#maybe I’ll do more polls in the future

[kingofanemptyworld]

It’s official! Based on the results of my recent polls, the hottest version of Ichigo (according to Grimmjow) and the hottest version of Grimmjow (according to Ichigo) are…

*drumroll*

Hybrid Ichigo and TYBW Grimmjow!

Convenient they’re in the same arc lmao

[reverie-starlight]

{the proposal- kuroo}

on today’s episode of “rev accidentally disregards the polls she made”, we have this fic :3 I actually adore this one, it was so fun to write!! hope you enjoy <3 also… thank you sm for 1k followers 😭🫶🏻 that’s huge, I appreciate everyone sm 🥹

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. fluff fluff fluff. alcohol mentions, drunk reader. dialogue heavy at the start.

“You need to propose to me.”

Kuroo, who is enjoying his drink, begins to choke. “I what?”

You roll your eyes with a barely concealed smile.

“Not for real, silly, just a fake one.”

He looks at you like you’ve gone insane. “I’m not following.”

“We’re broke university students, do you really think we can afford to pay for more than two drinks tonight? If you propose, I bet people would make a drunken mistake and offer to buy us a celebration round.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him as he continues to give you that same incredulous look.

“That’s-“ he cuts himself off before he can finish that thought and starts with a new one. “I doubt that would work. I mean, maybe at a restaurant with free dessert, but a bar? Really?”

“I’ve seen it done in stranger places!” You defend yourself. “Besides, you’ve been sipping on your drink for the past 25 minutes. If the ice had poison in it, you’d be dead by now,” you lean back and cross your arms.

Your boyfriend just shakes his head. “Your mind is a very interesting place. Alright, fine. We’ll do it, but if it doesn’t work that’s going to be really embarrassing. Hand me your ring, I’ll do it when more people are around.”

You only have to wait another ten minutes before a group of business men having a meeting a couple of tables over appear to be drunk enough to invest in young love.

Your boyfriend nods once to signal that he’s going to do it and soon enough he’s on one knee, fake tears forming at the corners of his eyes and a dusting of pink on his cheeks that make you want to kiss them.

(Your heart jumps that the thought that he could do this for real one day).

“You’re the love of my life,” he begins, and you make a mental note that he either has a bright future in acting or his drink really is too strong, despite his insistence that he could handle it earlier.

A lady one table over gasps and draws more attention to the performance in front of the customers.

“And I absolutely adore every single thing about you. I had a whole plan for this, but with the way you’re looking tonight, I can’t wait a second longer. We’ve managed to get many years together already, and I’d be honoured to spend the rest of our lives just like this. Will you marry me?”

You’re genuinely touched at his words and the sincerity in his tone almost makes you forget it’s fake.

Not wanting to make your audience wait much longer, you make a big show of nodding your head and jumping into his crouched form with a loud “yes!”

Drunken cheers are only background noise while you press against his chest. His heartbeat eliminates the chance of you focusing on anything but him.

Kuroo tips his head down to whisper, “think we pulled it off?”

You nod against him and start to get up. He looks over to see one of the drunk business men coming over to greet you.

“Congratulations on your engagement! Let us buy the happy couple some drinks!”

The man’s face is flushed and he gestures to his table. “Order whatever you’d like, it’ll be put on our tab.”

You fake surprise. “Oh my goodness, that’s very generous of you, but we could never take advantage of your kindness like that!”

Beside you, your ‘fiancé’ stifles a laugh but the man doesn’t notice. “No, I insist! You should celebrate.”

This time Kuroo takes over. “Ah… well, thank you, sir. Rest assured we won’t go too crazy.”

The man laughs and claps him on the back. “What a polite couple of kids you are! Reminds me of me and my wife,” he winks before heading back to his table, whistling some tune.

You spin around and look up at your boyfriend with a smug grin. “So what are we getting first?”

A couple of hours later, you’re both stumbling into your campus apartment, giggling and trying to shush each other despite not having any other roommates.

You somehow manage to get through your night routines and fall back into your bed soon after. You’re a far more wasted than Kuroo is (he always drinks less than you to be able to take care of you), so he tries to get you to sip on some water.

He watches you with a silly grin as you fiddle with your “engagement” ring. You’ve since slipped it back onto your index finger where it originally was this evening, but you move it back to your ring finger and fiddle with it.

“I think…” your words are slightly slurred and laced with sleep. “I mean, I know… that I don’t want my real engagement ring to be diamond.”

His grin widens so much his cheeks begin to hurt. “No? So what will it be, baby?”

You form your own smile. “I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with. You know me best after all.”

He forces you to take another sip of water when your words don’t get any less coherent. While you drink he thinks of the ruby ring tucked away somewhere at Kenma’s house. You’re far too good at sniffing out clues and he’s never been good at keeping secrets from you.

You’re still in university, it’s far too soon to get engaged for real- you’ve both always said you wanted to wait until you’re done with school- but he’s been saving up for that ring since high school. he’s always knows you would be the one for him.

So when the time comes he’ll be ready. With a speech much better than whatever he said tonight.

“Alright, let’s get some sleep. You’re going to have the worst hangover tomorrow, you haven’t had that much to drink in a while.”

You tug at his wrist before he can shut the lamp off. “Wait, don’t you want to celebrate our engagement?”

“Sleep, baby.”

You pout a bit. “Don’t you think we celebrated enough tonight?”

You stare at him and he sighs. “There’s plenty of time for celebrating our fake engagement some more tomorrow,” he shuts the lamp off and wrangles you down with him. “Now it’s time for sleep.”

“‘m not tired,” you mumble, obviously lying. “I could go all night.”

You settle onto your pillow and he strokes your cheek. “I know, sweetheart, you’re a fighter.”

You nod as you begin to doze off.

He notices the ring still on your finger and he smiles softly.

The hangover you’ll be sporting tomorrow will definitely have been worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ty for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed <3

tagging: @emmyrosee @luvring @dira333 @tetzoro

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Okay. Back again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You sit up as the faucet runs, the bathroom door slightly open. You look around, searching for your own shoes, not these annoying heels. As you get up, Bucky emerges, swiping his hands over his dark hair. You gulp and stop short. You gape at his shirtless torso. 

“You going somewhere, doll?” He asks. 

“Um, yeah, home,” you tear your eyes off of him. 

“Home? It’s late.” 

“I know but... my mom...” 

“I bet she’s asleep. She won’t know the difference, doll. I can’t let you go off into the night like that,” he insists as he comes closer. 

“But I...” you scour the room for your purse. You really don’t know how you’ll explain it all to your mom. You can’t go home in this dress and makeup. “I have to--” 

“Who say? You’re an adult, aren’t ya? You can stay.” He comes close and puts his hands on your shoulders, “you’re not gonna leave me all alone, are you?” 

“Bucky, I...” you chew your lip. “I had fun...” 

“But you can’t stay and snuggle. I get it. You’re a special girl, maybe I just don’t deserve ya,” he frowns. “And I’m not gonna make you stay but I can’t let you go off alone. So let me get dressed and I’ll drive you home.” 

You look at him. Your chest tweaks. He did all this for you. He’s already half undressed for the day and you can see the fatigue around his eyes. To be honest, you’re exhausted yourself. 

“No, I can’t-- I’ll stay,” you try to smile but you’re too nervous to do more than show your teeth. 

“You don’t gotta feel sorry for me,” he scoffs. 

“Sorry for you?” You pout, “no. How could I—what would I feel sorry for?” 

His throat bobs and he looks away, “you really are a sweet girl.” 

“Bucky,” you step closer, then stop yourself. You notice the muscles in his chest. He’s so strong and big. It’s distracting. “I’m just me. I... you—you own this whole place, why would I feel bad for you? It’s not... that. I’m just...” your lashes flick and your eyes drift down to his muscled stomach. You tear them away in shame, “nervous.” 

“Nervous,” he looks at you, almost bashfully as he keeps his chin tilted down. “About what?” 

“Well, er... everything. You. I... I’m just... it’s all so new, that’s all.” You twist your hand around your finger. “I didn’t mean to... hurt you.” 

He stares at you and takes a deep breath. He stands up straight and comes closer. “Aw, doll, no. Don’t give me that face. It makes me want you even more. To show you that you don’t need to be nervous. I wanna take care of ya. That’s the deal, isn’t it? I’m gonna give you everything you could ever dream of and all I’m asking is for you to keep being sweet to me.” 

He brings a hand up to cup your chin and you shiver. His thumb rubs along the line of your jaw as you peer up at him, “come on.” 

He gently urges you toward the bed. You put your hand on his wrist and stop him. You run your touch down his forearm. 

“I can’t sleep in this,” you look down at the dress. “Too tight.” 

“Ah, you want one of mine, doll?” He chuckles and reluctantly pulls his hand away. 

He turns and strides to the closet. To your surprise, there are clothes inside. Some of them you recognise from the racks of dresses you browsed earlier. He reaches inside and takes out a black button up. He comes back to you as he slips it off the hanger. 

He hands it over and you thank him. You feel the fabric, it’s soft. It’ll be nicer than the pinch of the seams. 

“Can I unzip ya?” He rasps. You sense the tension in his voice, as if he can barely get it out. 

“Oh, sure.” 

You turn your back to him, as much to hide your own burning blush as to hide from the heat roiling from him. You wince as his thumb brushes your skin and he slowly pulls down the tab of the zipper. You quiver out your breath and clutch the bodice of the dress as it slackens. You look at him from the corner of your eye. 

His fingertips trail up your spine and he steps closer. You brace yourself. He sniffs and pulls his hand away. 

“I’ll close my eyes,” he puts his hand over his face and turns on his heel. 

You don’t move right away. His presence is like a noose. You step away from him and put the shirt on the bed. You shimmy out of the dress and swipe it quickly off the floor. You put the shirt on and button it up. You unhook your bra and slide it off one arm at a time before pulling it through it free from beneath the fabric. 

You gather up the shirt and bra and clear your throat, “you can look now.” 

He accepts your invitation eagerly. He looks at you. Nowhere else but you. As you carry the clothing to rest on the dresser, he hums. Your legs tingle as they’re exposed to the room and him. They were before but now you feel even barer. 

As he approaches, you wrench back and face him. He stops to step out of his pants and you watch him in disbelief. He has only his dark briefs left. The twitch under the fabric gives you a start. You squeak and hurry for the bed. That’s not because of you... no, but... 

He follows. You climb up just ahead of him and his weight dips beside you. You push your legs under the covers as he reaches back to flip the light switch beside the headboard. The lamp goes out and he groans as he jostles closer. 

You lay down and just as quickly you’re locked in his embrace. His warm breath fans over your cheek as he nestles in close and brushes his nose along your cheek. His hand traces up and down your side and he clutches your hip. He pulls you flush to him. You can fill him—it—moving against your thigh. 

“Doll, ain’t this nice? Just us, just snuggling,” he purrs and tucks his hand under you, hooking a leg around yours. “I wish it could last forever.” You hum, unsure what to say. He kisses your cheek and hushes your silence, “sweet dreams. Don’t think I could sleep any better than next to you.” 

🃏

Sleep shrouds you in a shallow void. You can sense everything around you. Your mind won’t let go of your strange surroundings or the man next to you. Before you open your eyes, you try to convince yourself it was all a dream. 

You open your eyes to find the truth vivid before you. Bucky entwines himself in your as he snores into your hair. His arm is hooked around you and you’re not sure you’re okay about his hand being where it is. As you squirm, he kneads your ass. 

You reach back to stop him and he growls. The sound makes your chest twinge and you arch your back as his fingers curl deeper into your soft flesh. You cling to him as he holds you close. 

“Mmm,” he drones groggily, “you’re so warm, baby.” 

He rocks his pelvis and you feel just what you did the night before. He’s hard. The realization freezes you. You gulp and put your other hand over his thigh, squeezing him through the blankets. 

“Bucky,” you squeak, “Bucky?” 

“So good,” he continues to tilt his hips in a lewd rhythm. 

You turn to look at him, pulling back to see him. You’re caught in his hold. His eyes are closed as he lays beside you. Is he asleep? 

He continues to roll into you. You don’t know what to do. You’re embarrassed and helpless. He keeps on as you babble and blink up at the hotel ceiling. He grunts and jerks, shakes, then stops altogether. You shudder. 

“Bucky,” you say louder as you writhe in his arm. 

“Mm, ugh, huh,” he mutters as you tap his shoulder frantically. “Doll, what’s--” 

You look down as you feel something wet seep through the shirt. He releases you as he leans back and lifts the blanket. He peeks down and quickly sits up. Before you can say a word, he swings his legs over the edge and stands. He storms into the bathroom and the door snaps behind him. 

You gape after him. When at last you can move, you drag the blanket away from the mattress. You look at the wet spot on your shirt and push yourself up. You’re not sure but you are sure. It can’t be anything else. You’ve heard of it happening to men in their sleep but you always thought it only happened to teens. 

The door opens and you pop your head up. Bucky comes out with a towel around his waist and his hand on his forehead, “doll. I’m so sorry. I was dreaming and...of you, of course, but I got carried away. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t realise...” he swallows and closes his eyes. He tilts his head and drops his arm, “I’m so embarrassed.” 

“Uh, oh, I... I... well, I guess it happens, right?” You can’t look at him.  

“Well, not really. I gotta be honest, I mean, after this, there’s no point lying but... this doesn’t happen to me. Not often. Not since... well, it was a while ago,” he explains. “I guess you just do that to me.” 

“Erm, oh, I... I’m sorry?” You say. 

“Sorry, doll,” he chuckles and nears the bed. “Baby,” his voice grits in his throat, “do you know the last time a woman made me feel anything? At all? You got me feeling all sort of ways,” he exhales with a quake and reaches for you. 

You look at him as he latches onto your arm. He pulls you to the edge of the bed, “come here.” 

“Bucky--” 

He forces you to your feet and wraps you up in a hug, “I mean it, doll, I’m crazy for ya. And I’m tryna be patient but... you can see, I’m struggling. Huh? Can I have a little? Please.” 

You bat your lashes and dare to look up at him. His blue eyes are blazing and his cheeks are slightly tinged pink. Your stomach is flip flopping. 

“I...” you push your lips together and swallow, “what... what exactly... um, what did you want?” 

He trembles as he brings his hand up your arm and over your shoulder. He cradles your head and lets out another purr, “can I taste it? Please?” 

“Taste?” You echo thinly. 

“Baby, you don’t gotta do nothing. Just lay back, right? It’s like kissing. Mhmm. I’ll just be doing it...” his eyes drift lower and his nose furrows as if he’s snarling, “down there.” 

“I... I never...” 

“Promise, I’ll be nice. I just wanna try it. Alright? You say stop, I’ll stop, but baby,” his nails graze your scalp, “I’m getting hard again. It hurts.” 

You stare up at him, speechless. What do you say? What can you say? You’re in this hotel with him. The reason you’re there and could just as easily be the reason you’re not. And he’s you’re only way home. 

All of this, the room, the casino, last night, it’s all because of him. He gives and gives and you don’t see how you can keep taking. You squeeze your thighs together as they tingle. 

“Okay,” you whisper. 

“Okay?” He twitches. 

You nod as your eyes flit back and forth, “er, what... what do I do?” 

He exhales and puts his hands on your shoulders as he parts. He guides you back to the bed until your thighs meet the side, “you just sit, doll.” He shoves you down until you’re on the mattress, “I’ll do the rest.” 

You keep your eyes straight. Your body’s all locked up. You can’t move. He gets on his knees and moves toward you. He reaches under the shirt and grabs onto your panties. He tugs. 

“Help me out, baby,” he growls. 

You lift yourself slightly, just until he gets them past your bottom. You fall back down heavily. You’re buzzing in disbelief. He rolls your panties down your legs and off your ankles. He flings them away. 

He pulls your knees apart and you squeak as cool air grazes along your exposed cunt. He bends forward and kisses your thigh. You squeal. 

“Baby, I promise, I’ll be nice,” he speaks against your skin, his warm sweat smearing up your leg, “just be good. Be good for me, baby.” 

He shoves his head under the shirt and you exclaim as his tongue swipes up your cunt. You slap your hand against his head and thrash. He reaches back to hold your hand against his hair and buries his face into you. He hums and flicks his tongue. It sends a thrill through you. 

Your toes curl and your muscles strain. He keeps his tongue moving, and you push your head back as you lean your pelvis into him. Oh, wow.  

[ktownshizzle]

Terms & Conditions | Chapter 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut, co-workers to lovers, office romance, idol!au

Warnings: Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, I might include scootergate in a future chapter but please know it will be written sensibly imo and with so much love for our Yoongi (I just wanna protecc him at all costs even thru this silly story!), some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range, tbh still nothing too bad in this chapter

Word count: 4k (approx. 18 mins to read)

Posting date: October 15, 2024

Notes: Wow this next update came very early. Really loving writing this couple so much. Btw, winner of this poll is written in and will be appearing in succeeding chapters. Enjoy~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Masterlist

It’s not like you’ll miss him (you’ve told yourself that repeatedly)—there’s just something in the atmosphere that feels off today, is all.

The truth? It was just you. Everyone else is counting down the seconds, ready to bail and do whatever gets them through the weekend. But you? You wanna stretch the day out a bit more, if it means spending a little more time with him.

You received an email from Hyun-woo earlier, informing you that Yoongi is leaving for his two-week basic training camp. The news dropped into your inbox like a stone, and ever since, a funny weight has settled in your stomach, refusing to budge.

By 5 p.m., the office has thinned out. The soft hum of the a/c is the only sound left in the room. You’re absently adjusting the tiny plant on your desk when you notice him hovering nearby, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, the other stuffed into his pocket. 

“So, um, I’ll be gone for a bit,” he mumbles, voice low and a tad raspy. His eyes flick to yours, just for a second, before darting away again. He pokes at the leaves of your plant, as if it suddenly piqued his interest.

“I know,” you reply with a playful pout, trying to keep things light. “You’re just abandoning me here with all this work, huh?”

A tiny smile quirks up the corner of his lips, but something in it feels distant, like he’s keeping some emotions at bay. “Yeah, sorry. You’ll survive, though.”

“I will.” You look away with mischief on your lips, clicking X on some of the windows in your computer. “Besides, I hear Jeon Jungkook—you know him, right?—is dying for a transfer here. I might just say yes.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and you catch the quick flare of something—annoyance, maybe?—before he huffs out a breath. His mouth curls into a half-snarl, half-smirk. “Wow. The body isn’t even buried yet.”

You’d laugh, but the sight of him pushing his tense fingers through his hair as his tongue skirts the edge of his bottom lip apparently has your pussy on speed dial. Why is that single action so goddamn sexy? You blink, quickly shaking the thought from your mind before it escalates.

“I’m just playing,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair to put some distance between your thoughts and his presence. “You take care of yourself, loser.”

He hesitates for a beat, his fingers resting on the edge of your mouse pad, close enough to yours. There’s something happening, curious and charged, but before you can make sense of it, he bites his lip and nods.

And, of course, he says the one thing you promised yourself you would do anyway. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Your heart skips a beat, but your lips form a straight line, pretending you didn’t feel it. “I won’t.” The words come out too quickly, too light, as if you’re trying to convince yourself more than him.

The door closes softly behind him, but the space feels bigger, emptier without him there. You sit back, staring at the spot where he stood moments ago. The quiet settles in, heavier than before, and you can’t help but notice how different the room feels already.

It’s fine. You’ll barely notice he’s gone.

Except… you do notice.

The first few days pass in a blur of silence and monotony. Your office feels out of sorts without him, like something’s missing. His desk remains untouched, where he orphaned a pair of Galaxy earbuds and a relatively normal-sized black tumbler compared to yours.

You tell yourself it’s just the routine that’s off—that’s all. But then you find yourself thinking about the way his mouth always hangs open when he’s concentrating, or how the other day he tripped over the trash can that the cleaning lady keeps moving around and suddenly you have this goofy smile on your face.

The next Monday, you catch yourself looking at the door, waiting for the familiar sound of him coming in, and the realization burns you like the cheap-ass Tequila you had in college: you do miss him.

You groan internally, pressing your fingers to your temples. Great. Just great.

Actually, not great. This is fucking bad. Like violating a multi-million-won NDA bad.

You gotta keep this unspeakable thing locked airtight in the recesses of your brain. Your Youtube and Naver browsing history will definitely betray you so you need to clear that shit A-SAP. Chae will never out you, but you might want to have another convo just for your peace of mind. And finally, you need to put a stop to the friendly-flirty thing you have going on with Yoongi. You had your fun, but it’s time to stop.

Of course that’s easier said than done. Not when two weeks was up, the sight of Yoongi made you almost drop to your goddamn knees.

You didn’t recognize him at first. His hair is gone. Well, mostly. The buzz cut threw you off. So did the round metal-rim glasses. You blink, trying to process the change, but your brain has officially malfunctioned. 

Is this really him? You verify through the name patch on his shirt. Min Yoongi. Daegu. It read. It really is him, and you are no longer yourself.

“Hey,” he says with a small grin as he approaches you.

“Hello,” you manage, eyes fixed on him, still. The glasses. The buzz cut. Shit. He looks ridiculously cute.

Yoongi drops something on your desk—a small bag. You glance at it, then at him, but he’s already walking away, back to his desk like nothing happened.

Tangerines. It’s a bag of tangerines. Maybe 7 of them.

Your chest tightens in the strangest way. You know tangerines are his favorite fruit as he shared during one of your coffee breaks, but the fact that he brought them for you as he returned from bootcamp? Why does it feel so… personal?

You really want to keep your distance and protect yourself, but this man acts like an angel and looks just like heaven—so you don’t stand a chance at all. You’re going straight to hell. Or jail.

Later that evening, you practically burst through your apartment door, your mind still reeling from the sight of Yoongi with that stupidly cute hair cut. Chae is already in the kitchen, humming as she slices what looks like gimbap.

One look at you, and her eyes narrow with curiosity. “What’s up with you? You look manic.”

You toss your bag down and place the bag of fruit on the counter before you flop onto the couch. “He’s back.”

“Who?”

“You know who,” you groan, burying your face in a pillow. “Yoongi.”

Chae immediately perks up, abandoning the knife to focus on your conversation. “Oh? How is he?”

You point to the citrus. “Those are from him, by the way.”

“Wait, wha—aww his favorite and he brought you some? And he got you seven? Oh my god…” Chae swoons as she rummages through the plastic, picking up one of the plush oranges to sniff it.

“How’d you know it's his fave? And so what if it’s 7?”

Chae places the fruit back in the plastic and exhales dramatically as if she was exasperated by your questions.

“Every self-respecting ARMY knows about Yoongi’s tangerines obsession. And there’s seven of them in BTS,” Chae explains pointedly, before crossing her arms. “Babe, if you’re going to be his girlfriend, you gotta know these things.”

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes and lie back on the cushions so she’s out of sight.

“Wait…” she says, rounding the kitchen island to lean over the couch by your feet. “So Yoongi’s back. Why do you look a little… unhinged?”

“Ok,” you start, leaning forward and resting your weight on your elbows. “He came back with a buzz cut. And glasses. Like, really cute glasses, Chae. Granted it’s the same ones those fuckbois in Hongdae always wore. But he looked… ugh, I don’t even know how to explain it. Like it suits him. It’s so nerdy, but… sexy. His face is so like…” You drop your head back down on the pillow and sigh.

She shakes her head. “You got it bad, bro.”

You sit up again, glaring at her, but it’s useless. “Fine. Okay, fine. I have a crush. Happy now?”

Chae cackles, going back to her chopping board with way too much enthusiasm. “I knew it! You’ve been soft for him since day one.”

You groan, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my co-worker.”

“And?”

“And he’s a goddamn idol. Plus, I signed that NDA.”

Before Chae could even react, your words continue to spill out from the leaky bucket that was your brain.

“But like, Chae, he got me a whole bag of tangerines. The fuck is that? And he made me a latte—said he made too much by mistake, but I know the machine, there’s literally only one setting. And there’s this look. And when he smiles. Like, I don’t know, like…” Hell, you can't get more words out, because you know you legitimately sound insane. Is Min Yoongi, rapper, producer, billionaire, actually giving you the time of day?

Chae nods, completely unbothered by your spiraling as she chops the kimchi on the board. “Uh-huh. So, when’s the wedding?”

“Not helpful!” you groan, throwing yourself back down onto the couch and covering your face with the throw blanket. You know she’s teasing, but it’s starting to feel too real.

“Look,” you hear her muffled voice from under the cloth. “I'm honestly super jealous right now, don't get it twisted. But I'm really, really excited for you. And not just because he is my bias wrecker, but because you haven't been excited over a guy in like forever.”

You stay mum as you process her words.

“Do you want my advice?”

“Yes.” You pull the blanket away and sit up to look at her.

“Let the chips fall where they may…” she declares as she sprinkles sesame seeds on the gimbap with a flourish.

“That's vague as hell.”

“Listen, you are a smart, capable, smokeshow of a woman. You've got very weird cardigans, but thank god you wear a uniform.”

“Rude?!”

“It seems that he wants at the very least a friendship with you, so just have fun with it,” Chae winks, her voice taking on a teasing tone. “You’ll know when to make a move.”

You stare at her, feeling your face heat up. “Oho I’m not making a move. I’m just… acknowledging the fact that I might be into him.”

She laughs, her spoon waving in the air. “Aight. Good luck with that, then.”

The steady click of your keyboard echoes through the dimly lit office, the glow from your screen casting long shadows on the walls. It is well past 9 p.m. and the office is virtually empty. You are deep into your report, fingers flying over the keys, when the door to your office opens.

You startle but not by much, removing your earphones that were filtering lo-fi music that usually helped with your concentration. 

Your visitor leans against the doorway, sharp eyes lingering on you. Work uniform gone, he sports a branded black shirt and black pants, a gray beanie hiding the fuzz you have been obsessed with for days.

“Still at it?” he asks.

“Yeah. Told you I was gonna try to get this done after hours,” you say, flashing him a tired smile. “Thought you left.”

He seems about to say something, but he pauses, glancing around the room before his gaze settles on his desk. He moves toward it, clearing his throat.

“Ah, yeah. I did,” he says, his voice casual, almost too casual. “But then I realized I forgot my earbuds.”

He plucks the pod case from the table, holding it up with a little shrug. “Couldn’t exactly leave without these, right?”

You narrow your eyes at him, one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t you leave those here for, like, two weeks when you were at bootcamp?”

Yoongi’s grin flickers—just for a second—but then it’s back in place, lazy and effortless. “Must’ve missed them this time.” He slides into a chair beside you, settling in like he has no intention of leaving.

Curious. Very curious. He is not about to waste his Friday night to be in this office with you. Or is he?

“So I have an idea that might make tonight more… interesting.” He declares, setting his bag down against your desk.

Before you can ask what he meant, he stands up and disappears out the door. A few minutes later, he returns, a mischievous glint in his eye and a bottle of wine clutched in his hand. 

You sit up straighter, eyes wide. “Yoongi, where the hell did you get that?”

“Hyun-woo’s stash.” His grin was impish as he set the bottle down between you. “He gave me keys to his office.”

“I don’t think he gave it to you for this purpose,” You gape at him, disbelieving. “You’re going to get us in so much trouble.”

He shrugs, looking entirely unfazed. “It’s after hours. Nobody’s around. Besides…” He glances towards the CCTV camera in the corner, then reaches for a small box on top of the filing cabinet and slides it in front of the camera’s view. “Oops.”

You can’t help but laugh at his boldness, shaking your head. “You know I signed an NDA about working with you, and now you’ve got me breaking the code of conduct? You’re trouble, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi beams as he twists the cap off the bottle. “Yet here you are enabling me.”

You raise an eyebrow, snatching the bottle from his hand and taking a sip. The wine was surprisingly decent for something hidden away in an office drawer. Some fruity red that went smoothly down your throat. As you pass the bottle back to him, you fish through your desk drawer, pulling out a bag of cheese crackers and mini pretzels.

“See, enabler,” Yoongi remarked, gulping from the bottle before shoving a piece of pretzel in his mouth.

“Your tshirt says you’re the ‘mastermind’ though,” you point out.

He glances down on the print of his shirt and nods, “That I am” before he presents you the gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

You fall into an easy relay after that, taking turns with the wine bottle while you continue to type away your report. Meanwhile he takes out his laptop and perches it on the side of your desk so he can work beside you on what seems like a personal project, perhaps a song. But you can’t ask because the NDA states you are not allowed to ask him anything about BTS or his music career.

“How’s the deck coming along?” Yoongi asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“I’ve got the wireframe done. Just need to fill in the details.” You glance at his screen. “You seem busy.”

“Yeah, I’m reviewing materials for a documentary about the last tour,” he says, letting out a long sigh as he slouches further into his chair.

You hum in response, biting your lip, holding back the questions dancing on your tongue. NDA, remember.

He must notice your hesitation, because he waves his hand dismissively. “I know the contract says you’re not supposed to ask about music, but it’s cool. You can ask.”

Before you can second-guess yourself, you blurt out, “Do you miss it?”

Yoongi turns his head slightly, meeting your eyes. You clarify, quieter now, “Making music. Being with the others.”

He doesn’t answer right away, picking at his lip. There’s a pause, long enough that you almost regret asking.

“Yes,” he finally says, voice low. “And no.”

You wait, sensing there’s more.

“Yes, because it’s music,” he continues, leaning back. “It’s what I’ve done my whole life. It’s where I feel… alive, you know? Like everything clicks into place when I’m creating. It’s hard to explain, but when I’m in it, everything makes sense.”

His words pull at something in you—the way his voice changes when he talks about it, that quiet intensity he wears so well. But then he looks down, fingers tracing the cork of the wine bottle.

“But no, too,” he says, softer. “This is the first time in years I’ve been able to step back. To just be… normal.” He glances up, a small grin touching his lips, the kind that never quite reaches his eyes. “It’s weird, right? But it’s freeing.”

You’ve never been an idol, but you can imagine the pressure of always being watched. You tilt your head, curious. “Freeing how?”

He shrugs, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I get to slow down. Figure out parts of me I didn’t have time for before. Meet new people. Like you.” The way he says it is casual, but your heart does a little cartwheel.

“I’m not locked in the same cycle—touring, writing, performing. I love it, but sometimes… It's a lot. Now, I can just breathe.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. You can see how much music means to him, but there’s something grounding about this version of him—without the spotlight, without the expectations.

“Does that make sense?” His voice lightens, like he’s suddenly aware of how much he’s shared.

Your lips quirk a bit. “Yeah, for sure.”

He gives a small nod, almost imperceptible, before reaching for the bottle again, taking a slow sip. “Don’t get me wrong,” he adds, his tone slipping back into something more familiar. “I’ll be back at it soon. But right now… this isn’t so bad.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something there—something deeper, quieter. It’s a side of him you don’t see often, a side that’s relieved to step away from the noise, even if just for a while.

His gaze makes you think of your own life, your own lack of direction. You shift slightly, glancing back at the document in front of you.

“You look like you’re thinking about something,” Yoongi says, his attention shifting fully to you as he shuts his laptop.

You hesitate, nibbling on a cracker, not sure why you’re even about to say this out loud. “I don’t know… sometimes I wonder how I got here.”

Yoongi’s brow lifts, and you feel the heat of his gaze on you. “Here?”

“At this job,” you clarify. “It wasn’t really part of the plan. But somehow, I’ve stayed. And now it’s been years.” You laugh a little, but it feels tight, almost self-conscious.

“What do you mean?” he asks, his voice steady, as if he’s urging you to go on.

You sigh, glancing down at your hands. “I guess… a lot of people around me, they have these big dreams. They’re doing things that sound so… important. My best friend Chae, she’s working in this Michelin star restaurant, on her way to becoming head chef. And I’m just… here. Still figuring things out. Shouldn’t I want more?”

The words slip out before you can catch them, and suddenly you’re left with that familiar weight in your chest, the one that sneaks up on you late at night when you wonder if you’re not doing enough. It feels silly now, admitting it out loud.

Yoongi stays quiet for a beat, thinking, his fingers tapping the wine bottle lightly. When he speaks, his voice is low, thoughtful.

“Not everyone needs to have some grand dream to chase. Sometimes, just doing what makes you feel steady is enough.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by how easily he says it. There’s something honest in the way he looks at you, like he’s sharing a truth he’s only just come to understand himself.

“There’s no rule,” he adds, “that says you have to follow everyone else’s path. It’s okay to take your time figuring things out.”

You bite your lip, his words settling over you like a quiet comfort. “You really think that?”

Yoongi nods, leaning in just a little. “Yeah. Some people chase after their dreams because they think that’s the only way to prove something. But sometimes… just living and finding what makes you feel steady is enough.”

His words strike deep, but they’re simple. You smile, feeling warmth uncurling in your chest. And you know it’s not just the wine.

“Thanks,” you murmur, offering him the bottle, your fingers barely holding on.

He takes it, and when his hand brushes yours, something tightens in your stomach. You let go without a fight.

Yoongi leans back, that smirk tugging at his lips again—like he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having. “If you get fired for this, at least we’re going down together.”

Your laugh slips out softer than expected, probably because he’s so maddeningly calm. Like he’d still have that cocky mouth even if the world was burning.

You both reach for a pretzel at the same time, fingers grazing his. “Oh, my bad,” you say, forcing casual, but inside, it’s like an electric shock.

He doesn’t pull away right away. His hand lingers for a second—just long enough to make you notice. That twitch at the corner of his mouth is lethal.

You chuckle, but it feels hollow, like you’re trying to shake off the sudden flutter in your chest. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

Yoongi laughs, low and quiet, and it does something to you. His knee bumps yours under the table, and he doesn’t move it. “You don’t seem too bothered by trouble.”

It’s a quiet sort of ambush. Nothing pushy, just… unexpected.

You glance up and catch him staring—not at your eyes, but your lips. It’s barely a second, but it makes your pulse spike like he’s just yanked the ground out from under you.

You shift in your seat, trying to play it cool, but there’s a hint of something else, something daring. Your gaze drifts to his lips, wondering, for a split second, what he’d taste like if you were bold enough to just go for it like Chae had said.

But… no. That’s insane. You could definitely get fired for that.

He’s still watching you, face neutral, but his cheeks are flushed, a pink stain that gives him away.

“You good?” you ask, keeping it light, teasing.

“Yeah,” he mutters, looking away. “Just warm.”

The way he yanks off his beanie and runs a hand through his hair shouldn’t feel like a whole damn striptease, but here you are, heart pounding, as if you’re witnessing something way more scandalous than him adjusting his hair. The tips of his ears are red, so maybe he is more affected than he lets on.

“Yeah, it is kinda warm.” You fumble for something to do with your hands, tying your hair up into a messy bun. You don’t think much of it, until you catch the way Yoongi watches, gaze lingering a second too long on the bare skin of your neck. He’s not subtle about it, either. His lips part, and suddenly, it’s like you’ve knocked the wind out of him.

The look he is giving you is devastating. Fuck.

The way his tongue drags across his wine-stained bottom lip is downright diabolical. It’s a subtle motion, but it hits with cutting precision, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how it’s affecting you. And you know he has this down to a science at this point, being an idol, and knowing how to bring fans to their knees. 

“Trouble,” you mutter, shaking your head. It’s not just teasing anymore. It’s acknowledgment, an unspoken agreement that you both know what’s happening.

He licks his teeth, smirking. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, trying to ease the tension. “Can’t believe I let you drag me into this.”

And by this, you both know you’re not just talking about this night, but all the moments leading up to it. Leading up to these new feelings you haven’t fully unraveled.

“You like it,” he teases, taking another swig, feline eyes locked in on yours a second longer than necessary, like he’s daring you to deny it.

Welp. Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re starting to.

Maybe you already do.

A/N: So what do we think? Tell me what you liked about the chapter and what you want to see in the next ones!

Btw y'all really wanted JK in this one so I had to write him in. Personally, I was imagining Seungcheol (my Daegu bbs) and initially had him in the drafts, but Woozi would've been comedy gold, too.

Next chapter is half-way written haha who am i?! Look forward to 1,000 words about Yoongi's large, veiny hands. Who's down?

Chapter Three >

Taglist: @glossdebut @kam9404 @mar-lo-pap @nnybtitts08 @granataepfelchen

@perfectiondazesworld @wobblewobble822 @yoongznme @caressesurloceanlove @rinkud

@kayleefriedchicken @jajabro @tinytan-gerine @xxbibin1208 @forevercarpediem227

@yoongicatagenda @someshinesomedont @marnz1990 @iheartshopping @confidentjus

@queenbloody @whydoeyecare @sadroses98 @curlyquennn

[angel-sweets666]

Barbarians can’t be gentle

Barbarian bakugo x reader

A/n HEYYYYYY, I did a poll to see what I should write about and right now, this was winning! So this is a one shot for you guys

barbarians can’t be gentle, that’s was literally every other person said when you told them you were getting married off to the barbarian tribe to strengthen your clans forces. They all looked at you with concern, pity, worry and for some even fear. The rumour spread quick that our leaders decided to marry you off, and people weren’t happy. Three days before the wedding, you were called by the leaders. They made you pack your backs and leave in the middle of the night to marry you off.

which brings you to now sitting inside a tent while many people fidgeted with your hair, clothes and face makeup. You sat emotionless, staring off at the wall “what’s wrong?” One of the people ask “huh? Nothing… nothing…” you said, trying to shake off the look of misery you had on your face “he’s very nice” one of the women said as she applied a white stripe to the left side of your cheek “no he’s not, he’s rude.” The man next to her said as he put stuff in your hair “shush you’ll make them scared!” The woman next to the both of them tried to shush them “who is nice or rude or whatever! Who is it.” You snapped at them, they all stopped bickering and turned to look at you “you… you don’t know who you’re marrying?” One woman asks “no!” You replied, and their faces said it all. Shock, surprise and mostly pity. This happens alot, people from other tribes and clans are Brought in to marry barbarian however this doesn’t end well and often results in the death of either partner, or someone running away. It never goes well.

people were surprised to see you when you left the plain tent to go to the wedding ceremony, you were very attractive by barbarian standards. They were hoping that your future husband would keep you around long enough, you still didn’t know who your future spouse was. All you knew was he was loud, and blonde, with a good sense of how to train a dragon (movie reference??). As you were ushered up the alter, you looked up to see a very angry looking young man, maybe 20 years old or maybe a little older? They placed you to be adjacent of him. The officiant was a short man who obviously has seen better years, probably around 70 years old. “Blah blah blah bakugo!” The man said, your husbands name was bakugo.. nice to know. “Do you take *name* to be your wife/husband/spouse” he smiles to bakugo like this was a love marriage “uh..” he said gruffly, and looked out at the crowd “yeah whatever i do” he tried to hurry it up “uh.. okay… *name!* do you take bakugo katsuki to be your husband?” You gulped and looked at him then at your feet “y-yeah I guess” “is that a i do?” “I do, I do”

that night you found yourself in the bed next to bakugo, he looked cuddly. But you knew he probably wouldn’t let you cuddle him “katsuki?” You called out to him “what?” He grumbled and pushed his face into some pillows “I know you don’t like… know me” “damn well I don’t know you” “okay let me finish.” You scoffed “I know you don’t know me, but to try and make this marriage a little more uh…. Tolerable.. can I try like… affection with you..?” You asked gently, to try and get him comfortable “no fuck off” “katsuki I’m trying to make this work” “UGHH FINE” he yelped like an annoying little baby. Gently you pulled him to lay in your arms, and ontop of you chest. His body between your legs as you played with his ash blonde hair; giving him a little head massage. “Comfy…?” You cooed and all you got was a raspy grumble back. You giggles “I’ll take that as a yes”

over the next few days he wasn’t that bad, while he was mostly gone during the day, at night it was just cuddles and late night talking. You learned he didn’t get along with his mother, his father was a submissive and not helpful during his childhood, that he was a good hunter, he believed in keeping smaller partners safe ect. This night you found yourself being his little spoon, his strong arms wrapped around your waist as he mumbled stuff with his face buried into your shoulder “my spouse……” he mumbled “yeah.. I’m your spouse” you said to him like he was a baby learning to talk. He giggled and then kept burying his face into your shoulder. “Maybe I do like you… just a little….”

who said barbarians can’t be gentle?

[http-paprika]

noise / simon “ghost” riley

dad!ghost / pairing simon “ghost” riley x wife!reader / wc 504 / warnings none, pure fluff

summery raising a baby is completely different than anything else simon has done. but a new skill she learns leaves him completely surprised.

note this is what I wrote for the result of the poll, it’s not very long, I know. I just had to write this little story, it was too cute to pass up. maybe I’ll add more dad!ghost one-shots in the future.

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The baby smacks against his chest, babbling loudly as he carries her through the house, trying to pass the time as his wife enjoys a moment of solitude in the shower after Simon got home from work.

Having a baby was still such a strange new chapter in Simon’s life, and the seven months since her birth, it had been a wild ride. Between the joys of watching her grow and learn, to the endless nights of her crying and the struggle of Simon learning how to actually be a good father for her. But the moments he got to spend with her alone, when she wasn’t screaming her lungs off, had become a favorite part of his day. Watching her smile, listening to her little laughs, was one of the things that he always looked forward to when he returned home from a long day.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” He chuckles, pretending to understand his infant daughter as she tries to converse with him. Moving through the house, he walks her out into the cool autumn air where their dog ran up to greet them.

“Be careful.” Simon tells her as she turns, leaning against his arms to try and reach the happy, retired military dog, Bandit, who barks up at her. Slowly, he crouches down on level with the canine who continues to enthusiastically bark and paw at them.

“Gentle.” He says to her as she reaches out, taking a fistful of the dog’s fur. “Gentle, lovie. Gentle. Just like that”

Simon takes her tiny little hand in his own, showing her how to pet the dog. Eventually, he drops his hand allowing the baby to reach out on her own autonomy and pat at Bandit’s muzzle.

She makes a noise that startles him, his eyes widening as Simon realizes the baby is attempting to mimic the dog as it yips back at her. It comes out a babbled mess, but there’s no mistaking the imitation and the excited nature of the baby everytime the dog responds back to her.

“There you two are, I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.” His wife steps out onto the patio, a startled look on her face as Simon looks up at her, exasperated. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s barking.”

“What?” She furrows her brow, confused by his statement and folding her arms looking down at him and the baby. “What are you talking about, Simon?”

“Just— listen. Bandit, speak.” He commands the dog, who obliges and barks, quickly followed by the daughter who attempts to bark back, giggling and kicking her feet afterward. “She’s imitating the dog.”

Almost as if to prove his point to her mother, the baby does it again, this time smiling up at her mother while doing it. The two adults just stare down at the baby who’s proud of the new noise she’s managed to make.

“She’s never gonna stop, is she?” Simon finally asks his wife, the realization creeping over him, his face contorting in horror.

“No, she’s not.”

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 1

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): light angst, some involving a child being upset. Please be advised; future parts might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't begin the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- get excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night as I wait for the poll results from this week's THTH post to come through. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @cynthiesjmxazrielslover (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It was like any other day in the West Wing of the Forest House, this weekday the same as many others you’d experienced here over the past year or so that you’d been employed here. The warm glow of the autumn sun painted the cherrywood floors in an amber glow; so beautiful and red, but nothing compared to the red head of hair that bounded over to you on little legs.

“A picture!” Her sweet voice rang out, and you turned to peer down into those big, round eyes of hers. She smiled up at you, her arms outstretched with a piece of paper at the end of it. You gasped, setting down the butter knife and bending down to her level.

“Oh my goodness Miss Riley,” you said and she beamed, her tiny, four-year-old teeth peeking out from behind her lips as you admired her drawing. It was similar to many you’d received before; a crooked drawing of you, holding hands with a crooked stick drawing of Riley. You knew who was who, of course — she made sure to draw a little crown atop her head, obviously.

“You keep it?” She asked, and you smiled at her, nodding in approval.

“Oh absolutely I’ll keep it! This is a work of art!” You said, and she jumped up and down excitedly, twirling in circles before she eventually got too dizzy and stopped. She hadn’t noticed you’d stood, resuming her lunch preparations as she recentered her gravity.

“Y/N I’m hungryyyyy,” she said, and you smiled softly to yourself, placing the top slice of bread on the sandwich in finality.

“I don’t suppose you’re ready for some lunch, hmm?” You ask, and she races to the dining room, stopping at the edge of her chair and throwing her hands in the air. You set down her plate, rolling your eyes at her silly rituals. She’d done this since you’d begun working for her father, insisting on your help though she was more than capable of needing it now.

“Riley — you know you’re grown enough now to get in your chair—“

“Pleeeeease,” she begs, her arms still above her head. “I like when you make me fly.”

You sigh, smiling as you lift under her arms and place her in her chair, her eyes wide as she takes in the plate before her.

“Ham! Yummm! My favorite; thank you, Y/N!” She says, smiling at you before grabbing her little fork and digging into her sliced peaches. You fold your hands, gazing at the small child in wonder.

“You are very welcome Riley — and very good job remembering your manners.” You praise her, and she continues to eat her food in contentment.

You’d spent the rest of the evening doing many of the same activities you’d do with Riley most evenings; playing dolls, braiding her hair how she liked, walking around the palace. Some days, she would ask to play outdoors — this was one her father was a bit iffy on, but since the day was nice, you figured no harm no foul. After a while in the gardens, you’d gotten Riley down for a nap, braided her hair, played dolls, and were cleaning up dinner when the front door to the West Wing opened.

“Daddy!”

As if on cue, every doll and stuffed animal was abandoned on the living room floor, the sound of little footsteps pattering across the cherrywood in anticipation as quick as the beats of your heart in your chest.

“Bunny,” Eris’ silky soft voice floated through the foyer and you rounded the corner in time to see him scoop his daughter up, her laughter ringing out as he peppered her cheeks with kisses.

“Daddy! Tickles!” Riley laughed, and when he finally relented and set her down, she ran right over to you. His gaze met yours, his professional yet gracious smile meeting yours in greeting.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Hello,” you said. No matter how many times you’d seen him come home, you’d never quite figured out a way of greeting friendly enough, yet still professional, but not too weird to use in front of Riley.

“Daddy, I made a drawing,” Riley beamed. Your heart sank a bit, realizing this repeat situation as if it happened yesterday. She’d drawn you so many photos, so many pictures of you and her together — but the fridge you’d used daily to make lunches, dinners, snacks — it was bare.

“Well, also,” You caught Riley’s arm lightly as you bent to her height, pausing her from running to grab her creation. “We brought in a surprise, right?” You reminded, thinking of the few Honeycrisp apples the two of you had picked earlier for her father from the grove as a surprise. Riley contemplated for a moment, then it looked as though a lightbulb went off in her head and she nodded.

“Daddy — I be right back 'kay,” she rushed out before darting for the kitchen, and Eris chuckled. You stood, picking at your sweater as you watched her run off. When you looked to Eris again, he looked to you in the same moment.

“You have no idea,” he started, pausing as if to find the right words as he stepped further into the room. “How much you being here really helps.” He focused on you then, and you shifted under his intense gaze.

“I mean… I… no where else I’d rather be, right?” You smiled lightly, and Eris loosed a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m actually, really, glad to hear that, uh,” he chuckled. “Well, I um,” he cleared his throat as Riley appeared again in the entryway, hands behind her back and a grin on her face.

“Okay daddy, here is the surprise, okay?” She said. His brows rose, and he crouched down as she stepped closer, finally revealing a leaf, bright red in her little fingers. His mouth opened in shock, and she doubled over in a fit of laughter, Eris watching in admiration. You watched the precious girl, her wild sense of humor even at the age of four. You’d wondered, under his professional exterior, did she get that trait from her father, too?

“Alright my dear,” Eris said finally, standing and picking the girl up to carry in his arms. “It appears that it is your bedtime, hmm?”

You were glad he was here to do it this evening — many nights, if her father wasn’t home, you were the one at the other end of her protests, having to explain away his absences and assure her that he would, and you promised, come kiss her on the head when he got home.

You decided to finish scrubbing the last of the dinner dishes, laying them to dry when footsteps behind you caught your attention.

“You always do more than I’ve ever asked Y/N, seriously. I can’t thank you enough.”

You glanced quickly over your shoulder, trying not to look to long at the Autumn Court heir watching your every move.

“It’s nothing, really — it’s only dishes.”

In a matter of strides, he is beside you, leaning against the very counter you’re working at.

“You know what I mean.” He pauses, looking down before continuing. “I don’t know what Riley…” he sighs. “When Selene left us, I… it was, very tough. On all of us. Riley, she… I don’t know how I could’ve done it without your help.” He says quietly. You silently set down the plate you’d been washing, looking at him with knitted brows.

“Don’t ever feel bad for something someone else has done to you,” You say, your heart clenching at the reminder of his wife — well, ex-wife, you supposed — leaving him just over a year ago. Leaving him behind and her daughter.

Your chest ached.

“She made a poor decision. Riley is a lovely little girl, she’s learning so much, and truly she’s a joy to be around. This job isn’t work, for me; I really, really enjoy spending time with her, Eris. Don’t worry about it.” Your eyes meet his again, and you swear you see silver lining them. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting it before turning to face you.

“Live here full time, then.”

You set the plate on the drying rack, reaching for a fork and dunking it into the sink.

“Why would I need to? I’m already here five days a week-“

“But you could be here seven, look — please, at least just for a few months while I settle a few things with the other courts. I just need someone here for Riley in case I’m not here as often, and I will absolutely prepare living arrangements for you, and pay you extra, and-“

“You’re being serious?” You say, your hands stilling in the sink water. Eris stares at you pleadingly. You look down at the water. Sure, you took this job and basically it became your life. Did you have much going on outside this job? No. Was your lease almost up anyways? Yes.

You sigh, taking the fork out and laying it on the drying mat. You wipe your hands on your apron, extending one to Eris. “Fine, it’s a deal-“

He takes your hand, pulling you in and embracing you instead. The thin material of his button down does not leave much to the imagination, every toned muscle beneath…

His hands slowly rub up and down on the small of your back, and you feel your cheeks flushing at the rather intimate contact. You wrap your arms around his neck, his voice nearly inaudible next to your ear as he whispers,

“Thank you.”

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Within a week, you'd completely uprooted from the ramshackle apartment you'd been renting on the outskirts of the Autumn court and moved yourself into the West Wing. This place felt like more of a home to you anyway, its inviting ambience, the warmth that radiated from the forest surrounding it; the people inside, especially the little girl you'd grown to care so much for over the past year.

"Y/N's moving innnn, Y/N's moving innnnn," Riley sang, skipping down the hallway barefoot in another one of her play-pretend princess dresses. She had a closet full of real gowns, hand-sewn by the seamstresses that worked in the palace themselves -- however, the little girl preferred the itchy costumes to the real ones reguardless.

"I am almost done, I promise, then we will play," you huffed a breath, sweat clinging to your tank top as you crossed the room once more. Eris was gracious to give you your own space, but... so much of it? You weren't used to having a bedroom the size of an entire apartment, let alone one so ornate. Not to mention, one just down the hall from his master room.

You tried not to think too hard about it.

"Y/N! A cookie?" Riley called, and you sighed, looking around at your remaining boxes. You'd just have to tend to them later.

"Riley," you said, rounding the bend and approaching the kitchen where Riley stood near the counter. "It's nearly dinnertime -- you know we can't-"

"Pweeeeease?" She pleads, her round, honey-colored eyes looking to you with such agony. You sigh, scooping her up and sitting her on the counter.

You hang your head between your shoulders, shaking it lowly. "Riley, your father is gonna kill me..."

She squeals in delight, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you close, her little body buzzing with excitement.

"I love you!"

Your heart warms, and you hold her tight, brushing a hand over her soft strawberry-blonde locks. Its moments like these that you wish you could show Eris, your "boss", your "employer" that this job really doesn't feel like work. You truly enjoy what you do, and his daughter is a magical little thing.

"I love you too, Riles." You say, and she releases you, looking over her shoulder toward the jar of red velvet cookies with a mischevious grin. You reach over, taking the lid off and plucking one from the container. Her legs kick against the cabinets in anticipation, soft giggles of glee coming from her as she watches you break it in half before her.

"Start with half, okay?" You say. She nods, taking it from you and immediately putting it in her mouth. You can't help but smile, watching as she motions to the other half.

"Share with you?" She says. You place a hand on your chest at her words, but hold the cookie out to her anyway.

"Riley, that is very kind of you to offer to share with me! Thank you," she takes it quickly nonetheless. "But, I'm not very hungry right now. I think you should have it."

She nods. "Okay." It's devoured in seconds, the only evidence a few crumbs on the counter. Riley giggles as she watches you brush the crumbs into your hand. Her little pointer finger comes to her lips.

"Shhh," she says, and you grin at her. "Don't tell daddy, okay?" You nod in agreement.

"Okay Miss Riley," you say, dusting your hands off over the trash can. "I won't tell him."

You went for another walk around the Forest House, played tea party and braided hair all before dinner that evening, which was proving to be rather intriguing to the little one that day. She watched as you cut carrots, questioned every spice and oil you'd dumped into the pot, and offerred her assistance more than a few times.

"Is butternut squash soup your favorite?" You ask. Riley cocks her head to the side, playing with a loose string on her Princess Belle dress.

"Hmm... no, it's okay though." She decides, and you continue stirring over the stove.

"I wonder what has you so intrigued in cooking this evening?" You ask, and she sighs, sitting on the wodden floor with her legs stretched out before her.

"I want to do something," she groans, and you nod, trying to understand what she is getting at.

"Mhm, what do you mean by that?"

"I want to... can we do something fun tomorrow?" She asks, and you shrug.

"Well, I like to think we have a lot of fun everyday together, wouldn't you say?"

"Yesssss," she lets out an exasperated sigh. "But I want to go somewhere fun with you. Me and you. Oh, and daddy. When is daddy coming home?" She asks. You chew the inside of your cheek, glancing to the wall clock. He'd routinely arrive around or just after Riley's bedtime -- 8 PM. However, since asking you to move in last week, he'd been coming home later and later. It seemed that he really did need your help with whatever he had going on, the gravity of it much bigger than you could understand.

"I'm... not sure, Riles." You answered, and she huffed.

"He's never home to play with me." She frowned, and you glanced down at her.

"Well, that's not true, he-"

"He never even comes home for dinner." She crosses her arms, her angered expression softening a bit. You set down your spoon, tucking your hair behind your ears as you kneel down before the upset child.

"Riley," you say calmly. "Your father just has a lot going on right now sweetheart, okay? I promise he loves you very much-"

You stop talking when you notice a silent tear roll down her cheek, and your heart threatens to break right in half inside your chest. You reach for her, and she turns to putty in your hands, allowing you to pull her close and hold her in your embrace.

"Oh, Riles," you say soothingly. "Please don't be upset sweet girl," you plead. She sniffles, her cheek wet against your skin above your top. You run your fingers along her hair, quietly comforting her until she eventually calms down. She pulls back, looking up at you with her puffy, but dry eyes and it takes everything in you to offer her a smile as your finger brushes lightly against her cheekbone.

"There she is," you say, and she smiles a little. "Miss Riley is back again." She grins, folding her hands in her lap as her gaze locks just beyond your face. She reaches out, her tiny fingers grazing the shell of your ear before her brows knit and she reaches for her own.

"Yours are not... no... you have..." she searches for the right word, the events prior not seeming to matter now that they've passed. You guide her fingers to the top of her ear, and then gesture to yours.

"Pointy," you say. "Your ears are pointy. Mine are different -- they are round." You explain, and she nods, processing the terms.

"Po-in-ty," she says. She looks at your ear again. "Why do you have... uh..."

"Round?"

"R-ou-nd," she continues. "Ears for?" She asks. You smile softly at her, those innocent eyes having no idea the life she has in store for herself to come.

"Because Riley," you explain. "There are different types of people; some people, like your father and-" you stop, not even wanting to approach the subject. "...your father is going to be a King someday. You, well, you are a Princess." She smiles and nods as if this is already a known fact to her.

"Then, there are people like me. I'm just... well, I'm me." You shrug. "I'm just a fae like anyone else." Riley frowns.

"You are a Princess too," she says, and you chuckle.

"No, Riley, only when we play dress up and I borrow one of your crowns. You are the Princess in real life." She stands, her hands on her hips.

"Y/N is a Princess," she says, looking at you eye-to eye. You raise your eyebrows, not knowing where this is going.

"Riley-"

"Princess lives in the castle." Riley says, beginning to jump up and down. You nod, reaching up to turn off the stovetop heat under your surely burnt soup.

"Yes, but-"

"You live in here with me!" She squeals, twirling in circles. You shake your head.

"Riley, I only live here because your dad asked me to move in-"

"Y/N is a Princess! Y/N is a Princess!" She starts chanting. You sigh, making to stand and remove the soup pot from the stove.

"Riley, you are the Princess! There's only one Princess!" You say loudly over her shouting, and she stills, her devilish grin only cause for concern.

"Then... Y/N is a Queen." Riley gasps, her little hand flying to her mouth as though she's just thought of the greatest idea in the world.

"Y/N is the Queen! In a castle! With the Princess! Is me! and, and, and daddy! he's, he's-" she pauses her jumping and chanting, her hand splayed on the wall to catch her breath.

"Ohmygosh I have to go draw-"

"Ohhh no ya don't," you say, setting down her bowl of soup on the table in front of her and plopping her into her chair before she could take off down the hallway. "Dinner first, young lady."

She groans, quickly shoveling soup into her mouth. "Ughhh, okay, fine." She grins, looking sidelong at you. "I will eat your delicious soup, my Queen," she says in a silly victorian accent, and you let out a laugh at her rediculousness. She giggles too, continuing her comedy. "I will eat, and eat and eat, I will eat because I am a Princess, and you are a Queen, and soon, the King will be home, and we won't tell him about the cookie-"

The two of you are too busy giggling furiously over her sillyness that you don't hear the front door swing open, or the footsteps leading inside. It's only when you hear his whiskey-smooth voice that you turn from the dining table, your face flushing at the sight before you. Much to your delighted surprise, the handsome red headed male leaned against the dining room archway had arrived home much earlier today than either of you had expected.

His small smile was his only greeting, his tousled locks and few undone buttons revealing the exhausting day he'd surely had before he said; "I wasn't aware that I had a Princess and a Queen dining at my table tonight?"

:* ✧･ﾟ: *

[see-arcane]

With a total of 1,176 votes tallied, the preferred plushie poll winner with 28.8% of votes is…

What a close one! Jonathan came in with 27.7%, the mysterious Mr. Morse with 24.9% and, delicious irony of ironies, London Dracula with 18.9%. Rest in pieces. Now, what does all this mean going forward?

First, just to reconfirm: I will absolutely be looking into the costs for having more than one plushie character produced at a time. For all that Mina has the top spot if it comes down to a solo run, Nobody Wants to Separate the Gothic Horror Soulmates, even as wee little plushies. It hurts my heart to think of. Mina and Jonathan deserve to sit side by side on everyone’s pillow. Just as Quinn Morse deserves to haunt the pillow next to theirs while casually throttling and carving London Dracula into pieces. For enrichment.

But beyond that, some other key things:

How is this getting done?

Sadly, I was not a cool enough kid for Makeship to greenlight a collaboration with me. Tragique. But while I was sitting around waiting for them to get back to me, I had time to browse around for other options. During that sniffing around I dug up a couple of promising manufacturers—one of which has some really neat options for not only plush toys, but all sorts of bric-a-brac like stationery, shirts, bags, cups, et cetera—and I plan to reach out to them for quotes to start with. Nothing really gets to move forward until I can nail down prices and the amount of X plushies to be made.

I am more than a little hesitant to tell anyone MAKE ME 1000+ PLUSHIES, PLEASE, THE TUMBLR POLL SAID THEY’RE GOOD FOR IT. These aren’t as simple as print/make-on-demand products, so I need to be careful estimating the amount of folks ready and willing to drop money on the little guys. But I will keep everyone updated on the numbers regardless!

Sooo is this a crowdfunding thing or an investment or what?

Don’t know yet. I am still between jobs at the moment—reminder to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to drop me a buck or commission some art!—but if this is something I can safely drop some of my own money in with the guarantee that it will let me do better than break even, I’ll do what I can out of pocket. However, if the cost of making something of good quality turns out too steep, I’ll start looking into stuff like Kickstarter and Backerkit and so on. I want to be sure I’m not gutting anybody’s wallet to pull this off and I want to be double-sure that what we’re paying for isn’t some flimsy throwaway junk. We are all here on the same Dracula book club starving artist site, so It Has to Be Worth It and not a money-sink for anyone.

Got it. Any other info to spare?

For the plushies specifically, this is when I’ll start:

Polishing up the current four designs into cleaner illustrations with different angles to provide for mockup samples with whoever I pick to manufacture with. If I get stuck on something—(which is likely)—I may throw up another poll to bug everyone about palettes and fashion choices. I have a few more designs I haven’t dropped yet for Epilogue Harkers, a non-Bloofer Lucy, and keychains that I’d love to share too!

Eyeballing materials. I’m already picturing a very close-cut cloth for the build and clothes, but I need to decide on filling too. Stiff overstuffing to hold a pose versus softer/lighter plush for floppy cuddleability. 

Poking at other character roughs, ala the Suitor Squad, the Weird Sisters, Van Helsing, Renfield, and Baby Quincey. And if all of those go well…

…maybe some designs for other favorites in the public domain playground. (Looks meaningfully at Clarimonde, Carmilla, Victor Frankenstein and the Creature, the King in Yellow, too many others.) ((But that’s all far-future stuff at the moment.))

Cool! But you also mentioned something about other merch?

I did.

Because goddamn do I want some Dracula-themed stationery. Journals! Memo pads! Pens! Every day we don’t have these things with the Harkers’ mark upon them is a victory for the forces of Count Dracula’s document-destroying evil. Likewise for shirts, totes, mugs, keychains, face masks and other things that could use some novel-flavored goodies. Hell, I’ll probably even get on with making stuff for The Vampyres to link on my website too. Because I am. Maybe behind on that. By several months.

Anyway.

I’ve got to start working on some designs for those too while the plushie process is progressing. Pray that my carpals don’t get tunneled.

Nice! Sounds like your plate is pretty full. So that’s it, right?

:)

Arcane?

:3c

Arcane. I need you to tell me this is all you’re working on.

>:}

Arcane.

Please stand by.

I have a little treat brewing for the Dracula Dailiers and @re-dracula folks in honor of a very special day for our good friend Jonathan Harker.

[artyandink]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

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

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

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

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

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

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

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

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

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

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Madam President,

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

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

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

The next step was trickier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean Winchester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

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

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

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

Then he swallowed. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this answer was simple.

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

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

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jerk.”

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

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

“Austin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

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

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

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

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

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

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Dean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different how?”

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

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

“I do,” Dean admitted.

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

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT UP:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[runnning-outof-time]

Beach Day | Modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: no - but encouraged by @holacia3 with this ask

Pairing: Modern!Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N) manages to pull Tommy out of the office so that they can go on a trip. Once at their destination, they waste no time and have a much needed beach day. Or: Tommy forgets everything the second he sees (Y/N) wearing his shirt.

Warnings: language, some suggestive sentences

Word Count: 3332

A/N: this one’s probably going to flop, but I’m happy that I managed to finish it amidst the bout of writer’s block I’ve been experiencing. It was the other option on the poll I ran a few weeks ago. I haven’t got to take a trip to the beach this summer, so I decided to write about it instead. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: this will be the last story posted in July … I’m going on a trip with my family next week and most likely won’t have any major time to write the other requests. I’m hoping that maybe I’ll be able to write and share some of the blurbs that I’ve got in my asks, but big stories have been halted until August.

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories like this one!

"...and you can't argue with me because I've already packed your bags," (Y/N) ended her pitch in an assured tone, setting her confident gaze on her fiancé, who was sitting across from her...at his desk, of course.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but the door to the office opening stopped him. Both he and (Y/N) looked over to it to find Polly entering the room. "I'm going to need you to hand over your diary," she said, walking right over to the desk, extending her hand towards her nephew when she stopped in front of it.

"I'm guessing you got her in on this?" Tommy asked (Y/N), his eyebrows raised as he looked between both women.

"I did," (Y/N) nodded in an assured manner, a tight-lipped grin present on her face, "and you're not getting out of it."

"Everything's been handled. Go take a break, Thomas," Polly added, moving her fingers then to remind him that she was going to need his diary.

"So it's been settled then, eh?" he looked at (Y/N) again.

"It has been," she answered him, a victorious smile present on her face, "give her the diary, Tommy."

"If I must," he sighed dramatically as he picked it up from his desk and handed it over to his aunt, making a big deal over it. Inside he was glad that (Y/N) had planned this out...he'd been working tirelessly on the business' latest expansion and hardly had a moment to breathe, but yet he wasn't going to stop and take one for himself. (Y/N) realized that and took it upon herself to plan the forced holiday.

"You must," (Y/N) stayed stern on her point, although the smile she was wearing was full on her face now. Tommy took one more look at his fiancée and couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face. There was not a doubt in his mind that he was ready to relax with her.

——

By that time the next day, Tommy and (Y/N) found themselves checked into a private resort that sat right off of a beautiful beach.

After unpacking their luggage, Tommy made his way out to the living area of the suite they were staying in with the intention of checking in on how things were back at home. He was thankful that this resort had high-speed internet, because he couldn't stand to be disconnected for too long. The flight to the resort was already pushing the limits...nothing would connect in that damned airport.

It seemed as though (Y/N) had other ideas of what they should be doing next. She exited the bedroom the second he'd gotten comfortable on one of the couches. Taking one look at Tommy made her audibly sigh and drop her hand to hit against her thigh, the sound of it making him look up from the screen.

He immediately noted that she had changed. Her comfortable airport attire had been switched for a swimsuit and a loose, practically see through dress that she was using as a cover-up. A pair of sunglasses rested atop her head and flip-flops covered her feet. How she managed to get changed so fast completely perplexed him.

"You're back to thinking of work already?" she commented, a bit of an exasperated look filling her features.

"You know how I like to check on things," he stated, defending himself as he shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"I do know, but we're on holiday, Tommy," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but we just got here."

"Yeah...and I'm already ready to go down to the beach."

"I noticed that."

"Tommy..." (Y/N) sighed, a frown forming on her lips. She held her gaze on him for a moment, watching and waiting for him to say something, before continuing to speak when silence persisted. "I'm going to throw your bloody phone in the ocean if this is how this week's going to play out," she threatened him, her voice holding a more serious tone than it had before.

"Just let me do it now," he bargained with her, "I didn't know we were going to get into things so soon."

(Y/N) pursed her lips as she thought about his suggestion. She finally responded after letting silence hang in the air for a few moments, "fine. You can do it now, but please don't let it become a habit, ok? This was meant to take you away from work," she laid out her stipulations.

"Fair enough. I'll curb it for the rest of the week," he agreed to her counter-offer, nodding his head to seal the deal.

"Good," she nodded in response to his statement. A few beats of silence passed before she spoke again, "I'm going to go down to the pool and wait for you, ok?" she told him her plan.

"Ok," he agreed, watching her as she walked over to where he was sitting. "Look beautiful, baby," he couldn't resist giving her a compliment, his eyes running over her body.

"Thanks, Tommy," she smiled at him, her stomach filling with butterflies as she leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. "Don't be up here too long, hmm?" she mumbled against his lips after pulling away.

"I won't," he promised her, feeling her smile against his lips before they shared one more kiss. (Y/N) stood upright again, smiling and nodding at him once more before she moved back over the island that broke up the kitchen and living space.

"You know where to find me," she told him while making sure that her tote bag was filled with the essentials: beach towel, sun tan lotion, hotel room key, and, of course, her latest book. She looked over to him, watching as he nodded one last time, before she made her way to the door of the suite.

There weren't many people sitting by the pool, so (Y/N) was able to find an open lounge pretty quickly. She set her bag down next to the chair and then relaxed back against it. The ocean's waves could be heard from where she was, and the calming sound of them made her shut her eyes and take a deep breath. It was good to finally be able to take some time and actually relax.

As a senior member of the Shelby Company Ltd.'s marketing team, she was working just as much as Tommy was. Always coming up with new ways of advertising; always keeping up with the different avenues Tommy was taking the company down. It was tedious and time consuming, sure, but she wouldn't have it any other way...the job was how she met her fiancé, three years ago.

With both of their busy schedules, neither really had the time to take a moment and relax...until (Y/N) made a point to now. She was thankful for this trip, and she was sure that Tommy was, too.

Some time passed as she sat, relaxing on the pool lounge. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out there; she wasn't really keeping time as she switched between laying with her eyes closed and watching the other people meander about the pool area.

Luckily she was doing some people watching when Tommy came walking down the stairs and into the pool area of the resort. She spotted him as he was descending the steps, and immediately noticed that he'd changed into his beachwear. The white t-shirt and jeans he'd worn while traveling was now swapped for a pair of gray board shorts and a baby blue linen button down shirt. She couldn't help but stare at him as he walked across the area to get to where she was lounging.

"Ready to go down to the water?" he asked as he stopped in front of her lounge.

"I see you're finally finished with your work," (Y/N) commented, pulling her sunglasses down slightly to peer up at him.

He chuckled at her statement, shaking his head slightly as he looked out to the ocean, "yeah, and it's finished for the rest of the trip."

"If you say so," she brushed off the topic as she sat up on the lounge, collecting her bag and making sure that she had everything she'd come down with. "Let's go down to the beach," she said with a smile as she stood next to him. Tommy nodded his head before allowing her to lead the way to the gate that separated the pool area from the private beach that the resort offered.

The beach was beautiful. The sand was soft, and the breeze coming off of the waves made the hot rays of the sun not burn so bad. One of the perks of the resort having a private beach was the fact that there weren't many people inhabiting it.

(Y/N) and Tommy quickly found a spot to set their things down. (Y/N) made sure that the beach blanket Tommy had brought with him (because she'd forgotten it in the room) was laid out underneath one of the umbrellas the resort had set up. She set the bag down on it before kicking off her flip-flops and lifting the cover-up from her body.

"Let's go down to the water," she excitedly said, flashing a look in Tommy's direction before she took off towards the waves.

"You're not even gonna wait for me," he responded, moreso to himself than anyone, a smile forming on his face as he shook his head. He could easily tell how much she was already enjoying this holiday, and he was so thankful that she'd planned it for them. It took him a few moments to undo his button down and set it into the bag before he too kicked off his flip-flops and began walking down to the water.

He approached (Y/N), who was standing facing the waves, and wasted no time wrapping his arms around her midsection. His actions made her shriek at first, but she sunk into his embrace in seconds. "Isn't it beautiful?" she asked him, swaying slightly along with him.

"It is," he mused, resting the side of his head against hers as they looked out at the waves. "The water's not too cold either."

"It's not," she agreed, her hands coming up to sit on his forearms, "let's go in," she said then, tapping his arms to let him know she wanted to be released. He obliged, and she took his hand to lead him out deeper in the water.

They made their way out to where the water reached their waists, stopping there even though Tommy thought that they could go out a little bit further. (Y/N) protested his suggestion, telling him that 'things might eat us if we go any further'. Tommy listened to his fianceé's statement and stayed where they were. They spent a good amount of time in the water, switching from swimming around, to floating with the waves, to (Y/N)'s personal favorite: hanging onto Tommy like he was a tree and she was a koala.

At least an hour of them spending time in the water had to have passed before Tommy finally decided to start heading towards the shore. His movement, of course, didn't go unnoticed. "You're leaving me?" (Y/N) questioned after she saw him take a few steps backwards. She was enjoying herself in the water and had had no plans of leaving it any time soon.

"I think I'm ready to get out of the water," he answered with the obvious.

"We've not been in here long though," she pouted.

"I need to go sit for a minute, love. I'll be just up there," he told her, motioning to where their things were. (Y/N)'s pout didn't subside, but she nodded and allowed him to leave the waves.

She watched him walk up the beach and sit down on the blanket they'd laid out. Her eyes lingered for a few moments before she went back to floating on the waves.

It wasn't long before (Y/N) was exiting the water and walking up to where Tommy had made himself comfortable. It just wasn't the same wading in the waves alone. She wanted to spend as much time with Tommy as she possibly could. A sight - that she honestly wished she'd be surprised to see - was waiting for her at the blanket though.

"I thought you said you'd ditch the work while we're here?" she commented as she stopped in front of Tommy, who had his face buried in his smartphone as he tapped away at the screen.

Her voice made him quickly look up, a surprised expression forming on his face as he noticed she was right in front of him. "I was just checking a few things," he told her, holding his hands up in surrender, his now locked phone present in one of them.

"Mm-hmm," (Y/N) shook her head as she moved over to where the bag was sitting so that she could grab a towel and dry off, "you do know the ocean's right there, right? I could honestly take that phone and give it a good chuck," she stated, making sure her body was dry.

"You wouldn't," Tommy responded, a slight tone present in his voice, showing that he was testing the waters.

"I just might," she quipped back, a grin on her face as she dropped the towel back into the bag.

Before she could move to sit next to him, light blue fabric caught her eye. She instantly recognized it as the linen button down Tommy was previously wearing. She picked it up without a second thought, draping it over her shoulders and slipping her arms through the holes. It covered her swimsuit clad body immediately and she was grateful for the soft, cool fabric on her otherwise warm skin. She'd just finished rolling the sleeves up to her elbows when she finally felt Tommy's eyes on her.

Tommy had been watching her from the second she came back to the blanket. His phone was quickly forgotten as he watched her dry off and then grab the shirt from the bag. Sure, she had her own cover-up, but he was so damn happy that she'd chosen to slip his shirt on over her body. Something about her wearing his clothes just got him going. Just when he thought she couldn't get any more beautiful, she went ahead and did something like this. He couldn't help but let his eyes travel up and down her frame.

(Y/N)'s eyes finally found his when he found her face once more, and she couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering in her stomach as she noticed the look he was giving her. She wanted to make a comment, but it died in her throat as she just about melted under his stare.

"C'mere," Tommy finally spoke, nodding his head to the side as a non-verbal addition to his statement. She grinned at him and happily followed his direction, moving over to where he was sitting.

He brought his knees up and opened his legs slightly, offering her the perfect spot to sit down in; one that she quickly fell into. She easily got comfortable sitting between his legs; her back rested against his chest. Tommy wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her, pulling her even closer to his body as he leant over and began pressing kisses to the side of her neck.

"Tommy, stop!" she exclaimed through her giggles, finally trying to squirm away from his lips as his actions quickly became ticklish. He listened to her and stopped his kisses, but he didn't dare loosen up the grip that he had on her.

It was easy for his hands to find their way onto her body, being that she'd left the shirt open, and he couldn't help but let them roam her figure. He took his time, feeling every curve as he nestled his face into her neck; breathing in the sweet smell of her skin mixed with the sunshine that had been kissing it since they exited the hotel room. (Y/N) had practically melted into his body, absolutely loving the feeling of his hands as they traced her skin.

She waited until his hands found their resting spot on the sides of her waist, his arms crossed over her stomach, to finally speak again: "I see that I've got your mind off of work now," she said with a grin, turning her head so that she could see his face out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh you most certainly have," he answered, a grin laced into his words, "look so fuckin' beautiful in my things...always, baby," he mumbled against the skin of her cheek before he kissed it.

The butterflies returned as she heard what he had to say, and she couldn't stop herself from turning in his arms even more so that she could press her lips to his in a much needed kiss. "Love you, Tommy," she mumbled against them, smiling as he kissed her again, this kiss holding more emotion than the last. "I can't wait for the rest of this week with you," she said once they'd finally pulled away from each other. She was now sitting with her body turned more towards him, so she was able to look at him head on. She couldn't stop her cheeks from heating up as she caught the look of total adoration in his eyes.

"If this is a preview of what's to come..." he trailed off, a grin forming on his face as his eyes danced over her figure once more, "I already know that this trip is going to be one that's hard to top."

His cheeky comment that was accompanied by a rather suggestive glance, made (Y/N) gasp, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes and shake her head as she tried to distract herself from how his words actually made her feel. Why did there have to be other people present on this beach?! She had to look towards the ocean for a few moments to re-center herself from the look that was making her wonder what they could get away with out here.

A few moments had passed before she felt the sharp snap of her swimsuit's strap against her skin. "Tommy!" she shrieked at the sensation, her eyes snapping back onto him to see that a smug grin was now present on his face. He tried, and failed, to feign innocence before his expression dissolved into a grin and chuckles. "I can't believe you," she shook her head, gently pressing on his shoulders for him to get the hint to lay back on the blanket.

She wasted no time in pressing her lips to his when he did lay down, and he made a mental note to do things such as that more often if this was going to be how she responded to it.

After sharing a flurry of kisses, (Y/N) rested her head against his chest, not caring about the shine of sweat that was present due to the heat of the sun that was engulfing them. She was thankful for the shade that their umbrella was providing.

Tommy wrapped his arms around the small of her back underneath the shirt of his that she was still wearing, effectively holding her close to him...like she was going to be moving any time soon. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the serenity that was surrounding them; not thinking about anything but the beautiful woman laying with him.

Like he'd said before: if this was a preview of how the week was going to go, this was most definitely going to be a tough trip to top.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

I have too many wips to start this now however I do have a kanej au swimming around in my head so I’m gonna leave a little poll here to see if there’s interest in the premise and if it’s worth bearing in mind for the future

The premise: in a The Sound of Music inspired story (but warped slightly to fit a more grishaverse-y world and the characters’ backstories), Inej Ghafa escaped her abusers at a young age and was taken in by a Saints’ Convent where she has lived ever since. But Inej has never fit in with the Sisters here, and eventually the Mother Superior determines to find a new path for her. Inej, then, is to be sent to the household of Captain Kaz Brekker to work as a governess for his seven children - with the promise that the Convent is always open for her to return to should she wish.

After the death of his wife, Imogen, several years prior Brekker put his gloves on and never took them off again, distancing himself from the world and his children. Maybe Inej can start to melt the ice around Kaz’s heart - but with mounting pressure on the Kerch nation to ally with Fjerda in the coming war, and the country’s want of the Captain’s military expertise, how long can the happiness they are trying to grow even last?

Questions about the au are welcome, and as I said this won’t be coming any time soon but I have been thinking about it so if there’s interest I’ll add it to my list for the future

[candycandy00]

Finding Love in a Zombie Apocalypse - A JJK Interactive Romance Fanfic Round 4

Read the details about this event here!

Round 1 | Round 2 | Round 3

During a zombie apocalypse, you meet a group of seven handsome men. Which one will you choose to be your survival/romantic partner?

Vote for the man you want to be eliminated! The man with the most votes will not be killed off in the story, but he will be removed from all future polls and his branching story will be closed off!

Reminder: Vote for the man you DO NOT want to survive with! You are voting someone OUT!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

Note: From here on out, the story branches into different paths, so each man’s part exists in its own little AU. Also, all men who have been voted out will no longer have their parts posted. Choose wisely! 

Sukuna:

You wobble on your feet as the truck picks up speed, stumbling right into the huge, firm body of Sukuna. You catch yourself from falling by grabbing hold of his muscular arm, wondering how he’s remaining so steady despite the sway and movement of the trailer you’re both standing in. 

He makes no move to help you, but he also doesn’t seem to mind you holding onto him. Once it feels like the truck is on the road and has reached a stable speed, you separate from him and make you way to the closest wall. Surprisingly, he moves to the wall himself, just a few feet away from you. 

After a few minutes of awkward silence, you decide to try talking to the most intimidating man in the truck. 

“So what are your plans after this?” you ask him. “Gonna help them set up a base?”

He looks over at you, his eyes moving up and down your figure as if judging whether or not you’re worth speaking to. Apparently, you pass whatever standard he has. 

“I’m not planning on staying with the group, but I’ll see how things play out. I’ll go wherever seems most fun.”

Most fun? This is a zombie fucking apocalypse! You suspected it before, but this guy really is something else. He’s treating this whole thing like it’s amusing to him. 

“What kind of fun are you looking for?” you ask, genuinely curious, hoping your tone doesn’t come out too sharp. 

He grins. “A challenge. Something worth my time and energy. Maybe I’ll find a big group and take it over. Maybe I’ll just fucking kill every zombie on earth. Or maybe,” he says, eyes darkening as they slide down your form again, “I’ll find a woman worth fucking.”

You suddenly feel undressed, naked before his hungry gaze even though you’re fully clothed. It’s a strange feeling, even stranger for the fact that you don’t find it wholly unpleasant. 

The truck slams on the breaks out of nowhere, causing you to lurch forward. Sukuna catches you this time, holding you upright in his strong arms. You look up at him. He could do it, you think. He could kill every zombie. He could take over any group, no matter how big or well organized. He could have you under him whenever he wants. The realization makes you feel heated. 

But more importantly, why did the truck stop? There’s no way to communicate with the cab, so you have no idea what’s going on up front. The others are all looking at each other curiously. Eventually the decision is made to wait a few minutes to see if Gojo or Geto comes back to the trailer to tell you all what the holdup is. But soon enough, you begin hearing the sounds of groaning and hands slapping against the sides and door of the trailer. 

It sounds like a large herd has surrounded the truck! Everyone readies their weapons, tense looks on their faces. Except for Sukuna, who simply looks excited. 

A quick discussion takes place. Should you open the door and try to escape? There’s enough food and water in the trailer to last several days, and maybe the zombies will give up and leave if they don’t see or hear any people for a while. But what about Geto and Gojo? They could be trapped in the cab with significantly fewer supplies, and how much oxygen is in the trailer anyway? How long will it last? 

The decision is made to open the door and try to fight your way to the cab to check their safety, then perhaps run away to try to find some other vehicle or shelter. You’re uneasy about this plan, but you realize there’s no choice. You decide to try to stick close to Sukuna, confident that he can take out any threat. 

You hold your breath without realizing it as the door rises like a shutter, revealing dozens of zombies reaching up, trying to crawl in. How in the world are you going to survive this?! But before fear can grip you any tighter, you’re distracted by the sight of Sukuna leaping out of the trailer and right down into the middle of the herd, crushing several with his feet as he lands.

Geto Suguru:

You’re not sure how you ended up sitting alone in the front cab of the truck with Geto, but here you are. Gojo went to ride in the back, saying he wanted to see what supplies Nanami found in the truck, and so it was just you and Geto as he drove down the highway. 

Somehow, Geto is the most intimidating of the men, even more so than Sukuna. You’re not sure if it’s his aura of control, or if it’s just the fact that he’s so fucking beautiful that it’s hard to think straight when he’s near. How the hell is his hair so shiny and soft in a zombie apocalypse anyway? 

Sure, he’s friendly and he smiles often, but you get the strong impression that these are surface level. There’s a darkness to him that seems to be sitting just below the surface, and it makes you nervous. 

“Everyone got away okay, so I guess your plan was a success,” you say, remembering that he seemed to be worried that his decisions would get you all killed. 

“Except Fushiguro,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the road. 

“I think he made it,” you tell him. “He was really sure of himself when he left, and anyway, it was his choice to break off from the group. You can’t be responsible for that.”

His eyes slide over to you briefly, and the dark edge to them softens just a little. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

You find yourself flushing slightly. “Uh, yeah, I guess. Is it working at all?”

He smiles then, and it looks real to you. “A little. I appreciate your concern. Sorry if I made you worry about me.”

You can’t suppress a light laugh. “I guess we’re both worriers, huh?”

“Maybe we can help each other with that,” he says, and you start to relax around him for the first time. 

It doesn’t last long.

He suddenly slams the breaks, causing you to lurch forward. You don’t miss the way his arm juts out in front of you to keep you from being thrown out of your seat. You look up through the windshield at the road in front of you and gasp. 

Up ahead, absolutely filling the highway, is the biggest herd of zombies you’ve ever seen. There have to be hundreds of them! They’re far enough away that they’re not a threat right now, but the thought of trying to drive through them, of perhaps getting stuck in the middle of them, sends a chill down your spine. 

“What do we do?” you ask. “Is there a way around?” You know you can’t go back the way you came. That leads back to the city, where the roads are blocked by abandoned vehicles and other obstructions, and by now there are probably even more zombies. 

Geto pulls a map out of his bag beside him and looks it over. “I don’t see any roads that’ll take us where we need to go. We’ll have to try going through them.”

You gape at him. “Are you serious? What if you try to bulldoze your way through and the bodies get caught up in the tires?”

“I’m not bulldozing my way through,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ve noticed that they tend to shamble out of the way of large objects. If I drive very slowly, most of them should clear the road. I’ll go tell the others the plan.”

You watch him climb down out of the driver’s seat, worried now more than ever.

Gojo Satoru:

You’re not sure how to act around Gojo now. Seeing him go berserk fighting zombies has given you an entirely different opinion of the man you thought was just an easy going goofball. It’s not that you’re afraid of him, but rather that you realized how little you know about any of these men. 

And now you find yourself sitting in the front cab of the truck, wedged between Gojo and Geto. How did you end up stuck between the two hottest guys you’ve ever seen in your life? Gojo insisted you ride up front with them. 

“You don’t need to be back there in that stuffy old trailer,” he’d told you as he practically dragged you to the front. “You ride up here with us. There’s an old CD player! We can listen to music.”

You didn’t have the heart or the will to refuse him, not when he looks at you with those lovely eyes. 

Gojo has a big zippered case full of CD’s in his lap, looking through them as if he’s on a fun road trip and not fleeing a zombie horde. He chooses one and slides it into the stereo system of the truck. 

Geto blanches beside you when the music starts. “What kind of trucker listens to 90’s pop?”

Gojo grins. “One with excellent taste!”

Geto rolls his eyes, but has nothing more to say about the matter, instead focusing on the road in front of him. 

As the music plays, you realize how exhausted you are after the adrenaline rush of escaping the store. You haven’t slept well in weeks, naturally, and within half an hour, you nod off. 

You awaken to the sound of Gojo’s voice, closer than you expect, and you keep your eyes closed as you listen. 

“Hey, Suguru, look. She fell asleep on my shoulder.” 

You almost jerk up to get off him when you hear that, just now realizing that the soft fabric beneath your face is his shirt. But you decide to stay still and pretend to be asleep. This might be a good chance to learn more about these guys. 

“I guess all the excitement wore her out,” Geto says, and you almost laugh at how much it sounds like he’s talking about a child after a birthday party. 

“She’s cute like this though,” Gojo’s voice says. “I wonder how long she’ll stick around.”

“Satoru, don’t get attached. She could leave at any moment, or be bitten, or just killed.”

There’s a pause where both men are quiet, then Gojo says, “I won’t get attached. But there’s no harm in having fun with her while she’s around, right?”

Huh? What does he mean by that? The only thing that pops into your head upon hearing that is, well, sex. But maybe he doesn’t mean it that way. It’s entirely possible that he’s talking about fun in a more general sense. 

And to be perfectly honest, you’re not sure you’d turn down some apocalypse sex with a guy as gorgeous as him anyway. 

But the next words you hear halt all sexy thoughts in your brain and make your blood run cold. 

Geto says, “The harm is when you have to kill her yourself. Even if you just played around with her, that will leave a mark on you, mentally.”

Wait, what? Your heart races, and you will yourself to calm down. He probably means if you turn into a zombie, or get bitten.

Right? 

But Gojo responds, “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Even if she doesn’t agree with what we’ve got planned, I doubt she’d get in our way.”

Get in their way? What the hell do they have planned?! There’s a lull in the conversation, so you use the opportunity to pretend you’re waking up. You rub your eyes and sit up. 

“Where are we?” you ask, trying to sound sleepy and confused. 

Gojo smiles at you. Damnit, why is his smile so dazzling? “We’re about fifty miles from the city now. Did you have a good nap?”

“Yeah, sorry for borrowing your shoulder,” you say, your embarrassment genuine. 

He laughs. “You can borrow it anytime!”

“So… where exactly are you guys headed?” you ask, trying not to sound suspicious. “Do you have a destination in mind?”

The two of them glance at each other, then Gojo says, “There’s a group occupying a military bunker about a hundred miles from here. It’s a pretty small group, and rumor has it they’re running out of supplies fast. We’re heading there.”

“Oh, are we going to join up with them?” you ask. 

Gojo’s friendly smile fades, and the look in his eyes reminds you uncomfortably of the feral beast you saw fighting zombies. “No,” he says, “We’re going to take the bunker from them.”

Nanami Kento:

After taking Nanami’s hand, he firmly but gently pulls you into the back of the trailer attached to the truck. Now that you think of it, that perfectly describes the man himself. Firm but gentle. 

As the truck begins to move, Nanami helps you over to the wall to steady yourself, and once the swaying stops, he walks over to one of the bags of supplies he found and pulls out a bottle of some kind. He walks over and holds it out to you. 

“Do you like lemon tea?” he asks. 

You smile as you take the bottle. “I love lemon tea,” you tell him. “Thanks.”

Cracking the seal on the bottle, you take a sip, not wanting to waste any. You could only bring so many things from the store, and who knows when you’ll find more supplies? 

You hold the bottle back toward him. “Want a drink?”

He looks at it, then at your face. “Oh, you don’t have to share,” he says. “There’s another bottle.”

Is it your imagination, or is his face slightly pink? Is he seriously shy about drinking after you? Back in high school, a friend of yours called it an “indirect kiss”. Surely this grown man wasn’t thinking about that. It almost makes you giggle. 

God, you haven’t actually giggled in so long. 

“Nanami, this is literally the apocalypse. Sharing a bottle of tea is nothing,” you say with a laugh. 

He gives you an embarrassed smile, then takes the bottle from you and takes a small drink before handing it back. “Thank you,” he says. 

The two of you sit down on the floor, leaning your backs against the wall. You glance over at him. “So how did you end up with this group?”

“I went to high school with Gojo and Geto. As ridiculous as they can be sometimes, they’re both very reliable when it counts. So when they asked if I wanted to join them, I accepted. Higuruma is a friend I know from work. The others we met at a shelter.”

You remember Gojo telling you about the shelter where things fell apart. You wonder how Nanami felt about it, but you don’t want to be rude by asking. 

“It’s nice to be with people you’ve known for a long time,” you say. “The familiarity must be comforting.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It must have been hard for you, being alone.”

The two of you spend the next hour or so talking, about your lives and careers before everything went wrong, about your differing experiences with shelters and groups so far, and about your plans going forward. 

“Do you really think you can set up a permanent shelter?” you ask him. 

He leans his head back against the wall. “I hope so. Being on the run all the time just isn’t sustainable. At some point we have to consider future generations, and how to safeguard them.”

You nod, thinking he really is a kind person. 

Another hour later, and you feel the truck slowing down, then turning. When it finally comes to a stop, everyone waits for a few moments before the door opens. Geto is outside. 

“We’re getting low on fuel,” he says. “We found a gas station so we’ll check to see if there’s anything left.”

Everyone in the trailer strands up, many of them stretching after two hours on the road, and all of you climb down to go check the convenience store. 

Nanami holds out his hand to you after climbing down, helping you drop to the pavement below. 

“Thanks,” you tell him, but you notice that he’s still holding your hand. 

“You should stick close to us,” he says. “There might be a few-“

A groan cuts him off.  He turns to look for the source of the noise, his body going tense and his grip on your hand tightening. There, coming around the corner of the truck, is a small group of zombies, all of them looking starved.

Tag List:

@tadabzzzbee @babysoo-meu @atomicweaselpaperapricot

[bakugoushotwife]

Inextricable P2 (Sasuke x Fem!Reader)

a/n: okay plz don't hurt me im so sorry...this one is brutal, and we'll definitely need a part three to wrap this all up and I will need your help with a decision so look for the poll i'll link!!

summary: Sasuke has left the village and training has yielded amazing results. Kakashi grows anxious about your future, Sasuke finds a way to communicate, and you've unlocked your Mangekyo sharingan...but how?

warnings: a shit ton of angst you guys, spoilers for Shippuden, major character death, decently long once more

pairings: sasuke x uchiha!fem!reader, slight naruto x uchiha!fem!reader

wc: 6230

part one // part three

“No.’ Comes from Kakashi sternly, his hand closing around your wrist quickly. “It’s even more dangerous for you now.” He says, hoping you would understand. 

You try to, tilting your head to the side to contemplate the risks. “I’m strong enough to handle them.” You reply after a while, giving Kakashi a crazed look of your own. He knew you harbored the same hate and desire for revenge in your heart, so what had stopped you from joining Sasuke when he had asked? 

Naruto cleared his throat. “Kakashi-Sensei! We have to go after him right now! You know I’ll keep Y/N-chan safe!” He protested alongside you to no avail.

“We need to alert the Hokage, she’ll decide how to proceed, you two. I’m sorry, but if you went after him you would be doing the same thing he is.” He said meekly, he was fighting himself. Your arrival had changed everything about him, made him a more careful and thoughtful person. He cared for you deeply, this was known. The danger you faced now put a lump in his throat. Sasuke was unpredictable, and as much as Kakashi had changed, he started out in a very similar place. Kakashi didn’t have anyone dear to him at that time, but he knows if he had known Rin then he would have done anything to keep her safe. Kakashi could only hope Sasuke considered you dear to him. He couldn’t rest his hope on that alone, knowing the risks involved. 

Naruto grumbled at Kakashi’s ruling. Kakashi knew what he would have to do. He would have to tell Tsunade and Naruto your true persona when you all briefed her on Sasuke’s desertion. Knowing the truth, Naruto would be motivated to keep you and Sasuke apart for the time being and Tsunade would prevent you from being put in harm's way. 

Boy was Kakashi disappointed by the results. He had miscalculated. Naruto was surprised, mouth hanging open at Kakashi’s every word, even if he didn’t quite know who Shisui Uchiha was. It hurt him to think that his friend, a boy he views like his family, would hurt you. He had known you for a short time, but he valued you. You were kind to him, you were very strong, and you always shared your snacks with him while you waited on Kakashi to start training. 

But Tsunade heard the implied part of the story, and her thoughts were focused elsewhere. She, unlike Naruto, knew exactly who Shisui Uchiha was, and the way she studied you like a bug under a microscope made you nervous. “Younger sister of Shisui…a secret Uchiha. Kakashi, your daughter is already a top chunin, correct?” She asked, still staring at you. 

Kakashi’s heart rate quickened. “Uh, you could say that, sure.”

“And she’s not using her doujutsu or any abilities associated with the sharignan?”

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. He knew what she was really asking. “I’ve helped her harness her abilities in private, but as that would expose her identity, no, she doesn’t use them for her missions and classes.”

Tsunade smirked, very interested in the power you truly held. If Sasuke was led astray, perhaps Naruto could persuade him back on track. Or maybe you could force him. “So she’s already hailed as a Hatake prodigy, thanks to you. Yet if what you tell me is true, she’s only using a percentage of her abilities.”

Kakashi doesn’t know how to respond. He’s not exactly sure what Itachi’s motivations behind all this were, but he does know it wasn’t his choice and that certain people would send assassins after the female Uchiha if she was discovered to be alive. He didn’t like the hungry glint to the Hokage’s eye, he had made the wrong decision. Tsunade would use you and Naruto as weapons. 

“She’s supposed to be dead. It would be a great danger–”

“Danger? Is she not stronger than Sasuke?”

“I am.” You declare, knowing that in your heart Kakashi was worried about you, but your worries lay elsewhere. 

“She is–Lady Hokage, I’m not concerned about Sasuke, if I’m truthful. There are leaders, people from other nations that fear the Uchiha name, people of our own village.” Kakashi points out, folding his arms over his chest gruffly. He looks at you sadly before he continues. “If word were to get around of a female Uchiha, a second survivor. That leaves the younger brother of Itachi Uchiha alive and the younger sister of Shisui. There is potential for Sasuke and Y/N to rebuild a pureblood powerful line of their clan, and they won’t allow this. She would be under attack.”

Tsunade sighs. She organizes her words in her brain before she says them. “That’s why she’ll need more training. Naruto will leave for training with Jiraiya soon.”

“Are you suggesting I send her to train alongside Naruto?”

“It’s something to consider, but I would also be interested in students. I’ll take both your girls.” She smirked, knowing medical nin is something Kakashi has introduced and taught the basics of, but there was no better teacher than the Tsunade Senju. Plus her chakra seal would increase your power by a large margin.

You look to Kakashi expectantly, hoping he accepts this proposition for you and Sakura. 

He sighs, knowing he couldn’t get out of this. “I think that would be wonderful for the two of them. On one condition.”

Tsunade shakes her head, knowing what Kakashi was about to propose. “No can do, Kakashi. She needs to train and go on missions using her true talents. If assassins come, we will deal with them. You can keep her safe, you have this far.” The fifth Hokage stands and folds her arms, leaning against the front of her desk. “Besides, if she never fights with her all, we’ll never know what she can do.” She reaches her hand out and pats your head. 

Later that day, Lady Tsunade sends Shikamaru to round up a team to go after Sasuke. He doesn’t ask you to go, probably because the way your fight against him went back during the chunin exams. It still upsets you when Naruto comes to say goodbye, promising Sakura and yourself that he would do whatever it took to bring Sasuke back, and not to worry. 

The years pass seemingly slowly. Naruto left the village to train with Master Jiraiya, a lively and funny man. You knew Naruto would have fun, and hopefully develop rapidly. 

This left you and Sakura to train with Tsunade. Admittedly, Sakura was better than you, naturally drawn to the art. Don’t misunderstand, you were very talented, but you would much rather spend your time learning more jutsu from Kakashi. 

You can’t deny how helpful the chakra control has been, though. You earned your seal, able to use it for your jutsu and not consume any power. This impresses Kakashi every time he sees you do it, mentally proud that he has taught you to be more powerful than him. You were brilliant, he thought. You already exerted amazing chakra control before, but Tsunade’s training has made you a well rounded threat.

He loves you, he realized this when Sasuke left the village. You see, he had known for a while that he cared for you, he thought it was similar to the way he cared for the members of his team. He would do anything to get Sasuke back, to protect Sakura, or to make Naruto feel encouraged. Anything that wouldn’t require him to leave you too long, of course. For you, there was truly nothing he wouldn’t do, and he wonders how he could feel so powerfully for a child that isn’t his own. 

“Check this out!” You call out, dissipating yourself. Kakashi can’t see you anywhere, a puff of smoke clouding the air. He pushes his headband up and scans the area, no sign of your chakra. He becomes worried instantly, the issues since your reveal as an Uchiha seemingly endless. Had another assassin come, jumping you at the perfect time?

His troublesome thoughts are interrupted by a swarm of leaves swirling around in the wind and pooling at his feet. He realizes a second later, as you start reanimating in front of him. You smile, a girl three years older, a girl proud of what she’s learned seeking his approval. 

You make it easy to give it, the jutsu powerful and sneaky. Most times, you would be too quick and unsuspecting that it would be hard to catch that it was a leaf substitution jutsu at all. “Nice work Y/N. Keep practicing and you’ll get faster.” He nods, a smile of relief cloaked beneath his mask. “It’s a nice ode to Shisui’s flicker.”

You nod, still beaming. “It worked on Shikamaru!” You share animatedly. Shikamaru was always your test subject before you showed Kakashi a new move, his wits being top of the line. Your rule of thumb was if he figured it out, it wasn’t ready. “I have another, if you want to see!”

He leaned against a nearby tree, arms lazily folded across his chest. “Let's see.”

You smirk. Instantly, your sharingan sings to life, all three tomoes swimming to their rightful positions before your eyes even open again. “Plant style: lifeless limb!” You call, weaving the corresponding sign. The tree Kakashi leaned against started to move, the branches growing to wrap his body in their clutches. Kakashi jumps out of the way, looking at you to read your next move. You lock eyes for a moment and continue weaving signs, incorporating some fire and some wind style into your barrage, but only the minor stuff. You wouldn’t want to hurt him too badly after all, he hadn’t realized he was in a genjutsu just yet. 

This was the one you were most proud of. This delayed sense genjutsu makes the opponent see your movements 20 seconds later, giving you plenty of time to get in the finishing blow. For the purpose of showing Kakashi, you just used your extra time to get up in his face and make a silly pose. 

When he realizes what’s happened, you’re standing in front of him, making a goofy face with the assistance of some of your fingers to give you a pig nose. He chuckles, it’s genuine and warm. He’s overwhelmed with pride, that genjutsu enough to make your name feared, if it wasn’t already. He gives you a fond smile, resting his hand on your head. Yes you had grown in power, but not much in height. “That’s amazing! You sure have made me proud.”

You didn’t realize how hearing those words would make you feel. You begin to tear up. If it wasn’t for Kakashi, you didn’t know where you would be. Would you even be a fraction of this talented? Loved? Supported? You crush him in a hug. You two had an amazing bond, but were both horribly awkward. Neither of you ever knew the proper protocol for interaction or physical affection. He wasn’t your father, but he absolutely was your Dad. Life was short, you would know. Losing everyone you care about will put things in perspective in that regard. Kakashi has been the only constant in a life full of variables, and for that, you love him. “Thanks, Dad.”

His eyes widened, surprised by the force of your hug and then the words that followed. He only places his hand on the back of your head, the other returning your hug.He looked down at you, your hair pushed back by the same purple headband he gave you at six. He was moved by that, for it was no accident. You had let it slip before, but always turned red and apologized profusely after. This time, it was carefully chosen, and it almost meant more now that you were nearly grown. You recognized everything he had done and continues to do, and you wanted to thank him for all of it, not just today’s training. The other jounin often asked if he felt like he lost the ability to have his own real family, or if he felt like he didn’t get to live a full life. He always answered honestly. ‘No, she is my own family, I just didn’t have to deal with a crying baby.’ and  ‘I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.’

He takes the time to carefully craft his own reply. After all he realized the answer to his earlier question: it was him, his influence is how you tame your rage and why you stayed in the village. “Always, my girl.” 

You hum, relinquishing him from your hug. “I’m going to meditate, then I’ll be home.” You say, neither of you keen to sit in emotion.

He nods, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve got to meet with Tsuande later, so I may not be back for dinner. Don’t wait up.”

It’s your turn to nod, letting him walk away entirely before you turn to address the other wave of chakra you detected while your sharingan was still active. 

“You made it.” You say with a deadpan tone. “You’re lucky he didn’t see you.” You add, wondering when the bird got there.

The black bird’s head twitches, talons gripping the lowest branch of the tree closest to you. “I’m not worried about him.” The deep voice said calmly, it had lost its lilt of arrogance. 

You sigh and move to sit down, leaning your back against the base of the tree. “I am, and you claim to worry about me. So by association…”

“I worry about you because you could be stronger, he’s holding you back.” The voice says from the mouth of the crow. 

You chuckle. “Any stronger and you wouldn’t stand a chance at beating me.” You declare, shaking your head from his earlier comments. “Kakashi means a lot to me, so be nice. He was your sensei.” You add, trying to imbue some respect.

He scoffs. “That’s why I would win. I didn’t have anyone to cuddle me through my nightmares.” He spits, and you know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds. 

“I know, I wish you had.” You say sadly, staring into Sasuke’s sharingan. His crow cocks it head toward you. “I mean something to you, that’s why you send this crow, is it not?”

Silence reigns for some time. “You’re my only competition. I like to keep close tabs on you.” The bird hops down from the branch, landing conveniently on your thigh. Now you have to look slightly down at the creature of chakra.

This causes you to smile, you try to hide it behind your hand, but from the way the crow’s eyes narrow you can tell he’s already seen it. Sasuke quickly cleared up any concern about being a threat to you, sending this crow for the first time just two weeks after he left. “Yeah, you like to spend your days chatting with the enemy?”

He groans. “It’s not exactly that.”

“I know. It’s you worrying about me.” You correct, lovingly stroking the bird above the beak. “Or is it a coincidence that you started visiting me again when the first assassin came?”

Again, the crow just tilts its head side to side for a few seconds. “Idiot Kakashi for telling that moron of a woman!” 

You bite your lip, knowing when to pick your battles. “I’m glad I get to be myself now, in any event.” You say cheerfully, adjusting your headband carefully, before reaching down for your shinobi headband tied around your thigh. “It means I get to go on missions and fight with my full power. It feels good.” 

“Imagine how free you would feel with me.” He hummed, the crow spreading its wings but unmoving. “Your training is finished, Y/N. Face it. I’m almost finished myself. My offer stands, my dear, I can still come get you when it’s time for revenge.”

You bite your lip. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it. You missed him horribly, despite how things went the last time you spoke in person. You had been communicating like this for three years, and it only brought you closer and reminded you both of a simpler time. You still want revenge on Itachi. Of course you do. He killed your brother and entire clan, forcing you into a life consumed with fear and guilt. As grateful as you are for Kakashi, you would have much preferred your brother and true parents. 

Kakashi. That’s the reason you hadn’t left already, along with your other friends. You see the way Sasuke’s departure has tortured them, and you don’t know if you’re capable of doing the same. Maybe he was right, the day he left. In most ways, you’re so powerful. In this way, you are weak. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about leaving Kakashi?”

“He’s the only family I know!” You defend, irritated by the complexity of the emotions squeezing down on your heart. “Of course I don’t wanna hurt him by leaving! I miss you, it feels horrible to miss someone this bad. But Sasuke..your path, I’m worried about what you may become. It’s only natural to feel the way you do–”

“Shut up.” 

You furrow your brows, prepared to keep going. 

“You either miss me, or you don’t.” Sasuke states plainly. 

“Sasuke…”You pause, gathering your thoughts. You feel the way his eye scans over you, like he was worried you would lie. “You are all I have left. I’ll join you…for a time, and if you promise me something.”

His bird leaned in, anxious to hear your conditions. 

“It’s just you and me. We don’t work with anyone evil. We can work to be pardoned that way.” You reasoned. Part of you knew he wouldn’t agree to it, part of you hoped he would. Despite the disappointment that Kakashi would still face, you ached to see him again. You knew Kakashi would eventually understand, he would forgive you. 

More silence followed. “I’ll think about it.” He finally said, parroting your earlier words through his crow. You hum in response, absentmindedly reaching for your hair to play with. “If Tsunade revealed your true identity, why are you still coloring your hair?” He asks, hoping to change the subject to something more palatable. However frustrated you made him, he does care for you. He struggled to admit this for a time. He would see the color green in the oak trees around him and the quaint ponds he passed on his journey, and he would think of your tricycle and the way your childhood giggle sounded. He remembered the emotional whirlpool from the night of the massacre: the relief of seeing you alive, the fear that you would still be killed, the sadness as Itachi confirmed that he was to blame for everything wrong with your life, the agony as his brother suggested he earn a Mangekyo from killing you, the grief as he watched Itachi cart you away. He remembers the relief he felt, seeing your face again during chunin exams. He remembers letting Naruto and Sakura close to him in hopes they would earn him Mangekyo someday. He loves you, in his own warped way. He doesn’t know exactly what that entails, just that he could never harm you or allow anyone else to. 

“I like the way it looks, the colors make me feel part of both clans.” You reply with the truth as always. You were ever honest, and he valued that part of you too. “Plus, it still throws off the occasional assassin.” You chuckle softly. 

He groans again. He also likes the way it looks, you are impossibly beautiful. Sasuke was no slouch with women, as you remember from adolescence. Yet no girl compared, they didn’t glow like you did. No one could possibly understand him the way you did either, he didn’t have to watch his words around you. He didn’t have to wonder who you were loyal to, despite his annoyance with your fondness for your adoptive father. He can’t exactly compliment your appearance, so he decides on, “That was so stupid. She put a target on your back.”

“She wanted me to fight with my full ability.” You argue, trying to put it in perspective. 

“By declaring to the world that the Last Uchiha Princess is in the Leaf? Moronic.” He huffs, very dissatisfied with the attempts on your life. “You would be safer with me too.”

You arch your brow, a small blush creeping its way up your neck. “Last Uchiha Princess huh? I kinda like the sound of that.”

Your neck catches a sudden chill and you power up your eyes, scanning for the reason. Sasuke’s crow flies back to his original position on a tree branch, wondering what came next. It always made him nervous to visit you like this for this reason. If this was an assassin, he wouldn’t have time to get to you. The leaves rustle,, it gets closer before a tall figure emerges from the treeline.

“Y/N-chan! Sakura told me you were here!” His raspy voice calls as you get to your feet. Your mouth drops open, Naruto’s appearance a total surprise.

“Naruto-kun? I didn’t know you were coming back today!” You giggle, closing the short distance to give him a hug. He holds his arms open for you with a blush on his features. Sasuke wants to throw up. 

“Yeah I kinda wanted to surprise everyone! Your hair looks great by the way, you look pretty great.” He says smoothly, pinching a few strands of your hair in his fingers. 

“Oh–well, thank you…” You tuck your cheek to your shoulder, embarrassed that Sasuke was listening to all this. “You’ve gotten so tall! I trust Jiraiya-sama taught you a lot?”

The blond nods eagerly. “Oh yeah, koibito! I’m back to keep you safe and get Sasuke back!” He says, features coming together determinedly, an arm slung around your shoulders. The crow caws in protest, making you chuckle. 

Koibito? Why would Naruto call her that after so many years apart? Surely he didn’t feel like she was that close to him, Sasuke wonders angrily to himself. Maybe Naruto had noticed how beautiful you were the whole time and wasn’t afraid to make it known. 

“Who says I need anyone to protect me?” You ask, arching a brow at him, but it applied to Sasuke as well. “I’ve been training this whole time too, I’m a powerful kunoichi!”

Naruto smirks, looking at you with a renewed sense of determination.”Wanna bet? I’ll take you right now!” 

You tilt your head to the side, sorry Sasuke. You can’t turn this one down, you wanted to see how much he had grown and if you were strong enough to keep up. 

Sasuke watched as his two closest comrades sparred, every action being countered accurately. Sasuke was impressed with your speed and tenacity, the way you used your talents was much different than him. You were aggressive, but it was fun. Naruto was on the defensive for quite some time, not able to fool your sharingan with shadow clones. Sasuke didn’t care for it much when the fight went to the ground, his rival hovering over your body. He would peck his eyes out if he could. 

But it was just the opening you needed, activating your delayed sense and leaf substitution consecutively. Naruto fell abruptly when your body turned to leaves beneath him. He springs back to his feet, searching for where you would reappear. But you rematerialize right behind him as if you had been there the entire time. You turn and smirk at Sasuke, pointing a kunai to Naruto’s back. 

When Naruto feels the kunai, he gasps. He hold his hands up, “You got me! But what the hell was that?”

You giggle. If you giggle at Naruto one more time, he may just go ahead and attack the leaf before he kills Itachi. “You just haven’t faced my sharingan abilities! It was genjutsu.”

“And you punch harder than Sakura! You’re amazing, Y/N-chan.”

“Thank you Naruto, your fighting has certainly come along. I’m sure Kakashi will be excited to see your progress.” You smile softly. 

As if you had reminded him, he jumps slightly. “Oh yeah, I gotta go see Granny Tsunade! Maybe Kakashi-Sensei will be there! See you later Y/N-chan!”

You wave goodbye to the boy, turning back to Sasuke’s dissatisfied crow. “Oh don’t look at me like that, mister. I’m the Last Uchiha Princess after all!” 

You’re not sure if crows can roll their eyes, but maybe Sasuke’s chakra beast can. It certainly looks like it anyway. “You two basically made out in front of me.”

“It’s nowhere near like that, don’t be jealous.” You pout, fixing the purple headband once more. It strikes Sasuke then that you wear it as a reminder of him. It almost made him forget your taunts. 

“I don’t even know what it feels like to be jealous, and I certainly wouldn’t get jealous over you.” He asserts, his voice corrupted with annoyance. You can tell he’s lying. 

“Oh good, so I guess now's a good time to tell you I can’t make tomorrow’s session.”

“What? Why?”

“My date with Shikamaru.” You tease, throwing out the first name you can think of. 

“You would choose that bag of slime over me?” He growls, disgusted by the idea of you in the hands of anyone else. No one could ever understand you like he does. 

“You’ve never asked me on a date.” You giggle, knowing just how to press his buttons. 

“I’ll take you on a date when I see you again.” He huffs, shutting down your giggling fit. He was satisfied with the blush on your cheeks and the way your lips parted with surprise. He knew just how to shut you up. 

A few months later, you walk into the forests to ‘train’ as per usual. You expect his crow to be there waiting for you, but it isn’t. You search for it with your sharingan, refusing to believe Sasuke would stand you up. You hoped he was alright, nerves getting the better of you as you slid your back down the trunk of your meeting tree. The ground stops your momentum when you sit. You resign yourself to wait, just hoping he would show up to ease your fear if nothing else. 

Within the next hour, his crow materializes on your knee. “You’re late.” You smile softly, reaching out your finger to pet the bird. You wonder if Sasuke can feel the touches, and what it feels like for him. 

The air is different, you realize. He’s not clinging to his only happy emotion right now, he’s consumed with grief and darkness. “What happened?”

“Itachi is dead.” He announces, but it clearly brought him no relief. You can tell there’s more to this story, so you arch your brow and wait for him to continue. “It was all a lie. All of it. He showed me the truth.” He said with a tragic fondness in his voice. 

  “Wait, a lie? He killed them all, I saw the blood on him.”

“That part is true. The 3rd Hokage and some other pigs I’m going to kill arranged it. Our clan was about to revolt against the Hokage, they had been treating us like an infection. My dad was leading it…they made Itachi kill them all. He told them he would spare me, but he couldn’t expect them to spare you as well.”

“I don’t get it, we were kids, why wouldn’t they allow it?”

Sasuke’s answer reminds you of what Kakashi delicately explained to Tsunade that day your identity was revealed. 

“Because the two of us can revive our clan and keep our kekkei genkai strong by not diluting it with other clan blood. Given Itachi and Shisui’s relationship, it’s natural that they expected us to be close and maybe marry later in life and rebuild.” 

You open your mouth to express your feelings, but close it quickly when you realize you don’t know exactly how you feel. You suppose the logic makes sense, and if the entire village was at stake you understand why Itachi made the decision he did, to prevent the 4th Great Ninja War. Yet still, is that what Itachi designed? “Well that’s a silly thing to be worried about.” 

“Is it? You feel the affinity we have for one another. I think they are right. Itachi placed you with Kakashi for safekeeping, he felt he owed that to Shisui. He never killed him, Shisui also tried to stop this but it didn’t work, Danzo Shimura attacked him and stole his right eye..he gave the other to Itachi and then..”Sasuke pauses, taking a shaky breath through his already shaky tone. He wanted to pick his words carefully, to best comfort you when he could not physically be there. “He threw himself into the river, activating Itachi’s Mangekyo. Itachi loved Shisui, and it hurt him to take the blame for his death. He felt horrible, letting you believe that.”

He watched you take it all in, your eyebrows furrowed together as you analyzed everything that you heard. Finally, you make a choking sob sound, making Sasuke frown. “B-but he wanted you to kill me! For your Mangekyo!”

Sasuke flashes his new eye for you. “Hearing all this, seeing it from his brain…it was enough to awaken.” He explains quickly, watching as tears fall from your eyes. “He needed us to hate him, it made it easier that way..he needed me to grow up alone so that I could pursue this journey of truth. But now, now that I’ve learned the truth I’ll make sure anyone involved in this is dead, and then I’m coming for the leaf!”

You blink several times, soaking in the reality he just presented. Your tears are quiet but ever flowing, and Sasuke wishes more than anything to be there, to hold you when he told you this, to take you with him on his journey. But he couldn’t, you would probably seek Naruto or your teammate Kiba’s comfort, and the picture of that made his stomach feel like he swallowed fire. 

“Attack the leaf? Sasuke! If what you said is true, then Itachi did all of this for the leaf!” You say once the latter half of his declaration soaks in. “I’m in the leaf, what, you’re gonna let your emotions take over you again and kill me anyway?” 

He grimaces, he shouldn’t have mentioned that part of his plan to you yet. “I could never hurt you, Y/N-chan. You are my koibito.” He asserts, yearning to reach out a hand and wipe away your tears. He always hated to see you cry, and his childhood self would wipe your tears every time.

“Killing my friends would still hurt.” You state, blinking away any trace of emotion.

“I’ll think about it. Y/N-chan, please don’t treat me like this.” He asks quietly, noticing your guarded apprehension that was caused by his promise to destroy your home. 

“If this is who you are, then I’m going to treat you like it. Kill those involved and no one else, this village as it stands now didn’t do anything to us.” 

“Alright.” He relents, and you know you’ve made some distance with him. He called you koibito earlier, a sign of his true affection for you, a thought that makes you smile. 

“Koibito, eh? Sakura-chan will be heartbroken.” You hum innocently, dying to see him again. He can see you, but you had no idea how he had grown since he left. 

He chuckles softly. He honestly could not care what Sakura thought, but you’ve always been more thoughtful. “She’ll move on.” 

Tsunade tried. She tried to make sure Naruto was ready, she tried to send out her most powerful teams to stop the damage. That’s what you tell yourself as you jump tree-top to tree-top on your way back to Konoha. You had a sinking feeling in your gut when you left for the Sand a week prior, but you didn’t know it would lead to this. You could see the destruction for miles, and all you could hope for is Naruto to make it back soon. You were definitely powerful, but no match for this Akatsuki member alone. 

When you make it to the scene, all you can see is injured shinobi and confused, fearful faces. Ahead, you see a massive light, Kakashi’s chidori blade, you thought to yourself as you bounded that way, tuning out the protests of your classmates and higher ranked shinobi. 

When you get to him, there’s two bodies. One you can identify as Pain himself, the other looking just as mutilated and powerful. Kakashi fights, by himself, against these two powerful villains. You couldn’t have that. You were smart enough not to call him dad here in the battle scene, knowing it would only make both of you easier targets. You jump into the fight, capitalizing on the element of surprise. You weave signs to grow your plants, but they’re easily crushed by Pain’s pushing jutsu.

“All their eyes are connected, Y/N!” Kakashi calls out, and you return a nod. 

A look of recognition flashes across Pain’s face. “Y/N Uchiha…what an honor.” As Pain throws an attack your way, Choji and his father appear to help. 

The fight continued, your jutsu being rendered useless, if you could just get one under a genjutsu…but no, they were expecting that, younger sister of Shisui, prodigy of Kakashi. 

You find yourself throwing fireballs and wishing Naruto would just show up already. Pain’s Almighty Push traps you and Kakashi under a pile of destroyed building rubble. Kakashi breathlessly begs Choji to get back to Tsunade and report Pain’s abilities, staring at the man with his Sharingan. Pain holds a nail between his fingers, the metal tool gleaming in the sun. 

Kakashi tries, kamuing the first nail away. “Y/N..you have to get out of here..I don’t care what you see. Get out of this village. I love you very much, you have given me something I didn’t know I needed, child.” He says, your eyes immediately pooling up with tears. This sounded an awful lot like a goodbye, and there was no part of you that could leave him to die. 

“Kakash–” You blink rapidly, the tears dropping in fat pools in the dirt. You could only move one arm, the rest of your body swallowed by dirt and debris, but you reached for him. If this was the last time, you could risk it now. “I love you too, Dad, that’s why you gotta keep going! I know you’re tired, but please!”

“Kakashi of the Sharingan,..Y/N Uchiha. Green Goddess of the Leaf, both of you shall know Pain.”

The nail was flung from his fingers like Kakashi was a magnet. The sound it made when it killed him was the same sound your heart made as it shattered. Kakashi’s head flopped forward, and with the change in chakra evident immediately–you knew he was gone. You scream out, kicking and screaming against the rock caging you in. The sound you make is horrible, even the other group of shinobi hears you wailing. You feel a new wave of chakra, using it to turn on your eyes, you know what you’ve done. Your Mangekyo Sharingan. 

Shisui’s Kotoamatsukami was so powerful, you hoped your own ability was somewhat close. In fact, you gamble your life on it. You should be able to enter Pain’s thoughts, and from there, control them so subtly he never knew he was being controlled. You point a finger at him, feeling your control seeping into his mind. You smile, knowing you would avenge Kakashi. 

“You will know complete devastation.” You challenge, resigning control of your own body in favor of controlling his. You realize you can’t influence his thoughts, but you can control his movements. You use this ability to dig yourself out, looking through this murderer's eyes, you see your eyes staring back. The rage that you see almost makes you fear yourself. You slide back into your own consciousness as more shinobi show up on the scene, Pain choosing to engage them first. 

Naruto will be here soon, you think to yourself, staring at the forest ahead of you. Kakashi was once the only reason you stayed in the village, and he was the very thing begging you to leave. You have officially lost everything. People have schemed against you your entire life, giving you nothing but heartache and an immense appetite to square away your depression. Your feet move themselves into the treeline, numbly trusting that Naruto would save the day. 

Or not, you can’t find yourself caring anymore. The Leaf was home because that’s where your people were, but now that they were all dead, friends and teachers alike, you didn’t care what happened to that place. 

Your only thoughts were Kakashi, and what he meant to you, his last words. He wants me to go find him, you say to yourself. And then your mind shifted to your newfound ability, this baby kotoamatsukami that could be harnessed, and the only person who could help you do that. 

“I’ll be there soon, Sasuke.”

---------------------

tags: @cococola-cocaine @hinari27

[gunsandspaceships]

OG6 Avengers’ The “Nice Guy” Contest: Results

It's time to sum up our results. Here are links to all the rounds:

Round 1: “Thank you”

Round 2: “Sorry”

Round 3: “I was wrong/It was my fault”

Note: I'll add more stuff in the future and the overall result may change.

Rules of the contest are here.

Now we will collect all the points and add them up for each character. This way we will get our Nice Guys or Not-So-Nice Guys of the OG6. Let's do the same as we did for each round and list the scores from lowest to highest.

#6 – Natasha

Her total “Nice Guy Score”: 34.1+56.8+22.7=114 points or 1 per 8.8 mins.

Maybe she’s in last place in the “Nice Guy” Contest because she is not a guy…

Nat often apologizes, but not so often thanks people.

#5 – Clint

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 39.6+19.8+59.4=119 points or 1 per 8.4 mins.

Not-so-Nice guy Clint is last by total number, but his 50.5 minutes of screen time gives him some advantage. He often admits his fault (it's always someone's death), but very rarely apologizes or says "Thank you."

#4 – Bruce

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 85+49.6+21.2=156 points or 1 per 6.42 mins.

Despite the popular belief that Bruce thanks, apologizes and admits to things more than others - none of this is true. He's pretty average, with 4th place in total number and the same place in frequency. He even came in last place in the "I Was Wrong" round. At least Hulk says “Sorry” sometimes.

#3 – Steve

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 82.2+53.4+24.7=160 points or 1 per 6.24 mins.

“A very polite person” Steve came in third place. He's second in total, but he's also second in screen time, which lowers his score. Average for all indicators, he never rose above third place. So seems like there are more polite persons on the team…

#2 – Thor

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 87.9+44+34.2=166 points or 1 per 6 mins.

That's impressive for a guy who started out as an arrogant prince of Asgard and, in the first half of Thor 1, was as polite as Odin to Jane in the Dark World. This is what Asgardian upbringing is like… But Midgard changed him for good in every sense.

And here we are. You already know who is the Nice Guy of OG6...

#1 – Tony

His total “Nice Guy Score”: 78.4+98+36.4=213 points or 1 per 4.7 mins.

With double the total number of any indicators compared to second place (Steve), and 213 points against 166 of the second place (Thor) by frequency, Tony is the absolute winner.

He didn't win any polls and I think few people would call him the nicest person on the team. But he is. Math doesn't lie. Maybe he will give this position to someone in the future, when I’ll count other indicators. We’ll see.

Yeah, as you can also see – Steve and Bruce are not the “nicest” of them. With Thor in the same group, they have an “average” score of 156 to 166 points.

The last group, Nat and Clint, are actually the rudest. It’s not that they are really rude, but compared to others – they don’t do very well.

Conclusion: All that glitters is not gold. And pure gold is not very glittery. You know what I mean.

These results surprisingly (or not) correlate with my “How to recognize your friends” posts (Part 2, Part 3, Part 4). You may have noticed that Tony cares about his friends and teammates. Thor is not present in the posts, because he didn’t act towards Tony in the way others did (he did mean things too though, but of different kind). And the others (3-6 places) are those who did something unpleasant, to put it mildly.

Some notes for fic writers:

Based on the results, if you find these somewhat useful…

Tony apologizes a lot. And much more than others. Not always verbally, but mostly. And when politeness demands it – always (if he bumped into someone, expressed his condolences or accidentally broke the children's crayon).

He often takes the blame for things he didn't do. And contrary to popular belief, he often says that he was wrong.

He's not the guy who says "thank you" the most, but he does it a lot. Sometimes without words.

Thor thanks-a-lot. He may also express his gratitude in other ways, such as kissing hands and the like.

He is also quite good at admitting his misdeeds and bad habits, but mostly of the past. His anger issues are still with him and there is no sign that he thinks anything is wrong.

Apologies are not Thor’s thing. Sometimes he says “sorry”, sometimes not. He is a man of emotions.

Steve is, again, average. He thanks. But sometimes he doesn't when he should. He has a habit of taking things without asking their owners or saying "thank you" or "sorry". He apologizes. But, again, sometimes he doesn't when he should. He admits his fault sometimes, sometimes he doesn’t. He says he was wrong, but often it’s something like “I was wrong to trust you”, meaning he wasn't really at fault.

Bruce seems more polite than he is. In fact he's a sassy guy. There's actually a big difference in Norton's and Ruffalo's portrayal of Bruce. Norton's Bruce was bad at apologizing and thanking. Ruffalo’s is nicer, kinda.

Clint kills people. He then feels regret and admits that the bodies are on him. However, I have never heard him say that he was wrong about anything.

He rarely thanks and almost never apologizes.

Nat does apologize. She doesn't always do it when she should though. She's not so good at verbally admitting when she's at fault or when she's wrong, but she takes the blame even though it's not really her. And of OG6 she's the one who thanks the least.

[inactiveobeymeblog]

Lucifer and GN!MC With Long Hair

A/N: Despite being a guy, I like long hair and wish to gain a length I want in the future, so I made this for anyone who feels the same :) I just love the idea that Luci is so enamored with long haired MC. It’s so cute.

Tags: SFW, long haired MC, GN!MC, no smut, sorry :), Lucifer playing with your hair, cuddling, non-sexual cuddling, soft Lucifer, and fluff

Lucifer loves your long hair

When you two are sleeping in either his bed or yours, he’ll play with the long strands

Perhaps even twirl it in his fingers

For special events like parties or gatherings or meetings, he’ll braid it for you or style it in some way

You pick the style

Or if you don’t want to style your hair, you can tell him you want it down or put in a ponytail or bun

He won’t go against your wishes

He knows how important his hair is to him, so he knows not to mess with yours

Though, the thing he doesn’t like most about your long hair is the fact that it tickles his face when you two are in close proximity

For example, when the wind is blowing and he’s walking behind you and it’s blowing in his face

He hates that

He’s considered growing out his hair, and certainly tried so, but couldn’t because it got in the way

Not that his current style doesn’t, but still

He doesn’t like having long hair

But he sure does like yours (you often find knots in you hair after he’s done playing wit it and it annoys you but you love him too much to hate him)

A/N: This one is also really short but I like how it turned out :) I’ll be doing more with the other brothers and side characters soon. So look forward to that! I hope you enjoyed, too. I might make a Satan HC next… but that depends on the three that get picked from the poll I recently posted. So go vote! Unless you’re reading this a day ahead then maybe it’s not available anymore. Better to check anyway! But I hope you enjoyed reading this and stay tuned for more! :D

[embarrassinglastwords]

the results are in!

with 314 votes these were the top 10 stsg moments people can’t believe are canon (top 10 based off of the ones i listed lmao) this will be long but i did say i was gonna make a post of the results so -

10: in last place with only 1.9% - their names complimenting each other + Geto’s robes being called “gojo-gesa robes”

i included these together cause they are similar imo. both being based around the other.

9: “the only one i have”

the iconic quote with 3.2% that is so misquoted cause of that translation that i’m pretty sure people ignore that that’s actually what he says rather than “my one and only”💀 (myself included but for the sake of the poll i did the accurate translation)

8: the light novel in general

maybe i’m biased cause of my user but only getting 3.8% of votes surprised me lmao.

i mean i just think about “Even if everything was different now, there was still one thing- from that very moment it all started- that had never changed” as well as “Geto Suguru It was a name that the Jujutsu tech organization feared…but to Gojo Satoru, he was—“ all the time

i posted more quotes from it here

7: with 7.3% (nanami surprise appearance) we have their official songs stated by Gege.

Shame On Me being Gojo’s

and Come Back Home being Geto’s.

6: 8.9% of votes for this insane moment from the newer chapters after Gojo’s resurrection lmao

him and Kenny are fighting and Gojo offers to fight on Dec. 24th (Geto’s death anniversary) with Kenny replying “How romantic”

this legit made me scream when the chapter came out… anyways

5: i almost didn’t include this moment because i was sure it was gonna win because of how often it’s brought up but i’m glad to see i was wrong💀

but still in the top 5 with 9.6% is Gojo recognizing Geto by smell in JJK0… i have nothing to add to that cause like. what.

4: with 10.5% we have Gojo’s last words to Geto being “3 words” as stated by Gojo’s english va! (which i also mentioned in the post linked above)

(that being paired with the light quotes above and “such embarrassing words” and it being words they had “never said to each other before” … we all know what he said…🙄)

3: with 12.4%, the one that made me spiral and realize Gojo is probably done for, Gege himself saying “one cannot exist without the other” about Gojo and Geto…

so either Geto is miraculously gonna come back or they are sharing a death anniversary lmao

2: at 18.8%!

the infamous vol 0 quotes that are 100% parallels because the entire movie is.

Gojo, to Yuta in reference to Rika: “Love is the most twisted curse of them all” (idk why i said 'worst curse' in the poll lmao)

Geto as he dies: “At least curse me a little at the very end.”

bangs my head into a wall… okay and number 1!!

1: at 23.6% is the stsg moment. “My six eyes tell me you’re Suguru Geto but my soul knows otherwise! Hurry up and answer, who the hell are you?!”

not only was seeing Geto the reason for him getting sealed but he went against his own power, his own technique which makes him the strongest, to listen to his soul. and to quote Song of Achilles (which i made a joke the other day about stsg being modern day achilles and patroclus) “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

okay this was the first poll i’ve done like this besides some random funny ones on my other blog and i can’t believe it got 300+ votes. maybe i’ll do more in the future if i can think of some topics.