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eldritch-spouse · 11 months ago

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I need to know in explicit detail the first time breg allowed this human to collect samples. Also need to know the embarrassing situations they are put in that their coworkers judge them

I honestly love this so much I'm kicking my feet and giggling ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Fem reader. I kind of rushed this. Doodle at the end.]

TW: Heavy themes of abuse (including mentions of noncon, death and captivity); Dubious consent moments.

" Listen, we just need you to get in there. "

You blink. " ... This can't be serious. Is this a joke? "

The half-fiend woman, superior to you in professional rank, drags a hand across her blonde locks and grimaces. " Look, I know it sounds bad- "

" Of course it does! This was nowhere in the job description- "

Not that the job description was very uh, descriptive, anyway. But any straw will do, anything to cling to a modicum of your dignity as you get told what your next task will be.

She seems to switch through a few different corporate tactics to ease the blow. " Listen, please. We are short-staffed at the moment, and this has been affecting production a lot more than you can imagine. Specimen 197 is a big bread-winner here and we all know he's uncooperative with machinery, going as far as to ruin it constantly, which leads to more expenses- "

She's explaining this to you like you're a particularly slow toddler and you're not amused.

" We have also noted that M197 is clearly attached to you and a bond has been formed, which is why your presence is requested in certain situations, to reduce his stress levels during tasks. This... Is another one of those tasks. We just need you to get a few samples- " She points at the two canisters next to her. " And you can think of it as a way to improve your bond with the specimen even. "

" Ma'am, he's entering a rut. " You pause. " You want me to walk into a male breeder's cell while he's rutting and engage sexually with him? "

She gulps. " For- For strictly professional purposes- "

" I'm not doing this. "

...

" There's a significant monetary bonus if you manage to do it. "

A long, shameful, disgustingly filthy moment of silence unfolds where you internally debate how far you're willing to go for some much needed money.

Too far, apparently.

" ... I'll do it. "

" Great, that's wonderful, we- "

" No cameras in the room. "

She flinches. " But then how are we supposed to know if you're in danger? "

" No cameras, please. "

If you die you die. You don't want footage of you being possibly mauled by a breeder out there...

A begrudging glance is cast towards the canisters sitting innocently on the table.

Grabbing them, you prepare for the shitshow you signed yourself into.

We have him tied up, the techs had informed you, it'll make things easier.

Just hearing them gives you headaches.

Yes, of course, because forcibly restraining the already volatile lifeform will make it cease being hostile. Logical.

A long-suffering sigh exits your lips when you input the code to open 197's cell. It's a code you know by heart now. If not from the regular standard visits, then from the hurried string of numbers your coworkers would scream at you over the radio before getting launched around by a monster several times their size and weight.

It's hard to forget something like that. There are just some faces you never see again.

As soon as the heavily reinforced door hisses open, you're greeted by an immediate build-up of a snarl. As scary as the sound was when you first heart it, and continues to be on an instinctual level, you understand now that it's mostly born out of fear.

Nothing good ever happens when 197 is cuffed and he's right to be frightened.

The moment you step into view and the door slams shut behind you however, he visibly seems to shift gear instantly.

Sitting on the rather uncomfortable tiled ground, specimen 197 has his ankles spread and cuffed to the ground, his wrists joined behind him and his neck nearly choked to the wall. A muzzle prevents the breeder's jaw from elongating as it tends to do when he's threatened. His tail is likewise restrained in two areas. Those cuffs are the best things modern technology can offer, you haven't heard of a single solid monster type that can shatter them. They're likely also tampered with by some more magically-inclined individuals, but you've never been one to dabble in that.

He exhibits the signs you'd expect from any male entering a rut. Excessive sweating, goosebumps, a faster breathing rate, tension, restlessness and a dilated, humid slit. His skin flickers from time to time, signals somewhere between aggression and courtship displays. You would never have associated heat cycles with torture before starting your work here, but seeing the way these monsters are chemically forced into hypersexual, unhealthily exacerbated heats has shown you just how cruelly this biological process can be exploited.

Sometimes they die. A hormonal, frenzied, artificially accelerated metabolism like this is powerful, but it's also very fragile, in a way. Either they're able to maintain their required ridiculous nutrient intake, find a way to preserve as much energy as possible, or simply panic and end up dying from a mixture of stress and lack of sustenance.

Another sigh escapes your lips, you try to clear your head by placing the canisters on the ground.

The breeder in question, who was once nearly pitch black in his effort to intimidate the perceived threat, is now snow white, having registered you as his favorite, the "nice one". 197 shrinks in himself, then begins a litany of keening whines interspersed with specific chirps.

It might be a plea for attention from an already hormone-fried brain, it might also just be a desperate request to be released from his binds.

You're no paragon of morality, but unlike your coworkers, you understand that building a bond with anyone requires depositing some trust in them. And, even if 197 is rutting, you can only continue to build a connection with him if he has a modicum of comfort in this situation. Which is why you steel yourself before moving closer to the specimen in question and inputting the specific combination to unlock all of his cuffs.

The process is timed, giving workers about five or so minutes to leave the cell before the cuffs drop and the monster is freed. It prevents casualties, naturally.

197 tries to thump his tail in appreciation when he realizes what you're doing, quietly rumbling and trying to lean into the small brushes of your fingers as you work.

" There big guy, just give it a second... " You take a few steps back while you wait.

It feels like a small eternity before the restraints begin falling off one by one. First the tail ones, then the muzzle, the neck, the wrists... And the ankles. On that last click, the breeder shrugs everything away and stretches as he stands.

You've studied these monsters and their mannerisms, he's not stretching just to soothe his joints, he's displaying. The exaggerated curve of that spine says it all, you know exactly what reaction he's after. Though, already riled up as he is, you don't think it's a good idea to respond.

In a second, he's closed the distance between the two of you, this near suffocating hovering over your front, hands and arms twitching with the urge to touch you. 197 is not good with boundaries, which was very surprising to you, considering he absolutely detests it when 99% of people touch him.

The 1% being you.

He waits, visibly pained, for the signal.

" You can touch me now. "

And like a sudden wave, 197 nearly crashes onto you, his comparatively massive pale body blanketing over yours as his arms cage your upper body, lifting it along with him. You squealed the first few times, now you know to stay mostly still and lean to the right so he can shove his face in the crook of your neck without bonking his head against yours. Painful.

He takes a couple deep, shameless inhales of your scent. And, if you had to guess, you're probably a bit sweaty from anxiety. Not that he seems to care, 197 actually appears to slow down a little, enjoying the closeness and now familiar odor you possess. His tail coils around your legs and you pat his back when the telltale chirps and trills of elation make it past his throat.

" Yeah, I missed you too buddy. Take a breather. "

This close to the male, you have absolutely no choice but to drown in his musk. 197 can't help it, he's ruttting after all, those pheromones have to come out. Fortunately, as a human, you're not affected by them, though some of your monster coworkers have to wear specific masks when they enter rutting breeder cells. To you, it's just vaguely unpleasant and heavy.

197 would usually give you a bit of room by now, but he doesn't seem interested in that, instead shifting you around so he can smell other parts of your figure, particularly your hair. Your face warms from his excessive body heat and the sensation of being corralled, your protests silenced when a long blue muscle dips to trail from the base of your neck to your jaw and up the side of your face. The movement is quick, and your attempt to reflexively lean away is met with a tighter grasp as he repeats it.

197 has a habit of dulling his teeth to look more humanoid for your comfort, but not today, in the state he is, he likely forgot that detail altogether. This unfortunately means that you feel the scrape of those pointed daggers every time he amorously samples your skin.

" Alright okay, that's enough- "

You butt in when it feels like he's getting a bit too riled up too fast. It's not exactly counter-productive to your task, but letting him get more and more control over the situation will make it difficult to get the samples later. You can't wrangle a breeder in the throes of their rut, you have to do things before that critical stage.

However, the specimen isn't interested in listening to anything you have to say, responding instead to your tone with his own whine and starting to tug at your uniform. That does it. Thoroughly soaked in his drool, you grab onto the breeder's forearms hard.

" 197! " It's not a tone you like to use with any of the breeders here.

He eventually snaps out of his little trance, gulping, steadying himself before frowning and giving you the space you want.

In this barely minute-long episode, 197 has already kicked into high-gear. Breathing accelerated again, open-mouth panting, excessive drool production, somewhat puffed figure and the tips of his twin cocks already poking out of a pelvic pouch that can barely hold them back. He seems to shiver in his own overwhelming arousal, and though this species is known for having its eyes shielded behind a layer of skin on the face, you know he's fixed on you like a famished animal.

Although your cheeks are moments from setting aflame, this isn't exactly a new sight for you. 197 has gotten aroused in your vicinity several times, you've actually lost count. It'd be nonsensical of you to get irritated over such, given that these males are forced into hypersexuality by the concoctions introduced in their organisms. That paired with his fondness for you probably makes it hard for 197 to not get erections constantly. A hug can set him off, even simple closure paired with your scent is enough to do it.

Well. No time to waste.

While he's mildly disoriented, you grab one of the canisters and move towards a corner of the room with a seemingly randomly arranged pile of fabrics. This, as confusing as it may be to some, is a breeder's nest. And in this species of monsters, the males tend to be the ones who arrange spaces for coupling. 197 has expressed clear discontentment with the fabrics given to him during times of rut to fulfill his instinctual needs, but no one here is ever acting with the specimen's best interests in mind. Besides, he piped down when one of the techs had the bright idea of giving him a jacket you forgot in the workplace. It's right there in fact, the gray hue contrating with a mostly white and pale color scheme.

The nest itself is big, if it fits 197 then it definitely fits you too. And, knowing exactly what you're doing, you let him observe you take a step into it and sit down on the middle, empty canister beside you.

Oh boy.

You can practically hear the popcorn crackles in his brain.

The monster trills loudly, proudly, your supposed acceptance of what have amounted to months of unsubtle courtship from his part being finally rewarded. It's a dangerous moment, you're perfectly aware of such, but it's also necessary to get this over with.

197 drops to a creepily nimble crawl across the floor, rapidly posing over your seated form with blue-tinted cheeks and rabid need. Before you can get so much as a word in, he's dropping some of his weight on you, showering you in hasty licks and clumsy kisses again, this time unable to help himself from nipping at your clothes. The coverings visibly bother him, and the male growls quietly before his instincts tug at him again and he's trying to slot himself between your clothed legs. It takes some yelping, and fussy movement from his part, but you eventually rationalize that stressing him out can lead to a violent response right now.

Might as well let him get away with some embarrassing acts.

Hormone-muddled as he is, 197 has only enough of a mind to hold onto you and press two hot lengths against the front of your body. He's already full-mast, the heat and weight of those things dragging across you when he automatically moves his hips is utterly filthy. He groans, probably the first kind of decent friction he's been getting since he entered this phase of his cycle, the softness and smell of his favorite human getting the monster to leak already, lost in his desperate search for a modicum of relief. As gross and ridiculous as it is, at least he's not tugging at your clothes yet.

You can sense his frustration, the frantic way 197 mechanically bucks against you, the pressure he puts in every thrust, the way his claws puncture into your lab coat and he whines low, this noise that turns into a pleased sort of snarl. Overwhelmed, you shiver beneath his figure, glad there are no cameras to see you fluster and shamefully let a rutting monster grind at you.

You dare say you can get into this.

There's something so appealing about having a monster yearn for you so madly that he's driven to this senseless and primitive display, that even so much as humping you could have them blissed out. Your legs quake around his and you feel your pussy throb in response to the muted friction from his lightly barbed cocks. It's not the first time you've wondered about how it would feel... You've always been a monsterfucker at heart, and 197 is a brutally gorgeous specimen. He's always imploring for even a single touch from you, if you spread yourself out you have absolutely no doubt he would ram those alarming inches into you like a wild beast.

Yeah, maybe your coworkers would call you a sickfuck, but it's not like anyone who works here is moderately normal...

It's a secret. One that you're vaguely paranoid might not be so secret anymore, now that you've been entrusted with this.

In your horny little stupor, you make the critical mistake of forgetting that breeders quickly detect arousal in others. And you are probably making a wet spot in your pants as of now.

With a sudden snort of an inhale, he rises like a man possessed to start ripping at the sides of your lab coat, forcefully trying to rip it off even as he's unable to stop rocking his hips. He knows how to unbutton things just fine, but you bet he can't be fucked to think much in this state.

" Hey- Hey, easy, slow down. " You grab onto his wrists, being ignored.

Okay. Time to think this out while you still can. He's going to rip through your clothes if you let him, and that's not just needless damage, it'll put him in control. But being aggressive about getting him to stop isn't ideal with this type of monster, you need something that distracts him too much to realize he's not exactly holding the leash here. Eventually, an idea graces your mind, though it makes you grimace a little.

Already blazing with shame, you carefully edge a hand between you and, with some hesitation, grab one of the twin members pushed against you.

Instant reaction.

The monster halts, as desired, and looks at you almost oddly, but hopefully. The trick is not giving him enough time to think, so you quickly get a feel for what you're working with, and start stroking him generously.

It's not the frenzied, rushed jerking he inflicts on himself when his own libido becomes bothersome, the fisting of a large hand with little focus and care. You handle him as pleasurably as you can manage, using both hands on him and attentively reading his face. 197 pants openly again, glancing vapidly at your small hands while they work him and he fucks into the motions, strings of thick drool falling from his teeth.

" Good...? Yeah? " You ask, gulping.

He falters and gasps, trying to articulate something. " Please. " Gets dragged out, his dick pulsing in your grasp.

You don't quite know what he's begging for, but you assume he's enjoying himself. Watching the neglected length bob uselessly, you take the opportunity to remove your own lab coat, switching hands quickly when necessary. The shirt comes off too, leaving you in your bra and pants.

By the time you glance back at him, the breeder's skin has shifted entirely to black, and he's hypnotized by the new parts of your body revealed to him, the mounds on your chest breeder females don't have but that he somehow finds pleasing to the eye regardless.

You make a lifting motion, trying to get his attention. " Knees. Come on, knees. Let me show you something. "

It takes a hot second, but he computes the request and does as told out of genuine curiosity. You're about to show an already decidedly horny monster the wonders of oral sex, which is likely not the brightest of ideas, but no one's here to judge your poor decisions.

197's girths hover far too close to your face while he waits a tad impatiently. Studying the things you'll be pleasing soon, you nearly pale a couple shades, knowing it'll take some prayer not to end up hurting your jaw. The male has lived in captivity since the day he hatched, you've enjoyed showing him some of the nicer things in life from time to time, this is just another one of them.

Carefully grabbing onto the left one, you glance at 197 as you deliberately slip your tongue out, so he doesn't just assume you're going to try biting his genitals. He tenses, because of course he would, but you take your time, stopping the moment only his tip is inside your mouth. The breeder is a tad confused and quaking slightly with ambiguous anticipation.

Then you suck.

And it clicks instantly.

God, just this little of his length is already forcing you to open wider than you've ever had to with previous partners, still, you strain to take a few more inches down and focus on that part.

The male exhales tremulously, experiencing the feeling for the first time ever, you're certain. 197 has to straighten slightly as the first intense waves of pleasure course through him, and bless the big dorky monster, he has no idea what to do with himself or his arms. As your jaw adjusts, a tad uncomfortably, you start truly gouging how much of him you can handle. Not that much honestly, but it's to be expected. It's already more than enough to please him, if the increasingly louder growled trills are any indication.

Oh, you bet this is the closest thing to heaven for him. His favorite human, with a mouth warmer than he could have ever expected, lips much softer than any of his species', no apex predator teeth to get in the way, and a tongue that although flat and short, can still chase after those wonderfully sensitive spots.

He has exactly zero idea how to react beyond making bestial noises and drooling on his own chest like a vapid animal. The way his cock pulses in your mouth is a tad bothersome to the rhythm you're trying to keep, but you figure you don't have to show-off to someone who's never had oral before, he's already blown away.

Humorously, 197's hands land on your shoulders, and that's the only way he can apparently steady himself while he's sucked off. His spare cock oozes precum that smears onto your bare chest and you half-heartedly pump it when you pop off his other dick.

" Is this okay, hm? " Needless question, really.

The breeder doesn't even make an effort to reply, whining at the loss of friction and edging forward until both his members nudge against your cheek and lips, begging without words to have that bliss again.

Feeling vaguely in control, enough to be playful, you lean away from the one closest to you and take the right one into your mouth, sucking it as far in as you physically can before switching to the other one, all just so you can hear 197 gasp and grunt out moans. His desperation causes him to buck, and as you gag, a little lightbulb fizzles above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The next time you try to pull away, his hands rise from your shoulders to the sides of your head. Each dark finger nearly curves over the perimeter of your skull, and you freeze instantly, not wanting him to tighten his grasp by any means. Everything is fine so long as he only holds onto your head this way, gently.

He's the one moving this time, apparently marveling at the sight of his length disappearing past your somewhat swollen, drooled lips. Except, as expected, he's going faster and deeper than you'd like, getting into it enough to trigger harsh flutters in the back of your throat. Your gagging and subsequent reflexive jerks are met with warning rumbles and one of his hands caging you in place by the back of head.

He learns fast, needless to say.

The more he drives into you, the less you can control your saliva, creating gross pops and slurps as you have little choice but to huff through your nose. Merciless, not even the odd cough around his dick will stop him now that he's nearing orgasm, or so you're willing to guess by his franticness.

Eventually, he makes the mistake of shoving his cock far enough that your jaw strains and your stomach flips, a grossly loud hurl being his response. The horrid noise finally jolts him to a still, giving you enough space to pull away and catch some much needed breath, controlling your belly before anything unfortunate happens.

" Fucking Hell! " You groan hoarsely, irritated. " You're hung like a horse, be careful... "

The rutting male's fried brain only understands that you sound wounded, a concerned chirp followed by soothing sloppy laps to your jaw being his response.

Not an ideal development at all, and yet, progress.

197 is usually very violent with the breeders they tired to pair him for mating. Which is to be expected, being the golden goose of the facility comes at a cost- The rush of hormones in his machine of a metabolism doesn't just contribute to more virility than his male peers, it also causes bursts of hyper aggression not easily controlled. And the only socialization this one usually gets is fights with other males who feel threatened by his presence, understand that they are being hurt by techs because they fail to live up to the standard 197 created, that they might be killed for such.

The females, likewise, fear him.

197 is bigger, louder, scarier. He has a reputation amongst the other breeders, and some of them were more likely to try fighting him off during their heats than accept getting sexual with him. This has led to 197 rejecting all breeders regardless of the context, which resulted in many of the paired females being immediately fatally attacked whenever a scheduled session was arranged. Sometimes he would simply slaughter them, other times he would actually instinctually attempt to mate, and end up ignoring cries of distress, nothing but rage and hormones in that brain causing him to end up killing them mid-coitus.

Shitshows, complete shitshows you've had the displeasure of partially witnessing in the past.

Which is why you're so incredibly shocked he stopped when he heard you nearly throw up. Then again, you're no breeder, and you like to think you've created as decent a connection with him as possible. It could be that.

When the monster thinks you've recovered enough, he attempts to get you to sit in the same position from before so things can resume, and if the way he's insistent on keeping a hold of your head is any indication, then he's learned he prefers to take control of this. And you won't be the fool that argues with him in this state.

After licking your lips a few times, hearing his impatient little huffs, you take one of those slicked cocks into your mouth again, letting him build the pace back up. On the one hand, you're glad you don't have to pretend to keep any composure, letting yourself drool as much as possible for the sake of making the process easier, and uncaring of the filthy noises that only seem to make his thighs quake. On the other, you need a solution so he doesn't just peirce past the back of your throat.

So, experimentally, the next time 197 pushes far enough to have your eyes rolling, you get a firm grasp of the base of his tail and tug.

The appendage lifts and his spine curves back in sudden shock. You doubt it's pain that has him straightening like a plank, after all, you know these beings can oftentimes carry their young by the tail, so if it can handle their body weight, then it can handle a yank from a human's hand. It's more so a sort of "freeze reaction", effective in getting the male to pull back even if he grunts in mild agitation.

It's only fair, in your eyes.

The moment you let go, 197 continues to fuck your face as he pleases, moaning and curving over you once more to find his own pleasure, until he drives in too much again and you repeat the gesture. Over and over, so he understands there are limits.

It seems to succeed in getting the message across. If he wants to keep getting sucked off by your hot little mouth, then he needs to be minimally considerate.

This goes on for a while, you're almost proud to feel him eventually actively hold back from going too far. Because that would halt the friction, and judging by the way his tongue lolls out in pleasure, 197 wants to come really bad.

He seems to have enjoyed your antics from before, because the male actively pulls out of your mouth with another lurid pop and positions his spare length against your lips, fucking into you a couple times before switching to the other one, doing this enough times that you honestly struggle to contain some laughter.

His throbbing increases and you know his peak approaches, quickly reaching beside you for the container as fingers race to open it. Your spare hand makes an extra effort to stroke the length 197 can't fit inside you and with as much vigor as possible, you complement his every motion.

The second you back away to breathe, strings of saliva still clinging from your lips to his dicks, offers the monster enough of a nasty view to trigger exactly what you need. 197 snarls at the top of his lungs, rapidly fisting both cocks before you. It's a decidedly disgustingly arousing display that has you staring heatedly, until the first rope of thick pearly cum lands on your cheek.

It jolts you into flustered movement, holding the canister up to the closest of his girths, you try to get as much as possible inside, unable to shield yourself from the rest of his load as it lands on your neck and tits, warm globs marking you in the throes of the specimen's ecstasy.

It's immensely relieving for him, the sighed, low and needy moans that rip out his throat evidence enough that 197 had been pent up for more than a while. And you... You're soaked in warm seed, observing his maddened jerking slow down.

This is your job now.

Personally collecting from the golden goose of the facility. All for a bonus.

Whatever, just don't think about it too much.

Giving into the guilty sense of pride you feel over making 197 stare at the ceiling in total bliss, you lean down to catch the trails dripping down those teal blue lengths, cleaning him. You don't have to, by any means, but you've already sunk so low today, what difference does it make if you let yourself go a little?

The specimen's legs tremble and he glances down at you with this utterly cum-drunk, infatuated smile. Dark, stained digits rise to comb through your hair in some kind of comforting gesture until you eventually pull away and allow the male to recover.

Now, two things.

You need to clean up somehow, you don't want his cum to dry on your skin.

There's also the matter of the second canister, you think while you grab one of the cloths in the breeder's nest to wipe your face and chest on. You probably won't be allowed to leave his cell until they're both full.

Reaching for the one already warm with 197's sample, you seal it tight, the small device in it emitting a faint green light and beeping quietly. The signal that one container has been filled is then sent to whichever tech is keeping track of this particularly... Unique task.

A pang of shame courses through you at the thought of one of your coworkers now knowing that you've made 197 orgasm.

Time to get the other one and hurry this up.

Unfortunately, as soon as you're about to set a foot outside of the nest, a huge black hand captures your leg, and you're possessively tugged back by a disgruntled breeder who barely gives you enough time to scream before he starts shredding the rest of your clothes...

Hours have passed. You're sure of it.

As far as anyone's concerned, your work has been accomplished. Both canisters are practically overflowing with untainted samples, sitting in the corner of the room so that nothing happens to them.

You're naked, sticky and likely to bruise in some areas from 197's lack of strength mediation, but you did it.

At any moment now, coworkers of yours will enter 197's cell, and you know it's going to be a total wreck. Between his likely immediate aggression, the damage they'll cause him and your less than sightly state, it'll be unpleasant.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when a tireless tongue continues to groom your already exhausted form and 197's meaty cock lazily fucks globs of his hot cum back into your puffed pussy while he trills soothingly. His breathing has steadied and his heartbeat slows.

Any moment now, he might fall asleep inside you, enjoying a sweet moment of bliss before you're taken away again.

It's almost cruel.

#Bregory #monsterfucker #terato tag #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human #not sfw #minors dni #pinnie's art #terat0philliac

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reiyaus · 5 months ago

Text

to be young and in love ( MHA )

warning cursing death mentions death mention lowercase not proofread spoilers genre gn!reader romance fluff pre and est. relationship

crush and confession scenarios with the 1A duo! ( MIDORIYA, BAKUGO )

MIDORIYA IZUKU

you met on the first day of school, he sat behind you so all you could really hear during class were his murmurs and (extremely) loud pencils clacking onto the paper.

the two of you only started talking properly as friends during the start of the quirk apprehension test. your blunt compliments about how far he threw the ball put him in a flustered state― where you had to shake him in order to bring him back into the real world.

a moment that you thought was quite cute just made him want to dig a hole and cry inside.

as your friendships with uraraka and iida started to bloom, you and midoriya got even closer. if not, closer than the others.

your classmates started noticing how midoriya wasn't as shy around you anymore, and how you both leaned on each other for support during training sessions.

your shoulders would be squished together, his hands hovering above your back just in case you somehow fell, your fingers tapping on his arm while he writes down on his notebook― practically everything screamed 'I LIKE YOU!'.

did izuku actually like you? yes. very much. infact, he's liked you since the day you complimented him (but that's mostly from the fact you were one of the first people to talk to him), and he's grown to like you even more throughout the year.

he'd stalk research about your quirk and give you pointers on how you could improve. silently dying inside after you call him a 'great friend'

the confession would probably be sudden.

it was the two of you alone in the field, practicing with your quirks with one another when you perfected the move you'd been working on for months. you were both ecstatic (probably him more than you), and it just slipped out.

"you're so amazing, y/n! your quirk, your brain, everything about you is so perfect-!" he pauses. his head snaps in your direction to see your reaction. you, bearing an amused smile with lightly blushed cheeks, were slightly shocked by his extreme train of compliments.

midoriya, in return, froze in place― internally beating himself up while he reddens up by the second. his thoughts are scrambled and he desperately prayed this was all just a nightmare.

"thanks?" your voice snaps him out of his stupor. "you don't have to over compliment me, midoriya."

"w-wha-? no! i wasn't overcomplimenting you, i swear!" midoriya shakes his head in retaliation. "you're strong, everyone likes you, and even heroes think you're cool! you're also always complimenting and helping me so i guess that's why i really like you and why you're still so cool but-" he rambles on, letting the embarrassment take control once again.

he's so caught up in his trance that all sorts of words come spiraling out his mouth. words that you can't bring yourself to believe.

you blink. "wait― stop for a minute. you like me?" midoriya goes silent, turning his head away from you. your feet make their way to his figure, head turning to try and meet his gaze. you let out a breathy laugh.

"midoriya. come one, look at me. you can't just say that and expect me to ignore it," you shake his shoulders lightly, yet he still refuses to look at you. "you know, people usually don't give silent treatment after confessing."

an incoherent sound comes out his mouth, groaning at your teasing. sure, he was planning on confessing one day, but not like this. his confident vision of him bringing you flowers and expressing words of affection crumbled in front of his own eyes. instead, you're teasing him for his not-ideal way of confessing.

you, on the other hand, knew of his fondness for you way long ago. but hearing it come from his mouth was different. it felt intimate in a way. it felt genuine. who doesn't like that?

your hands squeeze his shoulders from behind, giggling at his flustered state. "if it makes you feel better, i also like you. and i think you're cool too."

"y/n!"

BAKUGO KATSUKI

he was in class 1-A, you were a student from a different department, class 1-H.

during a fight with the LOV, his grenadier bracers were damaged from the recklessness of his actions– so, as a student of the support department, it was your job to help the future heroes of the nation be 100% with their gears.

even if that means enduring the brash attitude of katsuki bakugo.

refusing the urge to bark back while you continue on adjusting his bracers, his voice complaining in the background about how 'he can fix them himself'.

no matter how he hard he tried to talk-down your revisions, he knew how much better you made his gear. how you made it just like he wanted. of course, he didn't say that out loud.

now, skipping to the aftermath of a practice with pro-heroes disguised as typical villains- his bracers broke. again. another reason to be pissed off.

however this time, instead of directing him to class 1-H, Aizawa sent him to the main support department where the actual tech support engineers worked. people he didn't know at all.

so what did he do? he went to your class instead.

simply because he doesn't trust the others enough to ensure they wont fuck up his gear (totally).

and he continued this routine whenever his costume or bracers got messed up.

pretending like he's walking to the engineer lab when he's really on his way to yours.

instead of a highly-professional labratory of engineers with 20 years of experience, he preferred your little cubicle with coffee-spilled papers and a little light bulb to shine over it all.

for multiple weeks to months, bakugo didn't even realize how frequent his visits were starting to be. almost everyday after class, he'd find himself consulting with you for something as small as a scratch on his gear- just to see your face, how it lit up while u explain to him your new gadget, lips curved up and body relaxed.

"it even has a cord here so i can connect my laptop into it! soon enough, all the resources i downloaded yesterday can be programmed into this little card- right here,"

you turn to urge him forward, but pause when you make eye contact with him. nearly 3 feet apart yet the sudden intimacy made you feel like your bodies were pressed together, cramped up in a small closet. when you werent.

"...bakugo?" he looked up at the repeating calls of his name, finding you staring up in concern. “you good? you’ve been spaced out for so long i almost thought you died standing. hah.” katsuki playfully nudges you after your attempt to joke.

“nothing can kill me,” he shifts in position. “better be the same for you…”

you tilt your head at the last sentence. the turn of his head made his voice come out as muffled, blocking your eyes from fully hearing what he said. “can you repeat that?”

katsuki rolls his eyes. “i didn’t say anything. just focus on fixing my gear, you damn nerd.”

“okay- okay! just give me a minute,” you laugh. it takes a while to clear up your desk for his grenade, but way faster with his help.

‘help’ that he claimed was just because you were too slow.

but you knew better. you’re sure you were moving way faster than he was. and definetely more efficient. you also knew that nothing can kill him, while he’ll never let anything kill you.

ps. the red blush on his face gave it away.

films guide

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jacesbeloved · 6 months ago

Text

handmaiden ✷ j. velaryon, b. targaryen

✷ ⎯ summary: wherein jace and baela’s marriage looks for just a wee bit more spice and who better than you, their favorite handmaiden.

✷ ⎯ pairing: jacaerys velaryon x handmaiden!reader x baela targaryen

✷ ⎯ warnings: 18+, consented threesome, m/f/f, slightly innocent!reader, oral (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight voyeurism (probably more i just forgot abt some)

A soft call of your name from inside of Princess Baela's and Prince Jacaerys' chambers disrupts your current activity. You were busy in assisting the other handmaidens with their daily chores when their call echoed through the corridors.

You had grown rather fond of the couple, having known them ever since you were just a little girl when your mother was still teaching you her ways. Sometimes, you'd even get scolded by your mother because of how much you stay with Jacaerys and his brother. Whenever Baela visits King's Landing with her sister, of course, you stay with them as well.

It takes a minute for you to arrive at their door but when you do, you knock and there's no response. You knock again and you hear Baela's voice calling you inside.

"Yes—Oh my, I'm sorry. I'll come back another—" surprises screams through your tone as you hurry out of the room after seemingly barging in during an intimate moment. Baela was straddling Jace's lap, making out with each other.

Your eyes go wide as you clutch your chest, breathing heavily while leaning on the wall beside the door.

What in the actual seven hells did I just see?

You swore Baela called you inside, it wasn't just some hallucination or anything, she really did. You remember it as clear as day. If you didn't hear her clearly, you wouldn't have came in the first place. You're not that close with them.

"I thought you heard us called you?" The voice behind you makes you jump. Baela's head peeking from their door. Words get caught in your throat. Nothing but a confused, stammering mess as you tried to reply to her. "You, uh, you and Prince Jacaerys were busy. I apologize for intruding on such a time I just heard you, uhm, yeah."

"I know, silly! We were calling you."

You point a finger to yourself, scratching the side of your head with your other hand. "Me...?"

Baela lets out a lighthearted huff, looking around the corridor before pulling you inside of the chambers by your wrist. The sudden contact making you stumble inside as you stand there frozen like a statue with your eyes closed shut.

You hear their chuckles around you. Still hesitant to open your eyes in fear of what might be in front of you.

"It is okay to open your eyes, don't worry," you hear Jacaerys' soft voice speak from somewhere inside. "She's cute, closing her eyes." Baela adds on and you already know she's smiling.

Slowly, with a few more convincing from the two, you open your eyes. As if the world has not surprised you yet, it's definitely surprising you now.

The top of Baela's dress was down, hanging around her waist as it would only take a simple pull from you and everything she had covered in her southern region will be out in the open. You glue your eyes above her neck, trying your best not to look at the beautiful pair of breasts that she displayed proudly.

Your throat goes dry as you still can't find the right words to describe what you're feeling.

"You're scaring the poor girl, Beloved. She looks like she'll faint any minute now," you internally thank Jacaerys for noticing that. You honestly didn't know how you can handle the situation, your mother never trained you for situations such as this.

"Please don't faint," Baela frowns, holding your hand. Your heart instantly beats faster than before. "We haven't even gotten to the fun yet."

You inhale deeply, "What fun?"

The woman in front of you grins, tightening her hold around your hand before bringing you to the enormous bed where Jacaerys had been sitting on since earlier. His lips puffier than it already is, numerous love marks on his chest.

"Okay, for your sake, let us explain first in very simple terms," you nod at Baela's introduction, still keeping your eyes above level as you see Jacaerys eye her chest down, his hand lovingly holding one breast before he presses a kiss on it like you weren't there.

"We want to invite you to our bed." Baela says in a straightforward manner, with a smile.

"Your..?"

"Yes, as in our bed. Here. Now." She adds, looking at you with a genuine look but confusion was the only thing you felt.

Why were they inviting you of all people?

Baela answers the question on your mind, "We want to try new things in the bedroom and frankly...you're the only one we trust the most to be with."

"We don't want to pressure you to do things you don't want to, okay? You don't have to accept the invitation right—"

Your head nods before you can even overthink your decision. The couple just as surprised as you were. They look at each other, a laugh eliciting from the both of them making you laugh awkwardly as well.

"Are you sure?" Jacaerys asks, his eyes expressing concern.

You nod again, "Yes, my prince, I am very...sure."

Your voice came out breathier than you had intended but who could blame you? They may be a friend of yours but the way they looked at you now is like they're ready to swallow you whole.

"You need not to call us formally. Jace and Baela are perfectly fine. We are friends here, and we'll not do anything you are not comfortable with." Jace notes, signaling to Baela with a nod.

"You can start by pulling off my dress, sweetheart," Baela says, guiding your hand to the dress pooling at her waist. With careful hands, you pull it off, finally letting your eyes wander across her body until you've fully pulled the dress off.

The older woman steps out of it, reaching behind you to undo your own dress which takes her no more than a minute to do so.

Her eyes marvel at the sight of your naked breasts. Not being able to stop herself as she presses a warm kiss on the two erect buds. A soft moan coming from you as you feel her tongue circling your nipple while she pulls the rest off.

Now, you were both fully naked. You turn your head to Jace's direction, the prince slowly palming his trousers making your cheeks heat up.

"I think Jace needs some help, sweetheart," Baela grins as she takes a quick glance at her lover. The said man's lips stretching into a smile as Baela helps you onto the bed, hitting your ass excitedly.

You sit next to him, Jace taking the liberty in initiating the kiss first. His tongue swiping across your lip as you happily open your mouth, letting him explore every part. You could feel his hand groping your chest as you let him do as he pleases. A groan escapes his lips making him pull away. Your eyes dart open and you see Jace looking down on where Baela was, his cock out and angry as she runs her hand up and down. You feel a surge of heat in your core when Baela licks the underside of his cock all the while batting up her eyelashes at both you and Jace. Baela notices you press your legs together and so she gestures at you to come to her. You do as she wants, going on your knees to crawl to where she was and you feel something foreign from behind. Without any warning, you feel Jace's tongue on your hole making you yelp. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you halt due to the sensation. You melt into the mattress with no more care anymore. Wanton moans resonating around the walls. "How does Jace's mouth feel, sweetheart?" Baela coos, holding your face up to press a kiss on your lips before lying down on her back in front of you. You feel your throat go dry when Baela spreads her legs right in front of your face, her drenched cunt looking so enticing that you didn't even notice you staring directly at it. She reaches down to tap your chin, "I asked you a question." You whine, "It feels so good." Satisfied with your answer, Jace inserts a finger, pumping it slowly inside you making you moan louder. Baela spreads her own folds, calling your attention. "Have you eaten out a woman before, sweetheart?" "I haven't," you say, thinking to yourself How hard could it possibly be to pleasure a woman? "Don't just look at it. Eat it," you first dive in, licking her slit before swirling your tongue on her clit. She tasted heavenly. Saying it was better than any meal you have eaten in your life is not much of an exaggeration. The long and satisfied moan that you hear from her spurs you on more as you lap her juices faster. For someone that hasn't done anything with a woman, you definitely exceeded her expectations. You try to focus on licking and flicking your tongue across and inside of her folds but Jace is making it hard to do so. He's become a lot more aggressive with his ministrations, pumping in three fingers while he sucks on your clit hungrily. Jace hits just the right spot and you had to pull away from Baela's pussy to cry out from the pleasure. Feeling so close to the edge. Baela props herself on her elbows, watching your blissed out face. He feels you clench around his fingers, tell-tales of your orgasm prompting him to quicken up. Soon enough, your head drops down with a loud moan. Your legs quivering on his face as he licks every drop from your pussy. "Sit up, come on. We're not finished."

#hotd #jacaerys imagines #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon fic #house of the dragons fic #baela targayen smut #baela smut #baela targaryen x jace velaryon #baela targaryen x reader #hotd jacaerys

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chris-prank · 6 months ago

Note

stumbled across ur blog and love ur writing sm!! i have such a thing for pathetic yanderes…. ty for ur service 🙏🙏🙏

wouldn’t it be funny if hero reader and dr. seraph met at some random place outside of hero’s “working hours”?? like what if they both just happen to be waiting in the hour line DMV line and hero reader is in their casual clothes (sweats or something) and notices first and is like shitshitshitshitshitshit LOLLLLL

It's an honor for me to serve the fans of pathetic yanderes 🫡

I realize that I didn’t specify it in the first part of Dr. Seraph story, but he actually never got thrown in jail! Also, in my head, this world has cartoon superhero logic, so no one can recognize Dr. Seraph when he is not in his crazy scientist attire. So in this situation I imagine Vincent being the one recognizing the hero, either it’s because he had stalked them before or their identity is widely known. Despite that, your idea has so much potential for funny and awkward moments, I love it!

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

He had lost count on how long he had been waiting. 40 minutes? One hour? He didn’t really care anymore. Compared to his criminal life, waiting in line at the DMV was a pleasant breeze. Thinking of the breeze, he had luckily brought his white cardigan, which now protected him from the morning cold.

His fingers mindlessly ran over the golden feathers embroidered on the sleeves as he stared at some rocks on the ground, lost in thought.

“Excuse me?”

A voice called out to him. Pulled from his reverie, Vincent turned his head while answering.

“Y-yes?”

That’s when he was met with you. The love of his life hero who has been fighting him and his boss for years. There you were, in your civilian clothes, waiting in the same line as him!

OH SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE? DID THEY RECOGNIZE ME? AAAAAAAAAAH!

Many more obscenities were silently screamed in his mind as he stared at you, his face quickly turning red as a tomato. He was so absorbed by his internal panic that he didn’t even register what you had told him. You were surely warning him to not make any sudden moves and to put his hands up.

“I’m s-so sorry, b-but I didn’t quite catch what you said…”

“I just wanted to tell you that I really like your cardigan, the embroidery on the sleeves are so cute.” Your eyes darted away from him and he swore your face got a little flushed as you repeated yourself.

Was he hallucinating? Did the years of working with toxic chemicals finally affected his brain? He stood there, his mouth agape. If you hadn't noticed how red the man was before, you surely did notice now.

“I love your sweatpants!” He blurted out.

There was an awkward silence for a few milliseconds, as Vincent realized the words that had flown out of his mouth, “N-Not em everyone can pull them off…”

“Really?” You chuckle gently, “I’m glad you think so… Actually when I saw your cute outfit I got a little self conscious about my “no effort day” fit.”

“What?! But you always look good no matter what you wea— I mean, I’m sure you do… not that I would know eh eh…”

Wow, he was really making it worse for himself wasn’t he? At that moment, he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear… Now that he thought about it, he should try to create something that allows him to do that.

After some more chatting, you shook his hand and excused yourself for bothering him. He told you not to be sorry and that he was happy he got to talk to you, for no particular reason of course.

As Vincent continued to wait for his turn to come up, he opened and closed his fist. He mentally noted to scrape off the bit of your DNA that was left on his palm, back at his laboratory, as a souvenir.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

I hope you didn’t mind me slightly switching things up and liked my response! 🙏🏻

#yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere drabble #tw yandere #sub!yandere #sub yandere #yandere villain #gn reader #x gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #My oc-Vincent #My oc-Dotor Seraph #answered #answered asks

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spideyanakin · 7 months ago

Text

10 things i hate about you - chapter 6

eddie munson x harrington!reader

summary - a new rule strikes the Harrington household: if Steve wishes to date ever again, his sister needs to find a boyfriend first. As Steve becomes desperate and thinks of everything in his power to set her up, only one guy comes to mind that will take up a challenge such as that: Eddie Munson.

warnings - the moment you have all been dreading (I'm half sorry), mentions of death, eddie and his questionable dares, joyce buying christmas lights in april, some fluffy fluff, and ofc; a sprinkle of angst

word count - 8.8k

thank you to the amazing @inknopewetrust for proof reading most of this series <3

series masterlist

eddie munson masterlist

"Eds!" Gareth clapped his hands in front of his friend's face.

“What?”

"You're sulking"

"I'm not sulking."

"Why are you sulking?"

There was a pause, a short, challenging silence slithering between the trays of food and drinks before Eddie spoke again with solemn words; "I think I'm in love with her."

And just as the words left Eddie's lips; Gareth huffed loudly alongside two other Hellfire boys. Gareth sent a piercing glare towards his dungeon master–ripping a piece of white bread from his tray and throwing said piece towards Eddie’s face, making it land in his curls.

“Hey! What was that for?” Eddie swatted the bread away, watching with raised eyebrows as his three closest friends fished for something in their pockets; simultaneously pulling out twenty dollar bills. Eddie watched, eyebrows creasing to a frown as the three twenty dollar bills traveled across the table; right into Oliver’s hand.

"Did you have to say love?" Jeff whined.

"Yeah, the bet was lower at like, or really liked," Gareth gruffed, Oliver simply shrugged while Eddie stared—too dumbfounded to speak. The blonde guitarist counted his money before neatly folding it and placing it in his back pocket.

"I'm going to pretend like you guys haven't betted on me," Eddie said before poking his fork around his plate, attention focused on the carotte he was making dance across the paper. “Anyways, it’s not that bad, you guys should be happy for me!”

"Yes it's bad, terrible even!" Oliver dropped his can of mountain dew, drops spilling out from the harsh clatter of it against the table–and Eddie gulped when he made eye contact with the daggers in Oliver’s eyes.

Unfortunately, all his lost heart could do was look back at him like a lost puppy–big eyes pleading for help rather than judgment, and just for a moment–Oliver caved.

A short sigh escaped the blonde’s lips, and he leaned back on his chair in thought. That action caused a new silence, one filled with short huffs and glances from the boys; right until Eddie broke it again.

"I know," he pushed his tray away before leaning back, imitating his guitarist, "I don't know what to do."

"Call the deal off?" Gareth suggested.

"Yeah, that's the most obvious thing, Gareth!" Eddie almost screamed. "One problem; Steve keeps handing me bills like he’s a fucking ATM machine. I have three hundred fucking dollars from him that I refuse to use!"

"I thought that's what you wanted, extra cash," Oliver’s voice was dry, and it almost made Eddie flinch.

"I don’t think I ever took the deal for the money…” He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose, “I think she kind of always fascinated me.”

“So, let me get this straight. Instead of just asking the girl out, you made a deal with her brother that he’d pay you to go out with her?”

“Kind of?” He winced at his own words. “I didn’t realise how fucked up this whole situation was!”

“As if we hadn’t warned you!” Olivier exclaimed, tone almost condescending which sent a new pang across Eddie’s chest.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t need judgment from his best friends, his own internal turmoil was enough.

He was asking for help and Oliver was throwing hard cold judgment across his face like the iced daggers he’d write about for his campaigns.

He felt like Boromir. Tempted by the worst of forces–hypnotized by his mistakes, too enticed to step back–and now he was paying the consequences, as invisible arrows were shot right through his heart.

“Hey calm down Ol’,” Gareth defended, humming in the best soothing tone he could muster; “screaming at Eddie won’t make this any better for him.”

“Right, because he so understood when we told him this was a bad idea three weeks ago,” and with his words, the table fell silent.

Everyone looked at each, carefully assessing the situation and how to proceed. Would anyone dare to break the silence? Even Jeff wondered if he could chew his food and finish his lunch without all eyes turning to him.

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest in subconscious defense—gaze to the side and fixed on the back of a random blue cafeteria chair.

He truly didn’t know what to do. Everything in him wanted to cancel this stupid deal, tell you the truth and just hope that you wouldn’t hate him forever.

Or maybe he could call the deal off and never say a thing—but he’d have to live with that secret for the rest of your relationship.

But thinking about the possibility that you could discover the deal on your own made him shiver. He knew that would hurt you the most, that you’d most, probably, definitely hate him for the rest of your days, and he could say goodbye to ever even being close to you again.

“Hey boys,” your sweet voice broke the undeniable tension, and like a bee pulled towards honey; Eddie turned his full attention to you.

He didn’t know if you noticed the energy, but if you did you didn’t say anything. He did notice your shoulder tense as every eye around the table turned to you, an oldy intimidating silence slithering up your spine–but the second Eddie’s hand reached your waist, it dissolved into a content smile.

“What were you talking about, I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“Spring Fling.”

“Our next performance.”

“A campaign.”

Eddie flinched, internally cringing at the multitude of answers that rang across the table at the same time.

“O-ok?” You raised an eyebrow, hand resting against Eddie’s shoulder–silently asking for clarification.

“Mainly, Spring Fling, babe,”

“Ah,” you squeezed his shoulder, already pouting before the next words came out of you, “will you be mad if I say no to going?”

“I get you for not wanting to go,” Oliver chimed before chugging the end of his mountain dew.

“Yeah, staying home too?” You asked.

“Oh no, I’m going, don’t know why though,” and as the words left his mouth, he eyed knowingly at Gareth.

“See, Eddie! Olivier is going! Gareth is saved! We don’t have to go!” You squeezed his shoulder and Eddie gulped. This was not going to be easy.

“Y-yeah,” he could barely reply and Gareth shot him a quizzical look.

Eddie was digging his grave right then and there.

He really needed to break that damn deal.

“Hey Y/n,” Nancy caught up with you, ponytail bouncing as she ran the short distance between the cafeteria door and the lockers.

“What’s up?” You smiled once she was at your level, closing your locker and tightening the notebooks you were holding as you continued your way through the mass of students.

“Have you seen Barb?”

“No,” you frowned. “I haven’t seen her all day, actually, I was going to ask you. She didn’t have lunch with you?”

You watched her frown deepen, “no, she wasn’t there, I sat with Steve and his friends. I–um I haven’t seen her since yesterday at your place.”

“Oh, well I’m sure she’s fine, probably called in sick or something,” but your words didn’t soothe Nancy’s worries.

“I called her mom,” she averted her stare from yours.

“And?”

“She didn’t come home yesterday, or this morning.”

“Oh,” your heart sank down to your stomach, the uneasy feeling threatening to swallow you whole.

“Are you sure she left your place last night?”

“Yeah,” you matched her frown. “You don’t think-?”

“That she disappeared like Will?”

“I don’t know… This whole situation just seems odd…” You looked around, maybe in search of something, just to be met with the mass of students that walked through the maze of hallways that was Hawkins High. No one seemed bothered; no one looked worried or stirred by what was silently unfolding in the city.

“Yeah…”

You brought your gaze back to Nancy, trying to hunt for a topic to change the subject–anything that could hook both your attentions elsewhere.

Then you saw it: the bright pink and yellow poster for Spring Fling. You huffed, ripping the poster from the wall and crumbling the paper, just to throw it in the nearest trash. An attempt at rebellion, maybe.

“Who the heck would go to that antiquated mating ritual.”

“I would!”

“Do you seriously want to get all dressed up so some rando with a boner dressed up in the first suit he found at Gap can feel you up while you’re forced to listen to a band that by definition ‘blows’?”

She scoffed, “the rando in question is your brother, may I add.”

“My brother?” You raised your eyebrows, “but I’m not going, he won’t be allowed to go.”

“You’re not?” She squeaked, eyes darting to your hands as you unfolded the wires of your walkman. “Steve told me you would. I think he assumed Eddie asked you.”

“Steve has no business assuming what I will or will not do, and Eddie has asked me, I told him no.”

“Why? I thought you liked Eddie.”

“Going with someone I like, still doesn’t change the fact that I find these gatherings dumb,” you accentuated your words by harshly placing your headphones around your neck, and locking your walkman onto your backpocket.

“Are you sure you won’t go? Just for me? Just so Steve will go, and by extension I will?” Her big blue eyes pleaded, lips forming into a pout, and for a split second you faltered, wondering if you could do this for your friend.

“I’ll see.”

“You are incorrigible,” she rolled her eyes, already knowing this meant no.

“Indeed I am,” you looked around, gaze flickering from the lockers to Nancy, “so do tell me, you and Steve last night, hm?”

“Oh, shut up!” Her shriek made you giggle, and you would have continued teasing her if not for the hands that latched onto your waist, you jumped, shrieking before feeling yourself getting picked up into the air.

You immediately recognized the laugh that echoed in your ear, and Nancy’s smile gave the owner of those hands even more away.

“Eddie, let me down!” You giggled in echo with him, hands wrapping around his own before he dropped you back on your feet.

“Don’t you have a class to get to?” You mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Mrs. Day called in sick, I have a free period.”

“Oh lucky,” you hummed, shoulders slumping at the anticipation of your next hour.

“Eddie?” Nancy spoke, making Eddie’s curls brush your cheek as he turned to face your friend. “Have you seen Barb by any chance?”

“Not since yesterday,” he shook his head and he sensed the way you tense up in his arms. “Everything ok?”

“We think she’s missing.”

“Missing? Like the Byers kid?”

“According to her mom, she didn’t come home last night, and skipping school isn’t like her,” Nancy bit her lip as she looked to the side.

“I mean, maybe she did. I’m not one to say that skipping school isn’t fun,” Eddie concluded, smirking slightly. He knew that this subject was reaching a dead end, and he sighed before turning his attention back to you. “What are you doing after school?”

“Nothing, why?”

“I found this new card game at the comics shop, and maybe if the game gets boring I can teach you D and D.”

“Are you asking me out on a game date?”

“Are you saying yes?” Instead of answering directly with words, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, muttering your answer as you pulled away.

“If you two will stop face fucking in the hallway, we’ve got class,” maybe it was jealousy that your brother wasn’t as sweet as Eddie picking at her stomach, or the stress from Barb stacking up, but she ripped her stare away from the two of you to stare at bright blue lockers on the other side.

“Sorry,” you giggled, slipping out of Eddie’s arms after stealing one last kiss.

“I’ll see you after class, Eds.”

“What do you think they’re up to?” Your hand gripped Eddie’s a little tighter as you watched your brother and his friends laugh towards Johnathan. The poor Byers brother was being thrown around by the greedy hands of your idiot brother, the grim look on his face turned to disgust and anguish. You watched your brother, a loud chuckle ripping from his mouth. Your frown deepened as Tommy gave him one last push, Steve snatching pieces of paper from his grip.

Jonathan watched as Steve and Carol ripped to shreds the papers, they all laughed one last time; Tommy giving him a last cruel shove that almost made him trip before walking away.

You took closer steps towards the parking–maybe in a quick attempt to help, but unfortunately, the group was walking right for the two of you, waltzing away from the mess they created towards god knows where.

“What did you do?” You grumbled as your path crossed your brothers, glancing behind his shoulder to spot Nancy jogging the distance between Johnathan and her group of new so-called friends.

“You’ll never guess, the perv took pictures of us yesterday!”

“What?”

“He was in the woods by our place, snapping pictures of us in the pool, even snapped shots of Nancy while she was changing.”

“Why?” You raised your eyebrows, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

“Caus’ he’s a perv?” Carol snickered, “and that’s all he’s found to do with his miserable life?” Tommy chuckled at his girlfriend’s words, and they disappeared behind you again, snickering as they left towards the field behind the High School building.

“Weird,” you muttered, watching Johnathan getting back into his car and leaving.

“You think he took my good profile?” Eddie, like always, pulled you out of your thoughts with a dumb joke, making you snort and playfully shove his shoulder. “What?” He offered a new laugh and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go try this new card game, I’ve had enough of this place for the day,” you tugged at his arm, dragging him further towards your car.

“Understandable,” he muttered, watching as you toyed with your car keys. “Hey, how about we pass by Melvald’s first? Grab some snacks and stuff.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” your hand brushed his as you parted ways to climb in the driver’s seat.

Apart from the Metallica blasting from the speakers; the ride was quiet, peaceful almost, as you bathed in each other’s presence. It was nice, seeing the streets of Hawkins with someone you liked by your side–it almost all seemed less… daunting. It was soothing, knowing you’d get to have careless laughter over junk food and a pack of cards, letting the week’s worries and Steve’s torment slip away for just a few hours.

You almost smiled when the red writing of Melvald’s came to view, stomach already growling not with hunger, but envy for cookies and candies–anything that could be considered a bad excuse for a dinner.

You parked next to a mattered brown truck, mud stains on its wheels and rusty doors. Eddie placed a hand in his hair as he exited your car, a poor excuse at trying to tame his curls, but you smiled when his hair stayed as wild–it suited him better.

Your hand found his as you walked into Melvald’s. The shop seemed pretty empty apart from a few stray heads bopping out of aisles.

“Afternoon,” you smiled at the owner behind the counter, he nodded before you both headed for the cookie aisle, grabbing one of those cheap red plastic baskets on the way.

“What are your favorites?” You hummed playfully as you scanned the shelves.

“I’d say Oreos are good, or um,” he thought, fingers going over his lips in thought. “Chips Ahoy! I love Chips Ahoy”

“The white chocolate fudge ones are the best,” you turned to Eddie and watched his face turn in pure horror.

“What did you just say?”

“That the white chocolate fudge cookies are the best?”

“I think you hit your head too hard as a kid, sweetheart. The normal milk chocolate ones taste so much better.”

“Hey! That is so not true,” you pressed on.

“They’re so sweet,” he scrunched his nose, “makes you sick if you eat too much.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, jokingly vexed at his hatred for your favorite.

“Oh my god, I used to love these as a kid,” Eddie’s face lit up as his eyes crossed paths with the a small white cardboard box, big smiles drawn over it.

“Says the guy who called White Fudge Chips Ahoy too sweet,” you narrowed your eyes as he picked up the pack of Giggles from a shelf.

“You don’t want to get them?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, no. I still love these, put them in,” you grinned, raising the basket so he could dump them in next to the pack of Oreos.

“What else should we take?”

“Drinks?”

“Yeah,”

In twenty minutes spent in the store, your basket was already full with enough food and drinks for the entire of Hellfire. Cans of coke laying against bright blue cookie packaging and other junk food that had caught your attention. Eddie had ended up carrying the basket when it got too heavy, and now it rested by his feet as you waited in line.

A middle aged woman was in front of you–a toddler in her arms as she fumbled with the coins in her wallet. The baby’s small hands were fumbling with strands of her red hair–babbling something as he watched his mother pay for her groceries.

You were so enthralled in the scene–trying to see how much strength the toddler could tug on the women’s red locks with, that you hadn’t noticed the familiar face settling in the cue behind Eddie. She was almost hidden behind a pile of boxes that laid upon one of her hands, the other gripping the bar of a shopping cart, and you only recognised her by her anxious sigh as she tried to balance the boxes in her grip.

“Oh, hey Joyce,” you smiled, a gentle smile that bled with your compassion and she suddenly turned her attention to you.

Eddie also turned his attention to her–immediately realizing who this was. He’d seen her behind the counter more times than he could count, and he was also eighty percent sure that Wayne briefly knew her from High School, remembering their short conversations from the hundreds of times he helped his uncle shop here.

“Oh! Y/n, I didn’t see you there!” She spoke, almost startled by your simple greeting.

She looked tired, like she hadn’t properly slept in days. Her hair poking all over the place, and she was anxiously tapping her foot against the white floor of Melvalds. You assumed she was off work with everything going on, since she wasn’t standing behind the counter like usual.

But what really caught your attention was the amount of Christmas lights she had gathered. At least twelve boxes had been stuffed in the kart, leaving no room for the five others that she held in her free hand. You couldn’t begin to wonder why she had bought everything out of the clearance section, but your heart ached as you watched her gaze falter to the window for a split second before going back to you. She shifted her grip on the boxes, and a new huff left her lips before she handed you a tight smile.

“Is Johnathan with you?” You wondered, eyes briefly going across the aisle visible from your spot in the line.

She shook her head, “he’s probably home right now,” you nodded at her words and watched as her gaze flickered around again–as if she was suddenly comfortable. Maybe it was the mention of her son; maybe a conversation or two about Will that caused tension to seep between them, when in fact they should be sticking together.

Her gaze faltered, becoming softer as she took new acknowledgment of you again. She sent a smile to you and turned to Eddie who was yet to talk.

“This is Eddie, my boyfriend,” you watched the expression on her face change–impressed, slightly surprised maybe.

“Wayne’s nephew right?”

“In the flesh,” Eddie smiled, politely nodding.

“Also I wanted to tell you,” you spoke again, Joyce’s gaze dancing back to yours. “If you need anything from us, you have my number, Joyce.” Her whole face softened, gratitude seeping in through her eyes.

“Thank you, honey,”

Eddie’s trailer felt just as you left it the day before. A cozy haven for the loneliest of souls to find refuge on cold nights. But to your surprise, Eddie didn’t remove his shoes once he crossed the threshold–he even told you to wait for him by the entrance with the multitude of bags filled with the sweets you’d bought.

You watched as the metalhead bounced across his living space, shedding his leather jacket on the living room chair after he had complained that the spring sun was suffocating him, before he disappeared to his room, and came back with a small blue and orange metal box. His card game.

“Follow me,” Eddie swept past you, grabbing the two shopping bags and jumping the small steps out of his trailer. You raised an eyebrow before following him through the grass patch around his trailer, passing through a laundry line that hosted a few band t-shirts that could only be Eddie’s, and tattered work jeans that you assumed were Wayne’s.

You intently watched as you both faced a small, thin ladder that climbed up to the trailer’s roof. “Can you take one?” you nodded as he handed you one of the plastic bags.

Eddie stuffed the small card game in his back pocket–you silently questioned him, he could have simply just put it in the bag he was holding. But that didn’t stop him from anything, and you carefully observed as Eddie hummed a ‘follow me’, before starting to climb the rusty ladder.

You landed on the roof with a huff, and noticed that Eddie had already settled himself on a far off corner, the plastic bag neatly placed next to his feet.

“Nice view,” you noticed. Smiling as you gazed across the sea of trailers, each painted in their own uniqueness. it was far off from the white picket fence houses–a sea of odd shapes and colors, but it was all the most comforting, lively even. Smoke coming out of barbecue grills, laughter spilling out of small backyards and the light breeze making the bright colored laundry dance.

“You like it?” He grinned as he admired you trot towards him.

“I love it,” you settled beside him on the floor, dropping your bag next to the other one and started fishing inside of it for your well earned snacks.

Your hands settled for a pack of oreos, settling it in your lap as you wiggled yourself to be more comfortable.

"This feels like that one Elton John song."

"Which one?" He raised a playful eyebrow.

"We sat on the roof," your soft voice hummed, slithering into the soft breeze and to Eddie’s ears.

“Kicked off the moss,” he hummed along with you, making a giggle escape your lips.

“You listen to Elton John?”

“On occasions,” he murmured, busying himself with the bag next to him to fish for a can of soda.

“Wow, didn’t take you for the Elton John type.”

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” he dramatically sighed.

“Shut up,” you giggled, rolling your eyes before grabbing your own can of coke–popping it open before finally speaking again, “so, that game of yours?”

“Yes!”

Eddie grabbed the small box from his pocket, eyes sparkling as he opened it and placed the lid at his side. He took the cards in his hands and started mixing them.

“So, rules are simple, I think.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t read the rules.”

“Eddie, you can’t play a game if you don’t know the rules,” you giggled, grabbing the box at his side and taking the paper out.

“The guy at the shop told me how to play it, I thought I’d remember.”

“You’re impossible,” you huffed, unfolding the little paper and scanning through the words. You raised an eyebrow, reading through the instructions, “ok, so,” you licked your lips in thought before looking at the cards in Eddie’s hands. “We have to start with the card that looks like the cross path thingy.”

“Ok,” Eddie listened before flipping through the cards and placing said card in between the two of you; right next to the oreo pack.

“Wait, Eddie.”

“What?”

“It’s from three to eight players,” you giggled. “Eddie, we can’t play.”

“What?” His eyes widen, ripping the rule book from your hands. “Oh,” he hummed, realization hitting. “Well, this sucks.”

“Yeah, dumbass,” you giggled, grabbing a new oreo.

He sighed, placing the cards back in their box before dropping them at his side, sharing a gaze with you.

“What should we do?”

“Dunno,”

The sun had started to set across the trailer park, and a tumble of giggles seemed to be the main theme of your afternoon. One lone cookie was left in the Chips Ahoy pack, and the stacks of plastic wrappers and cans were starting to pile up; a show of the evening slowly dying out into night.

“Ok, ok,” you giggled, leaning closer to Eddie. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you raised an eyebrow at his reply, a smirk dancing across your lips.

“I dare you to compliment your neighbor’s dinner,” your gaze traveled to the elderly couple eating in the garden beside Eddie’s trailer. They looked happy–a couple who danced through time together. You could faintly hear their conversation in the distance, but barely making out words, and if Eddie shouted just enough he could easily spring a conversation.

“That’s so stupid,” he grinned.

“I know,” you giggled back and Eddie rolled his eyes before turning around to face his neighbor’s garden.

He took a second to observe. The barbecue grill on the opposite side was still smoking from its use, and he spotted the home made burgers on their plates. That would be easy to compliment. Plus, Eddie didn’t mind, Wayne was on good terms with them, maybe less so Eddie as he often bothered them when playing guitar. But if the odd comment could bring a good laugh out of the two of you, then Eddie would gladly plunge into your dare.

“Hey! Mr. Carol!” The elder man turned from his grill as the call reached his ear. “Good job on the burgers! They smell amazing!” You had to place a hand over your mouth to stop the giggles from tumbling like a waterfall as you watched the poor man’s face twist in an awkward smile, both of his eyebrows raised to the sky as he watched his teenage neighbor send him a compliment from his trailer’s roof.

“Thanks Eddie.” The man awkwardly replied and Eddie saluted him before turning back around to you.

“Happy?”

“He looked so confused.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Eddie smiled with you, grabbing another oreo, before mumbling with a mouthful, “truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you smiled, keeping your gaze on Eddie as you grabbed the last Chip’s Ahoy, crumpling the wrapper in your hands and throwing it to the side to join the pile.

“I dare you to take off your top,” your eyes went wide at his request.

“And flash the whole trailer park?” You shrieked and a loud laugh tumbled from Eddie.

“Well, already you did it for me once,” he dramatically sighed, poking at your ribs, creating another laugh to leave you.

“I did it to save your ass.”

“I know, I'm only kidding,” he smirked. “I’ll keep that dare for another time,” he smiled, knocking at you before looking down at the oreo’s in between you, “I dare you to fill your mouth with as many oreos as you can.”

“and?”

“If you manage to put seven in without almost choking, you get a prize.”

“Why seven?”

“Because that’s my record.”

“That’s so stupid,” you noticed.

“C’mon, do your dare.”

You rolled your eyes, keeping eye contact as your hand traveled to the cookies. You grabbed one-easy. The next one slipping nicely against the second one. You couldn’t look at Eddie anymore, the look in his eyes was enough to make you laugh and want to spit out the whole thing. The next two managed to fit, somehow, and you could hear Eddie chuckling, your gaze focused on the blue wrapper in concentration.

But when you reached for the fifth one, about to place it in your mouth–you caved. Making eye-contact with Eddie. He was laughing like an idiot; watching your chipmunk cheeks with a devilish spark in his eyes. But that look was fatal, and a laugh climbed right through you, causing you to spit everything out to the side.

Eddie roared even more with laughter and you had to playfully slap his shoulder in order to keep yourself from laughing too.

“You lost, I’m so sorry,” he patted your shoulder, using his grip to bring you further towards him, kissing the side of your mouth.

“What was the prize?” You questioned, chewing the last bit of crumbs that were left in your mouth as you leaned against him.

“A private concert,”

“As if you don’t willingly do them, all the time.” he shrugged at your comment, making you smile and remember your game, “Eddie.”

“Yes?”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Tell me a secret,”

“Ok, I hate peas.”

“No,” you giggled, “tell me something real, something no one else knows,” you grabbed a twizzler, pointing to him with it once you had taken a good bite out of it.

“Ok,” he smirked, a mischievous glint passing by his gaze. The grip on your waist became tighter and he leaned even closer to you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with his free hand before kissing your cheek. “You’re sweet,” he pressed a new kiss to your other cheek “and sexy,” a new kiss to your lips, “and completely hot for me,” you gasped a laugh.

“You are amazingly self assured, as anyone else told you that?”

“I tell myself that every day, actually,” he chuckled before locking your lips into a new kiss, and suddenly an invisible sting pulled him back to the reality of the pact he had made with your brother. “Come to the dance with me tomorrow.”

“Is that a request or a command?” You attempted to joke, but he continued.

“Come on, go with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” He breathed out a sigh, toying with your fingers.

“I told you already, it’s a stupid tradition.”

“C’mon, people won’t expect you to go.”

“Eddie, why are you pushing this? What’s in it for you?” Maybe you wouldn’t have asked, but Barb’s words suddenly came bouncing into your mind, like an unstoppable bouncy ball hitting the walls of your brain and shuddering through your spine.

“Nothing, just the pleasure of your company.”

You paused at his words. Mind twirling in the multitude of possibilities. Eddie had been pushing this, but maybe that was just his attempt at trying to be a normal high school couple.

Would Eddie really want this? Would Eddie really enjoy a gathering full of sweaty hormonal teenagers, with no alcohol, weed or anything else you could think of that he’d use for a good time, all that mixed with awful music? You couldn’t be sure, and you were getting anxious about an ulterior motive.

Barb had made it clear she didn’t trust Eddie, and your heart pinched at the thought.

You sighed, eyes dancing across the setting sun as it reached further down the sky, casting yet a new glow of colors across the trailer park.

Your grip on Eddie’s shoulder tightened; “It’s getting late,” you hummed, turning your gaze back to Eddie, “I should go.”

“Y/n-”

“No, it’s fine Eddie, don’t worry about it,” you gave him a tight smile. “Thanks for the evening,” you stood from his grip, dusting the crumbs from your jeans before nodding back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next morning, you opened your locker, just for a bright neon pink paper to slip out of it, flying down just to land on your feet.

You huffed, gladly stepping on it. It hadn’t even happened yet, and you already had enough of this stupid dance.

You wanted to throw up, first Will, and now no one seemed to even blink twice about Barbara. Maybe if she had been some popular cheerleader, a Tammy Thompson, or a rising star like Chrissy Cunningham she would have the whole town at her feet trying to find her, caring for her. And a part of you wondered if anyone would even care if you would ever go missing yourself..

"Are they really still throwing Spring Fling when two students are missing?" You gazed at Eddie who was leaning against your neighboring locker, fumbling with his walkman.

“Is Barb officially missing now?”

“Police thinks she ran away,” you angrily stuffed some books in your locker, Eddie noticing the stress lines forming on your forehead.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday, I should have gotten the hint the first time you told me you didn’t want to go.”

“S’okay,” you hummed, keeping your hands fumbling with the contents of your locker as your gaze stayed focused on its insides. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just- I don’t understand why everyone is acting so calm. Nancy was balling her eyes out on the phone to me last night, assuring me that Barb was gone missing. She went on, telling me her car was still parked not far from mine and saying that she felt a creepy presence in my backyard,” you finally managed to neatly place the books like you wanted, and closed your locker door in a loud, angered thud.

“Oh,”

“Yeah,” you chewed on your nails and Eddie didn’t know what to say, or what to even do with his own hands. “What if something bad has happened to them? And I mean bad, bad,” you rested your back against your locker. “I can’t imagine what it would do to Dustin, imagine Barb’s parents? I-, I feel desperate in this situation and I feel like I’m one of the only ones to actually care.”

“We could try and play detective, if you want? I mean, D and D does make you pretty good at piecing things together,” he offered you a short smile and your heart warmed a bit at his words.

“Maybe.”

You didn’t understand Nancy.

As much as you loved her, you couldn’t begin to piece her out. Last night, she was calling you crying about your missing friend, and now she was begging you for a distraction you weren’t willing to give out.

“Please, please come,” she whined over the phone, and you eyed Steve as he walked across from the kitchen to the living room, giving you his biggest death glare as he did.

“Nancy, you know my answer,” you groaned–wanting to slam your head onto the wall next to you. “Do you realize that two people are missing, and you’re ready to just forget all of that to go dancing with idiots?”

“Y/n, I think we both need this, we can continue searching tomorrow.”

Was this really the same Nancy you had chatted with the day before?

“You’re in a relationship now, you should understand this!”

“Understand what exactly?”

“That I want to spend time with my boyfriend. The world is falling apart and I’m stuck home with my thoughts. Wouldn’t you ask the same thing if the roles were reversed? Wouldn’t you beg Steve and I to go to a Ren Fair or I don’t know a Metallica concert if you couldn’t?”

“Spring Fling is far from being a Metallica concert, Nancy,” you chuckled at the idiocy of her comparison.

“But what if Spring Fling is my Metallica concert?”

You fell silent over the line. Were you that selfish? Not letting your friend get that date with your brother and miss out on an event everyone wanted to go to. You sighed, rethinking your life one last time before sighing out; “Okay,” head falling against the wall by the telephone. “I’ll tell Steve to come pick you up.”

“Oh my god I love you!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too, I’ll see you there,” and with those words you hung up, dread seeping into your bones once again. “Steve! Get fucking ready, you’re taking Nancy to that stupid dance!”

“I’m what now?”

“You’re taking Nancy to Spring Fling,” his eyes widened, mouth agape.

“Oh my god, I love you,”

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes, watching Steve scurry away to the upstairs bathroom. You sighed before crossing the kitchen, eyeing for any one of your parents.

“Hey darling,” as if she knew you had been searching for her, your mom’s soft voice echoed from the laundry room, through the corridor and right to you.

“Right here,” you hummed back, trotting to meet her there.

“Oh perfect,” she smiled, “could you bring this up? Half of this is Steve’s and then the other half is yours.”

“Are you obliging me to walk through the pits of tartarus?”

“If this means, entering your brother’s room to drop off his laundry, yes I am asking you.”

“Fine,” you hummed, grabbing the basket of folded laundry from your mother’s arms. “Also, Steve and I are getting ready to leave, we’re um- going to the spring fling thing.”

“Oh,” her eyes widened. “You’re going?”

“Yeah. Nancy convinced me.”

“Alright,” she let the shock seep through her. “I’ll let your father know.”

“Thanks,” you smiled before scurrying away, jumping up the steps–the quicker you got this done, the quicker you could get ready, and the quicker you were out of the house, the quicker you would be back.

You dropped everything that was yours on top your bed–not bothering with putting it in your cupboard before waltzing towards Steve’s room. You could hear the stream of the shower, and if you were really careful, you could hear Steve faintly humming a Kate Bush song. You rolled your eyes before opening his door, ready to be met with the utter mess that you remembered his room to be–but to your surprise, it was neat and even smelt nice.

You blinked in shock, taking in the well done bed, the freshly vacuum carpet and the organized shelves. Even the desk was neat, two pots of pencils stood proudly in the corner, while only a stray eraser felt out of place–sitting next to an opened agenda. His desk lamp illuminating his scruffy writing, creating a halo over the white lined page.

Once the surprise was seeping in, you blinked; remembering your original mission. You dropped the basket on his bed, sighing before turning back around.

And that’s when you caught the writing across the white paper of Steve’s used notebook.

MONEY SPENT

March 30 - family video $6

April 2 - Maldev’s $2, lunch $5

April 5 - lunch $2

April 11 - Lunch $7, family video $3.

April 12 - Eddie $50

April 14 - Scoops Ahoy $6

April 15 - Eddie $100

The list went on–Eddie becoming a recurrence since ‘April 12’, the money only adding as the days went by. Your heart thumped in your chest–why in the world was Eddie’s name on Steve’s wannabe accountant list, and secondly, where in the world did Steve find this kind of money?

You wondered for a brief instant if Eddie had been dealing to your brother, but then you had only seen Steve high once, and it had been two days ago, at that wretched gathering.

Barb’s warning echoed in your head, and for a mere second you allowed yourself to feel the worst. Was this why Eddie had been bugging you to come to the dance with him?

You refused to make it make sense, but then April 12 had been the day Eddie had first tried to ask you out.

Your breath suddenly caught in your throat, and you could feel your heart thumping in your ears. No. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be sure of anything yet.

Nonetheless, you didn’t have time to think about it. You were on the clock with a promise made to your best friend, and strolling out of Steve’s room, you noticed a frown on your face you hadn’t even realized was there.

You let out a shaky sigh as you entered your room, being met with your reflection in the mirror.

You had made Nancy a promise,

You’d have to confront either of the two after the dance.

“Eddie, there’s a girl outfront for you.”

“Huh?” He lifted the book from his eyes, dropping it on the coffee table before lazily sitting up, limbs cracking as he did. He looked at Wayne in question, not bothering to fix his pyjama shirt as he walked to the kitchen area and looked through the window.

His eyes weren’t failing him–indeed there you were, the window of your car rolled down and Eddie could see you all dolled up in a pretty dress he’d never bet he would ever see you wear. You looked straight at him through the window and honked, a signal for him to come over.

“What the fuck,” he muttered under his breath as his socked feet walked him to the front door. “Hey, what are you doing here?” Even though shock was seeping through him, he smiled at your sight.

“Get in loser, we’re going to the spring fling,” his mouth was wide, agape like a fish as he registered what was happening. He blinked, and stood there a second too long because you honked your car horn again. “C’mon! We don’t have all night!”

You watched as Eddie blinked again before shaking his head and scurrying back inside. You heard faint mumbling from the trailer and his running around. You even thought you heard a loud noise that was most probably Eddie falling as he tried to get the suit of his pants up.

His hair was wild once he opened the door of the trailer again, but he was brushing it back with his fingers as he walked down the metallic steps and walked to you.

“Where did you get a tux last minute?” You grinned as he opened the passenger door, his slime had made all anxiety wash away from your body and you felt yourself melt a little further into your car seat, butterflies brushing the side of your stomach at the sight of him in a suit.

“Oh, you know, just something I had, laying around,” he shrugged, pretending to be brushing something off of his shoulder “Where’d you get the dress?”

“Oh you know just something I had, laying around,” that made him laugh, eyes intently scanning your figure as you started driving away.

“What made you change your mind?”

“Nancy wouldn’t stop bugging me about it, thought I’d take a break from being a heinous bitch, for a change,” you smiled, and your mind brought you back to the writing in Steve’s notebook an unsettling feeling tugging at your heartstrings as your gaze went back to the boy next to you.

“Respectable,” he grinned, already opening your glove box for a cassette–fishing out a Black Sabbath mixtape he had made for you.

And for a golden second, as you watched him grin like an idiot over the cassette he had so carefully designed–your worries washed away.

Eddie had been so caring. He had come into your life, bulldozing everything you had trapped yourself in. He brought a new breath to your lungs and you felt yourself again, you felt whole again.

And maybe, just maybe you could let yourself believe that Eddie’s name on Steve’s notebook was something entirely different.

Spring fling was everything you had expected it to be.

Bright colored balloons floating across the air, handwritten banners hanging from every corner, large tables with various beverages and food laying across it. Music was bursting out of large speakers lodged at every corner of the room–and not to mention almost the entirety of Hawkins High.

Toto’s Hold The Line was ringing in your ears, and you felt your hand grip Eddie’s a little tighter as you walked past a group of cheerleaders, all giggling at something Cameron Ness had said. The star jock was wearing his best suit, a blue ruffled jacket that made all the girls cling to him like moths to a flame. Each of them were in close competition with your brother at the amount of hairspray they had, hairstyles more and more elaborate the more you stared.

You did not feel in your place at all.

It all felt intoxicating.

You spotted your brother, long gone into a conversation with some brunette jock named Jeremy. You looked at Nancy–she seemed so happy for once; a bright smile plastered on her face as she leaned against Steve’s navy vest.

And maybe, just maybe the thought of your best friend getting to have a good time made it less hard to stand the suffocating gym.

“Wanna dance?” Eddie turned to you, a smile on the corner of lips, “while the music is still somewhat tolerable.” Eddie lifted his hand, silently asking for yours.

“Yes,” you slotted your hand in his–butterflies brushing the sides of your stomach as you marched towards the dance floor.

Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so bad.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you hold my drink, I need to go to the bathroom,” you smiled as Eddie was already offering his hand.

“Of course.”

Eddie’s gaze traveled around the room, and an unsettling feeling crossed his stomach when his gaze met your brother’s. He was at a different spot this time, chatting with Nancy over a cup of punch.

This was it.

This had to be his chance.

He didn’t think twice before crossing the room, fingers brushing through his hair before speaking; “Hey, Harrington.”

“My man!” Steve cheered, and wrapped an arm around him. Eddie awkwardly nodded towards Nancy who had handed him a tight smile upon his arrival.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Steve nodded and asked Nancy if she could hold his drink–to which she accepted and nodded them away.

Eddie noticed Steve was maybe more than a little tipsy as he walked beside Eddie, mumbling jokes and saying hi to everyone who crossed their way. He thought this would be a never ending nightmare, and it would probably be hours before he reached a quiet spot. And after torechous minutes of Steve greeting everyone who met his eyes as he was dragged through the mass of students, they finally reached the quiet corner next to the bleachers.

“So-”

"The deal is off."

“What?” Steve suddenly felt himself sober up. “Why?”

“Because I can’t continue like this.”

“But why? I thought you needed the money-”

“This isn’t about the money, Steve,” the name felt bitter in his mouth–maybe because he blamed him for his suffering, or maybe Eddie blamed himself–but right this minute the lines blurred in his mind and he felt his stomach bubble with a new kind of anger. “This is about your sister, it’s killing me to be doing this to her.”

“Why would you care?” Steve snorted, and Eddie almost took a step back at the cruelty he was witnessing first hand.

Did Steve really care so little about you?

“Because I’m falling in love with her,” the words tumbled out of Eddie’s mouth faster than he could think, and he had to bite his lip once he realized his confession.

Steve’s mouth fell open wide, the room starting to spin—and this time it wasn’t the snuck in vodka that made him feel this way; but the way his plan was biting him back.

“No, no, no. You can't be in love with her,” he felt the words leave faster than intended, his own interests getting the best of him.

“Who are you to tell me what to feel or not feel, Harrington.”

Steve blinked–stunned, “no, you’re right. But you can’t be falling for her! I never said you could actually date her, you’re going to be a bad influence!”

“Excuse me? Says the guy who hand picked me.”

“Because you were the only one good for the job!”

“Exactly, and that’s why I’m putting an end to the whole thing.”

“She’s smarter than you give her credit for, you know? She’s going to figure it out soon enough, and it’s going to go all to shits. She might hate us both in all cases, but I’d rather her learn about this fiasco the right way.”

“No-no, you can’t tell her anything! What about me? What about Nancy?”

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Look, I’ll pay you double, we continue the deal like it was, you continue to date her, and we can just forget this whole conversation happened, okay?”

“Did you not hear a word I just said?”

You sighed, fixing a strand of your hair as you looked at yourself in the mirror—smacking your lips together to spread the gloss you had just reapplied.

You pushed the heavy bathroom door, sighing once it closed behind you–the school hallway staring back at you. You could faintly hear music playing from behind the closed doors, but murmurs from a nearby corridor caught your attention.

“Did you hear?” Mr. Arnold fiddled with his hat, twisting the material between his fingers.

“Hear what?” You recognised Mrs. Gilbert–the drama teacher, she was fixing the sleeve of her sparkling dress before a content smile appeared on her lips.

“They found him,” now they had your full attention. Head spiking up like a cat, and breath catching in your throat.

“The Byers boy?” She whispered, the smile getting whipped off her features.

“Yes,” Mr. Arnold had a grim look in his eyes as he stared down at his shoes. “They found his body at Sattler Quarry about an hour ago… Poor kid drowned himself.”

Your shoulders tensed and you felt your ears ring

No.

No, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.

Will, the shy boy you babysitted a few times.

Will, the quiet one with a mind of gold and an ever growing imagination. The one who came up with creatures, monsters and wizards D and D magazines and Eddie’s campaigns could only be envious about.

Your body hit the back of the lockers, and you could only hope that Mrs. Gilbert and Mr. Arnold didn’t hear the thud that accompanied the movement. Head spinning and heart unstoppably racing as you tried to tame the buzz in your head. You couldn’t hear anything, an uncontrollable numbness hitting you as your fist clenched the material of your dress.

Why?

Why had a boy full of life like Will had to meet his end in such a way?

What about Dustin? Did he already know?

Your heart only shattered into more pieces as you thought of him.

You had to tell Eddie.

You walked back into the gym, the air feeling stuffy again and the music barely hitting your numbbed ears. Seeing everyone so full of life made you sick to your stomach. All these people who didn’t even care that he had gone missing, and now they would wake up tomorrow morning with the news of his death, and move on with the rest of their lives as if nothing happened.

It didn’t take you long to find Eddie in the crowd. He was a few meters away from the door, in a corner talking to—your brother?

He had a large frown on his features, and your brother was waving his hands around frantically like he did when he got frustrated. You watched as Eddie groaned, a hand flying up to his hair as he tried to reason whatever argument your brother had thrown.

You moved faster than your mind registered, feet gliding over the polished ground of the gymnasium. Something in you wanted to save Eddie from presumingly a horrid conversation with the gremlin that you were cruelly related to.

You were about to go through the last small group of people, you could clearly see them from your spot in between the dancing bodies—and Steve’s voice became clearer over the fading music.

“No-no you can’t tell her anything! What about me? What about Nancy?”

What the fuck was that suppose to mean?

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Look, I’ll pay you double, we continue the deal like it was, you continue to date her, and we can just forget this whole conversation happened, okay?”

You stopped in your tracks.

Steve’s writing suddenly became clear,

your worst assumptions were true.

Eddie was paid to date you,

And had been since the start.

#quartermaster munson 🫧#10 things i hate about you #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson imagine #Eddie Munson fan ficion #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things imagine #harrington! reader #Steve Harrington

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artyandink · 2 months ago

Text

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

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

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

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

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

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

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

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

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

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

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Madam President,

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

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

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

The next step was trickier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean Winchester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

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

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

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

Then he swallowed. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this answer was simple.

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

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

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jerk.”

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

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

“Austin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

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

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

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

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

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

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Dean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different how?”

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

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

“I do,” Dean admitted.

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

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT UP:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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The Intern Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you try to delay the inevitable, you begin your job search. At least that way you'll be able to get out of your father's house and away from everyone who acts like you're incapable of doing anything on your own. When Bradley pursues you, in part to bolster his own agenda, he's pretty convinced you're more capable than most.

Warnings: Language, reader's dad has a name (eventually 18+)

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Find the Prologue here.

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

Your father wasted no time over the breakfast that his chef made. You were still in your pajamas which consisted of a white silk camisole and shorts set, but he was already in a charcoal suit and tie, ready to seize the day. Or at the very least, your freedom.

"You need an internship," he said firmly as he smeared jelly on a piece of toast. "You need to complete a professional internship to show everyone that you are clever and talented and can think on your feet. You need to show them in person that your last name has nothing to do with it."

This was going to be a lot more involved than you originally thought. You carefully cut into your poached egg and asked, "So I can't just intern with you?"

He sighed and gave you a bland look. "I would love to have you with me all day and show you the ropes at Avio Technologies, but you already know that's not possible. You need to find a different department or a different company altogether."

You chewed your food and shot him a bland look of your own. It was almost amusing that he thought he could outwit you when he was the one who taught you how to play all of his games. "Maybe we could talk about this tomorrow?"

"You already got an extra day out of me, Sweetheart. My generosity has been all used up."

He looked almost amused now, so you knew you were skating on thin ice as you said, "I think an internship that starts in September would be the way to go."

When he set his knife down and bit into his toast, you straightened your back while he chewed. He took his time responding, and when he did, he asked, "And what exactly would you do during June, July and August?"

"There's a lot to be said for a little relaxation, Daddy," you told him in your most professional voice. "I've spent the last six years working nearly every day."

"And I've spent the last thirty five years working nearly every day. Please, get to your point."

You folded your hands in front of yourself and said, "I would be a better intern if I were well rested."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, taking one last sip of his coffee. If you or he wanted more to eat, his chef would make it. And you could see his housekeeper standing in the kitchen doorway ready to run in and clean up after him as soon as he left the dining room. All of it made you want to scream. You weren't even sure you wanted this lifestyle.

"Are you aware of the stipulations on your trust fund?" your father asked you in a voice laced with more than warning. You could feel the blood rush from your face. You'd been waiting your entire life for that money, and not because you wanted to use it the same way he did.

"Yes."

He nodded at you before he kissed your forehead. "Then make your decisions accordingly. I'll be back in a few hours."

As soon as he was out of the dining room, his housekeeper had her hands on his empty plate and coffee cup, and you abandoned the rest of your food for the relative solace of your bedroom. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but it was close to lunchtime on the east coast. Maybe you could call one of your friends from school, but they were probably starting internships of their own this week. You glanced out your windows at the pool, but the landscaping crew was out there with leaf blowers, so you just flopped down onto your bed.

What did you want out of an internship? You wanted it to be like school. You had no problem with hard work, but you preferred it to come with a hefty side of fun. Cocktails, dancing, late night dinners, boys, shopping. You weren't too picky about how that fun was served up, but you were absolutely certain there was more to life than working nonstop. And nobody in their right mind needed as much money as your father had.

You reached for your computer and rolled onto your stomach. The last place you wanted to intern was at Avio Technologies where your supervisor would report every detail of your work back to him. Even if you found a department that had nothing to do with what he was working on, you'd be screwed. Your dad knew everyone. He'd find out if you forgot to cover your mouth when you coughed or yawned too loudly. No, you needed to find something without your dad's help.

After you update your résumé and your LinkedIn profile, you thought about contacting that hot recruiter you met in grad school. You were pretty sure you still had his number in your phone contacts. Maybe you should make a to-do list. Or maybe you should go back to bed now that your dad was gone. You ended up lounging around for so long that your stomach was growling because of your unfinished breakfast.

"Fuck it," you murmured, strolling out of your room still in your silk pajamas. If the groundskeepers saw you as you walked past the French doors, then it was their own fault. And honestly, you were more covered up now than you were when you were wearing your bathing suit anyway.

The fact that you had to sneak into the kitchen so nobody tried to help you toast a slice of bread was beyond annoying, but you tiptoed through the house anyway. You ended up walking around as you ate the toast, probably leaving a trail of crumbs, but at least this way the housekeeper would be entertained again. You wondered what the staff did all day long when it was only your dad here. He could literally take care of himself if he tried, but why try when you're worth billions?

You popped the last bite into your mouth and started dancing through the foyer to the song that was stuck in your head. You did a few spins and pirouettes, and then you started making up an actual routine as you hummed. When you heard the front door open, you tried to freeze, but your foot caught on the marble floor, and you stumbled awkwardly. Just when you braced yourself for a lecture from your father, you were greeted by deep laughter and amused brown eyes instead.

"Oh," you said, pressing your palm to your chest as you regained your footing. "It's just you."

"Just me," Bradley Bradshaw replied with a shrug. He surveyed your body, and you could tell he was trying his best not to react to your outfit. Or lack thereof.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Yes. I'm still in my pajamas."

"I didn't say a word about it," he replied immediately, those brown eyes suddenly feigning innocence.

You knew your shorts left nothing to the imagination. You were also very aware that your nipples were probably peaked against your silk top, but you kept reminding yourself you were wearing less than this yesterday in the pool. Bradley however was wearing another designer suit that hugged him in all the right places, and his tie was once again a little too loose for you to take him completely seriously. His hair was a bit mussed today, too. Maybe his wife or girlfriend had run her fingers through it, but if that was the case, then he shouldn't be looking at you this way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked him.

His hands were back on his narrow hips as he replied, "Supposed to have lunch with your father."

"At least the chef and housekeeper will have something to do," you muttered to yourself. Then a little louder you said, "My dad's not back yet, and I hope you don't expect me to entertain you."

He chuckled. "Of course not. You look busy as hell dancing around. I definitely wouldn't want to interrupt that."

"Correct," you replied, tipping your chin in the air. "I've got no time for nonsense. Unless... did you bring your Armani swim trunks? It's a little early in the day for skinny dipping." You took a step closer to him. You couldn't pinpoint exactly why it was so fun to tease him, but he looked down at the floor and blushed a little bit before he replied which made you feel even bolder.

He met your eyes and said, "How embarrassing. I'm too early for lunch, and I'm too early for skinny dipping." His voice was a little softer now and you bit your lip, which drew his gaze to your mouth.

"You could always come back later."

His amused smile from yesterday was back as he said, "You really are a bit of a brat."

Then your father was right there, closing the front door behind him with a flourish as you took a step away from Bradley. He hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still on yours even as your father said his name.

"Sir," Bradley replied, turning toward him and holding out his hand. Your father shook it before patting him on the shoulder.

"We've been over this before, Bradley. You can call me Ted. We've been working together for a while."

"Ted," Bradley repeated, and you could tell that your father was secretly pleased by this show of respect. You wanted to roll your eyes, and then you realized that you were standing in the foyer in your pajama set at noon, and that was going to be a problem.

When your father turned toward you, his gaze was unamused. "Have you done anything today?"

"It's only lunchtime, Daddy," you replied. "But I updated my résumé."

"You have something better than a résumé," he snapped. "You have connections. Use them. I want you to have solidified an internship by the end of the week."

"But-"

He cut you right off, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as Bradley looked at you a little sympathetically.

"I don't generally deal with people who force me to repeat myself," your father said. "And I think you'll find I'm not the only one."

Now you were getting a little angry. He was talking to you like you just tanked a business deal for him. "I'm not some random person from your company."

But you could tell he wasn't listening now. He wouldn't really listen again until you had a job. "Once you find yourself an internship, I think you'll see that whomever you're working under won't take kindly to that sort of attitude. Now go get dressed," he said, dismissing you as he nodded toward the dining room and started walking.

You were left standing there with your hands on your silk covered hips and your bottom lip held firmly between your teeth. Bradley was giving you a curious look as he started to follow your father. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," you replied, barely meeting his eyes. Your dad embarrassed you in front of him. And sure, maybe you should have been dressed for the day, but you just got back to California. You wanted a chance to catch your breath. But now you were standing there watching both of their retreating forms with a bad taste in your mouth.

----------------------------

After an uneventful lunch with Ted, Bradley walked slowly back through his house. It was really more of a mansion or an estate, something that Bradley supposed he himself could afford now if he so desired, but he was used to his condo in Mission Hills. And he just couldn't picture having staff living with him.

He found that his head was on a swivel, peeking out the French doors to check the pool area and glancing up the main stairs to see if you were still around. A smile always crept to his lips whenever he thought about you, and it was obvious why. You were clearly a bit of a handful. Definitely a touch bratty. Old enough to know better, but young enough to not give too much of a damn. And you always made Bradley laugh.

At Christmastime, you were tipsy and tried to get him to drink a bottle of wine with you. He spent the rest of the night wondering what would have happened if he actually followed you into your father's kitchen, just the two of you. If anyone else happened upon that scene, he figured it would have gotten back to Ted. It was probably for the best that someone else had interrupted that.

But now his mind was swirling with information. You needed an internship. Bradley was headed off to Europe and could use an extra hand with work all summer. There would be endless meetings and constant schmoozing about the proprietary missile guiding software that Avio Technologies was currently peddling to the US Navy. Bradley was silently dreading doing it alone.

You might also serve as a useful source of information. If anyone knew what exactly was going on at Avio regarding the misuse of funds that he was certain he'd stumbled upon, Bradley was sure it would be Ted. Your father knew everyone. He had his hands in the research end of things where Bradley worked as well as the sales end of things where his old friend Jake Seresin was currently dabbling.

This is why Bradley was spending so much of his time here now; he was looking for information. And also for Ted's daughter. If he could appeal to your tastes as far as a job went, maybe he could get you to join him for the summer.

"Once again, I'm sorry about my daughter," Ted said with a sigh as he walked Bradley across the foyer. "She's stubborn. Headstrong. She wants to have her own agenda. She'll make an exceptional CFO someday."

Bradley couldn't help but chuckle. "Something tells me you're right."

"She just has a lot to learn about staying in your pajamas until noon and working your connections to your benefit, but she'll get there," he replied with a wave of his hand.

Bradley glanced up the stairs one more time, hoping for a glimpse of white silk and your pretty face, but you had tucked yourself away somewhere out of sight. "Thanks for lunch," Bradley said, holding out his hand for Ted to shake. "I always appreciate when you let me pick your brain, sir."

He chuckled and clapped Bradley on the back again. "How many times do I have to tell you to use my first name?"

"Always one more, I guess," Bradley replied, heading toward the front door with a smile. "See you at the office later this week."

Once he was outside in the sunlight, he slipped on his favorite pair of aviators he'd had since he first started flying F/A-18s and headed for his SUV. He walked past an assortment of sports cars in the circular drive before he got to his more modest black Range Rover Velar. As he drove back into the city to the office, he already started to formulate a plan. He just hoped you'd be around when he showed up again tomorrow. You were already integral to his agenda.

When his phone rang, he took it in the car as he wove through traffic. He didn't even check the number since only a handful of people had it. "Bradshaw," he said as he pulled up to a red light. "Bradley, it's Judy." He sighed and relaxed back against the seat; his receptionist was exceptional. She could take a pile of bullshit and whittle it down to the bare minimum of necessary information for him. He needed to give her another raise. "I have a few résumés here, and some of them were dropped off by hand. You know... a few Vice Presidents are trying to get their kids jobs in the software development lab. There are also some who are hoping for professional internships. Want to look at them, or should I toss them?"

Bradley ran his hand over his mouth before he said, "I'm on my way back to the office now. I'll take a look at them, but I'm hoping I found an alternative solution to a professional intern that might just be perfect."

------------------------

The following morning, you stood in your closet and held up your white bikini. You looked at it longingly, ran your fingers along the cute triangles that made up the top and wrapped the ties around your fingers before tossing it aside. Instead, you changed out of your pink nightie into an outfit that your father would probably refer to as 'smart casual' as soon as he saw you.

But you were alone for breakfast, because he was already gone for the day. When his chef asked you what you wanted to eat, she looked annoyed when you said cereal and fruit and told her you could get it yourself. The refrigerator was completely stocked, and you loved that your dad had removed cherries from his shopping lists since you found out you were allergic.

You swiped a peach and some berries onto the counter and started cutting them up, and now the chef looked like she was about to faint. You added them to the top of your cereal bowl and smiled pleasantly at her before you headed into the dining room with your coffee and breakfast. You'd have to contact some potential employers today. You already knew that. But you found yourself lingering over your meal until the cereal was soggy, trying to put off the inevitable a little longer.

You bargained with yourself. If you spent the morning looking for an internship, then you could lounge by the pool for the afternoon. "Excellent bargaining. You're so smart," you told yourself as you returned your dirty dishes to the kitchen while the housekeeper bounced on her feet nervously. She met you at the sink and snagged everything out of your hands.

With your computer on your lap, you sat on the couch and made a list of companies in San Diego that might fit the bill. The problem was, Avio was at the top of the list, simply because of the sheer number of different departments housed in the main office downtown. When you clicked on the Research and Development header, you saw a smug looking photo of Bradley Bradshaw and started to laugh.

"Clearly you know you're handsome," you muttered, reading about him in his short bio. Department Lead for Research and Development at Avio Technologies. Fifteen years as a US Naval aviator. Retired with medals of honor and a rank of Lieutenant Commander. Leading Avio in cutting edge research for naval aircraft software. "Impressive."

You scrolled through a few other departments and made a separate list of people to ask your father to introduce you to. When your stomach started growling, you realized it was already noon. "Time flies when you're not having fun," you murmured as you dashed upstairs, your bikini calling to you like a siren song.

Only because it would be convenient, you decided to ask the chef to make you lunch so you could eat it outside by the pool. You were just tying your sheer beach cover up over your bathing suit and leaving your room when you heard your dad's voice along with some others. As silently as you could, you tiptoed barefoot down the main stairs, looked both ways and dashed to the left toward the French doors. And then you slammed directly into someone.

"Shit," you whispered, grabbing onto an Armani suit while hands came up to your back to steady you. Then you looked up into those same pretty brown eyes as the big hands tightened around your waist. "It's you again."

Bradley was laughing, and the deep rumble had you pressing yourself against him. "Me again."

You tried not to laugh as you whispered, "If you come with me, you can ditch the rest of the suits." For some reason, you wanted him to join you on the patio, just like he had the other day. He'd ditched everyone else for your company then, and you wanted him to do precisely that again.

You tugged him toward the doors, but he just shook his head. "It's too early for skinny dipping, remember?" A rather inappropriate retort was poised and ready to go, just sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he added, "But I actually was looking for you."

Now your heart fluttered. "You were?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, releasing his hold on you. Your initial instinct was to whine until he touched you again, and you had to bite your lip to prevent another embarrassing moment. "I couldn't help but overhear yesterday that you're looking for a professional internship."

When he paused, you said, "I am. Go on."

He smirked, and he looked so much like his photo on the Avio Technologies website, you almost started laughing again. "I think I have something that could be exactly what you're looking for. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I could be. As long as it doesn't interfere with my sunbathing," you told him, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his gaze dipped briefly to your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as that pretty pink color flooded his cheeks. He reached into his pocket without taking his eyes off your face and then held a business card between his index and middle fingers right in front of your lips. "Call my office this afternoon. Judy will set something up for tomorrow." He paused again. "If you're interested."

You plucked the card from his grasp, and he smiled as he turned to his left and headed for your father's conference room. As you studied the tidy font, you wondered what he was looking for in an intern. You wondered what he could offer you. After a quick detour to grab your phone, you went outside to make a call.

You were interested.

------------------------

Interested is an understatement for me. Offer her a job, Bradley! And pack you swim shorts, baby boy. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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sometimeslwish · 2 months ago

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Skyfall: All things End

So I was listening to Skyfall on loop cause it reminded me of the spoilers I've seen about Sylus' myth, and because I've been reading angst lately:

Mc has been reborn, but her memories went to someone else, that someone else is... well, you.

You've always been creative as a child, great at telling stories and even better at singing thanks to your family. You've dreamt about those moments since you were 12, always thinking those were just dreams, leftover from your wild imagination, even if they crushed your soul in the process with how vivid and realistic they were.

You grow up to become an actor, singer and songwriter. The songs are filled with themes of mystery, violence, fantasy, obsession and references to a forbidden love that ends much too soon after the death of a lover. The details change, but the story is always the same.

A woman, reborn time and time again, sometimes powerful and feared, others afraid but determined, many variations that lead to the same outcome: she encounters a man. He's the opposite of what she is or stands for, born as each others enemy. Sometimes it starts rough, both at each other's necks, sometimes it's just one of them who wants to kill while the other is simply entertained by the attempts. There's times when she'll be afraid of him, but will still stand her ground, others where he's her subject, even if under a leash.

On each one, they learn and become stronger, reaching the same level of power and growing comfortable with each other, only for it to be all ripped away.

Sometimes he dies, sometimes it's her.

You've started to gain traction after your last album. The songs are a little bit more hopeful and empowering, but they still carry the hints to the pain. You're in the middle of an interview, talking about your inspiration when you talk about your dreams. You mention considering the idea of making an album for a movie centered on the dreams, how you've gone back on your dream journals to organize everything and the fact that you're halfway through.

The interview ends with you talking about who you would like to cast for the male lead, if the choice was on your hands, and that's when you mention the man. You give chopped up features, mentioning how you've never fully remembered his face, only his voice and height. You end up describing the up and coming actor named Sylus without being aware of it.

The internet goes crazy with it.

They keep mentioning it even after your tour and next thing you know, it's no longer an idea, but a full sized project. Of course, Sylus said yes– or his manager did, who knows– and when you meet him, your world shifts on its axis. It's him, the man you've been dreaming of, the voice in your dreams you started using in your head to encourage yourself. He's real and alive.

You have no time to recollect and center yourself as he approaches along with his manager. You recognize her too, she's the woman you've seeing in your dreams. Great to finally meet the lovers, you think bitterly.

You're tense and jumpy, but you manage– through internal screams and tears, but you manage. He offers nothing to you as both of you read the script and exchange comments on scenes, and the concoction of emotions inside of you leave a sour taste in your mouth.

Does he remember? Doesn't he suspect you? Their past lives are detailed in that script, and somehow you know every detail without being her. Does he know you're the one who wrote the script? He has to, that part of the interview was the most popular, it made rounds on the internet for a while.

Why won't he say anything?

You feel more conflicted each time you see them interact, and it's even worse after you and Sylus start getting closer and comfortable with each other. Bitterness, happiness, sadness, hope, dread. Those are the emotions that you stew in. You use them to write on restless nights, songs filled with despair and yearning alike. It's harder to keep the facade the longer you go.

You don't explode, that would be a lie, you simply break during a particular scene. You can still tell between reality and fiction, but your heart doesn't. When you're acting the scene in which you loose him, holding him in your arms as you wail, you bring everyone to tears with you.

Everyone congratulates you after the scene.

"Your acting was great," says a background actor.

"That scene will surely get you an award," whispers your manager.

"It gave me full body chills!"

You smile and say your thanks, try to be humble even through the numbness of it all. There's a difference in Sylus' behavior after that, you can't pinpoint what it is, but you can guess what the reason is.

The curtain is about to close, so you pay no mind to it, you've accepted your fate, even if it hurts like hell.

@leighsartworks216 @comatosebunny09 seeing you guys being angsty rubbed off on me, so I'll thank you for inspiring this mess of an idea