#murder besties your honour

[bananadramaaa]

CW: murder besties

A continuation of this little comic, because they live in my head rent-free & I have no self-control ~ Just the couple of pals having a drunken discussion.

(third part kinda)

[mariswxts]

cheque xyz 4 — steel nerves

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

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, smut, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

STW: mentions of smut, masturbation (f. + m.), imagined smut

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: Shameless by Camila Cabello

You were the President.

POTUS.

A symbol of feminism and reform.

But you were being kept awake by Dean Winchester, your bodyguard, with whom you should have a very strict, professional relationship, but no, you didn’t, instead you had thoughts in your head that had turned from almost getting shot to what would go on below the belt.

Oh, hell, you were going insane.

“Shit.” You breathed, turning over in bed before finally coming to rest on your back, staring up at the ceiling— ugh, when would this stop? The thirsting, seeing him all sexy, and you were so wound up your hand took over for itself, inching towards your panties, inch by inch.

Your career had been built on discipline, control, and unwavering focus. And yet Dean had managed to undo it all. It wasn’t just his looks—though, God knew, that man could have been carved from marble—it was his presence. He was steady and unflinching, a reassuring constant in a life full of chaos. And maybe that’s why your thoughts kept circling back to him. He made you feel safe, but worse than that, he made you feel alive.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "This is ridiculous," you muttered to yourself, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it true.

Dean Winchester had faced down danger in all its forms: gunfire, car chases, and even a stint in the country’s most secure prison. He was supposed to be unshakable, calm under pressure, immune to the chaos around him. But here he was, lying in the dark on a too-small bed in his room, wide awake, because of you.

You, Madam President. The most powerful woman in the country. His boss.

And the single most maddening person to ever walk the earth.

Dean groaned softly, dragging a hand over his face. He was supposed to protect you, not lie awake picturing you in every way but presidential. He should’ve been running through security protocols or strategies, but no. His brain was stuck on the curve of your smile, the soft way you’d looked at him earlier in the day, and worse — much worse — the way you’d looked that night in a fluffy white robe.

That damn robe.

Dean turned over on the bed, punching his pillow in frustration. “Shit.” The fabric of his plain t-shirt stuck to his chest as he shifted, the heat in the room matching the heat in his veins. He’d been trying to ignore it for hours, but the memory kept playing like a highlight reel he couldn’t shut off.

He hadn’t meant to linger in the doorway when he knocked earlier, but when you’d opened the door, barefoot and wrapped in that ridiculously soft-looking robe, his brain had short-circuited. The way it cinched around your waist, the way your skin glowed under the soft light of your room, and the way you’d looked up at him, your lips parting slightly in surprise — it was enough to make his chest tighten and his pulse quicken.

You hadn’t even done anything overtly suggestive. You’d just stood there, looking at him with those sharp, intelligent eyes that always seemed to see right through him, and it had been enough to unravel him. He’d barely managed to stammer out a question about your safety, and when you’d assured him you were fine, he knew he should’ve turned and left immediately.

But he hadn’t.

You should’ve stopped your hand from slowly pulling down your panties, thighs rubbing together in a last ditch attempt at friction, but nothing came, obviously, other than a mild relief from the ache and the throb you were experiencing… like, 24/7. It made you think that Bella and Steph were right, that you really were down bad for Dean, even though you were very adamant to say no.

You gasped softly when two of your fingers found your clit, rubbing in small circles, your head pressing back against the pillow and thanking the thick walls as a small moan slipped past your lips after, your thumb taking over as those two fingers dragged up and down your cunt, imagining Dean whispering in your ear, either sweet nothings or dirty words, pushing two fingers into you so fast it made your head dizzy. And you didn’t even need to slow down.

“Dean,” The name slipped past your lips just as your vision turned hazy for three seconds before clearing, thanking whatever deity that Dean wasn’t sleeping outside of the door and instead back in his own room so he couldn’t hear you.

You blamed him.

You so blamed him for being so sexy, with that deep voice that made your panties soak, green eyes that pierced you to your very core, the way his strong hands would grab you and pull you to safety in the face of danger and how the corner of those pouty lips would quirk up every time he was amused. The water from the hose dripping down his chest as he watered the flower.

You probably shouldn’t sexualise him watering a flowerbed.

And you definitely shouldn’t sexualise his job.

Ok, Dean couldn’t exactly help the low groan and the way the heel of his palm began to grind on his cock over his sweats, other beginning to work those and his boxers down over his hips and ass so he could free himself, just imagining you on top of him, blouse unbuttoned just enough to admire those gorgeous tits, skirt or trousers — he wasn’t picky, it’d be ripped off anyway — off so he could fixate on that glistening, pretty pussy.

This was so wrong. Fuck it, we ball.

His thumb traced the vein on the base of his cock, his jaw clenching and the veins on his neck popping as he let out a strangled moan through gritted teeth, hand wrapping around his base and moving up and down slowly. God, if it was you, whether it be your mouth or cunt, moving on him like this, he’d probably go insane. Oh, Lord save him, he already was.

He blamed you.

Dean blamed you for the moans and grunts leaving his mouth as he pumped his cock in his fist, hips bucking up off the bed, eyelashes fluttering against the apples of his cheeks as his free hand gripped the sheets so tight he was almost fully sure they’d rip in his blunt nails. It played in his head, seeing you in your pyjamas, wearing that robe, the little Spitfire you were when he first arrived in chains and shackles.

He’d never seen a hot President. At least not one like you.

Your fingers were pumping in and out of your slick pussy, which was embarrassingly tight— probably from the hours spent campaigning and stressing over votes and legislation planning, not to mention multiple assassination attempts over the past two weeks that Dean had miraculously saved you from.

The image of him shoving that first hitman forward played in front of your head, and you wanted him to do that to you on a mattress instead.

Hell, you’d thank him.

“S’good, Dean, shit—” Little praises went to midair as your thumb worked over your clit, your fingers curled, only to just miss the spot inside you by one fucking centimetre, cause your fingers weren’t long enough. At least you made up for it by rolling your nipple between your forefinger and thumb through the fabric of your tank top, the friction against the soft fabric making you shudder.

Oh, you really shouldn’t be doing this, but you knew you couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way his eyes would rake over your body when you wore that robe— ugh, were you down bad and you couldn’t stop.

With a soft cry, you felt yourself come around his your fingers, panting a little when you realised that you’d just come to the thought of your bodyguard. Oh, Jesus.

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off the come on his hand, cursing himself. Shit, shit, shit. Did he just touch himself to you— better yet, did he just come to the thought of you? This was bad, he wasn’t meant to be thinking of you like that, let alone touching himself to his thought about you. Sure, you’d look so pretty riding him, but no. No.

He grabbed a tissue, groaning as he slid his sweats and boxers back on to clean up the mess before chucking it to the very bottom of the bin and bundling the sheets to throw them in the laundry basket. “Fuckin’ idiot, Dean, she’d never think’a you like that.”

Would you?

He didn’t know, you just seemed so… far away. Unattainable, if anyone was to gain your hand it would be someone like some wealthy, full of shit politician.

Not him.

He came from a poor background, where sawed-offs and tales of blood made up most of his childhood, as well as the drone to keep Sammy safe, make sure Sammy has enough food, a warm bed— he’d never wanted anything for himself until now. Until you, until freedom.

The morning sunlight poured into the room as you sat at your desk, brushing over the papers in front of you with little interest. It wasn’t your work occupying your thoughts today. No, it was the conversation you’d been rehearsing in your head for hours. You wanted to visit your family. You needed it—needed the familiarity of their voices, the warmth of their hugs, and a brief respite from the chaos of your new role. And the fact that you touched yourself to the thought of Dean last night.

When the door opened, and Dean walked in, his towering frame filling the space, you straightened your back and set your pen down. His presence always had that effect on you, like you had to pull yourself together whenever he was around.

"Morning," he said, his voice gruff as usual, his sharp green eyes scanning the room out of habit. He wore his usual suit, but the top button of his shirt was undone, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d already fought off one disaster this morning. It gave him that rugged, commanding aura you found all too distracting.

He bit his tongue to avoid a blush, to avoid a raging boner too.

"Dean," you started, trying to sound casual, even though your nerves had already started buzzing. "I need to talk to you about something."

He quirked an eyebrow, folding his arms across his broad chest. "What’s on your mind, Madam President?"

You rolled your eyes at the title, though the corners of your lips twitched. "I want to visit my family next weekend."

Dean’s reaction was immediate and expected. His arms unfolded, and his expression shifted into one of disbelief. "No," he said firmly, the word coming out almost like a growl.

You blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"No," he repeated, stepping closer, his tone resolute. "It’s too dangerous. You know that. After everything that’s happened—"

"I’m aware of what’s happened," you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You stood, meeting his gaze head-on. "But I’m the President of the United States, Dean. I don’t need your permission to see my family."

He exhaled harshly, raking a hand through his hair. "It’s not about permission. It’s about keeping you alive."

"And I appreciate that, but I can’t let fear dictate my life," you argued, stepping closer to him. "I haven’t seen them in months. My mom, my dad—my little sister, Dean. They need to see me. I need to see them."

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. When he turned back to you, his eyes were burning with something you couldn’t quite place. "You think I don’t get that?" he said, his voice lower now, more intense. "You think I don’t understand what it’s like to want normal, to want family? But this isn’t normal. You’re not just some woman visiting her parents. You’re the goddamn President, and there’s a target on your back."

"I know that," you said, your tone softening slightly. "But I trust you to keep me safe, Dean. Isn’t that your job?"

His shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence. Then, in one swift motion, he moved closer, crowding you against the wall.

Your breath hitched as his hands came up, planting on either side of your head, boxing you in. His body was so close that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent—a mix of clean soap and faint cologne—invading your senses. His green eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in them enough to make your heart pound.

"Do you think I don’t take that seriously?" he said, his voice low and rough. "Keeping you safe? It’s all I think about, every damn second. So don’t stand there and tell me to just ‘trust’ that it’ll be fine. Because if something happens to you, I—" He cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he leaned in slightly, his face just inches from yours.

Your heart was practically slamming against your ribcage now, your mind screaming at the proximity, at the way his gaze kept flickering to your lips. Is he going to kiss me? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying, and you couldn’t stop your breath from quickening.

You wanted to say something, anything, but your throat felt like it had closed up. All you could do was stare back at him, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence, the weight of his body so close to yours making it hard to think straight.

And then, just as suddenly as he’d crowded you, Dean’s expression shifted. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he let out a slow breath, his hands dropping to his sides.

"No," he muttered, almost to himself, before stepping back. The space between you felt like a sudden, cold void.

You blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that had just passed through the room. "Dean��"

"Fine," he interrupted, his voice flat now, his face unreadable. "We’ll go. But I’m doubling security, and you’re not leaving my sight the entire trip."

It wasn’t the answer you’d expected, and it took you a moment to catch up. "Wait, really?"

"Yeah," he said, already turning toward the door. "I’ll handle the details. Just… don’t pull something like this again."

His hand was on the doorknob when you found your voice again. "Dean."

He paused, his back still to you.

"Thank you," you said softly.

He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. There was something there—something raw and unspoken—but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he gave you a small nod and walked out, leaving you alone with the echoes of your racing heart and the feeling. That feeling.

The sun hung high in the sky as you stood in your parents’ backyard, the familiar scent of freshly mowed grass and blooming flowers enveloping you in a blanket of nostalgia. Your father, Mark, was at the grill with Ryan, the two of them animatedly discussing something about football, while Austin darted around the yard with an energy only a twelve-year-old could muster. Your mom, Odette, was inside with Wyatt, cooing at the baby as Eden leaned against the picnic table beside you, sipping lemonade.

It was peaceful here. Normal. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe. The weight of the presidency, the looming threats, and the constant tension all seemed to melt away in the warmth of your family’s love. You turned to Eden, who smiled knowingly at you.

“You look like you’ve needed this,” she said softly, brushing a stray hair from her face.

“More than I can even say,” you replied, sipping your own lemonade. “It’s been… a lot.”

Eden gave you a playful nudge. “And how’s it going with the bodyguard? What was his name again? Dean?”

Your cheeks warmed immediately, and you looked away, focusing on Austin’s wild antics as a distraction. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please,” Eden teased, leaning closer. “Ryan told me he’s practically glued to your side. And he’s hot. Tell me you haven’t at least thought about it.”

Before you could answer—or even come up with a deflection—the sound of a distant car engine caught your attention. You turned instinctively, scanning the driveway where Dean stood near the gate, ever-watchful. He hadn’t said much since you’d arrived, just a few gruff instructions about staying within sight and letting him handle security.

Eden followed your gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly. “He’s not just hot. He’s smoldering. How do you even focus on work?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words never came. A sharp, deafening crack split the air, and time seemed to slow.

Gunfire.

Dean moved like a blur, faster than you’d ever seen anyone react. He was sprinting toward you before your brain even registered what was happening. His shout came as he dove in front of you. “Get down!”

The impact of his body hitting yours sent you stumbling backward, and Eden’s scream echoed in your ears. You hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from your lungs. Above you, Dean grunted, a low, pained sound, and you saw the crimson bloom of blood spreading across his side. Your heart stopped.

“Dean!” you gasped, scrambling to sit up. “You’re hit!”

“Stay down!” he barked, his voice a growl as he clutched his side. He drew his gun with his free hand and fired toward the direction of the shot—a figure in the treeline, partially obscured by the shadows. “Mark, Ryan—get everyone inside! Now!”

Your father and brother didn’t hesitate, shouting for the rest of the family to move. You watched as they ushered Eden and Austin inside, your mother clutching Wyatt tightly to her chest. But you couldn’t move. Your feet felt rooted to the spot as you stared at Dean, who was now kneeling, using the picnic table for cover as he returned fire.

“I said get inside!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours, fierce and unyielding.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m not leaving you.”

Dean swore under his breath, but there was no time to argue. The shooter was still firing, bullets splintering the wooden table and chipping the patio stones around you. Dean’s gun clicked empty, and he cursed again, fumbling for a spare magazine.

Without thinking, you reached for his backup weapon, the one he always kept holstered on his hip. Your hands trembled as you gripped the cool metal, the weight of it foreign and daunting.

Dean’s eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping,” you said, your voice steadier now. “Tell me what to do.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something that almost looked like pride. Then he nodded sharply. “Safety’s off. Point, aim, and squeeze. Don’t jerk the trigger. Focus on the target.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you peeked around the table. The shooter was still in the treeline, barely visible through the foliage. Your hands shook as you raised the gun, the sights aligning on the dark figure.

“Breathe,” Dean said, his voice calm despite the chaos. “You’ve got this. Just breathe.”

You inhaled deeply, steadying your hands as best you could. The shooter fired again, the sound sharp and jarring, but you didn’t flinch. You squeezed the trigger, the recoil jolting your arms as the shot rang out.

Dean fired again too, having reloaded, his movements precise despite the blood staining his side. Between the two of you, the shooter faltered, retreating further into the trees. Dean didn’t hesitate. He rose to his feet, grabbing the edge of the picnic table for support, and turned to you.

“Stay here,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind. “Keep that gun ready, just in case.”

“Dean, you’re hurt—”

“Stay here,” he repeated, cutting you off. “I mean it.”

And then he was gone, moving toward the treeline with a determination that sent a chill down your spine. You wanted to follow, to help, but you knew better than to disobey him now. Instead, you stayed crouched behind the table, gripping the gun tightly and scanning the yard for any sign of danger.

Minutes felt like hours as you waited, your heart pounding in your chest. Finally, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and Dean emerged from the trees, dragging the shooter by the back of his jacket. The man was groaning, his face bloodied and his hands bound with a zip tie.

Dean’s expression was grim as he approached, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “It’s over,” he said, his voice rough. “You did good.”

Relief washed over you, and your knees buckled as you sank to the ground, the gun slipping from your fingers. Dean dropped the shooter unceremoniously onto the patio, his attention immediately shifting to you.

“Hey,” he said, kneeling beside you despite the obvious pain it caused him. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your hands were still trembling. “You’re the one who got shot.”

“I’ll live,” he said with a faint smirk, though his face was pale. “You? You were a goddamn natural out there.”

The praise warmed you, but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality of what had just happened. Your family was safe, but the thought of how close you’d come to losing them—or Dean—was almost too much to bear.

Dean seemed to sense your thoughts. He reached out, his hand settling gently on your shoulder. “We’ll get through this,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded again, leaning into his touch for just a moment before the sound of sirens in the distance reminded you that the fight wasn’t over yet. But for now, you let yourself believe him. Dean always kept his promises.

You were a politician, not a medic.

Dean wasn’t gonna apologise for taking a bullet for you, you were the president and he was your bodyguard— a controversial bodyguard, since you’d hired him when he was still in the ADX, but was he gonna complain? No. But he hadn’t saved you purely cause he was fearful for his job, he liked you, for some odd reason.

So he was here, guiding you on how to re-bandage a bullet wound in his side, which could be added onto the list of things he’d taught you, like how to thrown a grown man over your shoulder and how to shoot. With it came a bunch of praise between the instructions, cause you got really nervous, he knew that.

You wouldn’t complain about the view either. He had built muscle, smooth skin, an amulet that hung from his neck, along with abs and biceps— oh, he’d make you drool. But he was your bodyguard, so you had to keep on listening to his instructions on how to clean and wrap this shit up. Yeah— yeah.

Honestly, seeing you all nervous to bandage up what — in his experience — was a small bullet wound, but in his and your defence, his line of work kind of consisted of everyday death in gruesome ways, so he’ll cut you some slack. Even if it was funny. But ok, ok, he’ll stop now, just kind of let his eyes drift on how pretty you were, how gorgeous, cause he’s never had a hot president before. Sweet.

"Fuck," he hissed, then chuckled— oh, shit, that hurt, but it was just, y’know, antiseptic, he was used to it, "ok, s’ good.” That jawline that could cut steel clenched slightly, but he didn’t move— except those delicious, lip-bite inducing abs rippling.

“Good, sweetheart.” Well, he had to be encouraging, it’s your first time bandaging. But it’s funny.

“You sure? Cause you just kinda made that sound and I have no idea what I’m doing, so…” the cloth with antiseptic was held aloft, having been snatched away when you first pressed it to his skin. You couldn’t trust yourself.

This was— really, really bad but also kind of cute. He shook his head, chuckling quietly, almost rolling his eyes, “yeah, I’m sure.” The words were said so calmly, like it wasn’t a big deal that you kept removing the cloth whenever it touched his wound, it wasn’t like he was in major pain or anything and it didn’t even phase his face. His eyes fluttered open to look at you, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Go ahead, press it down. I promise I won’t move.”

“Yeah, I see.” You nodded, looking like you were scared of the cloth. “It kinda worries me how you’re acting like this is an everyday Tuesday.” Toned stomach, hot body, toned everything, sculpted biceps, panty-dropping everything—

“Hey, when you do what I do, it does become everyday Tuesday. Besides, it’s not that bad." He shook his head as you both just held the cloth against his abs, but he was paying more attention on how focused you looked on his wound and the bandage, cause it was cute, or maybe he was just focused on the fact you were touching him. Yeah, probably that.

But his abs were flexing slightly beneath your touch, well, beneath the cloth as he watched you watching your own hands hold the cloth, a soft amused smile on his lips.

You looked up, saw his smile and rolled your eyes with a laugh— the little shit. “Ugh— stop it. I’m a politician, not… whatever y’all called yourselves in the shady side. Never knew I’d have to help patch up my bodyguard.” Dick.

“I suppose you have a good point.” He chuckled, he had that same, sweet and sexy voice to match his charming, handsome face. "You weren’t meant to have to patch me up though." He shook his head, "suppose that’s part of my job description."

He couldn’t help but admire you and your features, pretty face, pretty eyes, soft laugh— oh. Pretty voice too, but of course. "I can take over if you need me to?" He’d ask softly, but honestly, he’d rather just have you continue.

“I’ve started this, I’m gonna damn well finish it.” You snorted, then looked through the medical materials— ooh, that looked like a lot, and so you cringed a little, looking between the wound, bandaging materials and him. “What— the fuck do I use next?”

The wound in question was on his lower left side, he’d definitely have another scar to add to the collection on his body, but it wasn’t that deep. Dean watched you, his lips twitching into another small smile at your tone of voice.

His eyes followed you looking between the wound and materials, and he reached forward, grabbing a gauze pad and handing it you, while he held a bandage roll of your choice in his other hand. "You’ve gotta put the pad over first then you wrap the bandage around." He explained, like a teacher would to a student, which really, he was.

“Ok, thank you,” You smiled — at least that was out of the way — so you took the pad and pressed it to his wound just firm enough, wrapping the bandages firm, not like a delicate flower, you knew that wouldn’t compress shit. “Ok? That good?”

Dean inhaled the moment you pressed the gauze to his wound, but he didn’t pull away, cause he was used to having stuff pressed, pushed, shoved, stabbed, sewn into his skin. He felt the slight burn of pressure, but he was fine.

That sounded dark.

He looked at your handy work, you were a damn quick learner, his own hand grabbing the bandage to help you to wrap. "Good job, sweetheart, you done well for your first time." Maybe he was a little proud— actually, he actually was.

“Really?” You looked up, then bit your lip excitedly, giggling— ok, that probably was just the Dean Winchester effect, giggling like a schoolgirl. “How do I, y’know, secure it? Stop it from falling?”

That sight definitely did something to him. He wasn’t about to turn on his president, but the giggling, fuck, had him biting the inside of his cheek. He just loved the sight and he was definitely going to be getting that image stuck in his brain.

Once you were done wrapping the bandage around the gauze pad, the only thing that kept it in place was tape. "You need some tape to secure it." He guided your hands to tape the bandage, grinning.

Too late, already turned on— you knew exactly what your sheets would be messy from this night. “Ok, is that done?” You asked, your hands springing off as if any move you made would make the bandage combust… or somethin’.

The little moment you moved your hands off like that made him chuckle, his head shaking a little. He noticed you were, you know, turned on-ish, his tongue darting out of his lips to wet them as he spoke. "Yeah, yeah, it is." Pretty good.

He pressed his own hand against the bandage, before looking up at you, his eyes flicking down and up again, "you did a damn good job, sweetheart. For real."

“Good.” You nodded, then swallowed, rubbing your neck. “I should’ve taken your advice, going to meet my family was a bad idea. You got shot out of it. I’m sorry.”

Dean had been able to put two and two together with the moment you mentioned family, and with the mention of getting shot, he knew. Your parents didn’t have a good reaction to you becoming president, it wasn’t that surprising to him either. "You’re fine. Not your fault I got shot, sweetheart."

He said it genuinely, his tongue flicking out again to wet his lips, like a bad habit he had. "You needed to see them, even if it went to hell, you needed to see." He shook his head.

“I still care, y’know. About you.” You sighed, tilting your head. “Even if you tell me not to worry, I’ll… I’ll always worry. You’re human too.” That right there was a president who gave a damn.

God, you’re gonna make him do something. That sentence alone made his heart flutter, made a small smile form on his face, it was a gentle one. Hearing someone actually care about his wellbeing, made him feel things.

He was speechless for a moment, just looking at you, and that statement really sunk in. Yeah… he wasn’t used to people caring this much anymore. He always cared about someone in his line of work, but he? He didn’t really expect to be cared for. "Thank you." He said gently, honestly, sincerely.

"S’ alright. Didn't want to fuck it up." You smiled awkwardly, then felt the distance close, his hand going up, but at the same moment you jumped a little, he pulled away to check you were ok.

Did he mess it up? Was he gonna get fired? Oh, shit —

Then he felt your lips on his; gentle, soft, nothing like the kisses he'd had with girls before. Your cheek— god, your skin was so soft, his fingers so calloused, he really shouldn't be here right now, not when you were way out of his league. Extremely, you were the President, and he was your bodyguard, and—

Ok, your lips tasted like coffee. His brain could shut down now.

It was soft, and you let out a small gasp as you held him tighter and closer, tighter and closer. That little gasp was like music to his ears, that quiet sound was what he wanted to hear — he couldn't resist, he could feel the warmth from you, from your soft lips against his. It felt too good, like some sort of forbidden fruit. He just couldn't stop tasting it.

It's just a gentle kiss, slow kiss and his tongue was staying in his mouth for the time being, but his nose just slightly bumped against yours. There was a quiet groan that escaped him, that just felt too good.

Your lips pressed soft and slow againsthis, small stamps on him that told him he was yours- he couldn't be anyone else's now, he just couldn't, not when he had a hit of you, when he was crazy for you and he'd continue to be for the rest of his life, damn it. And each one got more feather light, less of a claim and more of a brush, but it still sent his neurons firing and his every muscle shivering underneath your gentle touch on his bare chest, amulet hanging on his collarbones.

"Ma'am..." Dean began when he finallyopened his eyes to meet yours— how the fuck does an ex-hitman go from the Supermax to this? Well, if this what it's like, he'd never complain again. He'd never want to leave anyway, as if he could resist your gorgeous ass. Your thumb rubbed his chin, looking so pretty with your cheeks flushed and lips all kiss-swollen, you were like his own angel. From the moment you'd ordered his shackles to be taken off him, you were his guardian angel.

"Shh," The sound came so gentle from your lips, we'll talk about it soon, I promise, we— we just both need to get some sleep."

You both laughed at the notion, grinning ike idiots, or like two teenagers after realising that they liked each other wher everyone implied they did. Idiots in a nutshell.

"Yeah, gotta hit the hay." Dean grinned, the backs of his fingers brushing the apple of your cheek before he cupped it his palm warm against your cheek. You couldn't help it; your eyes fluttered slightly, though you still let the smile play vaguely on your lips. He leaned forward, his hand cradling the back of your head as his own lips met your forehead preathing in, letting the kiss linger before he pulled away. "G'night, sweetheart. l've got you, aight?"

You couldn't help the broad smile butterflies, and even though you felt like you were in a Wattpad story, you'd take it all a thousand times over. "You've got me?"

'Course." He smiled, holding your head up high with his thumb and index holding your chin, pretty green eyes soft. "Gotta protect my angel." My angel.

His angel.

Even as he put on his shirt and left, you couldn't help how you fell back onto your bed, covered your face with your hands and squealed with giggles, because you'd kissed him, and it felt like fire and ice and electricity and warmth and heaven, shit.

Steph and Bella were right.

Frank Russo paced the length of his luxurious office, his polished Italian leather shoes clicking against the marble floor. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared at the framed cityscape visible through the wide windows. The skyline of New York stretched out before him like his own personal empire, but it offered no solace today. The news had come in just moments ago, and it was nothing short of infuriating.

He spun around sharply, his cold, steely eyes locking onto his assistant, Lou, who stood by the door. Lou was a wiry man in his late forties, his once-black hair now streaked with gray. Though usually calm and composed, even Lou seemed unsettled under Frank’s intense scrutiny.

“You’re telling me not one of them could get the job done?” Frank hissed, his voice low and menacing.

Lou hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his words carefully. “It’s not for lack of trying, boss. Winchester… he’s not like the others. He knows every move before it’s made.”

“Of course he does!” Frank bellowed, slamming a fist against the heavy oak desk in the center of the room. Papers scattered, and a glass of whiskey wobbled precariously before settling. “He’s one of us—or he was until he decided to play hero. That’s why I chose him in the first place. But now…” He trailed off, his lip curling in disgust. “Now he’s a liability.”

Lou nodded slowly, his hands clasped in front of him. “Dean knows the playbook inside and out. The hitmen… they don’t stand a chance. They’re predictable to him.”

Frank ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, letting out a slow, sharp exhale. His frustration was palpable, the room practically vibrating with his anger. He couldn’t afford another failure. The President had to be eliminated—her reforms, her policies, everything she stood for was a direct threat to the empire he’d spent decades building. And as long as Dean Winchester was standing in the way, it was impossible to get close to her.

“What do you suggest, Lou?” Frank asked finally, his voice eerily calm. “You’re supposed to be my problem solver. So solve the problem.”

Lou’s eyes flicked to the desk, avoiding Frank’s piercing gaze. “We need someone different,” he said cautiously. “Someone who isn’t just another gun-for-hire. Someone who can outthink Dean.”

Frank snorted, a humorless sound. “You’re saying I need a ghost to take out a ghost.”

Lou gave a small shrug. “Something like that. Dean’s good—better than good. But there’s always someone better.”

Frank stared at him for a long moment, the weight of the silence pressing down on them both. Then, finally, he nodded. “Fine. Find this ‘someone better.’ I don’t care what it costs, who they are, or what they want. Just find them and get them here. And make sure they understand the stakes.”

Lou straightened, clearly relieved to have a task to focus on. “Understood, boss. I’ll start making calls right away.”

Frank waved a dismissive hand. “Go. Now.”

Lou turned and exited the room quickly, leaving Frank alone with his simmering rage. He walked over to the window, staring out at the city once more. It wasn’t just about the President anymore; this had become personal. Dean Winchester, the man he’d once trusted as one of his own, had turned against him. He’d become a traitor to the very world that had shaped him.

Frank clenched his teeth, his hands gripping the edge of the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t a man who tolerated betrayal, and Dean’s defection was the ultimate insult. It wasn’t enough to kill the President—Dean had to pay, too. The man needed to know what it meant to cross Frank Russo.

Meanwhile, Lou sat in his dimly lit office, a phone pressed to his ear. His fingers drummed against the desk as he listened to the static-laced voice on the other end of the line.

“This job… it’s not just anyone who can pull it off,” Lou said, keeping his voice low. “We’re talking about taking out the President of the United States. The target is surrounded by the best security detail money can’t even buy. And then there’s Winchester.”

The voice on the other end responded, though the words were inaudible to anyone but Lou. He nodded along, his expression serious.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Exactly. That’s why we need someone who can outmaneuver him. Someone who can think like him, but isn’t bound by the same rules.”

Another pause as the voice continued. Lou’s lips curved into a small, grim smile.

“I knew you’d say that,” he murmured. “All right, I’ll make the arrangements. But remember, this isn’t just about the money. You pull this off, and you’ll have the gratitude of the most powerful man in New York. That’s worth more than any paycheck.”

He hung up the phone, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. The person he’d contacted was an enigma, a shadow in the criminal underworld. Their reputation was unparalleled, their methods ruthless and efficient. If anyone could get past Dean Winchester, it was them.

Lou stood, smoothing his tie as he prepared to deliver the news to Frank. He felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension. The wheels were in motion now, and there was no turning back. If this plan failed, it wouldn’t just mean trouble for Frank—it would mean the end for all of them.

As Lou re-entered Frank’s office, he found his boss standing by the window, the city lights casting an eerie glow across his face. Frank turned, his eyes narrowing expectantly.

“Well?” he demanded.

Lou nodded. “I’ve got someone. They’re on their way. If anyone can get past Winchester, it’s them.”

Frank’s lips curled into a sinister smile. “Good. Make sure they understand that failure is not an option.”

Lou hesitated for a moment before replying. “They understand. But there’s one thing, boss. This person… they don’t play by the usual rules. If we bring them in, there’s no controlling what happens next.”

Frank’s smile only widened. “I don’t care about the rules, Lou. I care about results. Now get out of here and make sure everything’s ready.”

Lou nodded and left the room, leaving Frank alone once again. He returned to his desk, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully. The game was changing, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to win.

Dean Winchester had made his move. Now it was Frank’s turn. And this time, he wouldn’t miss.

The motorcade glided through the bustling streets, the presidential limousine flanked by sleek black SUVs, their tinted windows concealing the elite security detail within. Outside, the city hummed with its usual rhythm, but inside the vehicle, the air was thick with anticipation. You smoothed your blouse, a hint of nervous energy crackling through you. Today wasn’t just another meeting; it was a calculated move toward a greater goal—uniting efforts with someone who once stood as your rival.

Amara Shurley.

The very name carried a weight of respect and a tinge of nostalgia. She had been your fiercest competitor during the presidential race, her campaign marked by poise, intelligence, and a quiet determination that had made her a formidable opponent. Yet, through the fiery debates and the clash of ideals, there had always been an unspoken camaraderie.

You were both women striving for a better future in a world that wasn’t always kind to ambition.

As the limousine pulled up to the understated entrance of Amara’s private office, you glanced out the window. The building was sleek and modern, its glass façade reflecting the afternoon sun. Dean Winchester, as always, was a shadow at your side, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter before opening the door for you.

“Stay close,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. It was more an order than a suggestion, but you nodded, stepping out into the crisp autumn air.

Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the entrance, flanked by members of your security detail. Dean remained a step behind, his presence a constant reassurance. The receptionist, a young woman with a polished smile, greeted you warmly before leading you to the elevator.

The ride up was silent, save for the hum of the machinery. When the doors opened, Amara was there, waiting.

“Madam President,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice as she extended her hand.

“Amara,” you replied with a smile, shaking her hand firmly. “You can drop the formalities. This is just a friendly meeting.”

Her lips quirked up into a knowing grin. “Friendly? That’s not the vibe I got during the debates.”

You laughed, shaking your head as she led you into her office. It was a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The décor was minimalist but sophisticated—dark wood furniture, a few tasteful art pieces, and a large desk that dominated the space.

Dean and the security detail lingered by the door as Amara gestured for you to sit on the plush couch. She poured two glasses of sparkling water, handing you one before sitting across from you.

“So,” she began, crossing her legs elegantly. “What’s on your mind?”

You took a sip of water, gathering your thoughts. “I’ll get straight to the point. I need your help.”

Her brows arched in mild surprise. “With what?”

“With credibility,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “I have a lot of ideas—big ideas—about what I want to achieve during my term. But I also know that change can’t happen without collaboration and input from people who understand the nuances of policy-making.”

Amara nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve never been one to shy away from ambition. What kind of changes are we talking about?”

You launched into your vision, laying out your plans with the same passion that had driven your campaign. Legalizing abortion nationwide, reforming healthcare to include more accessible mental health services, implementing renewable energy initiatives to combat climate change—it was all there. As you spoke, Amara listened intently, her sharp mind clearly dissecting every point.

“I want to make sure these legislations aren’t just bold ideas but practical, impactful, and sustainable,” you concluded. “And I believe you’re the person who can help me achieve that.”

Amara was silent for a moment, her fingers lightly tapping against the armrest. “You’re asking me to cross the aisle and work with you.”

“I’m asking you to do what’s right,” you corrected gently. “You’ve always been about progress, Amara. This isn’t about politics—it’s about people.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she was going to agree. But then she smiled—a genuine, warm smile that softened her features.

“All right,” she said. “I’m in.”

Relief washed over you, and you returned her smile. “Thank you. Truly.”

Amara shrugged, a glint of humor in her eyes. “Don’t thank me yet. I might tear some of your ideas apart.”

You laughed, the tension easing slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The conversation shifted to specifics, and the next hour flew by in a flurry of discussion and debate. Amara challenged you on several points, offering insights and suggestions that made your proposals stronger. It was invigorating—a reminder of why you respected her so much.

Dean remained by the door, his gaze occasionally flicking to you as you spoke with animated passion. You caught his eye once, and he gave you a small nod, his expression unreadable but approving. It was a brief moment, but it steadied you.

As the meeting wound down, Amara leaned back against the couch, a satisfied look on her face. “You’ve got some solid ideas, Madam President. I think we can make this work.”

“We will,” you said with confidence. “Together.”

She extended her hand again, and you shook it firmly, sealing the partnership.

As you stood to leave, Amara walked you to the door, pausing to glance at Dean. “You’ve got quite the guardian angel there,” she remarked, her tone light but perceptive.

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t respond. You smiled, glancing at him. “He’s the best.”

Amara nodded, her gaze lingering on Dean for a moment before turning back to you. “Good luck, Madam President. You’re going to need it.”

You laughed softly, stepping into the hallway with Dean at your side. The motorcade was waiting downstairs, but as you walked, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Amara’s agreement was a victory—not just for you, but for the people you served.

And as you glanced at Dean, his steady presence a constant in the whirlwind of your life, you felt a quiet reassurance. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you weren’t facing them alone.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait—” Steph’s voice pitched to an impressive decibel as her eyes widened, practically sparkling with excitement. Bella, sitting cross-legged on the couch, let out an ear-piercing squeal that had you cringing and glancing at the closed door to make sure no one outside could hear. “You what?” Steph exclaimed again, gripping your arm with both hands.

“I kissed him,” you muttered, already regretting telling them anything.

Bella bounced in place, her red curls bouncing with her. “Oh my God!” she squealed. “You kissed Dean? Dean Winchester? The human embodiment of danger and hotness? This is like—this is straight out of a fanfiction!”

You buried your face in your hands, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s a big deal,” Steph said, leaning forward, her voice laced with dramatic emphasis. “The hottest bodyguard in the history of the great States, sworn to protect the President, and now— kissed by her? Girl, this is Wattpad-level gold.”

Bella nodded fervently, her grin stretching ear to ear. “Okay, okay, but details. We need details,” she demanded. “Where were you? What was the mood? Was it passionate? Was it—”

“Steamy?” Steph interjected, waggling her eyebrows.

You groaned, slumping back against the armchair as you covered your face with your hands again. “It wasn’t like that,” you mumbled through your fingers.

Bella and Steph both froze mid-gush, exchanging quick glances. “Wait,” Bella said slowly, lowering her voice as though the room had grown ominously serious. “Are you telling me… it wasn’t steamy?”

Steph’s mouth fell open, a hand pressed to her chest in mock outrage. “No. Way. What do you mean it wasn’t steamy? He’s Dean Winchester! Tall, broad-shouldered, killer jawline, the whole sexy-mercenary-in-a-suit package! How was it not steamy?”

You peeked through your fingers, feeling mortified but also exasperated. “It just wasn’t, okay? It was—” You struggled to find the right words, your mind flashing back to the moment. The electricity, the hesitation, the heat that had simmered under the surface without ever truly boiling over. “It was… nice.”

“Nice?” Bella repeated, her voice heavy with disbelief. She leaned back, throwing her hands up. “Nice is the word you’re going with?”

“I’m sorry it wasn’t something out of a Harlequin romance!” you snapped, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your embarrassment. “It was when I was bandaging him up. It just… happened.”

Steph squinted at you suspiciously. “Was there tongue?”

“No!”

“No tongue?!” Bella threw her head back dramatically, clutching at her chest. “Oh, what a waste of prime romantic real estate!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be some grand, sweeping kiss,” you argued, though you could feel the tension creeping into your tone. “It just… it felt right in the moment, okay? That’s all.”

Steph shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re telling me you’ve got the lead in what could be the most epic slow-burn romance of all time, and you settle for a ‘nice’ kiss?”

Bella sighed dramatically, leaning over to pat your arm. “Honey, you’re the President of the United States. You’re supposed to be setting standards.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small laugh escaped despite yourself. “I can’t believe I told you two anything.”

“Oh, please,” Steph said, grinning. “You would’ve combusted if you didn’t. You’ve been looking way too pleased with yourself all morning.”

Bella nodded sagely. “We had to pry it out of you, but it was worth it. Even if the kiss itself was, let’s face it, a little underwhelming.”

“Underwhelming?” you repeated, incredulous. “You weren’t even there!”

“Which is exactly why we’re relying on you to live vicariously through,” Bella said, giving you a pointed look. “And what do we get? A middle-school hallway kiss. I mean, come on.”

You groaned again, though this time you were laughing despite yourself. “You two are impossible.”

Steph grinned. “You love us.”

“Debatable,” you muttered, though your smile gave you away.

The teasing continued for another few minutes, with Bella and Steph tossing out increasingly ridiculous suggestions for how you could “improve” your next kiss with Dean. By the time you finally escaped to your office under the guise of needing to review your afternoon schedule, you felt both exasperated and oddly lighter. They may have been impossible, but they were your impossible—always ready to tease, push, and support you in equal measure.

As you closed your office door and leaned back against it, the memory of the kiss resurfaced, unbidden but not unwelcome. It might not have been the steamy, earth-shattering moment Bella and Steph had been hoping for, but it had been… something. A spark. A promise.

And deep down, you knew you wanted more.

The phone rang just as you were settling back at your desk, still smiling faintly from the ridiculousness of Bella and Steph’s earlier antics. You reached for it, expecting it to be Becky with an update on your schedule or perhaps an international call you’d been waiting on. But the name flashing across the screen made you pause.

Ryan.

Your older brother never called during the day unless something was important—or, more likely, because Bella or Steph had stirred up some sort of nonsense. You sighed, bracing yourself, and hit the green button.

“Hey, Ryan,” you said casually, leaning back in your chair. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he repeated, his voice laced with a suspicious drawl that immediately made your stomach sink. “You tell me, Madam President. Or should I say, kissing champion of the White House?”

Your heart stopped for a moment, and then you groaned loudly, pressing your free hand to your forehead. “Oh, for the love of—how do you even know about that?”

“Bella,” he said simply, the word landing like a punchline. “She called me, giddy, might I add, and filled me in on all the juicy details. Well, what little details there were. Seems like you’re not one to kiss and tell, huh?”

You closed your eyes, wishing you could teleport through the phone to strangle your sister-in-law. “Bella has a very loose interpretation of the word ‘juicy.’”

Ryan laughed, and you could practically hear his grin through the phone. “So, it’s true then?”

“Do I even have the option of denying it at this point?”

“Not really,” he admitted cheerfully. “But you should probably know she gave me a full rundown. Apparently, you and this Dean guy have some kind of slow-burn tension, and she’s ‘living for it.’ Her words, not mine.”

You sighed, slumping forward against your desk. “I’m going to kill her.”

“She’ll probably make it worth your while by live-streaming her death on Instagram,” he said, clearly amused. “But more importantly—do I need to grill this guy? Or beat him up?”

You snorted despite yourself. “First of all, I’m the President of the United States. You can’t just go around beating up my bodyguard.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t,” Ryan said, his tone suddenly serious. “You’re my little sister. I don’t care if he’s a decorated Secret Service agent or a Marine—if he’s messing with you, I’ll set him straight.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the protective note in his voice. Ryan had always been like this—teasing and sarcastic most of the time, but fiercely loyal when it came to family. “Relax,” you said. “Dean’s not messing with me. He’s… fine.”

“Fine, huh?” Ryan said, dragging the word out in a way that made you roll your eyes. “That’s not exactly reassuring. You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“What do you want me to say?” you asked, exasperated. “He’s smart, he’s loyal, and he saved my life—more than once. I trust him completely.”

“Uh-huh.” Ryan’s voice was skeptical. “And what about the kissing part? That part seems a little outside his job description.”

Your cheeks heated at the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, the brief but intense moment of connection that had left you reeling. “It was… it just happened,” you said, your voice quieter now. “I wasn’t planning it, and neither was he. It just… felt right.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear Ryan processing your words. Finally, he sighed. “You sound serious about this guy.”

“I don’t know what I am,” you admitted, the weight of your feelings suddenly pressing down on you. “It’s complicated, Ryan. I’m the President, and he’s my bodyguard. This kind of thing isn’t exactly… simple.”

“Well, you’ve never done anything the simple way,” Ryan said, his voice softening. “Look, I don’t know this Dean guy, but if he’s good to you—and I mean really good to you—then I’m not gonna stand in your way. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“I will,” you said, smiling faintly. “Thanks, Ryan.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone brightening. “But seriously, if he steps out of line, let me know. I’ll fly down there and take care of it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now, go do some presidential stuff or whatever. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later,” you said, hanging up the phone with a shake of your head.

As you set the phone down, you found yourself thinking about what Ryan had said. You didn’t know exactly what was happening between you and Dean, but one thing was clear: it wasn’t going away anytime soon. And maybe—just maybe—that wasn’t such a bad thing.

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[kayharrisons]

It's a goddamn blaze in the dark, and you started it [Bjorn x fem! Reader] [18+] [2 of?]

Bjorn can't help but feel fascinated by her. Can't help but watch her, but want her.

The ex boyfriend has to go.

A/N: been a minute since I've posted for this one gang! But HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @spikedfearn EHEHEHE hbd bestie hope this is what you had in mind for an update 🤭 we got some unhinged Bjorn this chapter gang! Also some of that tagged incest with kaybjorn a h h reader is not super in this chapter, it's a lot of Bjorn perspective mostly!

Warnings: manipulation, cults, obsession, murder, violence, pregnancy mentions, incest (Kaybjorn), sex, coercion, basically everything that happens in Midsommar my dudes

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You move your food around a lot on your plate when you're hungry.

Bjorn can't help but watch from across the table. Six people away from you.

He'd sacrifice them to the Gods in a heartbeat if it meant he got to be sitting across from you, or beside you.

The Gods wouldn't smite him, he's sure. For you and he were destined, fated. He'd known it from the second Tyler had sent those pictures, had filled him in on your life, what you were like.

He hadn't spoken more than a couple of words to you, had only touched you during that one meeting, and he knows he's going to take you for a wife.

The only person he's ever considered other than you is his cousin Kay.

Sweet Kay with her beautiful face, her wonderful laugh, the child growing in her belly that is undoubtedly his.

He'd been honoured, of course, when he and his cousin had been chosen for the ritual, the conceiving of a prophet. Once Kay has given birth to their newest prophet, their child, she will receive the veil, will live her new life of celibacy.

But oh, Kay had looked radiant that night, in her embroidered white dress, flowers in her curly hair, her lips and cheeks stained with rouge.

She'd looked even more radiant by candlelight, when he'd torn her dress from her like a man possessed, when he'd damn near folded her in half and thrusted into her so hard the makeshift bed had damn near broke beneath them.

He still thought about her sweet sighs, her mouth parted in pleasure, her legs locked tight around him to keep him inside of her, to keep his seed deep inside.

He wonders if you make those same sounds, if you part your lips when you're fucked. Do you like to be on top? Below? Taken from behind?

He doesn't think he'd care much, so long as he got to have you.

You laugh at something Tyler says, nothing but friendship to the sound. He worries little about your closeness to Tyler. His cousin is devoted to Rain, will be wedded to her in a week's time.

He does, however, worry about your ex boyfriend.

Bjorn's fingers tighten around his fork, stabbing the venison on his plate with vitriol, his blood boiling in his veins.

The man hungers for you, everyone can see that.

But would he cherish you? Would he care for you? Would he hold you?

Bjorn doubts it.

True, he lusts for you, more than he's ever lusted for anyone. But he'd worship you, first. If you so demanded of him, he'd fall at your feet and devote himself, would pray, bring offerings, promise his soul-

Whatever it took, Bjorn was willing to give it.

Your ex boyfriend has to go, though.

He doesn't think you'll be too upset.

This morning, he'd seen you both. You with your pajama shorts shoved down your legs and your ex sloppily thrusting in and out of you.

Bjorn hadn't been able to see your cunt from his spot, but he had spied the disappointed look on your face, the shame. You felt ashamed of yourself for whatever reason.

Bjorn would make sure you had nothing but pleasure on your face when he fucked you. Shame did not belong in the bedroom, he'd make sure you knew that.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"Do you love her?" Kay asks him later that day, when his mouth is busy at work between her thighs.

"Hm?" He hums, lost in the taste of her, the tanginess on his tongue that he swears could drive him mad with want.

"Tyler's friend, do you love her?" Kay asks, before sighing oh so sweetly as he slides two fingers inside of her with ease. "Oh, oh-"

"Shh, not so loud," he reminds her in a gentle whisper. Kay wasn't supposed to be touched, now. Wasn't supposed to be made love to now that she is pregnant.

Bjorn, while devoted to their religion, still enjoys bending the rules from time to time.

He's not fucked her since the night they conceived their child. But he's had her in other ways that aren't strictly forbidden.

It's not his fault that she looks so radiant these days, that he sees her squirming with frustration whenever he does something she finds arousing. And, well, she's the mother of his child. He has to help her, by any means necessary.

Her favourite way lately seems to be by him using his tongue, or his fingers.

"I'm going to marry her, Kay," he whispers against her clit, eyes flickering up to her face. It's contorted in pleasure, but her eyes remain locked on him.

There is no jealousy. Sad resignation, maybe, but above all, she looks happy for him.

"Good," Kay whispers, grinding herself against his face. Bjorn takes the hint and dives back in, spelling his name out on her clit as he crooks his fingers inside of her. Kay's mouth parts in a wordless cry, legs trembling around his head as her orgasm washes over her. He grins against her, resulting in Kay tugging sharply on his hair. "Don't be mean," she chides, chest heaving.

He'd apologise, but he's not sorry.

Bjorn shifts to lay beside her, wiping her release from his face and cleaning off his fingers, still savouring the tang of her on his tongue.

He wonders how you taste, how you look in the throes of passion.

He can't wait to find out.

"I'm worried," Kay admits to him, eyes glued to the mural on the ceiling of his commune bedroom. "About the baby. I know its... I know it's blessed, that it's lucky to become a prophet. But I just..."

He tangles their fingers together, shifting to lay on his side, his other hand coming up to gently run back and forth over her bump. "Everythin' will be fine, alright?" he reassures her, pressing a comforting kiss to her temple. "Promise."

Kay nods, still a touch uneasy as her hand joins his on her stomach. "Do you think she'll love the baby? Your chosen?"

Bjorn smiles at the mere thought of you, and he nods after a beat. "Might be a bit... difficult, at first. Some of the stuff we do isn't considered normal out there," he reminds Kay, who frowns a little at the reminder. "But give her time, alright? When she sees how loved the baby is, how much it means to all of us... She'll come around, I'm sure."

"How?" Kay asks, furrowing her brow.

Bjorn merely smiles at his cousin, pressing another kiss to her temple. "Cuz I'll make her, alright? She'll understand because I'll make sure she does."

You have to understand. He's chosen you for a reason, after all, beyond your pretty face. That's merely secondary to him.

Everything Tyler has told him about you, everything he's seen of you so far...

Yes, he's sure he can make you understand.

He has to.

[dyeher]

Warnings: mentioned cheating, bestfriend! yuuji, bestfriend! megumi, mentioned violence, gojou satoru, this is fucking crack not angst.

Notes: *gets cheated on by male* *male gets beaten up by unstable besties* *besties get bailed by equally unstable guardian* unedited: read at your own risk.

“He didn’t!” Yuuji’s jaw is unhinged, giving you an unobstructed view of his half chewed fries.

You can feel Megumi’s eyes as they stare into the side of your head. You can feel their intensity. He hands you another tissue from the Kleenex box in the table between you. “Get it off your chest,” you sniffle, dabbing at your eyes with the tissue.“Go on, I know you have something to say.”

“We should kill him,” Megumi blurts. Yuuji’s jaw snaps shut so hard his teeth clack together. Your head whips toward Megumi.

Your ex had messed up, sure, but murder was- well murder was crazy. And he’d really messed up, I mean as far as cheating went, he definitely took the cake for asshole of the year. Not that you were the one actually being cheated on anyway, but still murder was a little much.

Yuuji blinks at Megumi’s stoic face, slowly bringing a fry to his mouth. You blink at Yuuji because it seems like he’s considering it.

Your eyes fill with tears again because as terrible as murder was they really would kill him for you. “Oh Megumi!” You throw yourself at him, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders as you sob.

Megumi sighs. “He’s not worth the severe dehydration,” he says, rubbing your back soothingly.

Yuuji’s drink is thrust in your face. “Here, drink this, that way you can cry as much as you want.”

Your sobs break into a wet giggle as you take the cup from Yuuji. “Thank you.”

Megumi pulls away enough to stand from his seat and drag you up with him. He doesn’t look at Yuuji as he guides you to the giant couch in their living room and helps you get comfortable curled up into his side.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Cry as much as you want today and tomorrow, but then Yuuji and I will fix this.”

You convince yourself, as Yuuji sinks down next to you and wraps his arm around your waist, that whatever ‘fix this’ means it will not entail violence.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you sniffle. “Okay?”

“Sure,” Megumi shrugs.

“Okay,” Yuuji mumbles into your side.

They did something stupid. Maybe even something that entailed violence.

In fact, when Megumi had called from the police station in Tokyo and very casually asked you to find Gojou he’d also asked you not to come with him.

It was the wrong thing to say obviously. If those idiots got arrested defending your honour even though you didn’t ask them to, then you were going to be there to see them bailed.

Gojou glances at you over the top of his glasses. “Are you sure you want to be here for this?”

You narrow your eyes at Gojou. “Why aren’t you upset?”

Gojou blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Why would I be upset?”

“They got arrested!” You splutter. “I- you’re acting like this is normal! Seriously? They were arrested,” you repeat.

Gojou’s lips twitch and you have to stop yourself from reaching across the center console and shaking the man violently. Clearly the gravity of the situation had only settled on your shoulders.

What if he wanted to press charges? Oh God, they’d have a police record! Your eyes water just thinking about the implications of their actions and they’d done it for you.

“Please don’t cry,” Gojou says, quickly. “I can’t do crying.”

You glare at him through your blurred vision. “But you can do arrests!?”

He purses his lips, before sighing. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to bail them out.”

You jerk away, bumping your elbow into the car door, your mouth falling open as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

“It’s not- it’s not the first time?!” your pitch rises, incredulity coloring your tone.

Gojou smiles at you. Smiles. It’s almost as though he’s proud of the fact. Proud that he’s had to bail the boys he’s raised out of a jail cell before this. Maybe he doesn’t see the way that reflects on him.

By the time you pull into the parking lot of the precinct your heart is pounding.

“Don’t say anything,” Gojou warns you, and as you watch him straighten to his full height and square his shoulders you realize, yeah, it’ll be fine.

Fifteen minutes later, as Megumi collects his things and Yuuji grins widely at you, you finally release the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

You don’t speak even as Gojou guides you back into the car. The silence stretches until he pulls out of the parking lot.

Gojou breaks it with a faux serious question. And you know it’s faux because you can see his lips twitching.

“How bad is it?”

Yuuji laughs. “A broken nose.”

“Dislocated jaw,” Megumi adds.

“I think we fractured his ribs too,” Yuuji muses.

Your eyes bounce from one to the other and then Gojou hums.

“That’s not too bad,” he says.

You open your mouth to argue but Gojou chuckles and then Yuuji starts humming and Megumi turns to him with his narrows.

“What is that?” he asks. “Is that- is that Another One Bites the Dust?”

Gojou joins Yuuji’s humming.

You glance between all three when Megumi begins to sing the lyrics. You sit back heavily in your seat. Why bother? Why bother when Gojou talks to the commissioner like they’re old friends, and the officers at the precinct high-five Yuuji and nod solemnly at Megumi.

Why bother when Gojou clearly wasn’t bothered and your ex probably got what he deserved—not that anyone deserved to have their face bashed in—but…well, arguing with them about their actions would imply that you were protecting your ex. And you weren’t.

Yuuji has begun snapping his fingers and bobbing his head, Gojou’s fingers drum rhythmically on the steering wheel.

“Another one bites the dust,” sings Megumi.

“And another one gone, and another one gone,” you hum, joining them.

“Another one bites the dust.”

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 3, Match 31: Sojiro Sakura vs. Kurogane and Fai D’Flourite

Submitted kids:

Sojiro Sakura: Futaba Sakura, Akira Kurusu/Ren Amamiya, and the rest of the phantom thieves tbh

Kurogane and Fai D’Flourite: Sakura, Syaoran, Tomoyo, Chun'yan, a bunch of one off characters, Sakura and Syaoran a second time (it makes sense in context)

Propaganda under the cut!

Sojiro Sakura:

1. “He's the Hierophant confidant which is already the dad arcana. He has one legitimately adopted daughter (Futaba) and then the moment he hears about a troubled teenager from a customer at his Café he's like "guess I have to take this guy in. Ugh what a pain. Of course I'm doing it." And then when said troubled teenager brings his loud friends over and then his artist friend who doesn't eat a lot and his polite nerd friend and his very polite socialite friend and his murderous bestie Sojiro acts like they're all pests and pretends they don't see him insisting on feeding them all and making them all coffee to taste and stocking up on soft drinks for the one who doesn't like coffee and refusing payment and setting them up with a campervan for their crime road trip and generally being a dad. "This is such a hassle" he says as a token protest as he packs them lunch boxes and threatens cops on their behalf”

2. “He was so cold to the mc in the beginning but really warmed up to him and even protected him from the police and the rest of the team”

3. “Futaba is his best friend's daughter, who he adopted after her mother was murdered by a government conspiracy. Akiren is a random kid who he agreed to take in after he was put on probation, who he lets live in the attic of his cafe. His entire character arc is learning to be a better dad to these wayward troubled children, and in the end, he actually cries when Akiren has to leave to go back to his parents.”

Kurogane and Fai D’Flourite:

1. “These fuckers can't help themself they're just 2 married husbands that adopt every child they see. kurogane starts out a power hungry ninja who gets sent away for killing too much and he drops that shit so quick the moment there is a child. He just starts watching out for the two kids in their group and being homoerotic with Fai. meanwhile Fai joins the group with a very specific agenda that's been like, his entire reason to live for centuries and he ends up deciding to give up on that to save his kids. he literally lets his eye get ripped out in an attempt to get syaoran back. like 90% of their conversations and bonding is about the kids and their wellbeing and both of them calling out the other for being cringe fail and accidentally adopting them while frantically denying they've done the same (then turning around and putting their coat around Sakura or Syaoran because they are getting cold). theyre just slow burn found familynur honour”

2. “#these two did not go through literal hell and back for each other and their found family to lose #traumatised magician/samurai soulmates sweep. please. #Kurogane and Shanks both lost an arm protecting someone in their found family”

3. “#i would say it actually doesn't make all that much sense in context but.”

[fan-goddess]

Authors Note: Happy 1k bestie! You deserve it! Tried to write this like you would in a Targaryen history book, and here’s the result. Went all out as only the best for you! Muah

Taglist: @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @arcielee, @blue-serendipity,

Come and get some

Skinning the children for a war drum

Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns

It's quicker and easier to eat your young

Extracts from, The Tales From The Dance Of The Dragons:

‘After the Prince Aemond had murdered his nephew, the Prince Lucerys Velaryon, with his dragon Vhagar, the usurped Queen Rhaenyra went mad with grief over hearing the news of the death of her son. That night, and for many after, all that could be heard from her chambers by her handmaidens and guards alike, were cries of sadness and begs for the gods to be bring her son back to her into the safely of her arms.

Her husband however, the King Regent Daemon Targaryen, after hearing the words of his sons death, did not cry to mourn his niece-wife. Instead, he vowed a new retribution was to take place to honour Lucerys death.

As whilst the Prince Aemond had successfully enacted his vow for an eye for an eye, he had also unknowingly paved the way towards Daemons vow. His vow, for a son for a son.

Aemond Targaryens only son had not even passed his first name day. The babe was a quiet one, like his father had been, and had been named Maelos. Though whilst his father set his future in stone, the boy peacefully laid in his mother’s arms as she herself sat by the fire, both blissfully unaware of what the one-eyed prince had set in stone.‘

‘After Blood and Cheese had come for the young Maelos, the boys mother held her son in her arms and refused to let anyone but herself touch the body. “He’s my son!” She would yell, over and over when anyone got close enough.

The only person she allowed to touch the corpse in her arms was the prince Aemond, who by the end of the next moons turn, had somehow managed to persuade his lady-wife to release her grip and let their son be burned by the princes own dragon Vhagar for his funeral.

The prince and his wife never had more children after their sons murder. Even after being encouraged both by the Hand and the other maesters alike.

Even after the prince Aemond had been crowned as Prince Regent, and the efforts were tripled to convince his wife to give him a male heir, no child was ever birthed by the woman.

When asked one morn by an unknown handmaiden, supposedly she had whispered back to her, “If I was to bring forth a child now, it would be a swifter and easier death for them to be eaten for our dinner, then for me to let them be brought forth into this world…” as she looked into the fireplace she used to sit by holding her son as she sang to him.

It seems the princess was right in a way, as her husband died not long after she supposedly spoke those words. Overcome by the grief however, she allowed herself to fall from her tower and be impaled by the sharp spikes below.

The princess and Aemonds only remaining child, the princess Visenya, was a girl shy of her seventh name day when she lost her mother, and by the end of the day, she was all that was left of their shared blood. She grew to be as fierce as her father had been, never allowing any man diminish her fire.

The princess though was pardoned by her cousins, and soon after travelled to the north, where she married a lower lord who felt no issue in fanning her flames. She was supposedly called to be her name sake reborn, as not only did she birth only a single son, but she got all the north to fear her just as all had feared the original Visenya.

That single son, was named Aemond, to honour his grandsire. Though the bloodline of Aemond Targaryen and his lady wife blurs from there, as it’s unknown if their blood died out or whether it spread. We will never know.

[saintsenara]

Ok, you convinced me, Snapemort nation just stamped my passport and I am in. I am so compelled by Voldemort feeling this deep kinship with Snape - but after he kills Lily, can Snape ever reciprocate in any form? Also, good thing he set Nagini to eat Snape before he found out the truth, imagine the heartbreak, it would have killed Voldemort before Harry got there.

but consider...

snape's initial reason for defecting to the order - no matter what his motivation for working for dumbledore later evolves into - is because he believes voldemort has no intention of honouring his request for lily to be spared when he goes after harry.

how would he - king of working ceaselessly because of mingled guilt and love as he is - react when dumbledore casually, without knowing anything about the knife he's about to ram into snape's heart, lets slip that harry has only survived because voldemort did indeed ask lily to stand aside in an effort to do something nice for his man?

[that not murdering your only childhood friend is the bare minimum one should expect from one's boyfriend is by-the-by here...]

and if you're looking for a fic which explores this very question... you're in luck. lord voldemort your bestie, me, shall provide...

[the-irrelevant-trumpeter]

a list of things about this video that i love:

the chris and max height difference kills me

max just like... leaning towards chris

dennis specifically leaning down to talk into his microphone

okay listen. i know what happens with jonathan and sandra in ppgw. i know how it goes. but my god they are so cute here.

like the grinning and giggling??? and then the trying to be serious??? fuck they're genuinely so sweet (which will presumably make it even angstier when it falls apart. which i LOVE gimme all the angst)

francis is a lil bit sassy and i dig it

TREVOR HAVING HIS ARM AROUND ANNIE OH MY GODDD. THEY'RE BESTIES YOUR HONOUR FUCKKK I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

the way francis says "i am the narrator" reminds me of "script. supervisor." from the murder mystery episode of game changer.

max's snaps 🥺 precious baby

[eviltiddyproductions]

on most days of my life I absolutely hate and will complain to anyone who listens about dramas releasing weekly (because I am an impatient monster) except the day my show releases!

it’s my demon fridays besties !!!

love the fact that it’s a Friday Saturday release schedule so that I can cry a bit more for my Sunday sadness moments

the intro cut from yoojung’s eye to song kang is so beautiful actually

LMAOOO I forgot how during the weekly release pattern you sometimes lose the rhythm of the show for a second because Do Dohee going with the tv tropes classic ‘everyone I love is dead’ 😔😞😭 made me just bust out laughing 😭

and you’ll die because of me too! 😔

‘i don’t care’ 👿🤷‍♂️

two gorgeous people kissing

the droplets suspended in the air looks so beautiful

aww they look adorable! wet little puppies 😭

medical undressing but with actual dressing time 🩹

oh they’re making out again, that’s actually pretty realist for kdrama standards 😂

most of them go designated kiss over, back to talking; here they’re actually making out again, like normal people do

song kang has a heart warming smile

lmfaoooo we went from fun time to eerily creepy clock room

we’re back in their room and i adore them !!!

my man went from ‘humans suck! losers!!! boooo 🍅🍅🍅 to they’re not that bad actually, love is kinda cool and i sorta get them and while we’re at it can i get a couples set dinner with my wife?!’

and let me just couple bike with my wife as well!

i will always be a sucker for anyone who’s down for cheesy things! #mypeople

wait woah my sister was going that in heels !!!

this fuckass quality…. giphy you will crumble !!!

they’re actually truly having the world’s most loveliest date. just having fun and taking walks and admiring the breeze !

same sister, if I saw someone that beautiful irl I’d also thank them 😭 [context : guwon says thankyou to the barista for his couple coffee set and she’s like no thank you 😻]

him saying do dohee always takes me out

they’re so cute y’all, they’re slow dancing

i’d be kinda surprised if there’s no criminal from the eldest son’s family like they rank a little higher on the possible murderer scale for me than everyone else. seems misleading rn because all shows tend to do this but y’all need to be in checked 😭

my short term memory is memorying because I was wondering why he was following her into her office and then remembered he’s her bodyguard 💀

I mean she didn’t have to give up everything but if it makes her happy!

two gorgeous people in one frame!

y’all are not subtle at allll with the wrist thing at all 😭 how many times has the seokhoon seen it already?

I adore the wolf gang lmaooo

lmaoooo they’re so dramatic, I love them!

the beautiful theatre dancer has a point and doesn’t have a point at the same time 😭 jin gayeong you’re beautiful, go live your life !!!

my sister said one shot while all she poured miss shin was foam 😭

miss shin I <3 u

doo hee the nut job 💀

lmaooo did he rush to her because he was happy to be called husband lmao, my man looks shook seeing them drunk 😂

he said my wife is embarrassing let me take her home and then she called him a blinding sun and he just glowed (he’s just like me fr)

all of the happiness and love he was uncomfortably bottling up inside in denial is coming out right now and I love it.

she could ask him for a toothbrush and he’d give her a loving smile and do it

cuties

poor boggy I omg 😭

your honour, this demon is whipped !!! 😭💞

the bag on his neck lol

it has taken me over an hour atp to finish this episode lmao maybe I could’ve written this later

miss shin is a mood

my wolf gang is back

the dad’s just laughing after choking someone ? 😭 this family…

it’s always fun to watch the murderers be hunted 🤷‍♂️

oh he killed his mom too, he was my first guess but the son was a strong case too

this cartoon villain ass laugh

my married lovebirds have a pretty strong knit game like his cardigan rn and hers during the sprinkler kiss scene

slay you found the bug

the wife seems normalish compared to her son and husband

damn did they vanish because of the card thing

woah

him knocking at the cardboard door 😭

did they fumble the continuity or something changed when they were walking at the bar because our homeless mystery queen’s teeth are back to normal rn

is she god

need that snapping finger power so bad like I also want a galaxy in my room thankyou

butterflies just follow song kang in tv shows

the second male lead kinda needs to let it go, bae it’s not that serious

why would the theatre girlie just tell that to him flat out 😭

honeymoon period over

[h3lfaerie]

Anon is back and after 3 weeks of determined search I have come to one conclusion so far. A *draugr*. Ofcourse this is not my final answer since I find it missing significant details and attributes mentioned in the book HOWEVER I figured it came a bit close considering it:

• Eats innards or well flesh in general ig(from what I've seen from my research)

• Has power to shapeshift/increase its size (I suppose that also means with shape-shifting comes immense strength)

• And finally the fact that they are said to usually be souls that had 'died' but remained 'living' to wreak havoc on those who wronged them in their past life and it got me thinking on how many dragon trappers hiccup might have killed and the fact that one or a few of them might have come back to watch him drown in misery makes me smile for some reason.

However I doubt this alot because of the fact that draugrs don't have claws and even if they can 'shapshift'all the dots still do not connect therefore I am putting it number 1 on my SUSPECT list. As the fic progresses anon will be actively hunting for more clues so I may crack the murder mystery of poor kingstail may he rest in peace.

Even though I am wrong I do still thank thee for pushing me and allowing me to discover even more norse entities. It was quite a treat. On that note I bid you good day fae and a blessed amount of inspiration to continue writing this beautiful book.

With gratitude,

Anon🕵🏾‍♀️

This is absolutely stunning.

The amount of effort and care and digging you must have done is beautiful as all get out. Arguably research might be my favourite thing to do while writing so this is not only immensely flattering to me, that you have put so much time and effort into presenting such a badass theory, but the fact that you went into such details... Bestie, I learned something from your post about Draugr.

I genuinely wish I could discuss more at this stage, because I am ridiculously impressed with your sleuthing Anon❤️, but as you may know I can't confirm nor deny these allegations 🤭

I spared no expense on my lawyer I'm afraid.

"Poor lizard did it 'imself, or 'tis indeed a Deathsong, Your Honour. My client is innocent!"

I really hope more people get to see this theory, because it is so well thought out. Discussions like this are what really makes a cohesive community and I truly couldn't ask for more.

So, this is very much a "HEY LOOK WHAT THIS AWESOME PERSON DID" kinda post/reply.

Thank you, Anon. I greatly appreciate this. And I know I say this every post but I can't say it enough. Especially when I've been struggling with personal matters lately, it's been preventing me from writing as often. But when you guys engage like this, it is shoring me up like nothing else could.

[um-weird-flex-but-ok]

Viserys just trying to enjoy his dinner after finally convincing his daughter to marry: …

Daemon: shit sorry forgot I was exiled. I must have forgot while murdering my wife. Alas I must fuck your daughter in the middle of her wedding feast where everyone can see us

Laena: Daemon may be a red flag but I’m colour blind and I’ll ride that dragon like he’s Vhagar

Alicent: ✨dramatic entrance✨I declare war. Also Rhaenyra’s a SLUT! That I’m totally not in love with this is a normal reaction to your former homoerotic bestie fucking her kings guard

Sir Criston: IM A DIRTY WHORE! FUCK GAY PEOPLE! HOMOSEXUALITY’S A SIN AND I AM GOD. Alright cool if you don’t mind imma go kill myself

Harwin: RHAENYRA! *punches his way through a brawl* I hear you have an opening for your personal whore and I must say I would be honoured

Rhaenyra: Uncle Daemon wouldn’t it be so hot if you murdered everyone in this room and then fucked me on top their corpses. I’d marry you if you did that

Viserys:

[mariswxts]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 3

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

TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, post shower!dean, reader thirsting over Dean, very not professional stuff, Dean being a thirst trap, besties being besties, attempted murder by proxy, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out

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

NOW PLAYING: Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz (ft. Yacht Money)

reformed symbol

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathroom door opened.

And there he was.

Dean.

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

He hadn’t noticed you yet.

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

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean.

Your bodyguard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were definitely down bad for Dean Winchester.

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

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The name on the screen gave him pause.

Benny Lafitte.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean gritted his teeth. “Benny—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t fooling him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of your two best friends working together, their playful dynamic soothing you. “You two really do know how to make everything better.”

Bella shot you a grin as she picked out the nail polish color, holding it up for you to see. “It’s what we’re here for, babe.”

As she began painting your nails with surprising precision, you leaned back into the pillows, feeling the tension in your body ease with each gentle stroke. The bright colors Bella chose were a stark contrast to the darker, more somber thoughts that had plagued you earlier that morning.

Steph was already flipping through the episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S., humming quietly under her breath as the opening credits played. “This is just what the doctor ordered,” she said happily, glancing over at you. “You’re going to feel so much better by the end of this.”

The familiar theme song filled the room as the opening scene of Monica’s apartment flashed on the screen, and you relaxed further into the bed, feeling safe and comforted by the laughter of your friends, the silly antics of the show, and the soothing, gentle touch of Bella as she worked on your nails.

“So,” Bella asked casually, glancing at you while she carefully worked on your other hand, “how’s everything really going with… him?” She winked, giggling. “Like, I know he’s your dibs, I respect girl code, but men like him are probably why I’m bisexual.”

You blinked in surprise, though the question didn’t come as a total shock. You knew exactly who she was referring to—Dean. Your mind immediately flashed to the way he’d been there for you yesterday, how he’d protected you without a second thought, his presence a steadying force. He was your bodyguard, yes, but the dynamic between you two had shifted in the past few days. You felt a connection, a bond that went beyond duty or professionalism, and it was hard to ignore.

“I’m… not sure,” you admitted, your voice quieter than usual. “It’s complicated.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the show. “Complicated how?”

You thought for a moment, unsure how much you wanted to reveal. After all, things had barely started between you and Dean. Yet there was something undeniably magnetic about him. “He’s… kind of impossible not to notice. And I don’t mean just because he’s hot—though, that definitely doesn’t hurt,” you said with a slight laugh, feeling your cheeks warm. “But it’s more than that. He’s protective, and he’s smart… and he just gets me, you know? It’s like he’s always there when I need him, without hesitation. It’s… kind of overwhelming.”

Bella smiled knowingly, nodding as she worked on perfecting your nails. “I get it. I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist when he’s near you.”

Steph chuckled. “You’ve got the hots for him, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, but deep down, you knew they were right. “I do,” you admitted, rolling your eyes. “But he’s my bodyguard. It’s complicated.”

Bella finished your nails with a flourish, and she leaned back, admiring her handiwork. “You’re allowed to be complicated,” she said softly, her voice warm. “You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Just… take it one step at a time. And, in the meantime, let’s watch some episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. and forget about the world for a little while.”

The minutes passed by quickly as the hum of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. continued to fill the room, the soft glow of the television providing a cozy atmosphere as you settled deeper into the plush pillows. Bella had finished your nails with the kind of perfection only she could manage, and you couldn’t help but smile at the cheerful colors now adorning your fingers. They were bright, bold, and utterly distracting—just what you needed to take your mind off everything.

Steph, who had been completely absorbed in the show, suddenly glanced at her watch, then got up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she said with a smirk, “time for the next step of the evening’s relaxation plan.��

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s next?”

With a dramatic flair, Steph marched over to her suitcase and pulled out a stack of fluffy, soft robes. They were as white as snow and looked incredibly cozy, the kind of fabric that felt like it could wrap you up in a warm hug. “Time to trade those outfits in for something even more comfy,” she said, tossing the robes toward you and Bella. “But first,” she added with a sly grin, “we’ll need to change into these in the bathroom.”

You blinked, unsure of where this was going. “The bathroom?”

“Yep,” she said, already heading toward the door with a mischievous look on her face. “One at a time. You go first.”

Bella laughed and stood up. “Oh, I see what’s going on here,” she said with a wink at you. “Steph’s getting us all into these robes so we can feel like a spa day... and so she can make fun of us when we look ridiculous.”

You sighed, but the offer of comfort and relaxation was too good to resist. Besides, you were in no mood to argue. “Fine, I’ll go,” you muttered, standing up and grabbing the robe from the pile. You could hear Bella snickering as she took her own robe and headed toward the bathroom, clearly enjoying the lightheartedness of the moment.

When you entered the bathroom, you shut the door behind you and slipped the robe over your shoulders. The softness of the fabric immediately made you feel more at ease, and you couldn’t help but smile at the indulgence of it all. For a brief moment, it was like everything else—everything overwhelming and terrifying—was forgotten. You simply allowed yourself to enjoy the comfort of the robe, the soft scent of your body lotion mixing with the fluffy material.

A couple of minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, still adjusting the robe’s belt around your waist. The others were already sitting on the bed, each of them wearing the same white robe, looking relaxed and... well, a little silly, but in the best way possible.

Steph looked up from her phone, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, not bad. You clean up pretty well, President.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Very funny, Steph.”

“Yeah,” Bella chimed in, giving you a teasing smile, “you look like you should be sipping mimosas by the pool somewhere.”

You smirked at her. “I can’t help it if I look good in a robe. Some of us are blessed.”

Steph let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, okay, Miss Universe,” she teased, then immediately grabbed a pint of ice cream from the small cooler beside the bed. “Now that we’re all properly robed, time to enjoy some ice cream. And, of course, time for some serious girl talk.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Girl talk?”

“Oh, you know,” Steph said with a knowing look, taking the first scoop of ice cream. “Like, you and your bodyguard.”

You froze, spoon halfway to your mouth. “What?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Steph added, her voice slightly more serious now, though she couldn’t hide the teasing smile. “I saw the way you were looking at him earlier. I think it’s time we have a veryserious discussion about the attraction that’s clearly there.”

You let out a dramatic groan, sinking back into the pillows with a sigh. “Oh my God, not this again. I’m not trying to hook up with Dean.”

Steph’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t have to hook up with him to admit that he’s got you hot under the collar. You’ve barely had him in your sights for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell. You’re into him.”

You shot her a look. “You guys are impossible.”

Bella laughed, nudging you with her elbow. “I don’t know if she’s that into him yet, but I mean, come on. The guy is seriously attractive. Have you seen him without his shirt?”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “Can we please not talk about this? Seriously?”

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought we were adults here,” she teased, scooping up some ice cream. “But fine, if you’re gonna be like that, I’ll drop it... for now. Let’s talk about something more fun.”

You were more than happy to change the subject, even if Bella’s antics were making the entire situation way more awkward. “Fine. What else?”

Bella shrugged, not missing a beat. “Well, you know what? I met this guy the other day. You’d like him, actually. His name’s Benny. He’s a... well, he’s a lot of things, but most importantly, he’s got this aura of danger about him. You know the type, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift in conversation. “Benny?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice lowering slightly as she grinned. “And he’s so hot. I mean, he’s... rugged. Like, maybe a little rough around the edges. He’s got this bad-boy energy, but it’s not obnoxious. It’s... mysterious, you know?”

You could tell by the sparkle in her eye that she was more than a little taken with him. And, judging by the way she was describing him, it seemed like she was intrigued by the idea of the “dangerous type.” You leaned forward slightly, glancing at her curiously. “So, what’s the deal with him? What’s his story?”

Bella didn’t seem at all phased by the sudden interest. “Oh, he’s got history. Some shady business, for sure. But he’s... not exactly the kind of guy who would ever mess with you, if you catch my drift. He’s just got this... commanding presence. Like, I can’t help but feel like he’s the kind of guy who would step in and take care of things if they got out of hand.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by Bella’s sudden enthusiasm. “Sounds like your type.”

Bella rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Steph. You’re just jealous because I met him first.”

Steph laughed. “I wouldn’t say jealous. But, damn, it sounds like Benny’s got a few layers to him. So, what’s his deal?”

“His deal is that he’s complicated,” Bella said, taking another scoop of ice cream. “But it’s a good kind of complicated. I think he likes me, but it’s hard to tell. He’s not exactly the type to express his feelings with words. More like actions, if you get what I mean.”

You could see where this was going. “Sounds like trouble.”

“Oh, it is,” Bella agreed without missing a beat. “But, hey, I like trouble. Keeps things interesting.”

Steph shook her head, her amusement clear. “Girl, you’re too much. But I get it. Benny sounds like someone who can handle his own, which is exactly what you want. That’s your jam.”

You sat back, still processing the conversation. It seemed like everyone around you had their own form of chaos and attraction in their lives—whether it was the obvious pull between you and Dean, or Bella’s own flirtations with a mysterious guy named Benny. Maybe you were just getting older, but you couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it all.

But, as the ice cream melted and the show continued on in the background, you allowed yourself a moment of peace. After everything that had happened, the threats, the danger, and the intensity of your life as President, this—this moment of laughter, of comfort, of friendship—was exactly what you needed.

“Alright,” Steph said, breaking the silence. “Enough about us and our interesting love lives. Let’s focus on you, Madam President. You’re due for a serious pampering session. After all, it’s not every day you almost get assassinated.”

The knock on the door was soft, yet distinct, interrupting the moment of calm you had found with Bella and Steph. You sat up from the pillows, glancing over your shoulder at the door, feeling the peaceful moment shift slightly. Bella, who had been intently watching the television, seemed to notice it too, her eyes narrowing with a grin.

“Who’s at the door?” she asked, her voice full of curiosity, as if she already knew the answer.

“I’ll check,” you said, standing up from the bed and wrapping the robe more securely around yourself. It was a loose, white fluffy robe you had put on after your mini pampering session, still feeling its soft comfort as you crossed the room to the door. Your bare feet made no sound on the soft carpet as you walked over.

You opened the door, not expecting much, but what you saw was enough to stop you for a moment.

Dean stood in front of you, leaning against the doorframe, looking… well, as always, impossibly attractive. His broad shoulders were outlined in a black shirt, which clung to his muscles in all the right ways. His stance was casual, but the way his gaze flickered over your body made your breath catch in your throat.

“Uh…” He looked at you, his expression changing from neutral to one of awkwardness, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react. His eyes slowly moved down to take in the sight of you standing there in nothing but your robe, the fluffy material clinging to your frame just enough to remind him of how intimate the situation felt.

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, though you tried to mask it with a casual smile. "Hey, Dean," you greeted, hoping you didn’t sound too flustered. “What’s up?”

Dean shifted on his feet slightly, like he was trying to decide whether or not to step inside or stay outside, the tension palpable between you. "Just checking in," he said, his voice low, almost awkward, as if unsure if he was intruding on something. He looked you over again, his eyes lingering for just a bit longer than usual. "Are you… are you okay?"

You couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze seemed to rove over you, the intensity of it making your heart race. You raised an eyebrow, hoping to keep the situation light. "Yeah, I’m fine," you reassured him, stepping back to let him in, though you couldn’t deny the way your body was reacting to the proximity. “I’m just relaxing a little, taking a break.”

Dean nodded, but he didn’t move any closer. Instead, he stood there, a little stiff, clearly torn between doing his job and maybe wanting to stay a little longer, just to talk or check in. His eyes flickered down to the floor for a second before snapping back up to meet yours. "Good. Just wanted to make sure," he mumbled, clearly not comfortable with the situation, but still trying to be considerate.

Behind you, Bella and Steph were watching the interaction with all the intensity of spectators watching a spicy scene in a movie, their eyes flicking between you and Dean like they were waiting for something to happen. Bella was the first to break the silence, her voice laced with a playful teasing.

“So… looks like someone’s got a visitor,” she said, her tone full of amusement.

You turned your head, realizing what she was hinting at. “Can you not?” you muttered under your breath, a bit embarrassed.

But Bella was relentless. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying it,” she teased further, her eyes shifting between the two of you. “It’s obvious you two have chemistry.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, the sudden realization that Dean was still standing in your doorway, watching everything unfold. You cleared your throat and quickly turned to Dean, smiling awkwardly. “I… I’m sorry about this,” you said, hoping to change the subject before things got even more uncomfortable. “You know how they are.”

Dean’s lips quirked into a tiny smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “No problem,” he said, his tone still a little strained. But you couldn’t help but notice how his eyes lingered on you, how they flickered over your bare arms, the way your robe was falling just slightly off one shoulder.

“Right.” You nodded, shifting on your feet, unsure of what to do with this sudden surge of tension in the room. It was like everything had shifted, and neither of you quite knew how to handle it.

Bella leaned back against the bed, looking far too entertained. “Yeah, sure. No big deal,” she said, clearly enjoying watching the two of you dance around each other. “Nothing to see here, just two people who obviously want to kiss each other already.”

“Bella!” you hissed, your face burning with embarrassment.

Steph, who had been watching silently, suddenly perked up with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, this is getting good. You guys are so obvious.” She leaned forward, clearly enjoying every moment of the interaction. “Come on, what’s the harm in admitting it? We all see it. You two are practically giving off sparks.”

You groaned, turning to Dean for support, but the way he was standing—awkwardly stiff, his gaze not quite meeting yours—told you that he was just as flustered as you were. It was then that you realized you had both been giving off a lot more energy than either of you intended. The sexual tension between you had been growing since he started working for you, but now it felt almost unbearable.

Dean scratched the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well…” He looked at the floor for a second, then back at you. “I should probably… get going.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of disappointment at his words, though you quickly masked it. “Of course,” you said, your voice light but your heart thumping in your chest. “Thanks for checking in, Dean.”

He nodded, still standing in the doorway, looking like he wasn’t sure how to leave. The silence stretched between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, the distance between you feeling far more significant than it should have.

Before he could leave, however, Bella’s voice broke the moment. “Oh, come on, don’t leave so soon,” she called out to him with a teasing grin. “Stick around. You’re welcome to join us, right?”

Dean looked at her, his expression momentarily lost for words, and then he glanced back at you, his eyes softening slightly. You caught that look—a look that, if you were being honest with yourself, made your heart flutter just a bit.

“You know,” he began slowly, his voice quieter than before, “I probably should get going. But maybe… I’ll stop by later?”

You smiled, trying to keep the situation light. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you replied, your voice betraying a little more warmth than you intended.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary before he finally turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Bella let out a dramatic sigh, making a show of fanning herself. “Okay, that was definitely hot,” she said, leaning back into the pillows with a grin that practically screamed satisfaction.

You dropped your head into your hands. “I’m going to die of embarrassment.”

Steph just grinned, clearly not feeling any sympathy for your plight. “Oh, come on. You two are like the most obvious couple I’ve ever seen.”

“Not a couple,” you muttered, still trying to recover from the awkwardness. “Just… two people who have a lot of unresolved tension.”

“Well, that’s basically the same thing,” Bella said, tossing a pillow at you. “And trust me, honey, it’s not just you two noticing it. Everyone can see it.”

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow, wishing for a moment of peace. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s my bodyguard… and he’s, like, way out of my league.”

Steph raised an eyebrow, her tone full of sarcasm. “Out of your league? Please. That man is practically begging for you to make the first move. You think he doesn’t notice how you look at him?”

“I’m not the one checking him out,” you protested weakly.

“Girl, you are so checking him out,” Bella teased, as she reached over and grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream. “But no worries, we’ve got your back. We’ll get you two together. Just wait.”

You sighed deeply, wishing for a distraction. “You guys are impossible.”

“Well, what’s the harm in admitting it?” Bella said with a wicked grin. “You’re both hot as hell, and you’re practically walking around with ‘we want each other’ written all over your faces.”

Steph snorted. “It’s too cute. You guys are so obvious.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the presidential residence, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor of your office. You sat behind your desk, your trusty planner open in front of you as Becky stood to the side, rattling off the day’s itinerary. Her pen tapped against her clipboard, her sharp, efficient tone filling the room.

“All right,” Becky began, flipping a page with practiced ease. “You’ve got a meeting with the Secretary of Energy at nine, then a quick photo op with the ambassador from Sweden at eleven. Lunch is at noon, though I assume you’ll skip eating again.” She gave you a pointed look.

You smirked faintly but didn’t respond.

“After that,” she continued, tapping her pen against the clipboard, “there’s a meeting with the education reform committee, and then—oh, the gardener called in sick. Something about a sprained wrist.”

You paused mid-note, looking up. “The gardener’s off today?”

Becky nodded, her brows knitting together slightly. “Yeah, which means the lawn won’t get mowed, the flowerbeds won’t get watered, and the press will probably have something to say about how the grounds are being ‘neglected.’” Her tone was sarcastic, but her words were pointed. You could already imagine the headlines.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and running a hand through your hair. The lawn might not have been at the top of your priority list, but it mattered enough to make you want to do something about it. The pristine appearance of the grounds was one of those unspoken expectations that came with your role. “We’ll figure something out,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

Becky raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Just add ‘landscaping duties’ to your already-packed schedule, why don’t you?” She flipped another page, moving on. “Anyway, after the education meeting—”

The sound of a light knock interrupted her, and you glanced up to see Dean stepping into the room. He moved with that effortless confidence you’d come to associate with him, though there was always an undercurrent of alertness in his stride. His sharp eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, his voice deep and steady, “but I wanted to check in before the meeting with Energy.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. “You’re not interrupting. Becky was just going over today’s schedule.”

Dean nodded, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was as steadying as always, though there was something about the way he watched you—like he was always two steps ahead, ready to act at a moment’s notice. It was reassuring, in a way.

You closed your planner with a soft thud and looked up at him. “Actually, there’s something you might be able to help with.”

He tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“The gardener’s off sick,” you explained, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “Which means the lawn won’t get mowed, and the flowerbeds won’t get watered.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re worried about the lawn?”

You shrugged, a small laugh escaping you. “Not worried, exactly, but I’d rather avoid giving the press another reason to complain.”

He considered this for a moment, then straightened up. “I can handle it.”

You blinked, taken aback. “You?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, his casual tone making it sound like no big deal. “I’ve mowed a lawn before, you know. Not exactly rocket science.”

Becky let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re telling me Dean Winchester, ex-hitman turned presidential bodyguard, is going to play gardener?”

Dean shot her a dry look. “I’ve done worse jobs.” Then he turned back to you, his expression softening slightly. “Seriously, I don’t mind. It’s not like I’ve got much else to do when you’re in meetings all day.”

You hesitated, torn between practicality and the sheer absurdity of the image that had just popped into your head—Dean, mowing the presidential lawn in his usual no-nonsense way. It was almost too surreal to imagine.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, though a small smile was starting to tug at your lips. “It feels a little... beneath your pay grade.”

Dean smirked. “What, you think I’m too good for yard work?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, laughing lightly. “You’re kind of overqualified.”

He leaned against the desk slightly, his grin widening. “Let me guess—you don’t think I can handle it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” he said, straightening up again. “Because I’ll have it done before your lunch meeting. You won’t even notice.”

Becky shook her head, clearly baffled but amused. “This is officially the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I started working here.”

Dean ignored her, his attention still focused on you. “Consider it handled,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. Then he turned and left, leaving you sitting there with a mix of amusement and curiosity swirling in your chest.

The hum of the lawnmower floated through the open windows of your office as you glanced up from your desk. Dean had offered to take care of the lawn when you mentioned the gardener was off sick. It was a kind gesture, and you’d laughed softly at the mental image of your ruggedly handsome bodyguard mowing the pristine presidential lawn.

Now, though, curiosity got the better of you. With a quiet sigh, you set your pen down and stepped toward the window. The curtains fluttered in the breeze, and as you pulled them back, your breath caught.

There he was, Dean Winchester, pushing the lawnmower with ease, his strong arms flexing with each step. His dark t-shirt clung to his shoulders and back, soaked with a light sheen of sweat from the sun beating down on him. The way he moved was hypnotic, the grace of his steps belying the fact that he was wielding a piece of heavy machinery.

You told yourself it was simple admiration for his work ethic. That you were just impressed by how effortlessly he took on any task. But when he stopped the mower, pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, and tossed it onto a nearby chair before grabbing the garden hose, your thoughts betrayed you.

Dean stood there in the sunlight, shirtless, droplets of sweat glistening on his chest and abs as he twisted the nozzle of the hose. You couldn’t stop staring. His muscles rippled as he adjusted the water pressure, the casual, unselfconscious way he moved making it impossible to look away. His jeans hung low on his hips, a dusting of grass clippings clinging to his legs, and you swore you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Enjoying the show?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Bella’s voice. Turning quickly, you saw her and Steph standing in the doorway, matching mischievous grins on their faces. Bella held up a pair of binoculars and wiggled them teasingly.

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Steph asked, crossing her arms as she sidled up to the window. “Ridiculously right, you mean. That man is straight out of a Wattpad story, and you know it.”

You tried to play it cool, stepping back from the window and giving them both a pointed look. “He’s just mowing the lawn.”

Bella snorted. “And I suppose he’s shirtless for practical reasons?”

“He’s watering the garden now,” Steph added, peeking through the binoculars. “And damn, is it getting steamy out there.”

You tried to hold your ground, but their playful commentary was impossible to ignore. Bella nudged your shoulder with the binoculars. “Come on, admit it. You were checking him out.”

“I was not,” you lied, crossing your arms defensively.

Steph gave you a look. “Uh-huh. Sure. Look, we get it. He’s a literal walking thirst trap. If I had a bodyguard like that, I’d be weak in the knees every time he said ‘good morning.’”

“I don’t—” You started, but Bella cut you off with a knowing smirk.

“Relax,” she said, handing you the binoculars. “We’re just saying what you’re too proud to admit. Now, go on, have a look. We won’t judge.”

Against your better judgment, you took the binoculars. Just for a second, you told yourself. Just long enough to prove them wrong.

When you raised them to your eyes, the detail was… unfair. Dean had switched to watering the flowerbeds, standing with one hand on his hip as the other directed the stream of water over the delicate blooms. His expression was relaxed, almost thoughtful, as if he were contemplating something far deeper than the task at hand. The sunlight caught the droplets of water spraying into the air, and for a brief moment, it looked like he was standing in a golden mist.

“Wow,” Steph murmured from beside you. “Even through binoculars, that man is fine.”

Bella leaned in, her grin widening. “See? Wattpad story.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, lowering the binoculars and shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Oh, we’re impossible?” Bella teased. “You’re the one ogling your bodyguard like it’s a scene from Magic Mike: Presidential Edition.”

Steph clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s good. I’d buy tickets to that movie.”

You groaned again, but this time it was more amused than exasperated. Bella and Steph had a way of making even the most mortifying situations feel lighthearted, and despite their relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny that they had a point. Dean was… distracting, to say the least.

“Okay, fine,” you admitted, setting the binoculars on your desk. “Maybe I looked. A little.”

Bella and Steph exchanged triumphant high-fives.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” you added quickly. “He’s my bodyguard, not—”

“Not your soulmate? Your future husband? The leading man in your personal rom-com?” Steph finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

Bella laughed. “You’re just in denial. It’s fine, we’ll be here when you’re ready to admit it.”

Before you could respond, a knock at the door drew your attention. All three of you froze, and for a second, you feared that somehow, impossibly, Dean had heard everything.

“Come in,” you called, trying to sound casual.

The door opened, and there he was, standing in the doorway, still shirtless and holding the coiled garden hose in one hand. His eyes scanned the room, landing on you for a moment before flicking to Bella and Steph.

“Just checking in,” he said, his voice low and slightly rough. “Everything okay?”

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah. All good.”

His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer, and you swore his eyes dipped briefly to the curve of your collarbone, exposed by the loose neckline of your blouse. Your skin felt warm under his scrutiny, and you fought the urge to fidget.

“Cool,” he said after a moment, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As he turned to leave, Bella and Steph watched him go with unabashed interest. When the door clicked shut behind him, Bella let out a low whistle.

“That man,” she said, “is going to be the death of you.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Tell me about it.”

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

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

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[ithinkhobiknows]

Top 5 Jake in love with Amy moments and Top 5 Amy in love with Jake moments

BESTIE THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG POST

TOP 5 JAKE IN LOVE WITH AMY MOMENTS (not in order)

THE FUNERAL: this is sort of obvious, Jake was ready to give up his job just so he can be with Amy even though they had been in a relationship for 6 days??? he was definitely in love with her and just wanted to be with her

CHASING AMY: this entire episode he was such a supportive boyfriend,him setting up practice tests for her,remembering all the little things about her, the callback to the bet episode where we find out that Jake has been in love with her since the the bet ep, Jake saying that she can't be afraid of being successful because she's too good for that??? Amazing. Spectacular. So in love with his Ames.

THE FUGITIVE PART 1 : the line "your happiness is way more important to me than winning some stupid bet" just shows how much he cares/loves about her

Also the fact that he started reading Harry Potter only because Amy liked them so much is also just amazing.

TRYING: "Amy we are a family, you and me" NEED I SAY MORE HE IS SO IN LOVE

HALLOVEEN: this is also pretty obvious. The only thing that kept him sane through his prison experience was planning for the heist which we know is a proposal to Amy! The scene in locker room where Jake is handcuffed and Amy is going on about how she knows him so well that he has lost the ability to surprise her, then later on the in the episode he surprises her by proposing? Him admitting that she is the best detective? Even though we know from an episode in season 1 (Operation: Broken Feather) he has always considered Amy as the better detective!!! Kudos to the writers for giving us such a perfect episode.

+ special mentions

MAXIMUM SECURITY: I'm sorry his line, "I'm the one that's not tough enough to be in here watching the woman I love,unarmed,locked up with all these murderers, it's just too much for me" yeah. YEAH. Jake peralta did that. I loved the fact that Jake didn't make Amy take herself off the case but he took himself out of the situation as he was the one who was not able to handle seeing her in danger.

HE SAID,SHE SAID: this episode though. Jake learning that Amy's previous captain thought he deserved something after he helped her become a detective? His reactions in the scene were so good, I could feel the anger, pain, sadness radiating off of him through the screen. Him watching a netflix documentary on feminism? YES PLS.

ALSO THE FACT THAT HE JUST KNOWS WHATS THE RIGHT THING TO DO AFTER HE LOOKS AT HER FACE? EVERYTHING THAT SEEMED SO COMPLICATED BECOMES EASY?

TOP 5 AMY IN LOVE WITH JAKE MOMENTS:

GREG AND LARRY: Amy was spiraling the entire plane ride wondering if Jake is safe or not. Her worrying on what if she doesn't get to say I love you SO MUCH. she is very in love with him your honour.

THE CRUISE: Amy being the first one to say I love you? Amazing. Her helping Jake to try to catch Judy this entire episode, she could have just told Jake to ignore him but she knows how important this is to Jake so she helps him.

THE GOLDEN CHILD: the way she is so protective of him also the line "I spent my whole life trying to beat David at something,but when you were I'm danger, I just didn't care anymore. All I wanted was for you to be ok" she loves him so much :)

HONEYMOON: how she stood up against Holt when he called Jake selfish? Season 1 Amy could never. Jake being like I don't wanna get mad right now because he knows Amy is worried about Holt bUT then Amy is like screw that. So yeah a top tier moment.

THE BET: I know this was the episode where Jake fell in love with Amy but I think this episode also showed us just how much she knows,cares,respects Jake. Also the look she has on her face when she finds out Jake could have called for the night shift team to handle the stakeout and continue his plan of embarrassing her BUT HE DIDNT. So yes. She is very in love with him and she is also very in denial about it in this episode.

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT: the fact that she was willing to wait for like what 14 years??? The fact that she won't give up on him and would continue fighting against Lt. Hawkins. If that's not being in love with someone I don't know what is.

+ special mentions

SHE DOUBLE TUCKED FOR HIM

BOYLE-LINETTI WEDDING: she appreciated the fact that Jake was willing to help her out with her case even though he didn't need to. The look between Jake and Amy at the end of this episode was just a chef's kiss.

A MOMENT FOR BOTH JAKE AND AMY BEING IN LOVE WITH EACHOTHER:

THE LAST DAY PART 2: the fact that they are willing to do anything for each other. Them in the last two episodes hit different. You can see how much they have grown and made each other better over the years and yeah Jake willing to take a step back from work and being ready to take care of Mac so that Amy can achieve her dream? Amy saying that he doesn't have to do that cause she knows how much he loves his job,her always being surprised by how sure of everything he is? Little does she know it's because of her ;)

So yes, that concludes my rant about these two idiots being head over heels for each other.

[teatitty]

Sparbossa Brainrot Part 3: At The End

I truly did not think Black Pearl by itself would need three parts this is a daunting look into my future but oh well here we go! This is also the final part for the Black Pearl movie we did it lads!

I keep forgetting to point this out but Jack and Barbossa both have the same plait at the back of their head so there's some food for thought. Of course Jack's is thicker because he has thicker hair but still

"What the Black Pearl really is...is freedom" chalk this up as a line that hits different once you see the deleted scenes that explain some of his backstory

And the Pearl signifying freedom is why Barbossa himself is constantly after her. Freedom is what he and Jack crave most of all, it's what drives them to seek the immortality; freedom of life, freedom to choose, freedom to chart their own course - their own fate and destiny. So alike and yet so different...

Here's the thing about this drinking scene with Elizabeth: Jack's not actually comfortable flirting with her. When he's making "passes" at her he stumbles over the words and even seems to swallow back bile and you can't claim it's the drink because you can see he's perfectly sober - well, sober enough - when talking of the Pearl just a few seconds earlier and then here. This side eye at Elizabeth as she pulls the "I'm not drunk enough for this kind of talk. To freedom!" thing? Yeah he knows she's lying and is suuuuuper suspicious about it but he doesn't care enough right now to say anything either so he lets it slide

Elizabeth burning all the rum being the closest Jack has gotten to using his one shot meant for Barbossa is so msdfert like objectively this means he considers losing rum as severe as being betrayed by his bestie and I want you all to sit on that revelation for a bit

I'm just saying that only a man who has been married in the past would say this the way Jack does. Elizabeth reminds him far too much of Barbossa I’m going to keep repeating it same as I will keep repeating that Will reminds Barbossa too much of Jack

"I will try everything to get back to my Pearl and that cunt Barbossa if its the last thing I fucking do". Rip to Norrington because within a year this man ruins everything for him lmao

Fascinating look, also, into how Jack cannot deal well with people who put personal honour above personal wants. Biggest "the fuck?" moment of Jack's life so far

More of Bill’s friendship with Jack!

They reveal, of course, that Barbossa specifically didn't take too well to Bill's continued loyalty to Jack and it was Barbossa himself who sent Bill to the depths. But Pintel and Ragetti, at least, can find the humour in their situation

Jack's plan could've seriously worked here if only Norrington actually listened to him and Barbossa didn't see right through him

Also just pointing out Norrington's smirk here as Jack continues talking you homosexually repressed fool. Really wish I could catch Jack's little head tilt when he drops the "Mrs Commodore" line because he truly is the cat that caught the canary in these moments

We do enjoy a smug little bastard

Definition of "are you KIDDING me right now!?"

When your ex literally will not leave you alone and you're convinced you might be haunted. Barbossa is so sick of seeing Jack at this point he's just skipping everything to get straight to murder and Jack has the gall to look offended by this. "I came all this way to see you, love, why are you being so mean to me"

Once again we see Barbossa, despite everything, still gets drawn to Jack's words, still lets that curiousity get the better of him. Mutiny, betrayal, mutual manipulation, ten years' worth of bad blood and he still can't resist listening to Sparrow. Curse him and his affections for the man, aye?

Jack slapping Bo'sun's hand off his shoulder so he can get up to the chest and his ex, love to see it. Treating being held in place like a mild irritant

This is a face that reads "You didn't bring the Navy here ... son of a bitch"

There is truly no need for Barbossa to have his leg up on the chest like this he's literally only doing it to get a literal leg up on Jack because he's simply that petty. And here is Jack. Playing to his old friends vanity and greed

And Barbossa gives a squint here. A twitch of the eyes. Oh he believes Jack, certainly, at least about the dauntless and the navy, but he doesn't trust the intentions behind it. Jack's too good at planning. That’s what he doesn't trust

And he knows Jack would never sail under another man's colours. But he looks tempted, doesn't he? The title of Commodore, having two ships, having Jack under his command if only for a little while before they inevitably fucked eachother over again... but he's still figuring out Jack's angle here

He's correct that Jack doesn't want Will to die. He's no fool after all

Jack turns to Will as he says "Wait until the opportune moment" and Barbossa catches that. His eyes flit from Will back to Jack, working out the angle, trying to see what's being planned. So Jack diverts his attention back by using the gold as a visual aid and talking about what Barbossa would love to do; kill Norrington's men

There's a stare down between them. Barbossa trying to see the lie, the betrayal sure to come, and Jack keeping himself as stoic as possible, closed off to the piercing look

He's won over, in the end, and we get more of the "married couple arguments". It brings back our hat symbolism and discussion from before and by god you can't deny how much they're enjoying this, this familiar banter between them, Jack bringing up Barbossa's love of a good hat, implying that Barbossa likely had his current one from even before the mutiny and Jack just let him keep it. Such a simple, subtle thing, but this exchange... hah. The more you think about it the more depressing it becomes really

Jack: I'll sail under your colours Also Jack: takes command Also also Jack: S H I T

Jack realising he is not as in control as he first thought and may have fucked up a little bit because haha remember this is your old bestie and he's way too good at seeing through you. There was no way he was gonna listen to that boats idea

Barbossa literally got cursed bc of this treasure and here Jack is touching it anyway. Once a pirate always a pirate

I just want to appreciate Barbossa sitting on that mountain of gold like a king

Hey guess whats back in the background! Low threatening music as Barbossa says this! Because he's still not buying any of Jack's bullshit and is waiting for the other shoe to drop

This quote has lived in my head ever since I first heard it as a child and the whole time Barbossa is tracking Jack across the room, paying no mind to Will at all

As far as he's concerned Jack is the danger, not Will Turner, and that is why Jack doing something stupid works so well. Barbossa is half expecting what Jack does

What he isn't expecting is for the sword to get thrown at Will

And we get the best sword fight, imo, of the whole movie! Jack vs Barbossa, both evenly matched for different reasons and Jack cutting Barbossa's feather with a cute little "hah-hah!"

Then immediately having to go on the defensive because Barbossa gets pissed about it lol

Homoerotic sword fights my beloved

Here's a fun thing: Barbossa chooses to throw his sword aside once he kicks Jack to the ground instead of stabbing him and when he says "you can't beat me, Jack!" he also drops his arms to his sides, as if wanting Jack to simply give up. Maybe he was more taken with the thought of Jack sailing for him than he'd let on hm?

What’s gayer than stabbing your undead ex?

Getting stabbed in return

New mic drop moment! Debatable if Jack's expression of disbelief and betrayal here is just acting or not imo but hey props to him for selling it well!

Hector truly cannot believe this shit he's seeing

"That's interesting" and Barbossa is just. Stuck in sheer disbelief. His anger after this is for a few reasons. 1) Now he can't kill Jack. Real bummer. 2) Jack is enjoying this and Barbossa can't see why given the hell its brought him and 3) now he needs two bits of blood to break the damn curse. Fuck his life

Augh the homoerotic tension of it all it's truly unmatched by anything. Also Jack knocked Barbossa into a pillar and right after that you hear him say "sorry!" when he gets chased lmao

Heh. Here's the real kicker though; they're both still enjoying this. This shot right here? Barbossa is laughing as he chases Jack around this cavern

I'm telling you man there's just something about these in sync head turns that they do together

IM BANGING MY FISTS OVER THESE HEAD TURNS I AM FORCING YOU TO SEE HOW IN SYNC THEY ACTUALLY ARE .THEY GET DISTRACTED BY THE SAME EXPLOSIONS, THEY KEEP DOING THIS, ITS A RECURRING THING THEY'RE SO SCREAMS

Anyway Barbossa saw Jack throw the coin and Jack knows it and this whole meta situation started purely because I wanted to break down this scene. Barbossa's death

The standoff, the tension, Barbossa looking right at Jack as he levels the gun at Elizabeth and then looking at him again when the shot goes off because nobody else has a pistol but them. Jack's silent, steely look, the lack of emotion on his face. Nothing but cold, merciless revenge

Barbossa's line. I told you before, he knew Jack was carrying that same pistol for ten years just for him. He wasn't told so by anyone. But he knew. Without a shadow of a fucking doubt he knew

And he thinks he's won; thinks Jack has wasted his shot, thinks he still has all the power and control here. But he doesn't

He sees that now, thanks to Will, and look at Jack in the back, still pointing the pistol, unmoving. And it's him Hector faces in those last moments. It's Jack who gets to see that last ironic smile on his face, it's Jack whom the words are for. Jack whom he bares his bleeding heart

And it's only now that Jack drops his aim. But look at him. Does this look a man who is happy at getting revenge? Do you see relief instead of exhaustion? Joy instead of shock?

These words are meant for Jack. He speaks them to Jack. And the music isn't triumphant, it isn't heroic; it's sad and tragic because their story, their friendship, their love, platonic or otherwise, was a tale that was sad and tragic and mutiny or not - betrayal or not - Jack just killed his closest, dearest friend

He watches Hector fall. The apple is untouched. Hector does not get his freedom, he doesn't get his to sate his hunger after a decade of starvation

He just dies. But he dies with the shadow of a smile, because there's irony to this, isn't there? That he should be killed by the very man he left to die himself. That he should be killed by Captain Jack Sparrow; his only real friend, despite it all

Hector is dead. He's won. Yet Jack is...throwing away the treasures. He keeps very little of it, truly, and you can hear it getting smashed up as he throws it all aside. Because what's the point of keeping all this treasure without the man he'd planned to share with it all those years ago at his side? This treasure must be cursed for what it did to them both

The only treasure he tries to keep for himself is jewellery, a goblet and what looks to be an urn. The crown, of course, is a suitable replacement for his signature hat

Now for some of my own goofyness to lighten the mood somewhat in that yes I am believing that this is not Jack actually talking about Elizabeth but rather Barbossa and he is only saying it to her because she reminds him so strongly of Hector

I'm going to end this all on the lighter funnier note of Jack caressing The Pearl like one would a lover and having the mortifying realisation that he's outed himself as a freak to everyone here

Thank you all for joining me on this journey, I hope at the very least I got you to scream about the death scene! I love you and good night!

[permanentreverie]

Heyyyyyy bestie!

Occasionally, I have the desire to pop onto Tumblr and attempt to relight the candle within me that still loves this hellsite and longs to return, and apparently this is one of those times. So tonight, I decided to come into your inbox and ask you a random question like old times,,,,, pray to god the ask doesn’t get eaten by the tumblr gods, depraved though the may be,,,,, anyway, here’s a thought, perhaps inspired by my impending SKZ concert (still screaming, crying, throwing up, wanting to eat glass, and commit murder over such a statement. Can you BELIEVE it’s actually gonna happen!!!! This isn’t just the fangirl pipe dream it usually is!!!!):

If you could attend any concert (past, present; not even currently in the works, outside of the majesty of your imagination), what would it be?? But like,,,, top 5 concerts because I know you have too much love in your heart to ever possibly choose just one <3

Also, I’m still exploring ATEEZ but I think it vital you know that I was seriously considering just making hongjoong my bias today and sticking by it, and then I found out,,,,,, he’s the shortest member of ATEEZ,,,,,, it was a joke I love my short kings, but idk how much of a joke it truly IS, anymore. I can’t deny the facts that beyond Namjoon, all my biases are the short ones,,,,,,,

Oh, lol, I forgot to share at least some of my ideal concerts:

Bastille for All This Bad Blood and/or Doom Days

5SOS for Youngblood and/or CALM

BTS for literally anything ever (they could make music with those free sound effects you can use for video editing and I would eat it up 😤😤)

Coldplay for Viva La Vida or Death and All of His Friends

Dvicio for literally any album/era post 2016. (I just haven’t given Justo Ahora enough plays to really get into it the way I currently get down to Impulso, Qué Tienes Tú, and EL LABERINTO)

Special shout out to Hozier, Depeche Mode, The Rose, Backstreet Boys, Billy Joel, Panic! At The Disco, and ONEUS <3. They would also be a dream, but I gotta prioritize at some point, and I might as well mention the less attainable concerts first 😭 rip to my favorite eras of these bands and/or the fact that they’ll never tour by me (dvicio come closer than Mexico City challenge,,,,, it’s hard enough to convince me to cross state lines,,,,)

ma'am I am blessing you kissing you tenderly for sending me this, I have been pondering this these past few days and I'm honestly just getting salty that no artist wants to come to Canada, let alone my province rip. Without further ado, here are my Top 5 Concerts:

BTS (I would agree I would literally not care whatever era, for whatever setlist, but if I have to be 100% honest I'd kill to go to their Love Yourself tour, every fancam I've seen, every performance we've gotten filmed, I NEED!)

Taylor Swift - Eras Tour (there still might be a chance for me to attend. Please miss blondie release the international dates I will commit crime to get hands on tickets)

Agust D (can you believe Yoongi is going on a world tour and going to like 10 countries. Askjfs I get it with his enlistment and all and we're for sure getting concert clips but I WANT TO BE IN THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS!!! Plus I'm 90% we're gonna get Tony Montana with Jimin and I would and will go insane when that happens)

Seventeen - Be The Sun Tour (I got legit post concert depression when this ended and I didn't even attend

Twenty One Pilots - The Bandito Tour (bruh I sooo should have caved and got tickets back in 2018. Every single time I listen to Trench - one of my favourite albums of all time - I constantly think of how amazing it would be to hear live. and then I die a little inside knowing I'll never get the chance)

honourable mentions are: Coldplay, Conan Gray, the 1975, Arctic Monkeys, ONE OK ROCK, Nothing But Thieves, Hozier, NF (again), Stray Kids, The Rose, Bastille, The Weeknd, 5SOS, Chase Atlantic, Panic! At The Disco

[vibin-in-the-void]

I love the enter button it's so nice. also the tab button. they're besties your honour. HONOUR!!!!!!!! they're so useful hewb you know how to use the n, like you can ioeb fuked using th enter ket in the files thingy. I also love task manager its so fun, MURDER THE PROGRAMS THAT ARE NOT RESPONDING YEEEEEEEESSS MUAHAHAHAHA!!!

anyways yep tab and enter enter and tab they are very nice

I barely use my mouse or touchpad bc I can use the entetr key and tab ket yo uo move arounf the cereeen