, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, 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: Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz (ft. Yacht Money)

reformed symbol

It was late. The type of late where the world outside was swallowed by silence, the soft hum of the White House barely a murmur against the quiet of the night. The only sound that accompanied you as you worked in your bedroom was the faint clicking of your pen as you reviewed the never-ending stack of paperwork. You’d taken on more than you had anticipated since you’d assumed the presidency, and though your mind begged for rest, the tasks never seemed to slow down.

Tonight, you’d chosen to forgo the usual formal attire in favor of something more comfortable—sleep shorts and a loose pajama shirt, your hair loosely pulled back from your face. The outfit was an indulgence in practicality, something that allowed you to focus on the task at hand without feeling confined. Yet, even in these less-than-presidential clothes, you still felt the weight of the power you held. You had to.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes as you closed the last of the files in front of you. It was time to call it a night. As you gathered up your papers, you noticed something out of place—the jacket of Dean’s suit hanging over the back of one of the chairs. Dean.

You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you were well aware of how easy it was to get lost in the day-to-day of your duties. His presence had become as much a part of your routine as anything else, though, unlike the paperwork, his presence made you… distracted.

You picked up the jacket, noting how perfectly it had been tailored to his broad shoulders. Dean looked good in that suit. Too good. But you weren’t going to let yourself dwell on that now. He was probably fast asleep by now, after all.

With a soft exhale, you turned to leave your bedroom. You could return the jacket to his room—he was likely asleep by now, probably in his bed, far enough from the office to miss your small intrusion. As you walked down the hallway toward his quarters, you couldn’t shake the lingering sense of curiosity about what was behind that closed door.

You reached his office, noticing that the door was slightly ajar. Of course, Dean never really seemed to care about privacy—either that, or he simply had no awareness of his own effect on people. You peered into the room, making sure he wasn’t awake, and decided to step in.

You wanted to be the considerate one—this wasn’t about your attraction to him, not entirely. You were the President; you had a job to do. So, with that in mind, you walked into the room and began to place the jacket at the foot of his bed. As you did so, you froze.

The bathroom door opened.

And there he was.

Dean.

The man was standing in the doorway, only a towel wrapped around his waist, his damp hair falling in wet curls around his face. His sharp jawline glistened with droplets of water, and his bare chest—oh, his bare chest—was the epitome of muscle and power. He was a goddamn vision in the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Your heart skipped a beat, and it was as though your brain had temporarily short-circuited, unable to process the sight before you.

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

You froze. He froze. The two of you stood there in the doorway for a moment, each unsure how to move, unsure how to act. Your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean’s brow furrowed in surprise as he stepped back from the doorway, eyes widening slightly. His expression quickly morphed into a mixture of confusion and, dare you think it, amusement. “Well, this is awkward.”

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how completely unprepared you were for this moment. Your fingers fidgeted with the collar of his jacket as you offered an awkward, half-hearted smile. “I—uh—I came to bring your jacket back,” you said, your voice sounding far too casual for the circumstances. “I didn’t think you’d still be… up.”

Dean chuckled softly, running a hand through his damp hair as he took a step toward you. His muscles rippled under the dim light, and you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the defined lines of his chest and abdomen. You forced yourself to look away, but it was hard.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on having company,” he said, voice low and rich, like velvet. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you, and for a split second, you felt his eyes trace over your form, not lingering on the obvious—your face—but rather… everything else. You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you at that.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you stammered, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to focus. “I’ll just—um—I’ll just leave this here.”

Dean stepped closer, his proximity making the air thick with tension. “You’re not interrupting,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now. “It’s just…” He paused, his eyes flicking over you once again. “Well, this is… unexpected.”

It was impossible not to feel self-conscious now. The way his gaze moved over you—it wasn’t just lingering. It was studying, savoring. A shiver ran down your spine, and for a moment, you wondered if he could hear the frantic beating of your heart.

Your hands shook as you gently placed his jacket on the edge of the bed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore. Why did you feel so… flustered? This wasn’t a presidential matter. It wasn’t official business. It was a man in a towel and a woman in sleepwear, both with an undeniable tension hanging in the air. You swallowed, trying to control your racing pulse.

“Dean,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You should… probably put some clothes on.”

Dean didn’t seem bothered by your comment. If anything, the grin that crept onto his face only deepened the tension. He looked you over again, eyes softening as his lips curled into something dangerously close to flirtation. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he asked, his voice dripping with a teasing undertone.

“No,” you said quickly, far too quickly, and you mentally cursed yourself. “No, of course not. I was just… returning your jacket.”

“Mm-hmm.” Dean’s eyes darkened, and you could tell that he was amused. “You’re sure you didn’t come in here for something else?”

You stiffened, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was now. The heat from his body seemed to radiate through the space between you, and it was enough to send your heart racing again. You cursed yourself internally—this was Dean. He was your bodyguard, and you were his charge. There was no room for these kinds of distractions.

“No,” you said, more firmly this time, even though your voice still betrayed you. “Just your jacket.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, still holding that maddeningly confident smirk. “Alright then.”

The moment stretched out, the awkwardness thick in the air as neither of you seemed to know how to proceed. The words didn’t come easy now, and all you could focus on was the man in front of you, his damp skin gleaming faintly in the low light, the way his eyes seemed to burn into yours.

“Well,” you finally said, your voice sounding smaller than you’d intended. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

Dean nodded slowly, his smirk never faltering. “Of course. I’ll let you get back to it.”

And yet, as you turned to leave, there was something in his eyes—something that made you second-guess your exit. Something that made your pulse quicken once again.

“Goodnight,” you said, your voice soft as you gave him a brief glance over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he echoed, his tone far warmer than before, his gaze lingering a moment too long.

And as you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t stop the rush of heat that spread across your cheeks. You had no idea why you were so flustered, but you couldn’t deny the undeniable pull that had just passed between you.

You silently cursed your attraction to him, but deep down, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Dean Winchester was proving to be one hell of a distraction.

The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of the Oval Office, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The White House, as ever, was buzzing with activity, but inside the small dining area where you sat with Bella and Steph, it was just the three of you. Or, rather, it was supposed to be just the three of you.

You sat at the table, your breakfast half-finished but completely ignored. Your fork hovered in the air, the scrambled eggs barely touched. You’d barely registered that you were supposed to be eating. Your mind was elsewhere—on him.

Dean.

Your bodyguard.

Last night had been… distracting. A complete and utter disaster in the form of a ridiculously handsome man stepping out of the shower in nothing but a towel. And those eyes. Those dark, penetrating eyes that seemed to strip away any composure you had left. Your cheeks were still flushed thinking about it. You had tried to push the memory out of your head, but it clung to you like the scent of a perfume that wouldn’t wash away.

The way his damp hair fell over his forehead, the droplets of water glistening on his skin, the way his towel clung to his hips—God, your body had gone completely still in his presence, and not in the way you were used to. It wasn’t professional, it wasn’t rational, it was just hot.

You hadn’t even managed to get a proper word out, your mouth practically dry as you stood frozen in place. He’d looked at you, looked at you as though you were the only person in the room—and maybe you were.

You tore your gaze away from your plate for the hundredth time to look at Bella and Steph, both of whom were now watching you with amused expressions, one of them leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

Bella smirked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up with you, huh? You seem like you’ve forgotten we exist.”

Steph, always more perceptive than Bella, grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Girl, you’re miles away. We could’ve talked about anything, but you’ve been staring at your eggs for, like, the last ten minutes. What’s going on?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to maintain your composure, but the truth was, you couldn’t focus on anything other than Dean. You hadn’t had a moment like that in… well, ever. You’d been attracted to men before, but this? This felt different.

Your hand unconsciously reached for your glass of water, but it wasn’t until you noticed Bella and Steph looking at you with knowing smiles that you snapped out of it. “What?” You almost jumped out of your skin, hoping they hadn’t noticed how lost you’d been.

Steph raised her cup of coffee and sipped it lazily. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if your brain checked out of this conversation completely, or if it’s just playing hooky.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your skin suddenly feeling like it was on fire. You couldn’t lie to them—not really. Not when they had that look in their eyes. They weren’t stupid. They knew something was up.

Bella leaned in with a sly grin, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “We’ve been friends for how long now, huh? You’re telling us nothing happened last night? Nothing?”

You swallowed again, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably in your seat. “What are you talking about?” you asked, trying to play it cool.

Steph didn’t let you off the hook. She put her coffee down and stared at you seriously, her eyes narrowing. “Come on, you were talking about him last night, and now you can’t even focus? You’ve been staring at that plate like it’s your first meal in months.”

Your heart pounded as the realization hit you—they knew. They were onto you.

You let out a shaky breath. You could feel your pulse racing, the thought of admitting what had happened last night making your stomach flip uncomfortably. “It’s just…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, your fingers nervously tapping the edge of your glass.

Bella’s smirk only widened. “Come on, tell us. What’s the deal with you and your very handsome bodyguard?”

Your breath caught. You hadn’t expected them to be so direct, and yet it was exactly what you needed. You let out a long breath, looking down at the table to avoid their eyes.

“I—uh—saw him,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “I saw him after he got out of the shower last night.”

Steph’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… what? You saw him? How much did you see?”

You quickly pressed your hands to your face, feeling the heat of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to. I just went in to drop his jacket off, and the door was open and—he was right there.” You cringed, realizing you had practically sounded like an untrained schoolgirl.

Bella raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Okay, okay, so you accidentally walked in on him after he showered and he was… what? Naked?”

“Well, not completely,” you muttered, the embarrassment quickly turning to something else—something much more distracting. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “But he was wearing just a towel. And—God, it was—” You could feel yourself getting flustered, your thoughts stumbling over each other. “It was like being hit by a freight train. He’s—he’s so damn hot.” You could feel the heat pooling in your chest.

Bella and Steph exchanged looks before both of them leaned forward, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Wait,” Bella said, her voice dropping dramatically. “So, let me get this straight. You saw him like that… and you’re just sitting here, pretending it didn’t melt your brain?”

You swallowed, leaning back in your chair, trying to gather yourself. The truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his towel had clung to his waist, the faint droplets of water still clinging to his skin, the way his eyes had locked onto yours, making your heart race in your chest. “I—I don’t know what to say. I just—I didn’t expect it, okay? He’s Dean. My bodyguard. He’s… well, he’s Dean. And I just—” You cut yourself off, embarrassed that you were so clearly fumbling.

Steph was practically glowing, her face alight with a mixture of amusement and admiration. “Okay, okay. So tell me this, though. How did he look? Like… was it as good as the pictures?”

You bit your lip, glancing down at the table again, trying to hide your smile. “Better,” you admitted, unable to help yourself. “He’s even better-looking than his photos.”

Bella burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Girl, you’re down bad. And I’m here for it.”

Steph joined in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “This is so much better than I imagined. I’m living for this moment.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide the way your stomach flipped at the thought of Dean in nothing but a towel. “I just—why does he have to be so distracting?” You didn’t even realize you’d spoken the last part out loud until it was too late.

Steph and Bella both looked at each other with knowing smirks.

“You like him, don’t you?” Bella teased. “You’ve got it bad. I see it.”

You groaned, slumping into your chair in frustration. “I don’t know what’s happening,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead as if trying to erase the images of Dean from your mind. “I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. I’m the President, for God’s sake.”

Steph reached across the table, patting your hand sympathetically. “Hey, you can’t help who you’re attracted to. But you are the President, so maybe take it slow, huh?”

You sighed again, your mind too clouded with thoughts of Dean, his strong arms, the way his voice had sent shivers down your spine. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.”

But deep down, you knew you were already too far gone to try and play it cool.

You were definitely down bad for Dean Winchester.

The small, sterile room Dean called his quarters in the White House was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The night outside was dark and still, the corridors beyond his door silent as most of the staff retired for the evening. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, his boots kicked off and his tie loosened, staring at his phone as it buzzed against the nightstand.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

He hadn’t heard from Benny in a long time, but he wasn’t surprised to see the name now. If anyone could track him down, even inside the fortified walls of the White House, it was Benny. They had history—decades of shared jobs, secrets, and scars. Though Dean had walked away from that life, Benny had stayed behind, carving out his own path in the underworld.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

The familiar Cajun drawl on the other end was as smooth as whiskey, tinged with a low, almost conspiratorial urgency. “Dean-o. You’re harder to reach these days. Guess it’s what happens when you’re babysitting royalty, huh?”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

There was a brief pause, static crackling faintly in the background. Then Benny’s voice dropped, serious now. “I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t important. Figured I owed you a heads-up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened, his grip on the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn’t need to ask who the target was. He already knew. “You’re telling me they put out a hit on the President?”

“Yup,” Benny said, almost casually. But there was a current of tension beneath the calm. “Offered me a fat stack of cash to do it, too. Told me you’d gone soft, that you were playin’ house with the lady in charge and had betrayed the whole damn network.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

“I took their money, of course.” Benny chuckled lightly, but there was no mirth in it. “But relax, brother. I ain’t gonna do it. You know me better than that. Hell, I’d never hear the end of it if I put a bullet in your boss. Not that I’d wanna.”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

“Because it buys me time. If I’d said no, they’d just go to the next guy in line, and that guy might not be as nice as me. This way, I can stall ‘em. Play along for a bit, give you a chance to get your house in order.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

“Listen,” Benny interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You know how these things work. Frank’s boys are pissed, Dean. They think you flipped, and that ain’t something they’re gonna let slide. I don’t think I’m the only one they reached out to. They’re throwin’ money around like it’s candy, and you know what that means.”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“They’re gonna come for her,” Benny continued, his voice lower now. “And when they do, they ain’t gonna stop until someone cashes the check. You gotta be ready, man. Watch your six. Watch hers.”

Dean’s stomach tightened at the thought of you—working late into the night as you always did, pouring over documents, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were tough, no doubt about that, but this was a whole new level of danger. He didn’t like the thought of you being a target, vulnerable to the same ruthless world he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was yours. You—the woman who had somehow managed to earn his respect and loyalty in such a short amount of time, the woman who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had looked him in the eye and trusted him despite everything she knew about his past.

Dean exhaled sharply and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He needed to focus, to plan. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on you. Not while he was around.

The small, sterile room Dean called his quarters in the White House was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. The night outside was dark and still, the corridors beyond his door silent as most of the staff retired for the evening. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, his boots kicked off and his tie loosened, staring at his phone as it buzzed against the nightstand.

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

He hadn’t heard from Benny in a long time, but he wasn’t surprised to see the name now. If anyone could track him down, even inside the fortified walls of the White House, it was Benny. They had history—decades of shared jobs, secrets, and scars. Though Dean had walked away from that life, Benny had stayed behind, carving out his own path in the underworld.

Dean picked up the phone and answered with a quiet, “Benny. Long time, brother.”

The familiar Cajun drawl on the other end was as smooth as whiskey, tinged with a low, almost conspiratorial urgency. “Dean-o. You’re harder to reach these days. Guess it’s what happens when you’re babysitting royalty, huh?”

Dean let out a short laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Yeah, something like that. What’s up? Didn’t think you’d call just to catch up.”

There was a brief pause, static crackling faintly in the background. Then Benny’s voice dropped, serious now. “I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t important. Figured I owed you a heads-up.”

Dean straightened, his instincts kicking in at the sudden change in tone. “What kind of heads-up?”

Benny sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of what he was about to say. “Got approached by some of Frank’s men. They wanted me to take out a contract. A big one.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. His jaw tightened, his grip on the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He didn’t need to ask who the target was. He already knew. “You’re telling me they put out a hit on the President?”

“Yup,” Benny said, almost casually. But there was a current of tension beneath the calm. “Offered me a fat stack of cash to do it, too. Told me you’d gone soft, that you were playin’ house with the lady in charge and had betrayed the whole damn network.”

Dean swore under his breath, running a hand over his face. “And? What did you say?”

“I took their money, of course.” Benny chuckled lightly, but there was no mirth in it. “But relax, brother. I ain’t gonna do it. You know me better than that. Hell, I’d never hear the end of it if I put a bullet in your boss. Not that I’d wanna.”

Relief flooded Dean for a moment, but it was short-lived. The implications of what Benny was saying hit him hard. “Why the hell did you take the money, then?”

“Because it buys me time. If I’d said no, they’d just go to the next guy in line, and that guy might not be as nice as me. This way, I can stall ‘em. Play along for a bit, give you a chance to get your house in order.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

“Listen,” Benny interrupted, his tone sharper now. “You know how these things work. Frank’s boys are pissed, Dean. They think you flipped, and that ain’t something they’re gonna let slide. I don’t think I’m the only one they reached out to. They’re throwin’ money around like it’s candy, and you know what that means.”

Dean did. It meant a dozen guns aimed at the same target, and not all of them would hesitate.

“They’re gonna come for her,” Benny continued, his voice lower now. “And when they do, they ain’t gonna stop until someone cashes the check. You gotta be ready, man. Watch your six. Watch hers.”

Dean’s stomach tightened at the thought of you—working late into the night as you always did, pouring over documents, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were tough, no doubt about that, but this was a whole new level of danger. He didn’t like the thought of you being a target, vulnerable to the same ruthless world he’d worked so hard to leave behind.

“Yeah,” Dean said finally, his voice rough. “I’ll handle it.”

“You’d better,” Benny replied. “You’ve got somethin’ good here, Dean. Don’t let those bastards take it away from you.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, the line was quiet except for the faint hum of static. Then Benny added, softer now, “Take care of yourself, man. And her.”

“You too,” Dean muttered, then ended the call.

He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just his life on the line. It was yours. You—the woman who had somehow managed to earn his respect and loyalty in such a short amount of time, the woman who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had looked him in the eye and trusted him despite everything she knew about his past.

Dean exhaled sharply and stood, shoving his phone into his pocket. He needed to focus, to plan. There were too many variables, too many unknowns. But one thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone lay a finger on you. Not while he was around.

The next morning, you were in your office as usual, poring over a mountain of paperwork. The soft sound of your pen scratching against the paper filled the quiet room. You were wearing one of your usual tailored outfits, a blazer and skirt that somehow managed to look both professional and effortless. You were the picture of focus and determination, your brow furrowed slightly as you worked through the endless list of tasks that came with running the country.

But Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Benny’s warning. He stood just outside your office door, his arms crossed, his gaze scanning the hallway for any sign of trouble. His mind was a mess of plans and contingencies, all centered around keeping you safe. He knew the risks, knew the lengths to which Frank’s men would go. And he knew that if they made a move, it wouldn’t be subtle.

He couldn’t tell you—not yet, at least. You had enough on your plate without worrying about hitmen and criminal syndicates. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to protect you.

Inside the office, you glanced up from your paperwork and caught sight of Dean through the glass panel in the door. He was standing there, stoic as ever, his sharp green eyes scanning the hallway with the kind of intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of security whenever he was around. Despite his past, despite everything you knew about him, there was something about Dean that made you trust him implicitly. He was always there, always watching, always ready to step in if anything went wrong.

But there was something else, too—something you tried to ignore. The way your pulse quickened whenever he was near, the way your thoughts seemed to drift back to him no matter how hard you tried to focus. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but the truth was undeniable: Dean Winchester wasn’t just your bodyguard. He was the man who had somehow managed to turn your carefully ordered world upside down.

And now, whether you knew it or not, he was the man standing between you and the shadows creeping ever closer.

Dean’s grip on the hitman’s arm was like iron as he pushed him forward, moving swiftly through the corridors back toward where the Secret Service agents waited. The man squirmed and spat venomous words as they walked, his tone low and seething.

“You think she’s safe with you?” the hitman hissed, his voice cold and deliberate. “You’re just delaying the inevitable. People like her? Too many enemies. Too many people want her gone. She’ll never see it coming.”

Dean didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as his icy green eyes bored into the back of the man’s head. He didn’t dignify the threat with a response, choosing instead to keep his focus forward, on getting this bastard into custody.

“Face it,” the man continued, his voice laced with malice. “This doesn’t end here. This is just the beginning.”

Dean stopped abruptly, yanking the man to a halt so forcefully that the hitman stumbled. Turning him sharply, Dean grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and pulled him close, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, or her,” he said, his tone a cold growl that sent chills down the man’s spine. “If you so much as breathe another word about her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The hitman sneered, but Dean’s grip was unyielding. He shoved the man forward again, his pace brisk as he finally reached the waiting Secret Service detail outside the orphanage. The agents were already on high alert, their faces tense as they took in the scene.

“Take him,” Dean ordered, shoving the hitman into their custody. “Lock him down. Maximum security. I don’t want him talking to anyone but you, and only when I say so.”

The agents nodded, their professionalism evident as they hauled the man away, but the hitman’s threats lingered in the air. “She’s not safe. You’ll see!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the corridor as he was dragged out of sight.

Dean watched him go, his expression hard and unreadable. Only when the man was gone did he allow himself to breathe, his shoulders dropping slightly as the tension began to ease. But when he turned, his eyes immediately found you, standing near the corner of the room, trying your best to appear composed despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

You weren’t fooling him.

Even from a distance, Dean could see the subtle tremble in your hands as you folded them tightly against your chest. Your shoulders were stiff, your breaths shallow, and though you were making an admirable effort to mask the fear coursing through you, Dean knew better. He could see it in your eyes—the panic, the shock, the fear that you couldn’t quite shake.

Without hesitation, Dean walked over to you, his movements purposeful but calm, his footsteps steady against the polished floor. He didn’t say a word as he reached you, his towering presence immediately blocking out the rest of the world.

“C’mon,” he said softly, his voice gentle in a way you weren’t used to hearing. He placed a hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a quieter, more secluded part of the orphanage where no one else would bother you.

You didn’t protest, your legs moving mechanically as you followed his lead. The shock was starting to set in now, a cold weight pressing against your chest as the events replayed in your mind. The laughter of the children, the sudden crack of the gunshot, the image of Dean stepping in front of you without hesitation—all of it played in a relentless loop, leaving you reeling.

Dean led you to a small, empty lounge at the back of the building, closing the door behind you to shut out the noise. The room was dimly lit, with a worn-out couch and a few scattered chairs, but it was quiet, and that was all that mattered.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you felt your composure begin to crack. Your breathing hitched, and you turned away from Dean, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to hold it together.

But it was no use. The fear that had been building inside you finally spilled over, and before you knew it, you were trembling, tears welling in your eyes as your body betrayed you.

Dean saw it happen—the way your shoulders shook, the way you tried to hide your face as the tears started to fall. He didn’t hesitate. Closing the distance between you, he gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his touch firm but comforting.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and calm. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You shook your head, your voice breaking as you finally let the words spill out. “I— I thought I was fine. I thought I could handle it, but I—”

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” Dean interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He moved closer, his hands sliding down to your arms as he turned you to face him. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his voice was overwhelming, and it broke something inside you. The tears came harder now, and before you could stop yourself, you buried your face against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt as the sobs wracked your body.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you let everything out. His hand moved to the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he murmured softly, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, the warmth of his embrace grounding you as the fear slowly ebbed away. Dean didn’t let go, his arms a steady presence that made you feel safer than you had in weeks.

Eventually, your sobs subsided, and your breathing evened out. You pulled back slightly, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying, but there was a faint sense of relief in your chest now—a sense that, maybe, you weren’t as alone in this as you had feared.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut you off gently, his voice firm but kind. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, and you’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you met his eyes. There was something in his gaze—an unwavering determination, a promise that you knew he would keep.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hands still resting lightly on your arms. “You don’t have to thank me. It’s my job to keep you safe.”

But it wasn’t just his words that comforted you—it was the way he said them, the way he looked at you like you were more than just a job. Like you were someone worth protecting, someone worth fighting for.

And in that moment, as the world outside continued to spin in chaos, you let yourself believe him.

The night had settled in around the White House, and the silence in the halls was punctuated only by the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant murmur of security. Inside your bedroom, the air felt heavy, a mix of the warmth from the blankets tangled around your body and the cool unease that clung to you after the events of the day.

Dean had insisted on staying close after the shooting incident earlier, much to your initial hesitation. You were used to being independent, to handling things on your own, but after everything that had happened, his presence felt strangely comforting. So, when he asked if he could move a sofa into the hallway outside your room for the night, you hadn’t been able to say no.

You’d spent the evening trying to act like everything was normal—trying to forget the weight of the threat against your life, to put on a brave face for your staff, and for the children at the orphanage. But now, lying in bed, it felt impossible to escape the fear that had crept into your bones.

You turned over in bed, pulling the covers up to your chin as the darkness seemed to press in on you from all sides. Your mind wouldn’t quiet, the images of the gunshot and Dean rushing to protect you replaying over and over. Every sound seemed amplified in the stillness, and each shadow in the corners of the room seemed to take on a life of its own.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a loud crack of thunder, and you jolted upright in bed, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the storm that had startled you—it was the sudden nightmare, the sharp feeling of being hunted, of someone coming for you. You gasped for air as you tried to steady yourself, but the panic only grew, making your chest feel tight and your breathing shallow.

The nightmare had felt so real—the hitman’s words echoing in your mind, the cold barrel of a gun pressing to your temple, the realization that no matter what, you couldn’t escape.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the tears that threatened to spill. You could feel the familiar panic rising in your throat, threatening to choke you.

"Shit," you muttered to yourself, rubbing your hands over your face as if that could erase the fear. You didn’t want to wake up anyone, especially not Dean. He’d already done so much today—risked his life to protect you—and now you were losing it over a nightmare.

But as you lay there, trying to calm your breathing, you heard a faint noise—footsteps, muffled but steady. Your heart skipped a beat as the door to your room creaked open just slightly.

"Madam President?" Dean’s voice, low and rough, was a whisper in the dark.

You froze. How had he known? How had he heard you? You hadn’t even realized that you were still trembling until you heard his voice, and the warmth of it seeped through the panic that had a stranglehold on your chest.

"Dean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing in here?"

"I heard you," he said simply, his tone steady. "I heard you wake up."

You could feel his presence before you saw him—tall, imposing, yet strangely gentle as he moved toward you in the dark. The soft creak of the floorboards beneath his boots was the only sound besides the steady thrum of your heartbeat.

"I’m fine," you said quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "Just a bad dream."

Dean didn’t respond right away. Instead, there was a pause, and then the soft thud of his boots on the floor as he took a step closer. You felt his warmth before he even spoke, his voice rough but kind.

"Can I come in?" he asked, almost hesitant, as if waiting for you to give him permission.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really have to say it. You could feel the tension in the room—the mix of discomfort, vulnerability, and something else, something unspoken. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. There was something in the way he said it, in the way he always said everything. It wasn’t just the bodyguard, the protector—it was Dean.

"Yeah," you whispered, shifting slightly on the bed to make room for him.

The door creaked open wider, and a few moments later, you felt his weight settle beside you on the edge of the bed, his posture tense yet somehow relaxed. His presence filled the space, his scent—leather, soap, and something undeniably him—swirling around you as he leaned closer, his gaze searching yours in the dim light.

"Nightmare?" he asked softly, his voice almost too gentle, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile calm that had settled between you.

You nodded, your eyes flickering to his face, trying to read the expression that was hidden in the darkness. You could feel the vulnerability creeping in again, the fear, but there was something else now—comfort. Safety.

"It wasn’t just the hitman," you said quietly, your voice a little shaky as the nightmare still lingered in your mind. "It was... everything. The fear. The constant feeling that I’m being watched, that I can’t even trust the walls of this place."

Dean nodded slowly, his eyes locking onto yours as if he understood more than you expected. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the way his jaw clenched as he processed your words.

"Hey," he said, his voice steady. "You don’t have to go through this alone."

You shook your head, trying to mask the knot of emotion that was tightening in your chest. "I don’t want to be a burden to you, Dean. You’ve already done so much for me."

Dean’s expression softened, his brow furrowing slightly. "You’re not a burden," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "I’m here to protect you, but I’m also here for you. Whatever you need, I’ve got you."

His words were simple, but they hit you harder than you expected. It was the first time someone had said that to you in a long time, and you realized—more than you’d care to admit—that you wanted to believe him. That you needed to believe him.

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You could feel the weight of it, the quiet intimacy in the space between you. You tried to look away, but your eyes couldn’t seem to escape his. He was so close, just inches away, his warmth radiating toward you, his breath faintly brushing your skin.

You didn’t know who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but before you could think twice, he was leaning in, his face inches from yours. Your breath caught in your throat as his gaze flickered down to your lips, and for a split second, the world seemed to slow, everything outside of this room fading away.

"Dean..." you whispered, the sound of his name on your lips hanging in the air like a promise.

"Shh," he murmured, his hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender despite the raw intensity between you. "It’s okay. I’m here."

The words settled in your chest, a warmth spreading through you that chased away the lingering chill of the nightmare. For a moment, the world seemed to pause, and all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now.

Dean held your gaze, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to read every unspoken thought running through your mind. There was a tension in the air now, a charged moment that neither of you dared to break.

But then, as if sensing the shift, Dean cleared his throat and looked away, his hand dropping back to his side. “Do you... want me to stay?” he asked, his voice a little gruffer than before. “Just until you fall asleep?”

The offer was so unexpected, so selfless, that you felt your chest tighten. You nodded before you could second-guess yourself, your voice barely audible as you said, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Dean stood, moving to grab a chair from the corner of the room and pulling it up beside your bed. He settled into it with a quiet sigh, his presence a comforting anchor as you lay back down.

“Get some rest,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving you. “I’ll be right here.”

And he was. Long after your breathing evened out and you drifted back to sleep, Dean stayed awake, watching over you like a sentinel. For all the nightmares that haunted your sleep, he was determined to be the one who kept them at bay.

The sun crept over the horizon, its golden light filtering through the curtains of your bedroom as you sat at your desk, absentmindedly shuffling through the stack of documents requiring your attention. But your mind wasn’t on the papers in front of you—it was still stuck on the events of the previous day. The gunshot, the chaos, Dean’s unwavering strength as he shielded you and took down the would-be assassin. You couldn’t seem to shake the residual fear that clung to you like a shadow.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to focus, when the sharp chime of the front doorbell startled you. Glancing at the clock, you frowned. It was far too early for visitors, and anyone official would have gone through the Secret Service detail stationed outside. Curious and slightly apprehensive, you pushed back from your desk and headed downstairs.

By the time you reached the grand foyer, Dean was already there, his tall figure filling the space as he opened the door. A rush of voices greeted him, and you paused at the foot of the stairs, narrowing your eyes as Bella and Steph barged inside, each dragging a large suitcase behind them.

“Oh, good morning, Madam President!” Bella chirped, her bright smile completely at odds with the scene unfolding.

“You look like you’ve been up all night,” Steph observed, her brow furrowing as she took you in. She turned to Bella. “She’s probably traumatized.”

“Absolutely,” Bella agreed, spinning back toward you. “That’s why we’re moving in.”

You blinked, staring at the two women as if they’d just announced they were planning to annex a small country. “Wait, what?”

Steph rolled her suitcase to the side, parking it neatly against the wall before crossing her arms. “You almost got killed yesterday. Killed. Bella and I talked it over, and we decided you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m not alone,” you argued weakly, gesturing to the security detail outside and Dean, who was standing with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “I have, you know, professionals to keep me safe.”

Bella shook her head, her blonde curls bouncing with the movement. “Professionals can’t keep you company at two a.m. when you’re spiraling, thinking about what could have happened. We can.”

Steph chimed in, her tone firm. “We’re not taking no for an answer. And besides,” she added with a sly grin, “your guest rooms are bigger than my entire apartment.”

You opened your mouth to protest further, but the sheer determination in their eyes made it clear that you were fighting a losing battle. Instead, you turned to Dean, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know anything about this?”

Dean’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him since the assassination attempt. “Might’ve mentioned it to them,” he said casually, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement. “Figured you could use some backup.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the quiet thoughtfulness behind his actions. The corners of your mouth lifted in a small, genuine smile. “Thank you,” you said softly, the words carrying more weight than you intended.

Dean nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring, before stepping aside to let you deal with your unexpected houseguests.

Bella and Steph wasted no time, each grabbing a suitcase and heading for the stairs. “Come on,” Bella called over her shoulder. “Let’s get you set up with some real TLC.”

You followed them up to your bedroom, your protests fading as the reality of their presence began to sink in. While part of you wanted to cling to the independence and stoicism you prided yourself on, another part—the part that had spent the previous night battling fear and doubt—was deeply relieved to have them here.

Once inside your bedroom, Bella and Steph immediately set about making themselves at home. Bella perched on the edge of your bed, her sharp eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress, while Steph began unpacking a small bag filled with snacks, tea, and what appeared to be an entire pharmacy’s worth of calming supplements.

“All right,” Bella said, clapping her hands together. “Talk to us. How are you feeling? And don’t say ‘fine,’ because we know that’s a lie.”

You sighed, sitting down in the armchair near the window. “I’m… managing,” you said carefully. “It was terrifying, yes, but I’m trying to focus on the fact that I’m okay now. And that Dean was there.”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Dean, huh? You’ve been mentioning him a lot lately.”

Bella leaned forward, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Oh, is that what this is about? You’re swooning over your hot bodyguard?”

“Bella,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Uh-huh,” she teased, but the playful tone softened as she added, “Seriously, though, it’s okay to feel shaken up. You don’t have to be the President right now. You can just be you. And we’re here for that.”

The sincerity in her voice made your chest tighten, and you felt a surge of gratitude for these two women who knew you better than almost anyone. For all their teasing and antics, they had an uncanny ability to make you feel grounded when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control.

Steph handed you a steaming mug of tea, her expression gentler than usual. “Drink this. And then we’re going to binge-watch something ridiculous until you forget all about yesterday.”

You took the mug with a small smile, letting their warmth and care wrap around you like a shield.

As you settled back into the plush armchair, sipping the warm tea that Steph had handed you, the stress of the morning slowly began to melt away. The soothing scent of chamomile and honey helped ease the tightness in your chest, but the constant undercurrent of unease from the near-assassination attempt still lingered, just below the surface. You hadn’t realized how much you missed the presence of your friends—the comfort they brought was like an anchor in the storm of responsibilities and expectations that weighed on you every day.

As you glanced around the room, Bella was already making herself comfortable on the edge of your bed, her legs stretched out as she scrolled through her phone. Steph, meanwhile, was rummaging through the contents of her suitcase, looking particularly determined as she dug around in the neatly packed clothes.

“Where’s my damn nail kit?” Bella muttered under her breath, sounding mildly annoyed.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Bella was always the one with the meticulous packing. Her suitcase was an organized chaos of products and clothes, but nothing ever seemed to be in the right place when she needed it.

“Why the hell would you put it in my bag?” Steph shot back, not looking up from her task. “I told you to pack your own damn stuff.”

“Oh, please,” Bella retorted, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who accidentally packed your pajamas in my bag last time.”

Steph let out an exasperated sigh, but she didn’t answer right away. Instead, she continued to search through Bella’s bag, grumbling to herself. You could tell this was a typical exchange for the two of them—bantering back and forth in a way that felt both natural and comforting, like the kind of bickering siblings might engage in.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not in there,” Steph finally said, giving up her search for a moment. “You probably packed it in your other bag.”

“You’re impossible,” Bella replied, crossing her arms in frustration. “But, fine, let’s see.” She leaned over, giving a dramatic sigh. “Why did I even bring you on this trip?”

“Because you love me,” Steph said smugly, her hands now diving into the depths of her other bag.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bella muttered, her focus now back on her phone as she scrolled through a feed of photos. “But seriously, where did you put it?”

“Got it!” Steph called out triumphantly, pulling a small, glittery pouch from the bottom of her suitcase and waving it in the air like a prize.

Bella’s face lit up as she clapped her hands together. “I knew it. Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it,” Steph said flatly, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a small, knowing smile.

“You’re still a pain in my ass,” Bella teased, rolling her eyes as she reached for the nail kit.

Steph responded with a mock grimace. “I’m sure you love it.”

“You’re damn right I do,” Bella shot back with a wink. She turned her attention to you, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Okay, reader, you’ve been through hell today. It’s time for some pampering.”

Before you could even protest, Bella had already pulled out a nail file and was lifting one of your hands, inspecting your nails with a critical eye. “These are a tragedy,” she said dramatically, making you laugh. “We can’t have the President walking around with nails like these. We need to fix that immediately.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning hesitation. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for a full-on nail makeover. I kind of just want to… relax?”

“Exactly,” Bella said, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s why we’re doing this. You’ve been running on overdrive since the election. You need a break. So, while I work my magic on these nails,” she said, pulling out a bottle of a glittery polish from her kit, “Steph is going to put on one of our favorite shows, and we’re all going to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.”

Steph finally settled down next to you on the bed, flicking the TV remote. “You’ll be fine. You can zone out while I put on F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and we have a mini girls’ night.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your two best friends working together, their playful dynamic soothing you. “You two really do know how to make everything better.”

Bella shot you a grin as she picked out the nail polish color, holding it up for you to see. “It’s what we’re here for, babe.”

As she began painting your nails with surprising precision, you leaned back into the pillows, feeling the tension in your body ease with each gentle stroke. The bright colors Bella chose were a stark contrast to the darker, more somber thoughts that had plagued you earlier that morning.

Steph was already flipping through the episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S., humming quietly under her breath as the opening credits played. “This is just what the doctor ordered,” she said happily, glancing over at you. “You’re going to feel so much better by the end of this.”

The familiar theme song filled the room as the opening scene of Monica’s apartment flashed on the screen, and you relaxed further into the bed, feeling safe and comforted by the laughter of your friends, the silly antics of the show, and the soothing, gentle touch of Bella as she worked on your nails.

“So,” Bella asked casually, glancing at you while she carefully worked on your other hand, “how’s everything really going with… him?” She winked, giggling. “Like, I know he’s your dibs, I respect girl code, but men like him are probably why I’m bisexual.”

You blinked in surprise, though the question didn’t come as a total shock. You knew exactly who she was referring to—Dean. Your mind immediately flashed to the way he’d been there for you yesterday, how he’d protected you without a second thought, his presence a steadying force. He was your bodyguard, yes, but the dynamic between you two had shifted in the past few days. You felt a connection, a bond that went beyond duty or professionalism, and it was hard to ignore.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “It’s complicated.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the show. “Complicated how?”

You thought for a moment, unsure how much you wanted to reveal. After all, things had barely started between you and Dean. Yet there was something undeniably magnetic about him. “He’s… kind of impossible not to notice. And I don’t mean just because he’s hot—though, that definitely doesn’t hurt,” you said with a slight laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “But it’s more than that. He’s protective, and he’s smart… and he just gets me, you know? It’s like he’s always there when I need him, without hesitation. It’s… kind of overwhelming.”

Bella smiled knowingly, nodding as she worked on perfecting your nails. “I get it. I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist when he’s near you.”

Steph chuckled. “You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, but deep down, you knew they were right. “I do,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But he’s my bodyguard. It’s complicated.”

Bella finished your nails with a flourish, and she leaned back, admiring her handiwork. “You’re allowed to be complicated,” she said softly, her voice warm. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Just… take it one step at a time. And, in the meantime, let’s watch some episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and forget about the world for a little while.”

The minutes passed by quickly as the hum of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. continued to fill the room, the soft glow of the television providing a cozy atmosphere as you settled deeper into the plush pillows. Bella had finished your nails with the kind of perfection only she could manage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful colors now adorning your fingers. They were bright, bold, and utterly distracting—just what you needed to take your mind off everything.

Steph, who had been completely absorbed in the show, suddenly glanced at her watch, then got up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she said with a smirk, “time for the next step of the evening’s relaxation plan.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s next?”

With a dramatic flair, Steph marched over to her suitcase and pulled out a stack of fluffy, soft robes. They were as white as snow and looked incredibly cozy, the kind of fabric that felt like it could wrap you up in a warm hug. “Time to trade those outfits in for something even more comfy,” she said, tossing the robes toward you and Bella. “But first,” she added with a sly grin, “we’ll need to change into these in the bathroom.”

You blinked, unsure of where this was going. “The bathroom?”

“Yep,” she said, already heading toward the door with a mischievous look on her face. “One at a time. You go first.”

Bella laughed and stood up. “Oh, I see what’s going on here,” she said with a wink at you. “Steph’s getting us all into these robes so we can feel like a spa day... and so she can make fun of us when we look ridiculous.”

You sighed, but the offer of comfort and relaxation was too good to resist. Besides, you were in no mood to argue. “Fine, I’ll go,” you muttered, standing up and grabbing the robe from the pile. You could hear Bella snickering as she took her own robe and headed toward the bathroom, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

When you entered the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and slipped the robe over your shoulders. The softness of the fabric immediately made you feel more at ease, and you couldn’t help but smile at the indulgence of it all. For a brief moment, it was like everything else—everything overwhelming and terrifying—was forgotten. You simply allowed yourself to enjoy the comfort of the robe, the soft scent of your body lotion mixing with the fluffy material.

A couple of minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, still adjusting the robe’s belt around your waist. The others were already sitting on the bed, each of them wearing the same white robe, looking relaxed and... well, a little silly, but in the best way possible.

Steph looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, not bad. You clean up pretty well, President.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Very funny, Steph.”

“Yeah,” Bella chimed in, giving you a teasing smile, “you look like you should be sipping mimosas by the pool somewhere.”

You smirked at her. “I can’t help it if I look good in a robe. Some of us are blessed.”

Steph let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay, Miss Universe,” she teased, then immediately grabbed a pint of ice cream from the small cooler beside the bed. “Now that we’re all properly robed, time to enjoy some ice cream. And, of course, time for some serious girl talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Girl talk?”

“Oh, you know,” Steph said with a knowing look, taking the first scoop of ice cream. “Like, you and your bodyguard.”

You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth. “What?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Steph added, her voice slightly more serious now, though she couldn’t hide the teasing smile. “I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. I think it’s time we have a veryserious discussion about the attraction that’s clearly there.”

You let out a dramatic groan, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh. “Oh my God, not this again. I’m not trying to hook up with Dean.”

Steph’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t have to hook up with him to admit that he’s got you hot under the collar. You’ve barely had him in your sights for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell. You’re into him.”

You shot her a look. “You guys are impossible.”

Bella laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “I don’t know if she’s that into him yet, but I mean, come on. The guy is seriously attractive. Have you seen him without his shirt?”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Can we please not talk about this? Seriously?”

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were adults here,” she teased, scooping up some ice cream. “But fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll drop it... for now. Let’s talk about something more fun.”

You were more than happy to change the subject, even if Bella’s antics were making the entire situation way more awkward. “Fine. What else?”

Bella shrugged, not missing a beat. “Well, you know what? I met this guy the other day. You’d like him, actually. His name’s Benny. He’s a... well, he’s a lot of things, but most importantly, he’s got this aura of danger about him. You know the type, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in conversation. “Benny?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly as she grinned. “And he’s so hot. I mean, he’s... rugged. Like, maybe a little rough around the edges. He’s got this bad-boy energy, but it’s not obnoxious. It’s... mysterious, you know?”

You could tell by the sparkle in her eye that she was more than a little taken with him. And, judging by the way she was describing him, it seemed like she was intrigued by the idea of the “dangerous type.” You leaned forward slightly, glancing at her curiously. “So, what’s the deal with him? What’s his story?”

Bella didn’t seem at all phased by the sudden interest. “Oh, he’s got history. Some shady business, for sure. But he’s... not exactly the kind of guy who would ever mess with you, if you catch my drift. He’s just got this... commanding presence. Like, I can’t help but feel like he’s the kind of guy who would step in and take care of things if they got out of hand.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by Bella’s sudden enthusiasm. “Sounds like your type.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Steph. You’re just jealous because I met him first.”

Steph laughed. “I wouldn’t say jealous. But, damn, it sounds like Benny’s got a few layers to him. So, what’s his deal?”

“His deal is that he’s complicated,” Bella said, taking another scoop of ice cream. “But it’s a good kind of complicated. I think he likes me, but it’s hard to tell. He’s not exactly the type to express his feelings with words. More like actions, if you get what I mean.”

You could see where this was going. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Oh, it is,” Bella agreed without missing a beat. “But, hey, I like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

Steph shook her head, her amusement clear. “Girl, you’re too much. But I get it. Benny sounds like someone who can handle his own, which is exactly what you want. That’s your jam.”

You sat back, still processing the conversation. It seemed like everyone around you had their own form of chaos and attraction in their lives—whether it was the obvious pull between you and Dean, or Bella’s own flirtations with a mysterious guy named Benny. Maybe you were just getting older, but you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it all.

But, as the ice cream melted and the show continued on in the background, you allowed yourself a moment of peace. After everything that had happened, the threats, the danger, and the intensity of your life as President, this—this moment of laughter, of comfort, of friendship—was exactly what you needed.

“Alright,” Steph said, breaking the silence. “Enough about us and our interesting love lives. Let’s focus on you, Madam President. You’re due for a serious pampering session. After all, it’s not every day you almost get assassinated.”

The knock on the door was soft, yet distinct, interrupting the moment of calm you had found with Bella and Steph. You sat up from the pillows, glancing over your shoulder at the door, feeling the peaceful moment shift slightly. Bella, who had been intently watching the television, seemed to notice it too, her eyes narrowing with a grin.

“Who’s at the door?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity, as if she already knew the answer.

“I’ll check,” you said, standing up from the bed and wrapping the robe more securely around yourself. It was a loose, white fluffy robe you had put on after your mini pampering session, still feeling its soft comfort as you crossed the room to the door. Your bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet as you walked over.

You opened the door, not expecting much, but what you saw was enough to stop you for a moment.

Dean stood in front of you, leaning against the doorframe, looking… well, as always, impossibly attractive. His broad shoulders were outlined in a black shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right ways. His stance was casual, but the way his gaze flickered over your body made your breath catch in your throat.

“Uh…” He looked at you, his expression changing from neutral to one of awkwardness, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react. His eyes slowly moved down to take in the sight of you standing there in nothing but your robe, the fluffy material clinging to your frame just enough to remind him of how intimate the situation felt.

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, though you tried to mask it with a casual smile. "Hey, Dean," you greeted, hoping you didn’t sound too flustered. “What’s up?”

Dean shifted on his feet slightly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to step inside or stay outside, the tension palpable between you. "Just checking in," he said, his voice low, almost awkward, as if unsure if he was intruding on something. He looked you over again, his eyes lingering for just a bit longer than usual. "Are you… are you okay?"

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze seemed to rove over you, the intensity of it making your heart race. You raised an eyebrow, hoping to keep the situation light. "Yeah, I’m fine," you reassured him, stepping back to let him in, though you couldn’t deny the way your body was reacting to the proximity. “I’m just relaxing a little, taking a break.”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t move any closer. Instead, he stood there, a little stiff, clearly torn between doing his job and maybe wanting to stay a little longer, just to talk or check in. His eyes flickered down to the floor for a second before snapping back up to meet yours. "Good. Just wanted to make sure," he mumbled, clearly not comfortable with the situation, but still trying to be considerate.

Behind you, Bella and Steph were watching the interaction with all the intensity of spectators watching a spicy scene in a movie, their eyes flicking between you and Dean like they were waiting for something to happen. Bella was the first to break the silence, her voice laced with a playful teasing.

“So… looks like someone’s got a visitor,” she said, her tone full of amusement.

You turned your head, realizing what she was hinting at. “Can you not?” you muttered under your breath, a bit embarrassed.

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying it,” she teased further, her eyes shifting between the two of you. “It’s obvious you two have chemistry.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the sudden realization that Dean was still standing in your doorway, watching everything unfold. You cleared your throat and quickly turned to Dean, smiling awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry about this,” you said, hoping to change the subject before things got even more uncomfortable. “You know how they are.”

Dean’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem,” he said, his tone still a little strained. But you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you, how they flickered over your bare arms, the way your robe was falling just slightly off one shoulder.

“Right.” You nodded, shifting on your feet, unsure of what to do with this sudden surge of tension in the room. It was like everything had shifted, and neither of you quite knew how to handle it.

Bella leaned back against the bed, looking far too entertained. “Yeah, sure. No big deal,” she said, clearly enjoying watching the two of you dance around each other. “Nothing to see here, just two people who obviously want to kiss each other already.”

“Bella!” you hissed, your face burning with embarrassment.

Steph, who had been watching silently, suddenly perked up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, this is getting good. You guys are so obvious.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying every moment of the interaction. “Come on, what’s the harm in admitting it? We all see it. You two are practically giving off sparks.”

You groaned, turning to Dean for support, but the way he was standing—awkwardly stiff, his gaze not quite meeting yours—told you that he was just as flustered as you were. It was then that you realized you had both been giving off a lot more energy than either of you intended. The sexual tension between you had been growing since he started working for you, but now it felt almost unbearable.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well…” He looked at the floor for a second, then back at you. “I should probably… get going.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at his words, though you quickly masked it. “Of course,” you said, your voice light but your heart thumping in your chest. “Thanks for checking in, Dean.”

He nodded, still standing in the doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure how to leave. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the distance between you feeling far more significant than it should have.

Before he could leave, however, Bella’s voice broke the moment. “Oh, come on, don’t leave so soon,” she called out to him with a teasing grin. “Stick around. You’re welcome to join us, right?”

Dean looked at her, his expression momentarily lost for words, and then he glanced back at you, his eyes softening slightly. You caught that look—a look that, if you were being honest with yourself, made your heart flutter just a bit.

“You know,” he began slowly, his voice quieter than before, “I probably should get going. But maybe… I’ll stop by later?”

You smiled, trying to keep the situation light. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, your voice betraying a little more warmth than you intended.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary before he finally turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Bella let out a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself. “Okay, that was definitely hot,” she said, leaning back into the pillows with a grin that practically screamed satisfaction.

You dropped your head into your hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Steph just grinned, clearly not feeling any sympathy for your plight. “Oh, come on. You two are like the most obvious couple I’ve ever seen.”

“Not a couple,” you muttered, still trying to recover from the awkwardness. “Just… two people who have a lot of unresolved tension.”

“Well, that’s basically the same thing,” Bella said, tossing a pillow at you. “And trust me, honey, it’s not just you two noticing it. Everyone can see it.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, wishing for a moment of peace. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my bodyguard… and he’s, like, way out of my league.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her tone full of sarcasm. “Out of your league? Please. That man is practically begging for you to make the first move. You think he doesn’t notice how you look at him?”

“I’m not the one checking him out,” you protested weakly.

“Girl, you are so checking him out,” Bella teased, as she reached over and grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream. “But no worries, we’ve got your back. We’ll get you two together. Just wait.”

You sighed deeply, wishing for a distraction. “You guys are impossible.”

“Well, what’s the harm in admitting it?” Bella said with a wicked grin. “You’re both hot as hell, and you’re practically walking around with ‘we want each other’ written all over your faces.”

Steph snorted. “It’s too cute. You guys are so obvious.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the presidential residence, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your office. You sat behind your desk, your trusty planner open in front of you as Becky stood to the side, rattling off the day’s itinerary. Her pen tapped against her clipboard, her sharp, efficient tone filling the room.

“All right,” Becky began, flipping a page with practiced ease. “You’ve got a meeting with the Secretary of Energy at nine, then a quick photo op with the ambassador from Sweden at eleven. Lunch is at noon, though I assume you’ll skip eating again.” She gave you a pointed look.

You smirked faintly but didn’t respond.

“After that,” she continued, tapping her pen against the clipboard, “there’s a meeting with the education reform committee, and then—oh, the gardener called in sick. Something about a sprained wrist.”

You paused mid-note, looking up. “The gardener’s off today?”

Becky nodded, her brows knitting together slightly. “Yeah, which means the lawn won’t get mowed, the flowerbeds won’t get watered, and the press will probably have something to say about how the grounds are being ‘neglected.’” Her tone was sarcastic, but her words were pointed. You could already imagine the headlines.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. The lawn might not have been at the top of your priority list, but it mattered enough to make you want to do something about it. The pristine appearance of the grounds was one of those unspoken expectations that came with your role. “We’ll figure something out,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just add ‘landscaping duties’ to your already-packed schedule, why don’t you?” She flipped another page, moving on. “Anyway, after the education meeting—”

The sound of a light knock interrupted her, and you glanced up to see Dean stepping into the room. He moved with that effortless confidence you’d come to associate with him, though there was always an undercurrent of alertness in his stride. His sharp eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “but I wanted to check in before the meeting with Energy.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. “You’re not interrupting. Becky was just going over today’s schedule.”

Dean nodded, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was as steadying as always, though there was something about the way he watched you—like he was always two steps ahead, ready to act at a moment’s notice. It was reassuring, in a way.

You closed your planner with a soft thud and looked up at him. “Actually, there’s something you might be able to help with.”

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“The gardener’s off sick,” you explained, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “Which means the lawn won’t get mowed, and the flowerbeds won’t get watered.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re worried about the lawn?”

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping you. “Not worried, exactly, but I’d rather avoid giving the press another reason to complain.”

He considered this for a moment, then straightened up. “I can handle it.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, his casual tone making it sound like no big deal. “I’ve mowed a lawn before, you know. Not exactly rocket science.”

Becky let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me Dean Winchester, ex-hitman turned presidential bodyguard, is going to play gardener?”

Dean shot her a dry look. “I’ve done worse jobs.” Then he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’ve got much else to do when you’re in meetings all day.”

You hesitated, torn between practicality and the sheer absurdity of the image that had just popped into your head—Dean, mowing the presidential lawn in his usual no-nonsense way. It was almost too surreal to imagine.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, though a small smile was starting to tug at your lips. “It feels a little... beneath your pay grade.”

Dean smirked. “What, you think I’m too good for yard work?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, laughing lightly. “You’re kind of overqualified.”

He leaned against the desk slightly, his grin widening. “Let me guess—you don’t think I can handle it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” he said, straightening up again. “Because I’ll have it done before your lunch meeting. You won’t even notice.”

Becky shook her head, clearly baffled but amused. “This is officially the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I started working here.”

Dean ignored her, his attention still focused on you. “Consider it handled,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then he turned and left, leaving you sitting there with a mix of amusement and curiosity swirling in your chest.

The hum of the lawnmower floated through the open windows of your office as you glanced up from your desk. Dean had offered to take care of the lawn when you mentioned the gardener was off sick. It was a kind gesture, and you’d laughed softly at the mental image of your ruggedly handsome bodyguard mowing the pristine presidential lawn.

Now, though, curiosity got the better of you. With a quiet sigh, you set your pen down and stepped toward the window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and as you pulled them back, your breath caught.

There he was, Dean Winchester, pushing the lawnmower with ease, his strong arms flexing with each step. His dark t-shirt clung to his shoulders and back, soaked with a light sheen of sweat from the sun beating down on him. The way he moved was hypnotic, the grace of his steps belying the fact that he was wielding a piece of heavy machinery.

You told yourself it was simple admiration for his work ethic. That you were just impressed by how effortlessly he took on any task. But when he stopped the mower, pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, and tossed it onto a nearby chair before grabbing the garden hose, your thoughts betrayed you.

Dean stood there in the sunlight, shirtless, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest and abs as he twisted the nozzle of the hose. You couldn’t stop staring. His muscles rippled as he adjusted the water pressure, the casual, unselfconscious way he moved making it impossible to look away. His jeans hung low on his hips, a dusting of grass clippings clinging to his legs, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Enjoying the show?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Bella’s voice. Turning quickly, you saw her and Steph standing in the doorway, matching mischievous grins on their faces. Bella held up a pair of binoculars and wiggled them teasingly.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Steph asked, crossing her arms as she sidled up to the window. “Ridiculously right, you mean. That man is straight out of a Wattpad story, and you know it.”

You tried to play it cool, stepping back from the window and giving them both a pointed look. “He’s just mowing the lawn.”

Bella snorted. “And I suppose he’s shirtless for practical reasons?”

“He’s watering the garden now,” Steph added, peeking through the binoculars. “And damn, is it getting steamy out there.”

You tried to hold your ground, but their playful commentary was impossible to ignore. Bella nudged your shoulder with the binoculars. “Come on, admit it. You were checking him out.”

“I was not,” you lied, crossing your arms defensively.

Steph gave you a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, we get it. He’s a literal walking thirst trap. If I had a bodyguard like that, I’d be weak in the knees every time he said ‘good morning.’”

“I don’t—” You started, but Bella cut you off with a knowing smirk.

“Relax,” she said, handing you the binoculars. “We’re just saying what you’re too proud to admit. Now, go on, have a look. We won’t judge.”

Against your better judgment, you took the binoculars. Just for a second, you told yourself. Just long enough to prove them wrong.

When you raised them to your eyes, the detail was… unfair. Dean had switched to watering the flowerbeds, standing with one hand on his hip as the other directed the stream of water over the delicate blooms. His expression was relaxed, almost thoughtful, as if he were contemplating something far deeper than the task at hand. The sunlight caught the droplets of water spraying into the air, and for a brief moment, it looked like he was standing in a golden mist.

“Wow,” Steph murmured from beside you. “Even through binoculars, that man is fine.”

Bella leaned in, her grin widening. “See? Wattpad story.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, lowering the binoculars and shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Oh, we’re impossible?” Bella teased. “You’re the one ogling your bodyguard like it’s a scene from Magic Mike: Presidential Edition.”

Steph clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s good. I’d buy tickets to that movie.”

You groaned again, but this time it was more amused than exasperated. Bella and Steph had a way of making even the most mortifying situations feel lighthearted, and despite their relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny that they had a point. Dean was… distracting, to say the least.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, setting the binoculars on your desk. “Maybe I looked. A little.”

Bella and Steph exchanged triumphant high-fives.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” you added quickly. “He’s my bodyguard, not—”

“Not your soulmate? Your future husband? The leading man in your personal rom-com?” Steph finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

Bella laughed. “You’re just in denial. It’s fine, we’ll be here when you’re ready to admit it.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door drew your attention. All three of you froze, and for a second, you feared that somehow, impossibly, Dean had heard everything.

“Come in,” you called, trying to sound casual.

The door opened, and there he was, standing in the doorway, still shirtless and holding the coiled garden hose in one hand. His eyes scanned the room, landing on you for a moment before flicking to Bella and Steph.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice low and slightly rough. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. All good.”

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, and you swore his eyes dipped briefly to the curve of your collarbone, exposed by the loose neckline of your blouse. Your skin felt warm under his scrutiny, and you fought the urge to fidget.

“Cool,” he said after a moment, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As he turned to leave, Bella and Steph watched him go with unabashed interest. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bella let out a low whistle.

“That man,” she said, “is going to be the death of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

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Verses Unwritten: A Rap Odyssey

Eminem x Rapper!OC

Verse 10

About: Eminem confronts an unfamiliar vulnerability as Hailie bonds effortlessly with Genji over a school project. While admiration for Genji's presence turns to something more complex, jealousy and insecurity rise. As tensions between him and Genji simmer, the unspoken emotions threaten to unravel the carefully maintained boundaries they've both held onto.

"Verses Unwritten: A Rap Odyssey" Chapter List:

Verse 1 | Verse 2 | Verse 3 | Verse 4 | Verse 5 | Verse 6 | Verse 7 | Verse 8 | Verse 9 | Verse 10 | Verse 11 | Verse 12 | Verse 13 | Verse 14

Disclaimer: This work is a work of fiction, and any involvement of the character Genji is purely fictional and not representative of any real person.

Eminem hadn't expected this. Not the way his chest tightened when she walked into a room, nor how his thoughts drifted to her when he was alone. It was subtle at first, a flicker of something more than simple admiration for her work, for the way she carried herself. He remembered the brief exchanges, the glint of understanding when they spoke about their craft. It wasn't more than professional respect; that's what he had told himself back then. He had even let himself be vulnerable around her, a rare, almost impossible thing for him. Maybe it was because she wasn't a threat to him, not emotionally. He respected her, sure, but there was no risk. Or so he thought.

Now, it was different.

Lately, he'd been on edge. Genji was always there, her voice on tracks, her energy filling the studio. Her presence was like a quiet storm, steady and unyielding, but it shook something loose in him every time. The shift had been so gradual that he couldn't pinpoint when admiration had twisted into something more complicated. He wasn't the kind of guy to get caught up in feelings like this, especially not over someone like her.

Genji was different, though. She didn't need anyone to tell her who she was or put on a show for anyone. She sure as hell wasn't interested in playing any games either. But it also made him feel exposed, like she saw through him in ways no one else did, and he wasn't sure if that terrified him or intrigued him more.

Still, he buried the attraction. He had to. She was an artist he respected, but that was it. That had to be it.

But today, everything seemed to unravel.

He had been pacing around the house, trying to work, but the restless feeling wouldn't leave. Hailie was in the other room, working on a school project, something about history and music, if he remembered correctly. He didn't think much of it at first. But when he heard the soft murmur of voices from the living room, he froze.

It was Genji's voice. Low and calm, yet there was an intensity in it, something that made him want to linger just outside the doorway. He could hear her talking to his daughter, her explanation precise, her words carefully chosen, but not too formal. Hearing her measured tone, paired with Hailie's laughter, he found himself drawn toward the living room.

Eminem took a step forward, curiosity gnawing at him. He had to see it, just for a second. He was just checking in. Nothing more.

He hesitated in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them from the shadows. Genji was seated on the floor leaning slightly toward Hailie, her posture relaxed but there was an undeniable authority in how she held herself. Papers were spread out between them, and Hailie's notebook was open, her pencil moving furiously as she scribbled something down. They were deep in conversation: Genji pointing to something on the laptop, Hailie nodding enthusiastically.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his daughter smile like that. He could tell she was enjoying herself, and a sense of pride filled him, though it was tinged with something else he couldn't place. Maybe it was the way Genji made everything seem so easy, like helping his daughter wasn't some tedious task but a chance to make a real connection.

Then it hit him.

A sharp, uncomfortable jolt ran through him. That feeling he'd been ignoring for days — no, weeks — came rushing to the surface. The jealousy, the longing, the bitterness. He was jealous of how easily Genji connected with Hailie, and of how she made it all look so effortless. He'd spent years trying to protect his daughter, to give her everything she needed, and now here was she, stepping in like it was the simplest thing in the world. He had no business feeling any of it. Genji had always been nothing but respectful to him. Still, it's there, unshakable. He hated that feeling. He hated how it clung to him like a second skin, gnawing at him, making him feel small.

Hailie finally looked up and caught his eye, her face lighting up with that familiar, warm smile. "Hey, Dad! We're just going over the final touches for the project. Genji's been a great help!"

Eminem forced a smile, though it would've been one if he were in a better mood, as it was more of a grimace. "Yeah? Didn't know we hired a tutor."

Genji turned her head slightly, catching the sharpness in his tone, but she stayed calm. "Just lending a hand. Don't worry, I won't bill you."

His lips twitched, but it wasn't quite a smile. "Generous of you. Didn't peg you for the history buff type."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone quiet but steady. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, not combative but unflinchingly honest. The room seemed to hold its breath, and even Hailie, ever perceptive, noticed the shift.

The teenager glanced between them, her eyes darting nervously from her dad's rigid posture to Genji's calm, collected demeanour. "I'll... uh, grab a snack," she said, her voice overly bright, trying to diffuse the thickening tension. Before either of them could stop her, she bolted, her footsteps fading down the hall.

Now it was just the two of them.

Eminem exhaled sharply, crossing his arms tighter across his chest as if trying to shield himself. He avoided her eyes, instead fixing his gaze on the floor. "Look, you don't have to play teacher of the year," he muttered, the edge in his voice unmistakable. "She's doing fine."

"She's doing great," Genji agreed, her gaze steady. "But it doesn't hurt to help her a bit."

"Yeah, well…" He shifted his weight, looking for something to say. "It's just weird. You being here. Around her."

Her calm didn't falter, though her voice softened slightly. "Em, if it makes you uncomfortable, you can just say so."

His defensiveness spiked. "It's not about me being uncomfortable. It's just… I don't get why you care so much."

She paused, her expression thoughtful as if weighing her words. "I'm just doing my part because she asked for my help."

There was no malice in her tone, but her words hit harder than she probably realised. He felt the frustration bubbling over. "Yeah, and what do you get out of it? Some kind of moral high ground?"

Genji didn't react to his tone. Instead, she met his eyes with a steady calmness that unsettled him even more. "I don't get anything. I'm here because Hailie asked for my help with her project. That's all."

The air between them hung heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed. "I know you think I'm stepping on your toes. But I'm not here to take anything from you, Em." Her voice was quiet but firm, carrying the weight of conviction. "I'm here because I care. About her. And about you, even if you can't see it right now."

She brushed past him, her calm exterior hiding the storm beneath. Eminem stood there, his chest tight and his thoughts spinning, replaying her words in his head.

Fuck.