#if i were him I'd forgive him in a heartbeat

[wickedwitchofthesouth]

Crying over the way Cas was making an apology care package for Dean with all his favourite things complete with burgers, his favourite toilet paper and even that busty Asians magazine that he can't get enough of

He even almost beat up a cashier for deans favourite pie ALL BECAUSE HE WANTED TO APOLOGISE

He walked into that store with no knowledge of human material possessions but the things he's seen around Dean. He may not be the best at talking but he's observant and he knows exactly what makes Dean tick , what he likes and what he loves.

The acts of service, the gift giving ALL THAT TO SAY SORRY

I'm done I AM DONE NO ONE SPEAK TO ME

[rxmye]

" 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇, 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 "

𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐍!𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 — he let his dove soar a little too high for comfort, and now they pay the price . .

nsfw(?) / sixteen + content / gender neutral reader / dead dove do not eat / yandere content / age gap (Soleus is reader's caregiver since they were young, reader is currently an adult) / possessive yandere / body mutilation / caregiver x reader / huge size difference (like his wings are already like 2-3x yours, let that sink in) / manipulation . . . you've been warned.

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: read the warnings, half completed his intro but I might redo it . . dead dove do not eat, he will only get worse from here !!!

It was cruel, he knew it was cruel . . His fingers touch your featherless wings, now only bone and flesh, he reached out plucking a stray feather off, as he watches you wince in pain . . He hopes that you know, that he didn't intend to do this . .

He loved watching you fly, his little dove . . watching you soar up in the perfect blue sky, that smile that had him enamored . . He loved watching you, he let you be free. You were an uncaged bird, a perfect angel.

Everything about you was perfect, after all, he raised you to be perfect.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes trailing over you, as you cling to him—a voice in the back of your head screamed at you for doing so, yet he was warm, comforting, despite his actions . . he was all you knew, you deserved this and he'd never hurt you without reason . . he surely wouldn't . .—sobs left your throat—he couldn't tell if it was of pain or the feeling of loss—his wings wrapping around you protectively, trapping you in a cocoon, a sweet embrace.

He wrapped his large arms around you, his hand reaching to rub small comforting circles on the small of your back, a chorus of "i'm sorry" 's left your mouth, a plethora of pleas for forgiveness leaving your lips in harmony.

He gently lifts your chin, watching as the wingless bones of your wings twitch nervously at his actions—he didn't pick the act apart though—instead he shushed you, his voice soft, nurturing as he spoke, "shh . . my lovely dove, it'll be fine, we'll work this through together . . ", his voice numbed the pain, the agony, the feeling of loss, he caused you for a brief moment, and you listened . . your words melting in your throat.

"It's okay . . I'm sorry, you know I'd never hurt you without a reason right?", his words laced with honey, as he plucked the last feather from what's left of your wings, this time, you didn't feel the pain, only a etching feeling of numbness . . as a burning sensation grew in the lower pit of your stomach, any thoughts of protest, bargaining, or running away melting upon hearing his honeyed tone.

"We'll get through this together, my dear . . You made a mistake, mistakes can be corrected, just as flaws can be fixed . . Right?", he asks, and you mumble out a soft 'yes' almost instantly, as he presses your head to his chest, you could feel the soft thumps of his heartbeat, as he kissed your forehead, "Sleep now my dove, we'll fix everything in the morning, like we've always done . . "

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[anxious-witch]

I know, I know we talked about the forest scene with Monty, Edwin and the Cat King to death. But, but. Hear me out.

Edwin was ready to both forgive Monty and thank the Cat King right then and there if they didn't push him, aka crossed a line in the sand for him.

When the Cat King initially informs him of Monty's betrayal, this is Edwin's reaction:

He looks confused, he looks hurt. But he doesn't look angry. Not yet. When he says "Were you just pretending to be my friend" he sounds hurt, but when he sees how Monty is affected, he still looks oddly touched. Especially when Monty says: "At first, yes! Then...no."

I know we joke about Edwin being awful at reading people, but Monty is obviously distressed and Edwin reacts to it. Besides, Monty is his friend. He wants to believe it wasn't all a ploy. But then, Monty makes a fatal mistake and brings up Charles. Immediately, Edwin's expression falls and then it turns angry and says: "Even if it were true, you are a bloody crow!"

We see Edwin forgive Simon, his killer, the person who was responsible for sending him to Hell, in mere minutes, once he finds out why Simon did it. I don't believe for a second he wouldn't have forgiven Monty in a heartbeat if Monty properly explained himself, instead of falling back to his hurt feelings and in turn, trying to hurt Edwin the same way by bringing up Charles. Which is a shame, because they really could have used each other's help.

As for the Cat King, I think it's a very similar story too!

Immediately after Monty walks away, Edwin closes his eyes and says: "I am such an idiot." And the Cat King nods, but you can already see most of the anger Edwin held towards Monty dispersing.

When the Cat King stops him from leaving and says: "I came all the way into this ridiculous forest to save you, I think I am at least owed a thank you," Edwin doesn't seem mad. I'd even go as far as to describe his expression as soft surprise. I think he is thankful, in that moment. And why wouldn't he be? The Cat King did save him from a trap.

It's only when the Cat King brings up a second kiss, implying he should thank him by kissing him, does Edwin grow angry again.

Also, importantly, the way Edwin pushes the Cat King away is almost gentle. Bitchy, and pissed off, for sure, but also gentle. Like, if it was someone who I genuinely didn't want anwhere near me, I'd shove them away by the shoulders, and with much more force. And sure! Edwin isn't a type for violence, but c'mon. We know he is capable if pressed, as seen when Esther hurt Charles.

Edwin keeps his anger tightly locked, only letting it out through his words. He practically spits out "I am not your toy to yank around." But even so, the only tense action we see from his is the way he cocks his head and demingly looks thr Cat King up and down.

Only after the Cat King threatens him, does Edwin get up in his personal space and almost violently(by his standards) shows him the bracelet, saying "This is all that you are. Do you understand?"

My point is, if both the Cat King and Monty essentially told/showed Edwin their actions are somehow tied into his reciprocation of his feelings. Funnily, enough, I feel like if either of them didn't base this interaction on that, and instead rather connected with Edwin emotionally, they would have had a shot at getting exactly what they wanted that night. Monty, Edwin's forgivness and the Cat King, Edwin's thankfulness, perhaps even a sense that he owes him, next time they see each other.

Which is great! Because it shows us sm about the characters, their flaws, and their priorities! But yeah. Talking about shooting themselves in the foot.

I also think that, for all we joke around Edwin holding grudges, he is actually incredible in how quickly he forgives people, as soon as they show the skightest initative for change/goodwill. Part of me hopes he and Monty meet again, just so Edwin can understand his pov, the same way he understood Simon and thr Cat King's but alas. I suppose we'll see

[waynes-multiverse]

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

Let's jump into it! 🍿

You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley.

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

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

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

Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic).

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

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

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

That means you got… 64% of the vote

Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳

Suck it, Amara 😝

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus effing Christ...

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

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

Chills! Literal chills! 👏

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

Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂

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

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

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

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

You did good, boo 😘👏

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

A realist, you might say 😂

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

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

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

He’s not being a perv.

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

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

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

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

Yes. Just been there last week again 😂

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

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

I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠

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

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

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

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled

DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!

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

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

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

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

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

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

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

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

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

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

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

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

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

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

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Madam President,

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

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

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

The next step was trickier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean Winchester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

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

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

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

Then he swallowed. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this answer was simple.

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

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

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jerk.”

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

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

“Austin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

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

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

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

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

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

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Dean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different how?”

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

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

“I do,” Dean admitted.

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

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT UP:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

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@cheynovak @bitchykittenconnoisseur @underground-secret @heartiella

@bollzinurmouth

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[berryz-writes]

Forgive me?

Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: You and Theo are in an argument and he tries multiple times to apologise (it works eventually)

I looked at Theo from the corner of my eye, hoping he didn't notice that every time he looked away I'd look at him, making sure his injuries weren't too serious. Just because I was angry at him and just because the reason he was injured was his own fault didn't mean I had stopped caring. Matheo who was explaining the next game's quidditch tactics to Theo punched him on the arm, grinning at something he said.

"Don't punch him so hardly! He's just had his arm fixed" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I couldn't help but regret them. I was supposed to be ignoring Theo not fucking defending him for no reason.

His eyes flicked from Matheo to me in an instant. His blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Stopped ignoring me, sweetheart?"

I clenched my jaw annoyed at myself for my stupidity and idiotic way of ruining things.

"I was talking to Matheo, not you" I tried to save myself. Well it was true. I may be talking about him but it wasn't to him.

His smirk dropped, sadness overtaking his expression "I've apologised. So many times y/n. What else do you want?" I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted everything to finally be ok but it wasn't. Not until I thought through everything.

I shook my head "It's been one day. When we decided on a break it was indefinitely" I was going to add a sorry at the end but I didn't. Because he didn't deserve a sorry right now.

I stood up leaving him to eat his breakfast in peace, finding comfort in the library with Pansy cheering me up.

*The next day*

"And will he make it?! YES! OF COURSE HE DOES! THEODORE NOTT OF SLYTHERIN FINISHING THE GAME WITH AN ASTONISHING GOAL. There you have it! Slytherin has won by one hundred and fifty points! Of course Hufflepuff stood no chance of winning when we look at the logistics-" Laughter rung out across the stadium at Lee Jordan's commentary but before he could carry on Professor McGonagall took the microphone away.

I watched as Theo flew around the pitch congratulating his team and doing a few loops in the air. He liked to show off and I didn't blame him. It was mostly due to him that we had won so greatly and of course this would mean another party in which I would wake up the next morning regretting my actions. Oh well. Who didn't love a party? Both teams were slowly descending down to where Madam Hooch stood with her arms crossed ready to shout at Malfoy who seemed to have not understood what it meant by "playing fairly". He had hit and injured a good few players in the process, even Matheo who he currently was annoyed at. Great person to have on a team.

I shifted my gaze back to where Theo was before but he was no longer there. I looked around and saw him talking to Professor McGonagall still on his broom. What was he doing? He took the microphone from her hand and turned to face me, the love with which he looked at me obvious however far he was.

He brushed a piece of hair away and spoke into the microphone, his deep voice amplified "Congratulations to Slytherin. I just wanted to make a quick announcement that I wanted you all to know. I am currently dating y/n who as you all know is the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on. I haven't spoken to her in two fucking days and it's killing me so please, forgive me sweetheart." He gave the microphone back to McGonagall as she berated him for swearing. He shrugged innocently and flew toward me. My heartbeat increasing as the distance between us decreased. Half the crowd had already left, either to mope over their loss or to prepare for the party while the other half was whistling and cheering. Their voices were all a blur as I focused on one person only.

He finally reached me, hopping off his broom he stood in front of me, his eyes piercing me. "Forgive me?"

I smiled up at him. He was too perfect to deny. I nodded my head, he took this as a sign to lean down and place his perfect lips on mine, his hands coming to rest on my waist.

Stepping back, the crowds noise suddenly sounded ten times louder, everyone was cheering while Pansy and Astoria were grinning like crazy next to me.

"You better treat her right from now on" Pansy said, her smile dropping and her eyes suddenly turning icy.

"I will. I promise"

[cherrychilli]

18+

AFAB reader, soft dom Steve, cockwarming, clit play, multiple orgasms

A/N: He's a menace.

Banner by cafekitsune

"Steve, this isn't fair", you whine, a pitiful sound that only widens the smirk pulling at his lips.

"Why's that honey?", he asks all too pleased and irritatingly knowing, tone dripping thick with condescension.

"Y-you said I could have your cock"

"and?"

"That you'd make me cum", you add, tone shying into a whisper.

"But I didn't say that I'd fuck you, did I?", he tutted as if it were the most obvious thing ever, pinching your waist to pry another whine out of you.

Steve Harrington was a fucking menace when he wanted to be and today, he proved it beyond any doubt.

It was near impossible to predict when he'd fall into a mood like this - equal parts sticky sweet chafing against cruel. You thought yourself safe when you'd cuddled up next to him on the couch after work, too wrapped up in his scent and warmth to realize the spider's web you'd just nestled yourself into.

You were very nearly lulled to sleep like that, cheek resting on his chest, the pleasant rise and fall accompanied by the sound of his heartbeat making your eyelids feel heavy.

But his hands kept you awake when they began to meander with some subtle grazing at first, seeking out the soft skin that peeked from underneath your skirt before those touches began to linger.

A quick squeeze here, a gentle nudge there and your thighs came apart just for him, making room for his fingers to rub at your clothed clit. It's a slow, leisurely drag with which he runs his fingertips over the bump, the kind of deliberate teasing that made you tilt your hips forward and chase his fingers for more.

And he was just as good at edging you with his words too - promising you release after release as your cotton underwear turned damp under his touch, his lips pressed against your heated skin with whispers of how badly he wanted to unravel you.

Most times he got you there just as promised. Falling into a rhythm that made your spine tingle and curve with his cock plunging into the wet heat between your legs until he overwhelmed you with a string of orgasms.

But at times like this you feel you ought to have known better.

You should have surveyed that glint in his eye when he pulled your sticky panties aside because it flashed different than the rest. And you should have tried to read between the lines when he said he needed to feel you around his cock, his tone no longer matching the sugary promises he kissed into your neck.

Maybe then you might have realized what you were in for.

But it's too late now. Your clothes lay discarded in a heap on the floor while Steve's left half dressed, pants undone, shirt unbuttoned and his chest hair tickling you from how it grazes against your bare back, now sheened with a light sweat.

There's no way to unstick yourself from the web.

There's barely enough room inside your head to think as it is. He's got you so full - trapped in his lap with his cock worked inside of you up to the base.

"Stevie, you promised you'd be nice", you try to counter but it comes out too weak and tremulous for your liking, made so by the way he's stretched you to your limit.

The way he's basking in your predicament is obvious, grin wide and breath fanning over your shoulder with a dark chuckle. His left hand slips away from where he'd been swiping his thumb lazily over your nipple, making a path down over your ribs and belly to tap his fingers gently on your mound when he reaches it.

"I did. And I'm going to treat you so good, darling", he coos, all smug and sacharine.

You don't doubt it when he places the pads of his fingers on your clit again, rubbing the needy bundle so tenderly that you're almost willing to forgive him.

"Oh...", your lips part with a contented sigh when sparks begin to crackle beneath your skin.

It's always different when there isn't a layer of cloth or lace in the way - so much warmer and more sensitive to his touch this way. Your walls pulse from the stimulation, wrapping tighter around the throbbing length he's inched inside of you carefully.

"Fuck, she must have missed me. Your pussy's hugging me so fucking tight", he chuckles again, this time noticeably less smooth than the first when he lets a soft groan slip through at the end of it. "Gonna play with this pretty little clit and feel you clench around me"

The need to lift your hips and drive his cock against every spot inside you that cries out for his attention is nearing unbearable but you're barred from doing so by the hand he's clamped over on your hip. Thankfully the other helps make up for withholding that much needed motion from you as he toys with your sensitive bud, making you stir and squirm in his lap.

"You're getting close already aren't you? I can feel how much you're enjoying this", he laughs, fingers circling your clit faster.

"Look at that sweetheart, she's crying for it"

Having him draw attention to it out only made you burn that much more fiercely. You've soaked him in the messiest way, creamy slick dripping down to his balls just from having you stuffed and played with. - not even fucked, as he so snidely pointed out earlier.

"Shit - I'm gonna cum - please Steve, can I?", breath hitching as you sought his permission.

You knew he liked it when you begged like this, the thought of him pulling his fingers away to teach you a lesson making your eyes burn with the beginnings of tears.

"That's my good girl. Go on, show me how good I'm making this sweet pussy feel"

Muscle memory kicks in quicker than conscious thought when you wrap a hand around the wrist he's wedged between your quivering thighs, hips quaking when the tension pooling in your abdomen winds tight and snaps.

His name lifts off your tongue like a prayer, cried out over and over as your cunt squeezes his cock tight in a flurry of rippling spasms. Your thighs grow tacky with your pouring emissions, the man inside you groaning heavy and deeply from the way your hot, silky walls pull and pulse around him.

The afterglow is a hazy, dreamy fog of bliss - like waking up to sunlight spilling on cold, bare feet slipping out from under rumpled sheets on a Sunday morning. He's kind enough to give you some time to recuperate, lips busy, telling you how good you did for him but as the fog clears, tendrils of disappointment creep in silently when you realize he hasn't cum yet.

Tipping your chin down to eye the sticky wetness evident between your legs, you recognize the mess as all your own, that satisfying crescendo of having him fill you up and empty himself inside you still out of your reach.

"Are you going to fuck me now?", you ask once you've gathered your breath, hope welling inside your throat.

"Not tonight, angel", he answers almost sympathetically but you know there's no real sadness there when his fingers glide over your swollen clit once more.

"Gonna make you milk me like this - gotta see how long you can take it"

[akutasoda]

title - 'so before we die, i'd like to do something nice'

╰➜they realise they messed up and they will do anything to make it up to you

dedicated to - jouno saigiku!

warnings - gn!reader, small arguement, slight comfort, sonnet length - 726

a/n: request by an anon!!

dating jouno was hard. you knew it and jouno himself knew it. his work as a hunting dog kept him busy and even away for a couple of nights, so you could either rarely see him or see him a reasonable amount - it was very fifty fifty. although you knew you couldn't complain because you knew exactly what you were getting into when you started dating him. for the best part, it was tolerable and didn't bother you too much.

but what could really get to you was jouno’s attitude. sometimes he truly could have the attitude of a child. arguments with him were rare but when they did occur, they were bad. jouno was always too stubborn, and always under the impression that nothing could be his fault. rightfully, it could really wind you up.

apologies were really no better from him. you'd always get a few mumbles and a hug that felt more forced than sincere but you knew it was the best you'd get. hesitantly, you always took his half-assed apologies and very soon everything seemed pointless to drag on and so it was pushed aside and waited for the next time you two had any dispute.

fortunately, most days were normal. your relationship was rather healthy despite the occasional argument but no relationship could go without a few. but this argument seemed different. worse for some reason and you really didn't want to keep it up for long.

as soon as jouno got home he seemed to be in a foul mood. he seemed to have a scowl etched onto his face as he stormed around. you merely wanted to ask what happened or if there was anything you could do for him but before you could even utter a coherent sentence, he shouted.

before either of you could register it, jouno began shouting out his frustrations at an unsuspecting you before storming off yet again. all you did was stared wide eyed at your lovers retreating figure, he really could act like a child sometimes. admittedly, you were hurt by his words during his outburst but you knew going after him was a hopeless endeavour and so you remained put.

jouno paced around the shared bedroom for a while before sighing and stopping. he knew that you didn't deserve the backlash of his anger and yet that didn't stop him from doing it in the first place. he knew he was in the wrong and should apologise but he couldn't. all jouno could do is calm down, go back out and hope you've forgiven him.

except this time it wouldn't be so easy. he could tell you were lounging on the couch were he had yelled at you and so jouno slowly made his way to sit beside you. you two sat in silence for a bit before you heard him mumble something and he tried to give you a hug - no doubt his ‘forced’ form of apology but you simply pushed him off.

his face fell more than it was. he tried again just to be met with the same result. now he realised that you weren't having his attitude anymore, that his sorry excuse of an attitude and even worse apology wasn't getting him back in your good books.

in fact, he knew he didn't deserve you. you were always so accommodating for him and so understanding. yet he treated you like he did everyone else and now he realised you'd finally got fed up of him. he messed up, he'd messed up plenty of times but this seemed to be the final mistake if he didn't fix it soon.

and so he called your name.

he didn't know if you looked at him, he didn't care he just wanted you to listen.

‘im sorry’

‘im sorry for every time we argue, i would do anything to make it up to you, just please understand im sorry’

you may have remained silent but jouno could tell by your quickening heartbeat that you listened, that you were contemplating forgiving him. he could even take a guess that a small smile could be observed on your face.

‘so what would you like to do?’

[m-jelly]

Tempting bite

Vampire Levi x fem!reader

The base of the music was so deep that it moved your body in a way that made people more relaxed and aroused. There was a temptation in the air, a desire and a need to feel the flesh of another against your own.

Bodies moved close to each other as they chased the thrills of suggestive dancing. While the music drifted through the large cathedral now a club people drank cocktails from alcohol and others from blood.

Red lights lit up the dark club but the steel-blue eyes of the darkly handsome owner lit up the VIP area. The area in front of the VIP section was full of people flirting or dancing provocatively to get his attention, but the grumpy vampire was not interested in any of them.

As the night went on, he became more frustrated, but then you walked in. It was like the world slowed down around him. There was no denying it, you were clearly nervous and had never done anything like this before and your friends had dragged you here, but you looked like a vision.

Most scents disgusted him, but the scent that came from you drifted over everyone and cut through his very soul. He felt alive when he let it wash over him, it was so fresh, so gentle and yet subtle and not overpowering. The way you stood out was magical.

After a while, your friends abandoned you at the bar. As soon as they were gone a snake of a vampire slid up to you and pressured you too hard. It infuriated him that someone would try and take someone he was interested in.

Levi used his speed to appear behind you. He grabbed the vampire's hand and bent it back too far it snapped. He growled. "Tch, get the fuck out of my club."

You watched the vampire sprint off. "Thank you so much."

Levi locked eyes with you, he knew you were just as attracted to him as he was to you. He could sense your heart was racing, the blood rushed to your cheeks and your scent increased. "Forgive me." He took your hand and kissed the back of your fingers. "People are supposed to be safe in my club, not hunted." He smiled against your skin. "Forgive me."

"Of course." You gave your name. "Who are you?"

He frowned a moment, almost everyone knew who he was. "You don't know me?"

"No, but I'd like to."

He pulled you close. "Levi Ackerman. This is my club." He inhaled your scent. "Mm, would you like to join me in the VIP area?"

You nodded as you felt drawn in by this man. "I'd like to."

He led you to his booth and sat right next to you. "Sorry I'm sitting so close, but the music is loud and it'll be better to talk."

You gazed deep into his eyes. "Don't vampires have excellent hearing?"

He played with your hair. "Yes, but you're a human." It was a lie, he just wanted to be close to you. He softly called your name. "What is a sweet thing like you doing in here?"

"Friends dragged me along." You smiled at him. "Why me?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you pick me? There are other people here that are prettier."

He dragged his lips over your cheek to your ear. "Says who? When you walked in through my doors I was drawn to you like no one ever before. Your scent, your heartbeat, your smile." He pulled back and locked eyes with you. "Your beauty."

You lightly kissed him and hummed. "Sorry. I just...I felt compelled...I...I feel like I've known you for..."

"Centuries." He smiled. "You feel it too?"

You nodded. "Y-Yes, when I look into your eyes." You looked at his teeth. "Your fangs."

He smiled more. "You can touch them if you want? Don't worry, I won't bite unless you ask me to."

You giggled and lightly touched one of them. "They're pretty."

"I want to take you on a date." He took your hand and kissed it. "I've never been interested in someone so strongly, especially an adorable human. I want to do this right."

You cuddled closer to him. "I'd like that."

Levi felt a spark inside him. "Really? You really want me? I want you."

You tapped your forehead against his chest. "I want you too."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a

@youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity

@nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08

@levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife

@demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid

[worldofkuro]

Hello!!! This is my first time really asking anything, but I just wanted to say that I really really love your Painted Smiles series! Omg that last chapter! *chef's kiss. Are you on AO3 at all? Because I'd follow you in a heartbeat 😊. Anyway, I was wanting to know what would have been Al's reaction if he actually did hurt or heaven forbid actually killed reader when he was possessed?

🦦 Anon

Well, well, hello my dear. I’m not on AO3 but with all of your praises I might begin to post Painted Smile there. I’m happy you enjoyed the last chapter :)  I'm sorry it took so long for me to answer you. Now, that’s quite dark thoughts,please, be careful of what you read.

If Alastor ended up hurting you before you freed him from his possession, he would be oh so confused.

He would never hurt you, unless you both were playing your games.

He would rush toward you, making sure you were okay. You were able to speak to him so it eased his mind but he was already thinking about revenge.

How dare they use his body to hurt you? How could them?

If the injury was too bad, he would ask you to go to a hospital, but stubborn as you were, you would just heal yourself, trying to reassure him. He would have to see your body healed before allowing himself to relax. 

Now, he needed to make them suffer for it… His mind would think of multiple ways of hurting the one who used him as a vessel to hurt you.

Thankfully for them, you were there to calm him down before he rushed to them without being careful. 

“ They are lucky you are alive, dearest.”

Now, if he ended up killing you… Oh dear.

He would stare at your lifeless body, staring at his bloodied hands. In a way, your soul  belonged to him.. 

He would ask Baron Samedi to keep your soul with him and that he shouldn’t even try to do anything else with your soul.

And then, oh, Louise and Micheal would live a hellish experience.

Alastor would torture Micheal in front of Louise, loving their pleas for forgiveness. He would keep his smile on his face while talking.

“ You took her from me, didn’t you? I shall do the same.”

He would kill the one that managed to possess him and killed you. But then, he would take the corpse and cook it in front of the survivor.

He would hum as his prisoner screamed, begging anything to make Alastor stop.

Once his dish was ready, he would place the plate in front of the person, smiling. He would kill any friends, family, acquaintances his victim knew to turn them into their daily meal.

“ This is my first time, so please, be easy on me. Your next meal shall be greater.”

[somewhereincairparavel]

Hazel and Jason's dynamic is SO fucking disappointing now that I'm binge reading the books again. It was so frosty and distant. Jason was literally just mistrusted and "not like what she expected him to be" in 90% of her Hoo POVS it's sad really. I really wish they would bonded properly. So much potential for friendship just down the drain.

Hazel's unwillingness to forgive Jason for suspecting Nico was genuinely pissing me off I'm sorry 😭 like I never thought I'd get mad at Hazel of all people bc she is literally a sweetie, but she's infantilized way too much in the fandom, so her flaws are easily overlooked, but like she literally went all volcano on Jason and held a grudge against him till House of Hades too? Like I get that she worried about her brother and stuff I'd be mad too. But it's the fact that she selectively forgave Leo SO quickly and never even yelled at him (even though he's the one who started the suspicion in the first place even jokingly called nico creepy and stuff behind his back not that I'm trying to fault him or anything I love him)

look I'm not saying it's all Leo's fault or anything, in my opinion, both Jason and Leo were right to suspect nico because of how back and forth nico went from both camps without saying a word and also pretended to not know percy and stuff. So it's realistically shady behaviour from their pov.

But Hazel gets all sweet and soft on Leo because of Sammy and forgives him in a heartbeat, tbh tho she never really directed her anger on Leo in the first place so there was nothing to forgive. But when Jason apologizes, she gets all cold and frosty like accepting his genuine apology is the hardest thing she has ever done?? Like?? Hazelnut I love you and all, but you just accused Jason of unfairly judging nico but you ironically unfairly judged Jason and went all sweetheart on Leo?? Contradiction much?? Either forgive both of them or don't forgive either of them? Why the bias?

Then in HoH she goes on a whole lot of yapping about how she doubts his capabilities as if she didnt just idolize him like 5 minutes ago RIGHT after he encouraged her that she was doing well and included her as a part of the team?? Idk, she was so petty with him and for what?. I just found it unfair that Jason considered hazel a friend but she didn't consider him one and just fully went all judgy mode on him for the rest of the series. she holds on an even bigger grudge than nico lol. she literally did anything but forgive him or give him a chance. so ooc.

Also, In TOA, I found out Hazel told Apollo that she talked to Jason's ghost after he died, to yell at him about how much his sacrifice had hurt Piper :/ like rlly? Out of all the things you could say to a person you idolized who made a lifechanging sacrifice, you guilt trip him for the sacrifice instead of gratitude? Ig she may have been raging out of grief or something but I honestly didn't like the way their dynamic ended. So incomplete. Just another reason of why I found fanon way better.

Hazel coming in terms with the fact that jason is a boy, and not a legend would've been sm better. since the seven basically signifies friendship and comfort. him being a boy with feelings is basically the whole point of his character, but it only gets acknowledged by nico and leo. hazel of all people would've understood jason's internal struggle, she has literally come back from the dead, if anyone knows about struggle, its her.

[gege-wondering-around]

Not Wednesday WIP

sweet @patolemus (love your work, you're such an amazing writer) tagged me and i was working on this little thing yesterday, so i thought it'd be good to share something of it rathen then my ongoing fic

He had opened the door, holding it with one hand, trembling on the door handle, and hiding the other behind his back while his eyes were filled with tears that didn’t want to fall; he wasn’t sobbing, he was just standing still looking down at the floor. Stiles immediately got worried, what if Derek wasn’t doing so well after all?

“Baby,” he had said that day of March, “what’s wrong?”

Derek didn’t hold his gaze and Stiles went in, staring at his eyes and searching for something that could tell him what was going on, but there was nothing, nothing that he could use as an indicator. Apart from the way he kept hiding one of his arms.

Upstairs, after Stiles hugged his boyfriend and brought him to his bedroom with a tender hand holding his shaking one, the boy sat his wolf on the bed, kneeled in front of him between his legs and stared into his eyes, which couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second at the time.

He didn’t say anything, he had his hands on his knees, stroking his covered skin and took notice of how he kept hiding his arm behind his back, almost always keeping his gaze low and sometimes letting out a little whine when he moved his arm.

“Lemme see, mh?”

The question was surreal to Derek, there was nothing to see after all. His skin was fine, his boyfriend would see nothing there. So, he moved his arm away from his hiding spot and showed it to Stiles, who with pleading and caring eyes took hold of it with one hand, leaving the other to make soothing motions on his knee with his thumb.

But Stiles wasn’t blind.

Sure, there was nothing visible or tangible, skin was spotless and clothes were clean, but a little detail got away from the wolf: when Stiles touched his wrist, applying some pressure to feel his heartbeat with two fingers, it caused a little wave of discomfort to run down the wolf’s spine and there was only one reason why that happened there and not on his knees.

He looked in his eyes, blue as that drainful night, and although he knew, he didn’t say anything.

Stiles kissed his skin, leaving a few gentle, open mouthed kisses on his wrist and with his eyes, he told Derek he wasn’t alone, that it wasn’t his fault and that he didn’t deserve any punishment because he was a victim, not a culprit.

And Derek cried, because his boyfriend’s eyes were clear as day, allowing him to read everything and giving him the chance to not say a word, to not have to deal with the conversation that it would bring to.

ahhh this fic is going to either break my heart or yours, but either way, if it works it's gonna be a painful read (forgive me for it, i'm a sucker for making my readers cry... it means that i did a good enough job with the narrative that it brought to you the emotions i wanted to convey, still, forgive me again) No pressure tags @dontcallpanic (i'm addicted) @patolemus (can't ge tenough of your amazing works, forgive me) @hellameyers (it's been a while, hello my sweet foe) @hedwig221b (i'm a curious fella, i'd like to know you a bit) and everyone else who wanna join in

[hollowbait]

Started watching Bleach again as an adult because I saw a 100k+ fic and decided that in order to read it, I needed to understand the canon. Once I actually got into the canon I fell immediately in love with Urahara and got sucked into a totally different ship. This is that ship. And since I'm a firm believer that once you read over 100 fics for a ship in less 3 months, you need to make a list of your favouriters, here we are!

@uraharaichigo's current top 25 URAICHI FIC.

breaking and entering is a crime, you know (but i'd forgive you of anything) by Excalis | T, 4k | “Why do you keep breaking into my house?” Ichigo complained, in lieu of a proper response. It was best to not feed Kisuke’s ego. “I was sexiled from my own home,” Kisuke sighed.

Your Humble Offering (In The Mouth Of This Abandoned Church) by RayShippouUchiha | M, 10k | Ichigo, the man who took Kisuke’s crumbling self into both of his hands and pressed the pieces back together with a gruff sort of gentleness, dies.

the shore at dusk (there you'll find my heart) by Starsilver | M, 5k | Ichigo dreams of the heartbeat pounding of the waves and the taste of brine on his lips.

Alchemy by athena_crikey | G, 22k | Shiba Ichigo leads a boring, blameless life as head administrator for the Shiba Clan. Until one day, a mysterious repair shop moves in next door.

Brightest by athena_crikey | T, 8k | “You fill your life with colour and noise and friendship, Kurosaki-san. It’s a very impressive trait. You turn enemies into friends. I… I turn friends into enemies.” Urahara’s still smiling; bitter, brittle.

Madness of Monday by NotLonelyJustAlone | G, 7k | How… how… how? How do you explain ‘I’ve either gone mad or I’m reliving the same week and I don’t feel mad and everything happens the same but I remember it all and I can’t can’t can’t keep doing this please help please please please because even if I’m not mad already I can tell the road there is definitely shorter today than yesterday?’

Standing Over Him by NotLonelyJustAlone | T, 10k | “And you, Kurosaki Ichigo, are mine.” Ichigo without his powers, but not totally alone.

Bureaucracy Hell by Aliendel | G, 8k | Reizei Ariko was considered old for a shinigami. Useless in a fight, she’d been relegated to an administrative position at the Academy. She was content with her mostly monotonous life dealing with arrogant nobles and stupid brats. Until an orange-haired young man barged into it and turned her life upside down like he had so many others.

Fashion Faux Pas? by celestivian | E, 20k | Ichigo has a big party to go to, and nothing to wear. Out of desperation, he seeks out Kisuke for help. Kisuke, of course, delivers.

You Don't Have a Soul, You Are a Soul (You Have a Body) by FeelingFredly | G, 2.6k | Kisuke has a disregard for his own safety a mile wide and it's enough to drive Ichigo mad. This time he finds the shopkeeper unconscious but not alone, and the woman with him has some very interesting things to say.

Car by CheshireSense (cywscross) | G, 4k | Urahara Kisuke handles pursuit of a love interest about the same way he handles everything else: with needlessly convoluted plans carried out in the most roundabout way possible because straightforward just won't cut it for him. He's lucky Ichigo's used to it by now.

Guard by CheshireSense (cywscross) | T, 18k | Later, Kisuke will remember and tease, "Were you really obsessing over me, Ichigo? Oh my, I have my own personal stalker!", and get an elbow to the face for his troubles.

Skeletons in the Closet (and flowers by the window) by Sky_King | T, 51k | Kisuke has a plan. He always has, and he’s very good at seeing it to completion no matter what. But as he grooms that noble boy into the perfect weapon to defeat Aizen, he begins to regret ever pursuing this idea.

A Deep Drink by Mousieta | T, 9k | Ichigo is a grad student who needs help writing his thesis. And Kisuke…. well no one has ever asked Kisuke what he needs. Does he even know? Does it matter?

i've always been this way (please don't scream) by Mister_Fox | T, 5k | “Ever wanted to snatch a pigeon out of the sky and eat it?” Kisuke asks idly.

Fade to Crimson (I know your name) by Starrie_Wolf | T, 8k | Ichigo’s a relative newcomer at the Seireitei Shatterdome, but he’s settled into the steady pace of his work fine, even made some friends. There’s just one thing.

what is reality? (what is a lie?) by Starrie_Wolf | T, 15k | Sequel to what is a gift? (what is a sacrifice?). Kisuke promises to restore Ichigo's powers after Ichigo makes a sacrifice he doesn't expect, and this changes things when Ginjou starts sniffing.

Equilibrium Position by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf) | E, 15k | He can't believe he has Aizen to thank for getting them together. Can you send fruit baskets to Mugen?

Feeling Horny by Silmariën (Starrie_Wolf) | E, 3k | When Urahara shoved Ichigo to Hirako to learn how to control his inner Hollow, Ichigo thought it meant Urahara wasn’t Hollowfied. He was wrong.

Ficlet February by nahnahnahnah | G, 20k | And he had faith, he did, that Ichigo would defeat Yhwach. That was a startling enough realization, that he would have faith in anyone other than maybe Yoruichi and Tessai.

Patience by floweringbloom | E, 4k | Ichigo needs to have more patience, but he's very good at being Kisuke's distraction.

Remember Me (I won’t wait) by fw_feathers (callmeren) | G, 6k | On November 6, 2022, 13:00, the world’s first VRMMO game «Brave Souls Online» officially opened its servers. On November 6, 2022, 15:37, Kurosaki Ichigo put on his NerveGear and entered «Brave Souls Online». On November 6, 2022, 17:30, the game of death began.

Every Second (I’ll be running) by fw_feathers (callmeren) | M, 25k | “You didn’t tell us your zanpakuto spirit is a giant sea serpent, Ichigo-san,” Kisuke says mildly. “Ah,” Ichigo says, shading his eyes with a hand. “Should I have mentioned that?”

For You, My Dear, I’d Wait Forever by PhishyFish | T, 27k | Everybody knew about the 12th’s lieutenant. After all, he made quite the striking figure. Wild orange hair, a permanent scowl, and power that clung tightly to his skin, it really was not an exaggeration that everyone knew him, or at the least, knew about him.

[hystericstar]

saw ur sub virgin sidon and it is *chef's kiss* !!!

If it's all good, I'd like to ask for a virgin sidon too but on his first heat/rut!! Up to you if you want him to be the sub or dom but sloppy desperate sidon is all I need

‼️‼️He whimpers and whines 🗣🗣🗣

anyways, here you go 🤭

! MDNI !

“So tight. So pretty. More. Need more.” His hips repeatedly slammed into yours roughly. He hugged you close, breathing in your intoxicating scent the entire time. Each new bead of sweat got licked clean off immediately. The Zora king had been using you like a toy for hours. Every thrust squeezed more and more of his cum out of you, but at this point, neither of you could care.

His body had felt abnormally hot for about a week now, so when you had initially offered to help relieve him he was more than willing. However, it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy him. He had never experienced anything like this before, leaving him with little to no control over himself. Countless meetings have been delayed due to his absence yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s balls deep inside you, leaving bruises and hickeys everywhere he could reach.

“S-Sidon! Please…slow down-!” You were a wailing, crying mess. You had been, for the last two and a half hours. Every time you looked, your stomach swelled more and more with his seed, and his strikingly large dick didn’t help either. “So full.” You couldn’t help but pant. “So good! You feel so good. I can’t- I can’t get enough.” His voice trembled in your ear. He was equally overstimulated, but it felt so good he needed more.

Tears of his own began forming. “I-I can’t stop. Hah my pearl…I’m so- ahn! so sorry.” Sidon truly felt so guilty. He promised he’d try to contain himself but he just couldn’t. He was anxious to hear your opinion on this once this forsaken rut ended. You on the other hand, we’re having a ball. Sidon fucking you silly was the best thing you could’ve possibly ever asked for. You knew that under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t dare treat you as rough as this- especially not with any breaks. So for him to use you like his own personal fleshlight? Yes please!

The rhythm of his hips suddenly began to stutter, a clear indicative that he was growing close to yet another orgasm. Sidon threw his head back, roughly pulling you back into him by the hips over and over again, silently telling himself that this was the last time. At least, for the night it was.

You felt him twitch inside of you as you arched your back. The pillow below you had formed a puddle of drool in reminder of your mouth being agape in pure ecstasy for most of the night. “A-ah! My love!” Sidon pulled out of you, hot ribbons of cum painting your back. He knew if he finished inside you once more, the feeling might overwhelm you more so than you clearly already are. Beads of your combined fluids spilled out and made their way down your leg. The king simply admired you, all the while working through the feeling of his heartbeat resonating through his body. He was no fool to the way your legs trembled slightly. ‘Job well done’ he simply thought. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

~《☆♡•°•°♡☆》~

sorry for the slow updates! Motivation suddenly left me lol. This one was sitting unfinished in my drafts for a while, simply because I didn’t really like the way it came out. Nonetheless, I finished it! I’m about to go to bed so it isn’t really proofread, so please forgive me if you come across any mistakes while reading. Thank you for requesting!

[saphirered]

Can I please request an Astarion x reader in the style of those Snow White fics you did for Critical Role?

You've chosen angst. I'd dare say my angst game has improved since so here you go my lovely. 😘

Astarion had laughed at you for living with your head in the clouds. You were a dreamer or so he thought. It took him a while to figure out you had every intention to make your dreams come true. Delusional. Simply delusional. At least until you weren’t. You’re just like him in the end. The only difference is that you have exactly the amount of world-bending willpower needed to achieve your goals whereas he lingers in the shadows, lies and cheats and didn’t get a single step closer to his freedom until that bloody tadpole, until you came along. He’d laugh at you while bending that power of yours to his will, until you would be wrapped around his finger. That lasted all of a few days. You weren’t exactly oblivious and he may have messed up massively. 

He thought you’d stake him then and there several times as his story unfolded before you but to his surprise you didn’t. He’d like to thank his charm and wit for it but you’d have none of that. You did take some decent amount of pleasure in making him grovel after all. Things were good. Astarion found it within himself to actually allow himself to live and not just survive another sunrise. Your presence is simply refreshing. You seemed to enjoy it too and so it became a thing of equal trade, at least for him. For every thing you offered him he would offer in return an equal, to balance the scales like some transaction, like handing gold to a vendor. Though he could not steal back what he gave. For once Astarion was perfectly alright paying his dues. Over time it stopped being a trade and he could give freely. Your persuasion more advanced than he at first let himself believe turned to verbally slap him in the face to show him he gave just as freely as you. He was being stupid. 

You’d shown him what it means to care. You show him how to love and care and be free. Despite what he might have believed, that tadpole that protected him now, he’s not free. He’s on the run and despite what he might tell himself and others, he doesn’t truly believe killing Cazador will set him free. Deep within his heart he knows. Astarion has forgotten what it means to be free but you can show him, you can teach him, and when he is with you he gets a taste of what it means to hold that freedom, to hold you. Much like that sweet sanguine red beneath the skin, you are intoxicating, addicting and there’s no way back now. You’re with him. You’re his. 

Yet here he is on his knees holding your lifeless body. You’re not responding to your name. He’s screamed and shouted until his throat burned with rage and fury and pain until no sound would emit but it’s futile. That heartbeat of yours has gone still. The gentle rise and fall of your chest has as well. Your fingertips are growing cold along with the rest of your body. You’re in stasis, as good as dead. In a way you are dead. What he did to the puppet Cazador sent his way is but a mere consolation prize; useless and a waste. 

Refusing to let go of you, the resident healer had failed. Potions and spells were no use it seemed.  Bargains weren’t good enough for the cursed entities some of these similarly afflicted escapees entwine themselves with. Revenge had rooted in Astarion’s cold dead heart long ago but never had it burned stronger than now. It made him realise the lengths he would go for you; a terrifying reality but not unwanted if he could have you. He’d let the world burn if he’d have you at his side. So here he is taking you to temple after temple only to be turned away. He’s this close to resorting to the exact horrors his former master resorted to but there is hope yet. A hefty price but one he is willing to pay. Astarion will never tell you what he gave up for this chance. You’d never forgive him. You’d be alive, awake and at his side forever. You’ll just have to keep living in this wonderful dream world of yours; the one you shape by your actions. You never need know the truth. 

“When you wake up, darling, you’ll be none the wiser. I intend to keep it like that. I’ll shower you with love and gifts if it keeps this truth hidden from you. I’ll bury it like I have buried so many but for once it pains me to do so. You could call it a guilty conscience I suppose. Don’t think I’m going soft. This lapse in judgement is only for you.” 

He strokes your hair as you lay in the centre of a ritual circle. Your head is in his lap. The final glow of the sigils light your features until there is only darkness. Still he sees you, your features still so ashen but then the arcane lights spark to life offering a dim glow, and with it, ever so slowly a gentle thud. Once. Twice. Thrice. Thud-thud. Thud-thud. A heartbeat. He could have cried. Perhaps that was the cold sensation streaming down his cheek. He’s not quite sure. The flush to your skin begins returning as your heartbeat picks up to a normal place. You’ve yet to open your eyes. You’ve yet to awaken but your body is alive. Astarion sighs in relief. Seconds turn into minutes turn into hours. It’s not funny anymore.

“I beg for very little things in my life and you’ll be very satisfied to have me begging for you but please, please wake up. I need you to open your eyes, to let me know you’re truly alive. Please pull me out of this never ending nightmare.” He clasps your hand in his resting it over your chest. Astarion squeezes your hand but there’s no resistance, no squeeze back. Just… nothing. He brings it to his lips, kisses the back of your hand before he lays it back at your side. Gently he lifts your head from his lap and rests you down on the cold stone floors. He studies your features as if he might forget you altogether.

“Seven thousand souls. That’s all it takes.” He rises onto his knees, taking that dreaded staff. “Seven thousand to save two.” Astarion feels no regret when he slams it into the floor, power crackling throughout the stone and air and everywhere. He burns like the sun. He doesn’t know if it’s his screams or the cacophony of the ones who will perish in this ritual, in this ascension. 

Everything grows quiet. No words. No sounds. None save for the beat of your heart, the gasp that emits from your lungs as air is forced back into your lungs. You were within darkness, floating in the abyss without any sense of self one moment and the next you are here, wherever here is. Metal clatters on stone and you shoot into a sitting position. Before you have the chance to look for its origins you are engulfed into an embrace. You’re held close against a bare chest. The touch is familiar and so you relax. 

“Astarion?” You mumble no longer used to the sound of your own voice. He pulls back enough to look you in the eye. His fingers graze your cheek as if he’s not quite sure you’re real. There’s something off about him. Shivers trickle down your spine. You can see it in his eyes, hidden under that relief and acceptance there is pain and some regret but no remorse. 

“Yes, my darling?” Astarion tries desperately to keep that new flow of power coursing through his veins under tabs, keep it from showing and scaring you away. Who says he could not profit from this whole predicament. The side effects of your salvation came with great benefits for him. Whatever question you had falls silent on your lips when he slowly leans in and places his lips over yours. One kiss turns into another and another. The world lays forgotten. You’re alive. You’re within his arms. The past lies buried now, along with the dust of seven thousand innocents. It is a blood price he is willing to pay and would pay another thousand times over if that’s what it took. 

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 13. Shimmering Icicles [C3]

Pairing: Turpin x fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin

Setting: Turpin’s house

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Sharing, Prompt 6. Out Of Care

A/N:As promised! Here's today's fic - hope you'll love it 🤭 We're starting to get mighty warm in this one 👀 I mean, it is wintertime over here so I certainly don't mind 🤭🙈 I'm also so beyond ready to get a little break tbh - it's been nonstop of everything for the past few weeks (the last three days being super hectic with the writing as you know) and I'd love to curl up with a good book or longer fic and just take a moment to exist but I'm also super happy about all the writing I've gotten done so far this month 😂 I hope you're all having a wonderful time and that December keeps on giving all the good stuff 🥰❤

Tags/TW’s: Mutual Secret Pining, Wishing For Forgiveness, Cuddling Close In Sleep, Masturbation, Bathtub Pleasure, Unwilling/Unplanned Voyeurism, Virgin Reader, Sexual Desperation, Struggling With Emotions & New Sensations, Wishing For More, Yielding For Another's Benefit

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 2.9k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

Your body hummed with warmth, a calmness seemed sturdily wrapped around you as you awoke to the steadily growing light of dawn sifting through your closed eyelids. It was late morning and you couldn’t quite make yourself fully wake up. The dream of Richard returning to you in the middle of the night made you force yourself to remain on the borderline to wakefulness — the encompassing warmth did little to help sleep leave.

A flexing hand at your hip jolted your senses. You drew a quiet gasp as your eyes popped open in a rush. A pale chest dusted with grey hair filled your vision, the steady thumping of a heart beneath your ear rousing you further. You were curled up against Richard, his arm under your head and wrapped around your back. It wasn’t a dream .

You tried to remain utterly still, endeavouring to relax your muscles to fain sleep. Never had you laid so close. Never had he held you tightly. Never had you heard his heartbeat before or felt his steady breaths under your palm as his chest rose and sank. He was warm, soft yet sturdy — but that you already knew. How I missed you, darling … It was really a strange thing, though. Given everything, how had you fallen in love with the stoic man and felt as if he was missing from you when he wasn’t around? When did that really happen?

Richard hummed and tensed his arm for a second before his breaths turned deep and steady once more. You gently tilted your head back. His face was a wondrous thing to look at. Especially in that moment; his hard lines softened by sleep, the tension in his jaw gone for the time being, and his often scrunched eyebrows softly curved in relaxation. Your fingers tingled to reach up and drag down the curve of his hooked nose, to stroke those cheeks with the slight tint of rosy warmth and grey stubble.

You refrained. Instead, you cuddled closer, closing your eyes and pretending to be asleep. You wanted to remain there for as long as possible, a lacking in your heart you hadn’t known about suddenly felt filled with his closeness. Despite everything, he had come back and whatever discussion was to be had could wait. Your eternity rested in his hands, his words, but surely forever could spare another minute…

⩤• Turpin •⩥

He dared not move. The sun shone through the curtains, the day having since long begun. Yet he lay absolutely still, like a dead man in a casket. He kept his breaths deep and slow, every muscle relaxed and softened. Your warmth invaded his skin, your scent filled his nose, your soft breaths filled his ears with a sweet whooshing sound so low he could barely hear it but the warmth it fanned over his bare chest in intervals could not be missed.

Perhaps I perished in sleep and have reached— no, I must be very much alive, with my sweet wife cuddled close. The muddled and unfamiliar sensations within him were difficult to pinpoint — there were so many of them and all quite elusive to correctly term in their newness. His rigid cock was an easier matter to understand, you felt like perfection against him — despite the nightdress keeping your soft skin from his. This is not a time for my desperate need. I may very well be on the brink of never gaining such a gift from her, I cannot jeopardize this moment or the future beyond it.

He drew a deeper breath, gently moving his muscles to give you the chance to move away before ever knowing he was awake and aware of how the two of you lay so maddeningly close. But you didn’t move, nothing about your state changed and a mixture of relief and sorrow flooded him. He wished you awoke and remained cuddled against him willingly, what one did in sleep one had little control over and if you did not wake and made the active choice to remain close to him the moment meant that much less.

He sneaked his arm free before abandoning the warmth to shrug on his robe. When he glanced at you over his shoulder, your arm lay stretched over the mattress where he had been a moment ago but other than that nothing had changed. Asleep… Perhaps that is the only time I deserve your closeness, when you offer it unknowingly. The thought stabbed at his usually cold heart, his aching cock demanding to enter your warmth and find its sweet release, his skin itched to be connected with yours, and above all he wished for you to look him in the eye while offering your forgiveness.

None of it was granted, of course. He merely left the bedroom with a final glance at your sleeping form before heading to the bathroom. His movements were hurried, the constant pressure to go back and wake you, kiss you, press you down into the mattress with his own body while offering you all the pleasure he could was agonizingly unbearable.

He filled the tub with steaming water and shrugged out of his robe and underpants before sinking into the water with a deep groan. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes he tried to resist the urges coursing through his veins with the image of you in the bed as a constant stoker to the fire within him. It all mixed with his anger, his hurt, his wish for forgiveness, and the uncontrollable warmth you seemed to thaw his entire heart with.

His cock jerked as a memory flashed of you smiling widely at him, eyes all twinkly and warm when looking upon him. “Fucking hell and damnation,” he huffed out in a near snarl. “She’ll be the death of me, I swear it.” His hand found his cock and grabbed it harshly, squeezing the throbbing length with almost too much force as the need to come to the thoughts of you looking at him with warmth turned overwhelming.

He stroked himself, the water rippled at the motion as he spread his legs wider to relieve the pressure on his balls. “ Fuck ,” he hissed as he upped the pace, thinking of your hands on him, your lips against his skin, forgiveness and words of want tumbling out of your alluring mouth as he stroked himself harder. “Y/n— oh, fuck — ” he groaned while his balls drew up, his spine stiffening at the pending release he so desperately needed if he were to have the slightest chance at keeping a somewhat clear head later.

His hips bucked against his hand, and nearly painful pleasure built higher and higher as he gripped his cock harder — needing the pain to keep him from roaring out. “Y/n, my — haaa — sweet wife, oh fuck — ” He bit down on his lip, hissing a breath out between his teeth as he tensed all over. “Yes, yes, oh fuck -, Y/n—” His sentence got cut, his entire body turned stiff, and his eyes flew open at the sound of a gasp.

You stood in the doorway, your eyes wide, your hand over your agape mouth, the other still grasped the doorknob with with-knuckled force. “You-, you called my name,” you whispered while your cheeks turned scarlet, your entire throat rosy in a manner that only had his pleasure rising higher while your eyes seemed to look all over him in the clear bath, his hands still gripping his aching cock on the cusps of release.

It all happened in mere seconds, his lust-addled brain too caught in pleasure to fully register what was happening. “Oh my god!” you shrieked and his eyes found yours bound to his hand grasping his bulging length, he was still holding it tightly and the pressure along with your agonizingly alluring look of embarrassment and innocence tipped him over the edge before he could stop himself.

Red hot pleasure erupted within him as his cock pulsed, the water closest to it turning muddled with his cum while he gasped and groaned at the relief, his hips automatically jerking at the sensation while he tried to stop himself from completely unravelling while your intent gaze fanned the flames of his pleasure with your look of horror, intrigue, shame, and longing, all mixed into one delicious cocktail of purity to be ravaged. He couldn’t help it, you were the one woman he wished to be his and only his for all time — past, present, and future.

But this, the situation you were now in, had never been on his list of wants for your introduction to his naked anatomy. He always wished to go slow with you, make you feel safe in his proximity and closeness — make you curious, not frightened. Fucking hell , he thought while the five seconds after his climax passed in a breath-snagging stillness. Then you turned and slammed the door shut behind you with a bang so hard it rattled the walls. Dread seeped into his bones while his entire body deflated in the warm water. He feared all was lost now, seeing your reaction to him calling your name in the midst of manhandling his own cock. His body turned heavy and the sweetness of ejaculating to the thoughts of you did nothing to ease the stiffness in his shoulders.

⩤• You •⩥

You panted, your chest seemed nearly to explode as you tried to stop the raging of your pounding heart. You leaned against the door, a door you shouldn’t have entered despite hearing your name called. I thought he heard my steps, oh god, oh god, I thought— You hid your face behind your hands, your entire body felt on edge and there was a burning warmth forcing your entire body to tense as you couldn’t rid yourself of the magnificent view you had just witnessed. A primal urge. A deep-seated need. An indisputable sensation of something frighteningly new yet wholly wanted by your body.

Your skin was far too hot, your legs too shaky. The sound of Richard leaving the tub and water dripping on the tiles forced you to jolt away from the door. You couldn’t stop the feelings of him holding you close in the morning from mixing with whatever maddening sensation seeing him in such a state while nearly moaning your name made you feel now. It was too much, yet your body felt deprived of something at the same time.

Your back hit the hallway wall, your breaths in hot pants while the thin nightdress felt suffocatingly warm in the chilly house. Your eyes were glued to the door before you, your mind running rampant with the thought of your husband naked on the other side — and the length of him, the force of his hand, the look of pleasurable pain contorting his features just before his eyes had snapped to your face. The way his hips had jerked and he’d groaned, the depth of the sound wrecked you while you stood on trembling legs, frozen to the spot with only the wall for support.

Hope bloomed somewhere deep within you. Hope that he would forgive you, that he still wanted you, that he still wished to be with you despite the harsh words he’d spoken about your selfishness three days ago. You quenched a sobbed breath as your entire body confused you with the mixture of all the emotions running rampant within you. It was too much and you felt as if you were wound too tight, too tense and too loose at the same time — unable to untangle your feelings and thoughts while your body ached, thrummed, tensed, shook, all of it at the same time.

Your core ached far beyond anything else. A foreign sensation of coiling warmth your fingers seemed to itch to relieve. The view of Richard in the tub coming to the forefront, the sound of your name leaving his thin lips in such a darkly needy manner. You drew a shivering breath while trying to find your equilibrium. You couldn’t stay there, Richard would soon be done in the bathroom and you couldn’t face him when you were such a sordid mess.

After a few strained steps, you managed to get to the bedroom and slammed the door shut just as you heard the bathroom door open. You ran for the bed, diving in under the covers, and curled up in a ball of tension. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel — Your thought was cut short when the door opened slowly, the tiniest of creaking from its hinges the only indication before Richard’s footsteps echoed out. He was moving closer, each thud echoed in your core with trepidation and shame filling your blood.

“Y/n?” he asked in a deep rumble, his voice thicker than usual. You curled up further, fully hidden under the cover. You didn’t know what else to do but to hide, despite the way you’d missed him while he was gone and how happy you had felt when you noticed him wake up a mere half an hour ago but not moving away from you.

“You should not have seen that,” he said after a short moment, his steps echoing out again — drawing closer once more as he rounded the bed. “I have done my utmost to wait, shield you from my needs to allow yours to dictate the pace we move in. Why would you enter the bathroom in such a manner?” he asked, from the sound of it he stood right by your side and his voice was thick with something dark you couldn’t quite name. “I-, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice meek and strained with the confusing sensations tightening your body. “You called my name,” you continued quietly while listening to his rough breathing. A small whimper escaped you as your mind flashed with the way he’d said it, with such need and want. You never knew your name could sound so wondrous, so delectable, so lusty.

“Are you frightened of me?” he asked, his voice a caress of a rumble. “No.” “Why are you hiding, then?” You drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I-, I’m ashamed.” “Ashamed?” “Yes…” Because I feel like I’ll burst into flames if I look at you, and I looked at you when I shouldn’t have looked at you. And I’m frightened, and, and, and confused— “Why? Tell me,” Richard demanded. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t word what you were feeling, it was a mess and foreign to you. So, you remained quiet under the cover.

A long moment passed in silence, but you felt his presence. It only made you curl up further, your thighs pressing together in an attempt to relieve whatever ache had steadily built at the apex of them. You’d felt a shadow of the sensation before, after having wed Richard and lived with him for a few weeks. He’d been dressed splendidly, seated in the parlour with a book and his legs crossed leisurely. He’d looked magnificent, the afternoon sun had shone behind him and the grey in his hair had nearly glowed from the warm light. Is this that same feeling, only stronger?

“Wife,” Richard said steadily, “answer me.” “No, I-, I cannot,” you whispered, your throat tight. “Do you wish to be alone?” he then asked, dejection hidden in his voice. Did you? Did you want him to leave? “Yes… No…” If you leave now, maybe you’ll leave completely again. I don’t want that… “I shall leave you alone, I will remain in my office,” he said in a cold manner. His voice dark and deep, it sent goosebumps along your skin and the memory of how harshly he’d spoken to you three days ago surfaced. It made you cool slightly, your mind distracted from the images of seeing him in the tub.

His footsteps receded. The sound of the door knob being turned came and your heart jolted. You threw the cover off, your breaths turning rushed, and found his eyes staring at you — no emotions in them. As if he’d turned them off. “Don’t leave me again,” you said. “I took everything down, and I’m so sorry for what I did,” you continued while trying to keep the conflicting emotions and sensations at bay. On one hand, you wished to launch yourself at him and make him take away the ache, on the other you were terrified of the way he looked at you. Blandly. Blankly. 

You looked away, not able to hold the connection. Your eyes went to the window, shimmering icicles hung from the roof and the sparkles were beautiful as the sun shone on the clear ice. Perhaps those icicles were to be the only sparkle this Christmas. It tore a sigh from you, a pitiful sound really. Yet, still, you found yourself thinking that if he needed a Christmas that wasn’t all that Christmasy then you’d accept that, and deal with it — for him. Perhaps him saying your name during such a time as in the tub meant there was a chance for more between the two of you. 

His rushed footsteps filled the room, and you hadn’t time enough to turn your head before his warm hands cradled your cheeks and stormy eyes of grey held yours unwaveringly. “You… are apologizing, to me?” he asked, a low sound of disbelief. “ I should be the one to ask for your forgiveness, Y/n.” You couldn’t say anything, his eyes held you mesmerized and there was not a single thought in your head beyond wanting to kiss the lips confessing to wanting your forgiveness and lifting the blame from you.

“Wife, sweet wife,” he exhaled in a rush while his thumbs stroked your cheeks. The rainbow-coloured sparkles of the icicles danced around him and all you could do was hold his gaze as your body went taunt and hot from the way he looked at you.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Well, that was a fun fic 🤭 This is really turning into something quite delicious and I do have plans for at least 2 more parts of this story so stay tuned for that in the near future - hopefully not too far off in the future (yes, yes, I'm itching to write more for Turpin - as usual 😂)

Q: What's that one thing that bothers you with the holidays? 👀 A: For me, it's the mania regarding gifts. Like, yes, I love to give and receive gifts but I think there's a bit too much of a buying spree every year rather than an actual thought behind the gifts. I'd rather have one well-thought-out gift than ten random ones 🤷

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[Dec:2023]

[tokkishouse]

If requests are closed ignore this but can you do xiao x reader?

The reader is an adeptus as well one xiao wasnt aware existed till the chasm incident when he saw a small crystal fly coming towards him before zhongli saved him.

How would he react and fall for the reader?

Fluff please? I've read too much angst

Requests are not closed! I was a little confused about what specifically you were looking for so if I need to adjust, by all means, let me know ❤️ I tried to make this fluffy but I think. I made it too solemn. Also, thank you all for 300+ followers. I'm so glad you all enjoy my writing. It really motivates me to keep at it 😊

(Sfw) Falling for You

Characters: Xiao x GN!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the 2.7 archon quest, reader is an adeptus with a pyro vision, it's fluffy?? To an extent? A bit of a somber end but no one necessarily dies

WC: 1.6k Words

Check out Pt. 2 Here! (nsfw)

Xiao felt his body grow weaker as he fell deeper down into The Chasm, the panicked voices of his allies but a distant sound. He had put all his energy and power into sending them back home-- he had done his duty faithfully. There was no need to feel regret or fear for the inevitable.

Just as his eyes slowly fall shut, a small red crystal fly flutters towards him. Only for a moment, a glimpse of life before his eyes. Before he can focus too hard, a glimmer of yellow shines, and geo-energy shoots right at him. Warmth encases him and as he closes his eyes, the crystal fly disappears.

Soon after, he appears outside The Chasm with the others, who hurriedly run over to check on him. His mind is racing and the residual energy is buzzing off of him. The words of concern from his allies fall on deaf ears-- all he could focus on was what he saw as he was falling.

That crystal fly...why is its energy so familiar...

✦✧✦✧

The next time Xiao feels that familiar energy, he's out patrolling the beaches near Wangshu Inn. One of the renters at the inn mentioned a hilichurl camp that was giving trouble to passersby and he wanted to investigate for himself. When he arrived, he saw you standing there, back facing towards him, in the center of what he can assume is the remains of the camp.

Smoke and water vapor rise around you and the smell of burnt wood and flesh floods his nostrils. You made quick work of the camp, as there was barely a mask left behind in the wreckage.

"I'm glad to see you are able to be up and moving fairly quickly, Alatus."

Xiao tensed a little-- you never turned around and yet you knew who was behind you.

"I'm an adeptus. It is not easy to take me down," he replies, tightening the grip on his spear. "Who are you?"

You finally look back at him, wearing a smile that does not quite reach your eyes.

"I am Y/N. Nice to meet you."

Xiao's breath hitches as he meets your eyes. There are speckles of red in your iris, reminding him of embers flittering off a flame. The longer he holds eye contact with you, the more intense the feeling of his heartbeat gets. It's loud and rumbles like thunder. He was sure there were no other adepti, and he definitely did not sense your presence in the chasm before. So how...

"I'm quite new actually. Only a few hundred years old-- nothing compared to your age I'd imagine," your voice pierces through his head, breaking him out of his thoughts. "I signed a contract with Morax and was spending my time in Natlan. However, when he told me what you were up to, I made my way back here."

Xiao studies your face, looking for any trace of deception. But your smile, while ingenuine, revealed no such thing.

"Then, you were the crystal fly?" He questions, and you nod, your smile widening.

"Ding ding ding-- we have a winner! I help Morax figure out where you were so he could rescue you. Although, I'm sure he would've found you all on his own eventually. He is the Geo Archon."

You pull out a pocketwatch from your bag, clicking your tongue when you see the time.

"It appears that I'm running behind on another errand. You'll have to forgive me, Alatus," you apologize, putting the pocket watch away. Just as you're about to run off, he stops you.

"Xiao. Call me Xiao," he insists. "That name carries memories and a history that is no longer relevant."

You look back at him, eyes scanning over his features properly. After a bit, the warmth from your smile reaches your eyes, and you nod.

"I'll see you around, Xiao."

✦✧✦✧

You and Xiao meet up more after that day. At first, you'd make bi-weekly trips to Wangshuu Inn, relaxing on the rooftop under the shining moon with Xiao as you recount your adventures to him. You remind him of Ganyu or even Yanfei, with you all having closer proximity to humans and even the mannerisms you've managed to adopt.

On one particular evening, you both exchange your favorite meals: he lets you try almond tofu, and you offer him a delicacy from Natlan. Neither dishes are to the other's taste, and you laugh it off as a result of "different environments." Nonetheless, you always bring him something to try and he does grow fond of the spicy and sweet candies that come from the land of pyro, along with the adeptus that guards the nation.

It wasn't until you had been coming for about 4 months that the yaksha finally realized his feelings for you. It was during the Lantern Rite Festival-- everyone was coming together to celebrate the memories of those who had passed. The streets were bustling with life and joy-- a sight that he knew you would not want to miss

Currently, Xiao is walking around the streets, searching for you. You promised that you would be there to release a lantern with him.

"Where are they?" He ponders to himself as he watches festivalgoers walk past and interact with the merchants.

A sudden warmth fills his chest, startling him a bit. He looks up and sees you standing on the roof of one of the buildings, holding a lantern. You flash him a grin and leap off. Catch me if you can, your actions read. Xiao grunts and he leaps after you, not wasting time.

You two race across the city toward the harbor, jumping over congested roads and excited patrons. It's not long before you land at the edge of the dock, Xiao landing right behind you.

"You're a tad too slow, Alatus," you tease, turning to face the yaksha. He grunts, looking away.

"You had a head start."

"Is that what we're going with? The 'head start' excuse?" You laugh, and Xiao is reminded of the bells that ring as merchants push their carts down the streets, selling their wares. A familiar and welcoming sound.

"You already have a lantern," he comments, deciding the change the subject.

You look down at the object in your hand, the heat from the candle inside warming your palms. It was carefully crafted, with a fire-breathing dragon painted outside. The way the flames danced inside made it look like the dragon's fire was alive and moving.

His, on the other hand, had a large peng bird painted on the outside, its wings spread to wrap around lantern. As the fire danced, it gave off the illusion of the wings flapping.

"Shall we release them together?" You ask, and he nods, stepping closer to the edge of the harbor.

You both stand there, waiting for the people in the city to release their lanterns first. You enjoy the environment around you-- a cool sea breeze blows past and you can hear the soft creaking of the nearby boats. The waves crash against the harbor walls and if you listen really closely, you can hear the slow breathing of you and Xiao as you stare out to the sea.

"You confuse me," Xiao states, earning an amused look from you.

"Oh? How so?"

He swallows thickly, his gaze focused on the ground and his mind racing as he searches for the right words to say. How does he explain the unnatural feelings he's felt all this time.

"You leave me wanting to see you daily. The time spent away from you has me feeling more irritable than usual. When you are here, it's like my karmic debt doesn't exist and I am allowed to simply be," he starts, slowly looking up to meet your gaze.

"I find needless chatter about everyday occurrences needless, and yet every time you're near I wish to hear you speak more. My head hurts and my chest aches, but they pain me more when you're gone...How does that work? Is it an adeptus ability you have trained to weaken me?"

You stare at him, gaze unwavering. It's overwhelming-- it's suffocating. You don't react or respond right away, and it's making Xiao feel like you're tearing everything he said apart, piece by piece. Why won't you look away? Why do you keep staring at me with such firey passion? Why oh why do I still want you to look on, to only keep your eyes on me?

"Alatus."

He gasps at your sudden proximity and nearly stumbles back. Your voice is light-- if the wind blew harder he'd have an issue hearing what you have to say. The embers in your eyes burn brightly.

"Do you want to know what those feelings mean?"

Amber eyes stare back at you, revealing millions of thoughts scrolling by. You can feel his breath against your lips, and your heartbeats are like drums beating in synch. Time seems to slow down and it's just you two in the harbor. You both wait with bated breath for his response.

"Yes," he breathes out finally.

Your lantern is released, floating up into the sky to join the hundreds of others that spread across the starry night, and warmth spreads across Xiao's lips. You taste of jueyun chillis and sugary rice pudding, and it's all he can taste. All he can feel is your body against his and the inviting movements of your lips on his. He releases his lantern next and wraps his arms around your body, the firm grip a reminder of his desire to not let you go. Not yet at least.

Under the sea of golden light, you two share a lover's embrace. Duties are but a second thought-- the first being entirely devoted to each other.

Requests (both sfw and nsfw) are open~!