#oh man oh man i'm so EXCITED i mean i'm not. excited for you to get to the end ksjflksdj but
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Jikook came home
God, how I missed this.
How I miss them!!
Before getting into the whole JM post followed by the cute-flirty interaction that followed, I will take this opportunity in congratulating both JM and JK for their MAMA awards achievements.
JM winning Daesang fans choice of the year.🎉🎉
JK winning top 10 fans choice, best male artist and best dance performance (SNTY).🎉🎉
JM being the sweetheart that he is came to us with a lengthy post to thank Army for voting and receiving a Daesang.
There are a couple of nuanced differences in some of the translations, but all in all, they are pretty much on the same page.
The main difference I've seen is the translation of this part:
벙벙 벙벙 벙벙벙벙벙
Being it "dumbfounded" or "stunned" or "bemused".
I think this probably captures it best:
And then we had JK....
Who was most likely sitting there right by JM's side, the speed of their back and forth being one of the indications to that (we are talking within seconds here), not to mention patterns of past behaviour with those two.
Do we discuss for a second the Weverse translation of the discussion?
Like wtf? 🤣🤣
Ok, so the actual translation would be:
Insert the word of bemusement of your choice I guess, lol. But basically we have JM telling us he's stunned/dumbfounded and mainly happy and then that back and forth between those two right in front of our salads.
Oh, and can someone explain the @JK to me please? I mean, I get JM @JK -ing when posting his replies, but why the hell is JK @JK -ing when posting his replies to JM?🤣🤣
The way those two keep doing this shit (in such a good way, may I add) is just absolutely and utterly hilarious.
This whole exchange gives me these vibes:
And Idk why, but this interaction came straight to mind as well when I saw this back and forth between them...
Take those two and combine them and then picture that in mind with this back and forth going on:
Oh, and do I mention that obviously they had access to Internet, enough to have this back and forth between them, while both in the same place, and JK preferring to flirt in our faces with JM rather than post himself about his wins, which I can assure you he knew of. You know how it is when you don't want to take away from your boyfriend's thunder...
Maybe we'll hear from him later on maybe not, but this was about JM, his win, his moment, his post, his excitement.
And JK CANNOT miss out on a little teasing-flirtatious banter with his man, now can he?
Let's back track for one moment, because I do want to talk about JM inserting JK into his post. I do believe this is going to be a new standard/constant/reality. You know, the "me and JK"/ "JK and I" or "me and JM"/"JM and I". That very natural way of inserting one another in their interactions/conversations with us. Now, don't get me wrong, this is not a new thing what so ever. They have been doing this since forever. But I do think that it's going to become more of a constant and less of a "OMG, he mentioned JK/JM" moment for us. They have shown us for years, but more so over the past year, just how important they are to each other, but even more so, just how intertwined their lives are with one another. They literally could not even part ways to do their military service!! Choosing to spend those 18 months together, even if it meant having to endure much harsher conditions and a much more difficult service as a whole. All to be able to be together. With each other. What I'm saying is that I do think we will be getting so much more of "US" from those two.
Openly and proudly.
US.
One last thing, and again this is either Jikook coincidence or kismet or maybe not too much of a coincidence and more of a conscious decision, but JM's post yesterday, 23 Nov 2024, was posted on the year mark of Jikook leaving for their oh so very special and emotionally charged Japan trip, 23 Nov 2023.
💜💜💜
Coincidence or not, we got Jikook back then, and after radio silence from those two for such a long time, we got Jikook yesterday again!!!
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Biggest Fan Pt 1 - CL16
Requested by @nina-or-anna-or-nora "Heyy!! 💕 I saw you were asking some requests so I have one for an Smau!! (If you want to do it ofc) I was thinking about the reader being kinda like Sabrina or Olivia (a performer) and then Charles being like her biggest fan🤭just a super cute fluffy thing and he goes to every show he can or posts her and stuff🥹"
AN - Had so much fun writing this SMAU for you! Don't be afraid to send in requests that aren't apart of the Pizza Menu! I love Sabrina but I'm not a die hard fan so I have no idea how many outfit changes she has or the order she performs so if it's a little messed up I apologize! Also LMK if you wanna see me do this with more drivers and make it a little series of the drivers being head over heels for their girl friend!
Summary: Just Charles being in love with Y/N... and basically everyone in the F1 community!
Charles insta stories over the fall break
Twitter
Charles instagram
Liked by landonorris, youruser, carlossainz, and 2,090,513 others
charlesleclerc We're ready for you Austin ft. Y/N and all the fan gifted hats that will make an appearance this weekend tagged carlossainz and youruser
user5 I love how he makes a post for work and still finds a way to get Y/N in there
user6 your honor... it's them. It's always them!
youruser I'm ready to be back in my home soil!
user7 I constantly forget our girl is from the US charlesleclerc you mean MY girl user8 Charles will never learn to share charlesleclerc not when it comes to MY Y/N youruser alright calm it down you charlesleclerc yes maam
user9 I hate feeling single but I do love you guys!
carlossainz Will I ever get a post with just us?
user10 Carlos... they're a package deal user11 If I don't expect anything less, you shouldn't either youruser damn... catching strays carlossainz Y/N I thought we were friends!
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Your insta story
user12 how does it feel to be living my dream
carlossainz he's been smiling at his phone for 10 minutes because you posted him
youruser I love knowing he loves me as much as I love him
user13 his eyes
charlesleclerc that's one lucky man
youruser he really is!
user14 I love the way you guys love each other
landonorris you guys disgust me with how cute you are together
youruser you wish this was you huh? landonorris I miss when you were to shy to interact with us... kinda a meanie youruser you'll learn to survive
Twitter
your Instagram
Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbff, oliviarodrigo, and 3,092,172 others
youruser Thanks for the warm welcome home... see you in a few weeks for Vegas!
Look for a surprise tomorrow around noon YeeHaw time!
charlesleclerc Ooooo I wanna know the surprise
user18 I can't believe I have notifications on and Charles is still here before me
charlesleclerc you snooze you lose! gotta be quicker than that! youruser love you need to be a bit nicer! user18 no this is on me... I should know no matter how much I love you Charles just loves you that much more! user19 I'm sobbing at this! Charles is so unhinged when it comes to Y/N
landonorris Can I also know the surprise
charlesleclerc NO!
user20 YeeHaw time is SENDING me! For anyone confused she's talking about CST
user21 THANK YOU! It makes so much sense now that you've explained but as a non F1 Y/N fan I didn't realize she was in Texas haha
user22 I love their height difference. I forget just how SMALL Y/N is.
Your Insta Story
charlesleclerc I can't wait to watch you!!
user23 HOLY SHIT! I can't fucking wait!
user24 omg! I'm so excited for this!!
landonorris: I hope you have a ticket saved with my name on it!
youruser: I do including the rest of the grid... spread the word pleaseeee
user25: Oh to be in the US rn to experience this concert! I just know it's gonna be amazing
Twitter
Charles Insta story during the show
Max's Insta story during the show
Youruser: Max! hahaha you had me cracking up in the first slide... then tearing up through laughter in the second. Thank you so much for finding time in your title fight to support!
maxverstappen1: I wouldn't have missed it! Had to see what all the hype was about. Please invite me again
Grid Members Stories (Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Yuki, Liam, Franco)
#formula 1#f1#f1 x you#f1 imagine#formula 1 x you#formula one imagines#f1 smut#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#cl16 x you#cl16 one shot#cl16 fic#CL16 SMAU#Charles leclerc smau#formula 1 smau#f1 smau#formula one smau#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 fic
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Raised You Better
My son Jasper was a good kid. He was a star soccer player in school and got a scholarship to play in college, so I only saw him on holidays. I missed him so much and looked forward to our quarterly reunions.
Well that was until his most recent visit. He was being so distant and when I finally inquired why he was acting differently, he finally admitted he actually dropped out to pursue being a personal trainer.
I was shocked. He's always been a model child and did all me and my husband expected of him. Maybe it was all our time away working? Maybe I should've been home more instead of being at the lab. It felt like a punch in the gut. I mean sure he knew what he was doing thanks to all his time training for soccer but that's not a way to build a life?
My husband and I did it right. We met in college and supported each other through our advanced degrees and worked our way up in an international pharmaceutical company. Personal training is just so...surface level. He's supposed to be better than us. That's what you want for your children. No no no this is no good. I'll have to set him on the right path.
I knew of a special program at work that was rooted in natural medicine and meditation with a mad science twist. I set up Jasper with the "Sports Nutrition" department at work but it was actually our new experiment. It looked like a TENS muscle stimulator on crack. Several wires shot out of a relatively large dark grey box with a screen and several sliders on one side. I sat connected on the other side of the wall connected with the pads all over the top of my head. All I had to do was wait for Jasper to get hooked up. We sold it to him as a scientific way to curb cravings for sweets and unhealthy things, like an ozempic shot for the brain. In reality, I was told that the machine would take positive attributes from one source and strengthen them in the weaker mind.
I saw the lights flicker and anticipated that he had already been hooked up to the machine. I just laid back and rested while focusing on the importance of getting a quality education. Eventually, I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again it was all so groggy. But I was sitting facing the opposite direction. I lifted my arms to wipe my eyes and gasped when I looked down. My boobs were gone and replaced with sizable mounds of muscle escaping a tiny white tank top. My arms and thick thighs now filled with tattoos....no?! This isn't supposed to be how it works
I told the lab techs who I am and that I was actually Meredith. They both looked at each other spooked but judiciously jotting down notes. After answering a few security questions, they agreed to believe that I was indeed not Jasper and it must be an unforseen side effect from the treatment.
That's when they explained the problem....When my body woke up, it also said it was Meredith. Could the experiment have basically overwritten the memory of my son with my own? I felt like I basically killed my own child. Grief swept over me. But then so did a bravado, a confidence, a giddiness? The two lab techs handed me a towel as they shyly avoided looking down at a tent forming in my shorts. Oh I guess the excitement led to a physical response.
In theory I get it as a scientist. I did in fact instill positive traits on my son. Granted, that also erased him seemingly. But also it's a chance at a new life full of new experiences. I'm a man now. And what a man indeed. I walked into the shower facility at the lab. I took off the outfit Jasper donned to the lab, if I was still a woman it'd be called skimpy and slutty. Tiny shorts with underwear built in and a virtually see through tank top. In two swift moves, I had taken everything off. I had seen my son naked as a child but this is different. He looked so much like his father....well I guess I looked so much like MY dad now. His genetics graced me well as I placed one hand on my pecs and another on my new dick. I squeezed both recoiling from the newfound pleasure. This was wrong right? Like I shouldn't be doing this....I felt disgusted with myself. No. This is for the betterment of Jasper's life. I'm going to let go of my past life....I'm Jasper now.
And what a life it will be. Years of playing sport and training, whew. I wasn't going to let him throw it away, I'll let it be a side job, maybe I'll own a business with a bunch of trainers under me but I won't be hustling like that. Not yet. I gotta learn the new me. I used my hands to trace the curves of each new tattoo, then moved on to each muscle. I poked and prodded before squeezing, then I remembered I had business to attend to. I took one hand and gently took hold of the warm fleshy rod under the steamy water pulsing down onto me. I pumped back and forth for a few minutes. Jasper was not sensitive at all...I shoved aside my reservations and gripped myself firmer and began jerking harder and faster. Eventually I introduced my other hand....oh he was girthy in the best way. I mean I am thick in the best ways. Harder and faster, it felt like I was floating outside of myself as my muscles took over almost like autopilot.
The steam radiated off my new musculature when it felt like I saw a flash of light. Shot after shot came out of my new rod. The lab walls had likely never seen a show like this but I was happy to christen them. The autopilot kinky thoughts continued to take over my new mind and body. I squatted down an licked the nearest wall as my cum dripped down. I knew Jasper was queer but I didn't know how he would respond to this kind of kink. I think he was a little freak because there was not one single butterfly in my stomach from this action. I quickly toweled off and headed to my apartment. I figured "Meredith" could find her way home.
The apartment smelled like a young male in college. A musk twirled around sweat and strong cologne. Foreign to me, but familiar to my new body. I couldn't control myself and ripped my clothes off...literally. My strength made it obscenely easy to tear them off in ways they weren't intended to. I wanted to try on all my new clothes. This body made everything look good.
My phone buzzed. It was one of "my" bros asking if I was coming down to the shoot. I played it off like I forgot and asked him to send me the "deets" again.
I threw on the nearest random shirt and bottoms and made my way to the warehouse address given. I guess "I" had agreed to help with the photoshoot to launch "our" new clothing line. A nearby table had Jasper's name on it and I quickly assumed the position taking off all my clothes and putting the skimpy clothing on. I channeled my new swagger as my bros began taking pics.
Oh I think I'm gonna like this. Hopefully I can find a cute twink or something soon. I really wanna put these thighs to work plowing someone's son or two.
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han jisung and yn being absolutely in love with each other for 5 minutes — [1.3m views]
description. Cute moments caught on camera between han and yn
tags. f!reader, gidle!reader, maknae!reader, use of yn, gidle has a video with skz of competition, reader calls him oppa like once
comments. I have nothing to say, these are just some random scenarios I thought about and wrote. Please enjoy! <3
✰ first clip
During an award event, yn was yet again lost in the crowd. And the other members were trying to find her, even if discreetly.
But then, one of the cameras caught yn bumping into someone. Well, that someone being han jisung.
It was clear even from a distant that both of them got embarrassed by it, quickly bowing and apologizing.
Both of them stayed there awkwardly smiling, until han grabbed his phone to show yn something. To which she excitedly typed something in, before seeing Shuhua running in her direction.
Saying a quick goodbye, she ran off to shuhua's arms, having to listen to a scold and a teasing about always being lost.
What the camera did not caught was their conversation.
“You got his number?!”
“Yess!! I'm literally dying right now!”
“If he says anything bad to you I'm hunting him down all over Korea!”
✰ second clip
As the chk chk boom challenge went viral, a lot of idols were quick to do them. That meant that yn was also doing it.
In the clip, yn is seen trying to hold back her laughter, standing right next to han who was with the same expression waiting for the chorus to begin.
Yn did the challenge with han smoothly, until she messed up at the very end, making both of them burst out in laugh.
Laughing, yn lost the strength to keep standing on her legs, now almost falling to the floor.
Well, until han almost ran (even if they were already pretty close) to her and caught yn on his arms, still laughing.
It's very hard to see due to the camera, but if you squint your eyes hard enough you'll notice a tint of blush on jisung's face, and yn slowly getting more flustered if not for the video ending.
✰ third clip
During han's one kid's room, one of the topics were about people he really cared about.
As the conversation went on with mentioning all of the members and his family as well, until jeongin remembered of someone.
“Isn't there yn too? He's always talking about her.”
“Oh yeah you're right, han never shut ups about her.” - Hyunjin continued, all of them now laughing at some inside joke.
When it was jisung's turn to talk, he said almost the same thing, until he looked down for a moment smiling, suddenly feeling shy.
“There's also yn. We talk a lot and she's probably the closest person I have outside the group and my family. She's very special.”
✰ fourth clip
Gidle was in an interview, answering fans questions about their songs, life, future comebacks and the usual.
Some of the questions were directed to specific members. And one of them being "Does yn have someone she really loves apart from her group?"
Thinking for a moment, yn smiled without even noticing, excited to answer the question.
“Yeah! I really love han from stray kids. His very friendly and kind, I enjoy his company a lot.”
The other members looked at her with widen eyes, a surprised smiled on all of their faces, making yn confused. Until she understood what it might have sounded like.
“I-I mean that in a friend way! I love him as my friend!”
And that was all it took for them to start laughing at her, soyeon even holding on her shoulder lightly.
✰ fifth clip
Felix was recording a vlog, filming the backstage before one of their shows. Everything was chaotic as usual, as he talked about the show.
Suddenly, han came out of a room, not noticing the camera. Felix went silent as he pointed the camera to the man, now hearing what he was talking about.
“Have yn called to any of you? My phone is almost dead so turned it off. She said she would call me before the show begun.”
He continued to talk about the idol, until noticing the camera, making him freeze for a moment before slowly waving at it, an awkward and shy smile on his face.
Jisung was already walking away, regretting his life decisions, and wanting to disappear even more as Minho shouted to him.
“No, she haven't called yet!”
✰ sixth clip
Miyeon was filming a vlog of how their day was going. Yuqi and shuhua were talking on the couch, while soyeon and yn were no where to be seen.
Searching for them, miyeon caught the sight of yn sitting on the corner of the room, hugging a little quokka plushie, a photocard and cellphone in hands.
Giggling to herself, she approached the girl, who quickly noticed the camera and was desperately trying to hide the objects.
“Hi miyeon unnie! Do you need anything?”
“I'm just filming our daily life. What are you doing?”
Yn stared at her with a dumbfounded smile, pressing a few times on the screen before showing it to her unnie.
“I'm listening to our songs.”
Miyeon knew she wasn't, but not wanting to make the poor maknae die on camera, she just nods, walking away to continue the filming.
✰ seventh clip
The first time gidle had managed to record something with stray kids, it was a competition between the members.
They formed seven teams with two people, han and yn being paired up together.
After some games and a lot of chaos, the next game they had to play was one in which, two teams will compete, trying to pull the tail from one of the members.
The one who manages to pull the tail out of their clothes first wins. And the final teams to play were han + yn and shuhua + jeongin.
It was the final round, and yn was the one with the tail, while han was mostly trying to protect her and avoid the other two to get too close.
After around thirty seconds in running around, yn managed to pull the tail from jeongin, making both of them cheer in excitement.
Without thinking twice, jisung and yn ran to each other for a hug, staying there for a long moment before pulling away, a slightly timid expression on both of their faces.
✰ eighth clip
At the music bank program, yn had the opportunity to be one of the mcs for a short period of time.
During this time, stray kids went to the program. Yn was doing an amazing job at being the mc, to which jisung complimented.
Feeling shy from his compliment, yn thanked him, clapping her hands together to avoid looking too timid as she smiled.
“Thank you jisung oppa!”
He mirrored her smile, as the other members laughed a bit.
After a few seconds of talking, seungmin bumped into han's shoulder, not saying anything, but a smirk forming on his face.
Han only looked away, embarrassed by the tease, without saying anything as well to not get the attention of anyone else.
#೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 single ⠀ᰋ#kpop#kpop x reader#female reader#han jisung#han jisung x reader#han x reader#jisung x reader#skz#skz x reader#stray kids#stray kids x reader
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@zepskies
I'm not kidding this might be my favorite gif ever lol. BUT I am so excited to read the last chapter of this series!! I mean, I'm sad that it's coming to a close, but I'm hoping that in the future there might be a fic with a little Elijah (or a little Jude) running around. 😏
I love the little details about him and Benny pranking each other, but it really just made me sad because Dean left them 😭 But at the same time they are opening up with one another and sharing their life stories and I couldn't be happier.
“I will protect you,” she says. Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.
Again I stan a strong woman and Mila is just so stinking badass that I love her so much. Also yes girl, PROTECT 👏🏻 YOUR👏🏻 MAN👏🏻
But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be. He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.
Love that you're referencing the honorable choice title here, and showing that Dean is a man of honor and that he did make a choice that maybe messed up his life, but he cared more about doing the right thing. And I think you did a great job of titling the series and the chapters in general. Each one corresponds beautifully to the themes in the chapters so you should be proud!
It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.
I know that something dramatic is about to happen and that I shouldn't be thinking about this right now, but I just love height difference so much😭. When a guy is bigger than his girl oh wow it sends me to the moon. I think it's so cute and goodness the cuddles must be so fun.
“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.
Again, devastating moment, but... SHE SAID HIS NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME! And the running her fingers through his hair?!?!?!?!
Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble.
“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly. Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown. “Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says. Her brows raise. “No?” “Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man."
I'm cackling. I love Mila so much. The sass, the teasing. Oh goodness they're so cute and I am so scared that there's going to be a last minute perilous situation and somebody is gonna die.
“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.
Excuse me sir? SIR?! You know... he's right Mila. You should listen to your future husband.
Also him respecting her when she said that she doesn't have sex before marriage is just so HONORABLE AND WORTHY and why can't there be men that respectful all the time? Dean Winchester is really just ruining other men for me everywhere. 😭
She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize… Her heart has already chosen.
Girl it's chosen correctly. No remorse. No regret. Please oh my word let them both live at the end of this fic. 🙏🏻
He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.
So... the face squishing is a family trait I see. But man, Dean standing there while a random lady just squishing his face while his eyes are wide in horror is so funny to me.
“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”
AWW YEAH IT WAS GOING THAT WAY! lol
“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?” Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others. It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. “No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”
This bit is so good. It's so true and honest and a little heart breaking, but it's such a wonderful thing for them to talk about, because Mila knows that he's thrown away his life to save hers. And it's so wonderful that he's able to give her that confirmation and reassurance that he doesn't regret the choice he made. Because it was the right choice, the -AHEM- Honorable Choice lol 😂
“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection. “All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.”
Oh this chapter was so good my sweet friend! I'm a little sad to see that it's ending, but it was so wonderfully written and neither of them died. I was really scared about that 😅. AND it ended with a wedding (sort of?). Now little Elijah can run around the camp helping his mother and learn how to break in horses with his father. ❤️
The Honorable Choice - Part 3
Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC
Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.
AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...
Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.
**Pronunciation guide at the end!
Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU
Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack
Word Count: 5.7K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.
🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist
🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!
Part 3: Worthy
They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.
He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.
“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”
Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life.
He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.
Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.
Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.
The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.
On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.
“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”
Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.
“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”
Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.
“I will protect you,” she says.
Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.
She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.
“Mila…”
“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”
Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.
He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.
In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.
But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.
He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.
With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it.
“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”
Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.
The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.
It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.
That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.
Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.
Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.
“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.
She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.
Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.
Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.
A waterfall.
Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.
She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.
This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.
A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.
“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.
The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.
He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.
She smiles in relief.
He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.
The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.
He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.
Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.
“Mornin’,” he croaks.
Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.
“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”
Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble.
“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.
Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.
She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.
Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.
“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.
Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.
“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.
Her brows raise. “No?”
“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”
“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”
Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.
It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.
Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.
She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.
He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.
She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.
“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.
“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.
“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.
“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”
Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.
“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”
“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead.
“Really, I understand,” he says.
His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.
This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.
Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?
Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.
It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.
“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”
With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.
That night, Mila dreams.
She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky.
When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.
And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.
She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.
She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…
Her heart has already chosen.
“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.
He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.
Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.
“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.
Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.
“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”
She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.
She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.
“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.
“You would take it that far?” he asks.
Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”
Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.
“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.
“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.
“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”
Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.
“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.
“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."
Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.
“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.
“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.
Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”
Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean.
He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.
She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.
She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.
Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.
She smiles more genuinely.
“Come,” she says.
She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.
Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance.
“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.
She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”
Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?
She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs.
Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.
Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.
“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.
She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”
Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.
“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.
“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.
“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”
Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.
“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”
“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”
In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.
“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”
“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”
She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.
“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.
“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.
Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”
He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.
“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”
Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.
It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life.
“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”
He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.
When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.
“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.
“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.
She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.
“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.
Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders.
“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.
“Show me,” he says.
She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.
Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.
He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”
He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.
His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.
“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”
Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.
Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.
“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”
She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”
Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”
He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.
“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.
“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.”
Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”
She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.
He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.
“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.
Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.
He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.
He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.
Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.
Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.
She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.
The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.
Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.
He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.
Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.
Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.
“I could get used to this,” he says.
Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”
Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.
Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.
“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.
He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.
“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.
Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.
“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.
Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”
Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.
“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.
A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.
“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.
Dean smiles back.
“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”
AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.
Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter!
Pronunciation Guide:
Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")
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First off-- I'm a HUGE fan of your writing, you have no idea how stoked I am for the next installment of A Patchwork Family. I was never a fan of severitus before I came across your fic by chance but your writing is so good it turned me onto it.
I was wondering if you had any severitus fic recs? I saw you post something about crime and punishment and gave that one a read (SO good), and since it seems you have incredible taste to go along with your incredible writing skills I was hoping you could help me out 💚
Thank you very much for the question! I actually have a ton of fic recs for Severitus, and I've been meaning to make a list for a while, so in no particular order here it is!
1. A Year Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight
This fic is also very special to me, and directly inspired A Patchwork Family. Snape ends up adopting Harry and Draco during their sixth year. It was written before the sixth and seventh books even came out, so there's a very fascinating plot!
2. To Trust by Clairdeloon
This one has a runaway Harry being sent to live with Snape after the Dursleys die before his first year. If you like angst this is the one to go for; it hurts so much but it's so worth it.
3. Time Left Today by gzdacs
After the situation with Quirrell, Harry is wanted by the Ministry for questioning. Snape is forced to transport him across Europe to hide him (with things progressively going more and more wrong!). Very enjoyable fic
4. Tension's Empathy: The Wanderers Curse by yarrowmirth
Another "Harry and Snape on the run" one, set after fifth year. I particularly enjoy how long it takes Snape and Harry to warm up to each other! It's also criminally underrated. I check so often for updates you have no idea
5. Grease & Lightning by Mothboss
Would highly recommend this and its sequel, Acid Reigns. Features Snape semi-accidentally acquiring eight-year-old Harry(with some of the best, age-accurate writing of a child I've ever seen). He takes on a protective big brother role and it's so perfect! Acid Reigns also uploads every Tuesday without fail, which I always look forward to
6. obscured by illisius
A recent fic discovery for me, where Obscurial Harry is sorted into Slytherin and Snape has to help him. I am rarely in this much pain when reading a fic, oh my god. The ANGST. It's just so perfect, and I'm so excited to see what's coming next for the universe!
7. The Potions Master and his Golden Boy by HazelEyes25
If you like your Severitus slowburn, this is the one. During Harry's second year, Snape slowly goes from Harry's mentor figure to guardian. It's full of lots of nice hurt/comfort!
8. aim & ignite by shostakobitch
The only biological father Severitus on this list, and HEAR ME OUT! Because if Snape turned out to be Harry's biological parent, this is EXACTLY how it would have gone down. Snape is perfectly canon; he is the horrible, snarky and cruel man from book canon even as he learns how to be a caring man to his child. Such a hard balance to strike, but it is done PERFECTLY. It also features Girl!Harry which I very rarely see in Severitus. With the beautiful prose thrown in on top, all I can do is beg you all to give this a go! So worth a read!!
9. O Mine Enemy by KirbyLane
This is a classic! I've not read it in a while and it's next on my reread list. Again, very good characterisation. Both Harry and Severus feel very human. Takes place during fifth year, and switches up canon a bit which I always like!
10. Crime and Punishment by Melolcatsi
Just in case anyone else didn't see the Crime and Punishment rec, I want to still put it here. This is one of the first Severitus fics I ever read, and it's so very special to me! Harry gets sent to live with Snape in the summer after fourth year when he is falsely accused of stealing. Snape's characterisation in particular is stunning
I could keep rambling on for hours, but this is essentially my top ten! I hope you all enjoy!
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New KenMayu just dropped!
Kenchan x Mayuri AU modern world.
Gift for @toxictaicho and @srtruth 💜
Zaraki is a retired army guy finding it very hard to balance his internalised homophobia and the fact he is falling in love with a dude.
Mayuri is a neurosurgeon with no interest and no time to waste on a relationship, certainly not with that idiot man that keeps appearing everywhere he goes!
Fluffy, smutty, self-indulgent mess.
Mayuri's transness plays a pivotal role in this fic - I normally only mention it casually as another adjective that describes him - and there are going to be some uncomfortable conversations around transphobia and homophobia. But this is fiction, so I get to make it all end up happily, yay!
Link to ao3
Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Will he, won't he
Chapter Text
He strode briskly along the sterile, white, hospital corridors. The clacking of his Louboutin oxfords echoing angrily in the quietness that surrounded him.
This better be fucking good, he thought, or they are getting shouted at until morning.
Mayuri Kurotsuchi hated the night shift. He had no problem staying awake - he’d frequently forget to sleep when he was engrossed in an exciting project - but he detested the lack of a rigid schedule and the constant interruptions, most of which were dull consultations that he wouldn’t deign to reply to in normal circumstances - when other, lesser clinicians were available.
He couldn’t really complain -though he frequently did - most of the residents were so utterly terrified of him that they rarely dared call him, unless the situation was dire.
He pushed through the big double doors of ER and was immediately hit with a cacophonous mayhem. People in blue and green scrubs rushing left and right, a patient whining somewhere, another one crying for their mommy - or morphine, he wasn’t too sure - some doctor shouting instructions that were all wrong... he shuddered. This was why he loathed coming to emergency care - there was too much noise and too much stupidity. When he was operating silence reigned, only his voice could be heard, and that was his idea of heaven.
His ears began ringing painfully. No matter how much he modified those damned cochlear implants they always failed him when there were too many sounds. He could feel the migraine approaching.
“Sir, it was me who put on the call.” Said a petite intern with big, puppy eyes. He looked so young Mayuri was tempted to ask him if his parents knew he was out at this hour. “I'm so, so sorry to bother you, sir, but Mr. Lemura already has a bleeding brain tumour.”
“Well, that would certainly explain why he is so bad at his job.” He said, massaging his temples. This was going to be a terrible night.
“Oh... I-I mean-“
“I know what you meant, idiot. Stop your babbling and give me the history.” He extended his hand, the moment the folder touched his fingers he wrenched it from the boy’s grip. “Where is the patient?”
“Oh, yes, sir! Over here!”
He skimmed through the clinical notes as he walked, trying to pay no mind to his surroundings. Nothing much for past illnesses apart from some mild liver issues, bloods showed high levels of alcohol - nothing atypical at this time of night. Reason for admit: blunt trauma to the head, suspected concussion... A drunken brawl? This asinine case was why this imbecil had woken him up?
“Here we are, sir” said the intern, holding open the partition curtains around one of the gurneys so he could walk through. The whole of the ER was compartmentalised, by drapes hanging from ceiling tracks, into small, almost identical sections that were only big enough to house a hospital bed, a table and a chair.
“Log in and find me his MRI” he muttered without looking up from the page.
“Yes, sir. I had it ready, here” placing the laptop he’d been carrying under his arm on the little overbed table, the young medic opened the tab with the results and stood as far away from Mayuri as he could whilst remaining polite.
Kurotsuchi leant closer to the computer screen and studied the 3D images for a few seconds. Ah, this is much better, he thought.
“Congratulations.” He mocked through a growing smile. “you’ve earned yourself some one-on-one time with the best surgeon in this hospital.” He turned to look at the patient and his grin faltered. The guy was in a terrible state. His face was a bloody pulp, his left arm was in a cast and his chest was covered in bandages that couldn’t hope to conceal the large haematomas spreading over his skin - which signalled many a broken rib. He looked like he’d been run over by a train, not punched by some hooligan.
Mayuri quickly flicked through the pages fearing some mistake. “This is the right patient?” he asked, frowning threateningly at the young doctor.
“Y-yes, sir... Is-is there a problem?” the poor boy’s face had quickly lost all colour. He anxiously tried to peek at the chart in Mayuri’s hands from a safe distance.
“Are you trying to tell me that this man’s injuries were caused in a fist fight?” He could feel his rage starting to bubble inside his chest. The stupid curtains did nothing to quieten the unbearable surrounding racket and now he had to deal with some inefficient anamnesis, or worse, a lying patient.
Ignoring the intern’s nervous stammering he turned his attention to the man again.
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Mr. Sato. I haven’t got the slightest interest in your life, your struggles, your health concerns nor what may have caused your lesions... But, unfortunately for the both of us, in order to do my job properly, and avoid any further senseless demotions, I need to know the truth!” He took a deep breath before he continued, trying to reign in his anger and hopefully improve his pounding headache. “Now, how did you get these wounds?”
The man looked at him with a wary expression, his swollen eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I was beaten up by some guy.” He muttered as clearly as his broken jaw allowed.
“Some guy... one, single individual?” Mayuri prodded, incredulous.
“Yes! – ouch - Why the fuck would I lie ‘bout that?”
Mayuri knitted his brows - he had a point. Why would this pitiful ned lie about being beaten up by one man, if I were going to fib he’d probably excuse his loss behind some overused fabrication such as ‘there were too many to count’.
“I see.” He stroked his chin, still not fully convinced. “Well, regardless, you have a subdural haemorrhage that needs surgical correction. I will be performing the operation tonight. You can thank me later.”
“Wait, didn’t you say you’d been demoted? I don’t want you operating on me!” the man exclaimed anxiously, wincing in pain.
“I’m terribly sorry I gave you the impression that I care... Patients don’t choose their clinicians in this hospital, which is lucky for you, because you clearly make bad decisions for a living.” he sneered, then handing the intern the file he instructed “I want everything signed and him ready in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mayuri exited the small area with a dramatic flourish that left the curtains billowing behind him. Perhaps all wasn’t lost, the surgery was simple enough for him, but it meant he likely wouldn’t be bothered again for the rest of the night.
“Mr. Kurotsuchi! How good it is to see you down here!”
A cold chill ran down his spine. That sickly sweet voice always made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.
“I was on my way out.” He announced, not looking at his interlocutor, hoping that would cut any further conversation at the root.
“Ah, of course, you’re such a busy man.” Dr. Unohana continued in a patronising tone, gazing at him with her infuriatingly calm expression.
Dr Retsu Unohana was the head of ER and one of the longest standing doctors in the hospital, which, despite her young appearance, made her into a mother figure for most newbies. They all flocked around her like ducklings afraid to get drowned by the current. She was an institution. He would never admit it, but Mayuri considered her one of the most brilliant clinicians he’d ever met. She wasn’t on his level, of course, but she was too close for comfort.
“I was wondering if I could borrow your expertise a little longer. It’s not every day that we are blessed with such a prodigious mind around here.” She said, smiling politely. She had a way to make Mayuri feel small and provoked with each vacuous compliment.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I have to prepare for surgery.” He said curtly, examining his fingernails.
“How exciting! Luckily this will only take a minute.” She pierced him with her icy stare until his will crumbled and with a derisive snort, he admitted defeat. She was a stubborn woman, she’d argue until morning, it was probably best to just go with it than try to escape her passive-aggressive coercion.
Still wearing that maddeningly benign smile, she lead the way and he followed.
“I must admit this probably won’t be as exciting as your usual cases, but I need a neurologist to double check that my patient’s cranial reflexes are intact, before I discharge him.” She casually explained as she walked uncharacteristically slowly.
Mayuri hummed in response. She was more than capable of performing a basic neurological exam, she didn’t need him to double check anything. What was she up to?
“Here we are,” she announced merrily, opening the curtains to a slightly larger cubicle. Mayuri’s mouth fell open. Sitting on the edge of the bed was the most bestial looking man he’d ever seen. His size alone was extremely intimidating, even without the blood stains over his hands and shirt. Mayuri noticed he had an old scar that ran down the side of his face and seemed to have damaged his left eye, and wondered what could have caused it. “Mr. Zaraki here has suffered blunt trauma to his skull, from a hard object, I believe it to be a pool cue?”
The man in question assented with a gruff grunt and Mayuri immediately felt a pleasurable thrill run down his spine. Oh, why is my body such a slut, he thought.
“I'm fine. I told you already, woman. No need to go wasting other people’s time!” The man stood up aggressively, his enormous frame casting a large shadow over the two clinicians. Mayuri's heart rate skyrocketed, he couldn’t tell if the sudden rush of adrenaline was due to exhilaration or apprehension, or perhaps a mixture of the two.
He glanced at Unohana out of the corner of his eye, she seemed as tranquil as if she were sitting by the seashore.
“I'm afraid your injuries might be more serious than you hope, Mr. Zaraki, and since you won’t consent to any imaging, we have to take a more traditional approach.” She explained in a sympathetic, mellow tone that felt completely out of place. “You should sit down.”
“I sai-“ the giant tried to argue, but was immediately cut off.
“You should sit down.” The second time she spoke there was no room for interpretation, she might have omitted ‘or else’ but it was certainly implicit. Her voice had turned steely so drastically that the temperature of the room seemed to drop by at least 10 degrees.
Despite her big, round eyes - that spoke of a demure innocence - and her small stature, there was a dark side to Unohana that seeped out like poisonous fumes from time to time. It was a calm, calculated type of assertiveness that was somehow so terrifying it triggered an innate flight response. She never needed to get angry, her aura was threatening enough for anyone to contradict her.
Zaraki must have felt the shift too because without further protest he did as he was told and sat back down, eyeing her cautiously.
There was a long, awkward silence before Mayuri realised that was his cue to move.
Gulping, a bit uneasy, he approached the mountainous man and sat on a chair in front of him. Even hunched over, Zaraki still appeared massive, his shoulders were almost twice as broad as Mayuri’s and his long, black hair fell limply, framing the sides of his face and giving him an even more savage look.
Mayuri forced himself to focus and proceeded to quietly examine him. A few abrasions on his powerful knuckles, a couple of bruises starting to form over his vast, muscular chest, a split on his lower lip... he examined his reflexes and cranial nerves and found no abnormalities. He was about to announce this when he realised...
“You are the perpetrator?” He exclaimed with no small amount of shock in his voice.
“Eh?” Zaraki was staring at him with an vacant expression, his mouth agape.
“Perhaps my assessment is wrong and you do have concussion.” He said testily. He suddenly felt much more comfortable around him now that he’d realised he was stupid. “Are you the man who beat up my patient? Were you in a bar fight? Is that how you got hit on the head?” he questioned, knocking lightly on his own temple.
“What are you? the fucking police?” Zaraki deflected with a hoarse, cutting tone that sent another shiver flying through Mayuri’s body.
“No...” He smirked. “I was merely wondering what kind of wild animal could have caused injuries such as my patient’s. It's nice to satisfy one's curiosity.”
Zaraki gave him a lopsided smile. “Well, he got it coming.”
“How so?” he leaned closer, catching a whiff of the guy’s intoxicating, manly scent.
“Called my friend a faggot.”
“I see...” Mayuri squirmed, reclining back in his chair. With a huge bully like this, chances were he was just a homophobe trying to defend another homophobe from being called a homophobic slur by yet another homophobe. He needed to tread lightly. Not that he was scared, but he’d been assaulted enough times in his life for being queer. It was getting tiresome.
“He seemed not too happy that my friends were kissing, so I went to see what the fuck was his problem.” Zaraki explained offhandedly with a cheeky smile. “He thought it was smart to talk to me like shit and call my friend that... so I rearranged his face with my fists.”
Mayuri felt a little flutter of hope in his chest.
“Your friends were kissing?” he heard himself ask eagerly, not even sure why he was so interested.
“Yeah. I know it wasn’t a gay bar but why the fuck can they not kiss wherever the fuck they want? They ain’t hurting anyone, right?
“Indeed.”
“They've got a right to do it just like normal people”
“Right...” he had been holding his breath all this time, waiting for the inevitable confirmation of his suspicion, and here it was. It would have been too good to be true.
“Shit, I didn't mean that.” Zaraki flinched, looking embarrassed and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Not that they aren't normal, they are. I meant that they should have the same rights as non lgb...gqp...ib people.”
“I believe you may have forgotten a few letters.” Mayuri quipped sarcastically, which clearly flew over the other man’s head.
“Oh... sorry.” Zaraki looked to the side and frowned, as if trying to remember the right acronym.
“Anyway, as riveting as the tales of your honourable conquest might be, I am a very busy man... If you excuse me.” He stood up, taking his gloves off with a loud snap. “I’ll ready your discharge papers and then you may go, Mr... Zaraki.”
“Oh, yeah? is that- don’t you need to do any more tests?”
The way he was looking at Mayuri was interesting, he seemed almost disappointed... or so Mayuri would have believed if it weren’t because, mere minutes before, he had been extremely keen to leave without even a check up.
“No need. I'm extremely good at my job, I can assure you. You’re fine to go home.”
Giving the man a last appraising glance, he exited the little booth, not missing Unohana’s self-satisfied, tiny smirk.
That was indeed an very odd interaction. Why had she called him to perform such a basic check and why was he feeling so flustered all of a sudden?
His ponderings were interrupted when a very pretty twink, with died eyebrows and a fashionable haircut approached him wearing a worried look.
“Excuse me, my name is Yumichika Ayasegawa. Are you Kenpachi’s doctor? Would you be able to tell me if he’s going to be alright?”
“Are you family?” he looked the man up and down.
“No, we’re friends.”
“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge such information, then.”
A second man, bald and tall, with brightly coloured eyeshadow came towards them, awkwardly carrying three takeaway coffee cups.
“He doesn’t have any family, we’re his emergency contacts, doesn’t that count?” he asked quite aggressively.
“No.” Mayuri replied, chagrined at his tone. “Patient confidentiality is of paramount importance to me.” He lied, revelling in the man’s increasingly angry scowl. “I'm afraid if you want information you’ll have to follow the official channels, like everyone else.” He turned around and immediately walked away before they could harass him with any more annoying questions.
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Ooooh, Arty! I'm so excited for this series (and your FBI one, which I'm hopping into next) 😍 You know I'm obsessed with those things 😂👏
Let's jump into it! 🍿
You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley.
I can see why she'd need a bodyguard. Girl, you can't be sitting in a bar as a presidential candidate. Please tell me Secret Service has eyes on this "madwoman" 😂
Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.
Yup 💯💯💯 Although, I don't think Shurley's up for the job... 😒
Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic).
Bella sounds like me 😂 Are we redheads all the same?
You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.
I love when authors add (funny) information in parentheses or strike words through! It adds so much comedy and is my favorite kind of writing style 🤍
That means you got… 64% of the vote
Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳
Suck it, Amara 😝
You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.
Dude, she's winning in, like... life 👀
But there's something missing... Ah yes! Who will be the First Gentleman? *coughs*
And please tell me the girls are moving with her into the White House. I'd die 😂😂
“I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant.
Oh dear God, no... 😂 I had a feeling when she snuck up on me in this paragraph lmao
But is she okay? Why do I get the sense her eye bags don't come from being overworked? Is someone threatening her? Trying to gain access to Mme Pres. through her? I'm on alert! 👀
Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.
That is a fair assumption 😅 Only one dude would be this crazy to apply to the freaking White House as personal bodyguard to the freaking president 🙈
A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery
Jesus effing Christ...
I wonder what really went on there? Can't imagine Dean, even AU!Dean, to be this damn cold-blooded without a somewhat (we do forgive him a lot) sound reason
Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.
Chills! Literal chills! 👏
“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”
Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂
I love how his whole plan rides on "oh, I can get pardoned if I work for the president" 🤣 Dream big, I guess
Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.
That sounds almost like one Russell Shaw 😏 (Which makes sense, considering they're both the same person – thanks Jackles 😂)
neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.
You did good, boo 😘👏
Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”
A realist, you might say 😂
His lawyer might eat his own ass after he gets out 🤣🤣
“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles
I love her! She treats him like a human being already, and not like a murderous animal 🤍
He’s not being a perv.
Mmm, I don't quite believe you, Mr. Winchester 😅
“But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?”
Ah! And suddenly, it all becomes quite clear. Of course he did all this crazy shit for Sammy. And I bet Sammy, the prosecutor, just loves the fact that his brother is a hitman in prison 😂
You’re. Hired. He could die.
Arty, if this is foreshadowing, I will kill you. Hope you have your bodyguard ready 😝
That whole reunion with Sam made me tear up for real 😭 That was so sweet and genuine!
“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”
Yes. Just been there last week again 😂
Her family also seems so sweet. She needs a good support system with this job, and it seems like she has that 🤍
Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.
I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠
Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?”
I'm with Steph on this one. Ben Affleck? Ew.
And I have a feeling those walls aren't as thick as the girls believe they are 😂
“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled
DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!
That whole conversation has me rolling on the floor, girl 😂 There were so many gems here 🤍✨
“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”
Joking or not, I can't believe Sam's entertaining this idea and encouraging him to hit on the president (and his only ticket outta prison) 😂
Wonderful first chapter, babe! 👏👏👏 So stoked to see where this goes, to have more wild girl chats, and more romantic as well as sexual tension! 😏😍
𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1
SUMMARY: You’re the first female president of the USA, having won the 2014 elections against Amara Shurley by a landslide. Now that you were a symbol of feminism, reform and a better country, it meant that there were a lot more assassination attempts bound to be on your head. For that, you needed a personal bodyguard, so you had to pick right. And you picked right in convicted ex-hitman Dean Winchester. Right?
TW: assassination attempts, ex-hitman!Dean, POTUS!reader, politics!au, politics, murder, gunfire, boss reader, angst, major sexual tension between reader and Dean but also romantic tension cause we love that, slow/quick burn, y’all will have to figure that out
A/N: In honour of our queen Kamala Harris, who didn’t win the 2024 elections, so I give you what could’ve been
NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix
office fever
God, the wait was killing you.
You were sitting in a bar, hoping that when the results of the final poll came you were drunk enough that you’d cheer and scream like a madwoman to counteract the inevitable news that you’d lose the 2014 presidential elections to your only eligible opponent, Amara Shurley. Either way, you both had incredibly good future legislations and laws, and whoever was elected there’d be a woman as the President for the first time, which was good. Really good.
“Come on, babes, cheer up!” Stephanie, one of your two best friends, drawled, checking her manicured nails while absent-mindedly sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea like it was merely water, but that was Steph O’Donnell for you, plain and simple. Eh, she was a bit nails-obsessed, but you loved her anyway for it, she did always look immaculate.
Bella, your other, redhead best friend, sighed and smacked Steph upside her blonde head, earning a gasp at the potentially ruined heatless curls (no, they weren’t ruined, she’s just being dramatic). “Maybe you just need to get less alcohol in your system.” She said pointedly, plucking the vodka shot out of your fingers.
“Bels, if anything, she needs more.” Steph pointed out after checking if her hair wasn’t frizzed up in a pocket mirror. “If she wins, it just means she’s capable of partying harder.”
Bella sighed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a small laugh, tsking internally at the notion. “She needs to remain sober for when she gets the results, and she’s going to win.” Bella turned to you with a sparkling smile and took your hand, squeezing it. “We’re here for you, girl. Sure, it’s totally possible that the Amara Shurley woman could win the election — she’s older — but if the country’s not stupid, then you’ll be the next POTUS.”
“I’m not sure whether to feel better or worse.” You playfully rolled your eyes, but let the vodka shot go and gestured to the bartender with a resigned sigh. Yeah, you could go without alcohol for tonight. “But ok. One mocktail, and surprise me with it. Cheers.” You looked to Bella with raised eyebrows, tipping your head slightly. “So, what if I lose the election?”
Bella tutted, and Steph looked up from her nails in shock— damn, that’s how you knew you were in deep shit. “Baby girl, you better get that thinking out of your head right now.” Steph gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in shock. “You are an icon for a feminist nation— a non-toxic feminist nation. If people don’t vote for you, I’m gonna kill those who didn’t, those who did can live.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Steph, no—”
“Yes—”
A loud squeal from Bella distracted both of you and almost made Steph spill the Cosmo that matched her nails and also made her shoot a you bitch look that she really didn’t mean, but then Bella started flapping her hands and making squealing and unintelligible, Brittany from Alvin and the Chipmunk-esque sounds that made you and Steph share a look. “You ok, Bels?” You asked in severe mild concern, while Steph just looked either repulsed or amused.
“Are you having a stroke?” Steph continued, checking for any signs of maybe a heart attack or an ice cube lodged down her throat so her speech becomes little whistles.
“Do you smell toast?” You waved a hand in front of your nose, but then her phone was shoved in front of your face so the screen and everything went blurry, not to mention the sting of the light on your eyes— shit, that burned until your retinas. Grabbing the phone from her, you held it at a distance and squinted (“grandma”, said Steph) but then saw the headline.
2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS
Then you scrolled down, with bated breath and clutching Bella’s hand like you wanted to rip it off, and you took a shaky look at the numbers.
AMARA SHURLEY — 36%
That means you got… 64% of the vote, now that you did the math. Holy shit. “Holy shit!” You gasped, letting out a Bella-reminiscent squeal just as Steph did, and you were smothered by two heavily-perfumed hugs, the wind knocked out of you, but did that matter? No.
You were the President. The first female President. POTUS. The youngest ever elected too, at 35.
Holy fuck, holy shit, holy crap. This was the most beautiful day of your life, beside the day you met Bella and Steph, that day was important. “You’re POTUS.” Steph grinned, waving for, like, six whiskeys for all of you to down.
“You’re POTUS, baby girl.” Bella giggled, squeezing your shoulders and then spinning around on her bar stool, pointing obviously to you and yelling “POTUS!”, earning a round of cheers and applause from the patrons that made you bury your face in your hands.
But you did it with a grin. You were the President.
Honestly, being the President was exhilarating, cause that meant you got to make real change, it was incredible. Your new security team had fended off the paparazzi from smothering you Bella and Steph style except more annoying as you were escorted into the White House, a woman only a little younger than you waiting with an eager grin and a clipboard hugged to her chest.
“Welcome to the White House, Madam President.” She grinned, holding out her hand nervously then retracting it— she didn’t know what new bosses wanted, alright? “I’m Becky Rosen, I’ll be your assistant. Anything you need, I’ll handle it. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, water, a martini— if you want a martini I’ll have the barman get one ready and waiting for you in the Oval Office…”
During that time she’d been rambling you’d examined Becky, getting a feel for what she was like. Thank God your assistant was a woman also and she seemed like good fun, lively spirit, definitely someone who won’t make your schedule sound boring. But she looked overworked and tired, maybe from the last president— that’d be Raphael Easton, right? Yeah.
“Two things,” you started as you were walking through the halls to the Oval Office, “do you have the files for personal bodyguard applicants that I can cycle through before making official speeches?”
“They’re all on your desk, ma’am.” Becky answered almost immediately— damn, she was rather eager, and happy with her job, clearly, but also had dark circles and eye bags that made something twinge in you. It didn’t sit right.
You nodded, then gave her a warm smile, gently taking the clipboard. “How ‘bout you take the day off, yeah? It’s only my first day, I don’t need anything yet, and I can get the applicants from…” You looked through the labels on the file: FBI, CIA, private agencies, ADX Supermax— ADX Supermax?
“What’s wrong, ma’am?” Becky asked, seeing the way your words trailed off upon seeing the file amid all the other incredibly professional outlets for protection, an applicant from the ADX. Well, you did say unorthodox applicants can apply if they wanted to, you just didn’t expect a dude in prison to put his file through.
Oh. Upon opening it, it was just a letter.
You looked up to Becky, biting your lip in thought, cause if this guy’s in the Supermax, he’s prolific.
“Do I have a direct line to the director of the FBI?”
ADX Florence was a fortress, a high-tech prison designed to keep America’s most dangerous criminals sealed away from the world. It wasn’t a place where hope grew. Dean Winchester, prisoner 11347-7, wasn’t the kind of guy to expect hope anyway. A hitman with a list of bodies long enough to fill a small town cemetery, he had resigned himself to spending the rest of his days in this tomb of concrete and steel.
It wasn’t regret that gnawed at him in the sterile silence of his cell. Regret wasn’t his style. He’d made his choices, taken his hits, and lived by the only code he knew: survival. But that didn’t mean he liked being locked away. Dean had always been a man who thrived on freedom—the smell of asphalt under the Impala’s tires, the weight of a weapon he knew as intimately as his own heartbeat, the thrill of a job well done.
Now, his days were measured in three meals delivered through a slot and the endless monotony of isolation. Until that morning in 2008 when the guard, a surly guy Dean called Mustache, slid a newspaper into his cell along with the breakfast tray.
Dean didn’t read newspapers often. What was the point? The world moved on without him. But that day, boredom got the better of him. He skimmed headlines about wars, scandals, and the economy’s nosedive. Nothing he hadn’t expected. Then his eyes landed on something that made him sit up straighter on the cot.
“Wanted: Elite Personal Security for First Female President. Apply Now.”
The ad stood out like a neon sign in a desert. Beneath the bold letters was a glossy image of the President standing in front of the White House, flanked by Secret Service agents. The text outlined the need for a personal bodyguard—someone with impeccable skills, discretion, and a willingness to take a bullet if necessary. Experience required. Unorthodox candidates welcome.
Dean read it twice, then a third time, the words stirring something he hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t quite hope, but it was close.
ADX Supermax wasn’t the kind of place where people left easily. But this ad…this ad was a door, cracked open just wide enough for someone like him to slip through.
“Unorthodox candidates,” he muttered, smirking. “Guess I qualify.”
By lunchtime, Dean had a plan. It wasn’t perfect—nothing he did ever was—but it was a shot, and that was more than he usually got in this place.
He spent hours staring at the blank sheet of paper he’d salvaged from a previous legal memo. Writing wasn’t his strong suit. Hell, if he’d been good at words, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in the killing business in the first place. But this wasn’t about flowery language. It was about convincing someone that a convicted hitman could be trusted with the life of the most powerful person in the country.
Dean leaned over the small desk bolted to the wall of his cell, chewing the end of his pen as he started to scribble.
To Madam President,
I am writing to express my interest in the position of personal security for the President. I realize my application may raise questions, given my current circumstances, but I ask for your consideration based on my unique qualifications.
Before my incarceration, I was highly skilled in tactical operations, surveillance, and neutralising high-level targets. My ability to assess danger and act decisively has been tested in some of the most dangerous environments.
Though I am serving time for my past actions, I believe in redemption. This position represents an opportunity for me to use my skills for a greater purpose. I have spent my years here reflecting on my choices, and I am prepared to dedicate my life to protecting someone who stands for hope and progress in this country.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I am available for an interview at your convenience.
Sincerely, Dean Winchester
He read over the letter a dozen times, making minor adjustments. It was rough, sure, but it was honest. And honesty was something he didn’t traffic in often, neither were fancy words, and he used a lot of them.
By the time he was done, his hand ached, and the paper was smudged from his grip. He folded it carefully and tucked it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.
The next step was trickier.
Dean’s lawyer, a wiry man named Feldman who’d been paid off by some shadowy client years ago to keep an eye on him, didn’t usually show up unless Dean demanded it. This time, Dean played the card of “urgent legal matter.” When Feldman arrived, looking mildly annoyed but curious, Dean slid the letter across the table during their monitored meeting.
“You want me to…submit this?” Feldman asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dean nodded. “Straight to the President’s office. No detours, no ‘I’ll get to it later.’ This is priority one.”
Feldman stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You realize this is insane, right? You’re in here for life. They’re not going to let you out just because you can write a heartfelt letter.”
“They might if they’re desperate enough,” Dean countered. “And that ad says they’re looking for someone who can do the job, not someone who looks good on paper. I can do the job.”
Feldman sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. “And if I say no?”
Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You won’t. You owe me.”
Feldman muttered something under his breath but pocketed the letter. “You’re lucky I like long shots.”
Weeks passed. Dean didn’t hear anything, and for a while, he wondered if Feldman had tossed the letter in the nearest trash can. But then, one morning, Mustache appeared at his cell with an unreadable expression.
“You’ve got a visitor,” he said gruffly.
Dean frowned. “Who?”
“Didn’t say. Get up.”
Visitors were rare, especially unannounced ones. Dean followed Mustache down the cold, narrow corridors, his curiosity growing. When he reached the visitor room, his breath caught.
The woman sitting on the other side of the plexiglass partition was dressed in a crisp suit, her posture radiating authority. She wasn’t Feldman, and she definitely wasn’t a typical visitor.
Dean picked up the phone on his side of the glass.
“Mr. Winchester,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “I’m here on behalf of the President.”
He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Guess you got my letter.”
Her expression didn’t change. “We did. It was…unconventional.”
“That’s me in a nutshell.”
She glanced at a folder on the table in front of her. “Your record is extensive. Multiple charges of murder-for-hire, conspiracy, weapons trafficking…” She looked up, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “Why should we trust you?”
Dean leaned forward, his tone serious. “Because I know what I’m doing. You want someone who’ll lay down their life for the President? Someone who’ll see the threats before anyone else does? That’s me. I’ve been on both sides of this game. I know how killers think because I’ve been one. And if you give me this chance, I’ll prove that I’m more than what’s in that file.”
The woman studied him for a long moment before standing. “We’ll be in touch.”
Dean hung up the phone, watching her leave with a mixture of hope and disbelief. For the first time in years, it felt like the world outside ADX Supermax wasn’t as far away as it seemed.
You’d been running interviews for a bodyguard for about a week now, and you’d only started them once Becky had gotten a good rest, as well as the rest of the staff at the White House so they could spend good time with their families. First few weeks of presidency were busy ones, so you wanted your employees to have some time for themselves before anything happened.
Nobody seemed suitable to you, even though you’d been presented with the best FBI, CIA and private outlet’s security detail they had, they’d each and all failed your every attempt to make them seem credible, you didn’t want anyone like that. Tabloids had already gotten to smearing your name regarding this, but you were more concerned with your final applicant.
Dean Winchester.
You’d asked the FBI to send over every file they had on him, and the list was — you hated to say it — extensive. Many assassinations of high and low-level targets, and he was credited with over 100 assassinations in the past two years— you had your doubts about this guy, the director of the FBI had said he was in there for a reason.
You’d find out if he was unhinged, or just a normal man.
Well, Dean had been escorted as covertly as possible with a bunch of military and secret service agents, which didn’t make sense as his hands were shackled to his feet. The only way he’d be getting out of these chains was if he was a magician, and he wasn’t, just incredibly good at marksmanship and fighting, thank John for that.
“Alright, alright.” He scoffed, almost tripping out of the car as he was practically shoved up the steps by the agents by his head. “I’m moving, I’m moving, Jesus fuck, you ladies are uptight.” He got to the door of the White House, and holy shit, he was really here. He got let in, hearing a Secret Service agent blabbing in his ear.
“Any funny business, 353, and we’re sending you straight back. You’re gonna address Madam President with respect, no cheek—” Ugh, the sound of his voice was grating, but all Dean could do was let out a terse nod as he was led to the door of the Oval Office and led inside. He stepped in, glaring at the service agent who had been yapping about decorum. Then, suddenly—
“Oi! Hey, hey!” A woman’s voice snapped, and he looked up from his shackles to see you, and boy, were you young for a president. You had to be his age, right? Yeah, and you were surprisingly gorgeous for a POTUS, but the way you’d stood up with a loud chair screech from your desk, snapped your fingers and pointing at Dean’s shackles with a livid expression, he knew the agents were in deep shit.
“The fuck is this?” You gestured to the heavy shackles on Dean’s wrists and ankles— they were quite heavy and uncomfortable, now that he paid attention to it, but he was more focused on how much of a little Spitfire you were. Young, but you were snapping at these middle-aged men as if they were 5 year old children. “You might as well put a chain around his neck, for God’s sake— whichever of you has the key, take those things off and leave my office, if he kills me, fine, just have Amara take my place, she’ll do a damn good job as well.”
The service agents stood there, stunned, and then a stern look from you — “Damn,” Dean muttered — got the agent next to Dean to shove the key in the lock to his wrists and ankles, letting the chains fall free, and they were promptly carried out. You sighed, returning to your desk, running a hand through your hair.
“I am so sorry about that, Mr Winchester, I’ve just always found those chains really inhumane.” You rushed the sentence, gesturing to your desk in front of you and sipping your coffee to calm down. Honestly, not your best option, it probably made you more jittery.
Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t want to get scolded, just made his way to the desk, grey jumpsuit — he was in protective custody in prison — rustling with every step until he sat down on the irresistibly comfy chair, cause wow, prison chairs were hard and low standard.
His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.
“No problem, ma’am, I see the point. Not exactly the cleanest slate.” He didn’t think it was wise to make a joke of how he’d assassinated people for hire, but it made you laugh, so maybe that was good going. Who knows? “And call me Dean.”
“I see that.” You smiled, then gestured to Dean with a warm smile, not something he was used to unless it was the smiles of his mom that he barely remembered. Otherwise it was either hungry, lustful smiles of desperate women and cunning smiles of ruthless businessmen and mafia bosses. “So, Dean, before we get started, would you like anything? Tea, coffee, water, beer, whiskey— one candidate asked for straight vodka. He’s not getting the job.” Damn. The new POTUS was cool.
“Water would be great.” Dean would have a drop of whiskey, but he wanted to make a good impression and hydrate himself with something other than low-quality prison water. So, when you passed him the water, he downed the tall glass in three gulps, but then paused when he saw you watching.
Then he swallowed. Shit.
But you weren’t judging him, you seemed understanding, that yes, prison water probably tasted like rat piss, so he finished the rest of the glass and wiped his hand with the back of his mouth. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologise. Prison must be really rough, treat yourself.” You waved him off, shaking your head, then peered through his file. Rather interesting family background, how did he turn out that way? “Says here that your father’s a Marine Corporal veteran, thanks for his service, and your brother’s a prosecution lawyer that graduated from Stanford Law. Impressive.” You looked up at him, thumb playing with the ring on your middle finger, eyes focused on the paper.
Dean couldn’t help but note that you were beautiful. Not objectively, just factually beautiful. He’s not being a perv.
“My brother’s a nerd.” Dean stated with a smile as you talked about his family, he didn’t blame them, he wasn’t a bookworm, he wasn’t as smart as his little brother in that aspect, Sam was all about studying and being the good kid.
"Yeah, my brother used to say I was a nerd, now look at me." You chuckled, then nodded in acknowledgement. "You, however, you graduated just on the mark, no honours, didn't go to college and transactions show you started as a hitman when you were 20." You paused for a second, cause that was what you couldn’t put your finger on. "But the equal amounts of money went to Stanford in deposits. Why?"
Dean knew he was gonna be interrogated by the new President, that’s a given, and he made sure to prepare himself for the whole psychological evaluation of himself. His expression remained unreadable, only slightly surprised by how quickly you put together that he’d been paying for his brother’s college.
“He’s family. Sammy’s a good kid, he deserves to get away from this life.” Dean answered, it was a simple answer. It didn’t really dig deep into his past or his true relationships with his family.
Well, all you had to know was that his dad was paranoid after returning from deployment and taught him how to shoot like James fucking Bond and Sammy too, but Sam had left for college while Dean had nothing he could do for himself.
"Mhm." You hummed, looking through the rest of it. "Now my guys are finding that in the years since your brother left college, money you've earned from assassinations ordered by high level clients — that are now behind bars — has been wired to a rehab centre down in Delaware. I looked into it, and I found out your father's staying there. None of that money's going to you." Your voice wasn't judging. You instead sounded understanding.
The only reason why Dean wasn’t surprised or shocked by the fact that you knew this was the fact that you were the President. He should’ve guessed. He smiled slightly as you remained understanding about the whole situation though, most other politicians would’ve seen this as a chance to blackmail and threaten him.
“Yeah, my dad’s got severe PTSD. It’s the only good one nearby.” He explained as he crossed his arms. It would be hard to find a rehab centre that accepted his dad given the whole violent record he had.
You couldn’t help but feel sympathy at that. Dean’s juvenile record wasn’t the cleanest, so no shops would’ve hired him so he could make that money, only black ops would. It was strange, and you’d be under fire by the media if you voiced it, but you saw his struggle. “You did it for your family.” You were surprised at how softly you said that.
“Family don’t end in blood, ma’am.” Dean replied, honestly, and you were hit where it hurt by that statement. You were expecting a cold-hearted killer, not a man trying to do right by his post-traumatic father and little brother. “Not if I’m still breathin’. Sammy’s got a good life, a wife, by what I’ve heard. Don’t wanna burden him with all that shit, a-and I haven’t talked to him in a few years. My boy.” He cleared his throat to not get too emotional.
You had to do that too, just to be clear.
“I’m sorry.” But that wouldn’t just fix everything, so you took a moment to let that hang in order to give him some time. “Only important question I’m gonna ask. Hypothetically, we’re under fire at one of my events. You’ve gotten me to safety, and I give you the order to do the same for civilians. Do you do it?”
Dean took in the question, eyebrow raised slightly as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as he studied you. That was a odd but interesting question. This was a job interview for real, it seems.
But this answer was simple.
“Civilians. I’d get the innocents out first.” He said, there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice. Civilians, innocent people will always come first before anything and anyone. He’d made sure when performing hits that no civilians, women, fathers, men, mothers, children— were safely out of the way before taking a shot. If they weren’t, he refused. He wasn’t risking it.
He was expecting you to refuse him on the spot, but instead two words came out that almost made him go “holy shit”.
“You’re hired.”
You’re. Hired. He could die.
“I-I’m sorry, Madam President, I’m what?” He practically gasped, hands clutching the arms of his seat, watching you take out some already prepared parole papers and walking to the door in your heels, handing the file to one of the service agents.
“Hired.” You said simply, a shrug and a smile offered as you walked to the desk. Fucking hell, Dean had never seen a stranger president in his life. “Your parole is being passed effective immediately, and I wanna get you in touch with my stylist and wardrobe guy so we can get you some new and frankly more comfortable clothes. You’ll be staying here, at the White House, you’ll have full access to my staff for anything you might need, but most importantly, you need to call your family.” You tapped your landline that you had prepared on the desk with a small, encouraging smile. “I have Sam’s number and the rehab centre’s number both in your directory file, I’ll give you some time to talk rather than waiting like a creep.”
As you walked out, Dean couldn’t believe his ears. He was now the President’s bodyguard, he got to live in luxury, no doubt there was a large paycheck and he got to call Sammy again. His Sammy, oh, holy shit.
His hand shook as he reached for the landline, opening the file and there it was, Sam’s number, and it’d changed since he got put in prison a good six months ago. His fingers fumbled, clumsily dialling the number and waiting a moment as the dial tone stopped and the ringing shook his eardrum. Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up, please pick up—
“Hello?” Dean’s heart broke upon hearing Sam’s voice again, and he took a shaky breath. Get a grip, Winchester, it’s only your little brother, the man you raised your while life.
“Bitch.” His voice sounded like he’d smoked cigarettes, and he’d quit that habit after high school, but all he could hear was the dead silence of realisation on the other side.
“Jerk.”
The motorcade pulled up to the white-brick colonial house just as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the row of oaks lining the driveway. You leaned back in your seat, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. For months now, your life had been a whirlwind of campaign rallies, debates, and sleepless nights in cramped hotels. It all felt surreal. You were the President of the United States. Yet, somehow, coming home to this house—the one you’d grown up in—was what made it all feel real.
Secret Service agents stepped out first, scanning the quiet suburban neighborhood for threats. You glanced out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of the familiar front porch where your father had painted the railing a deep blue years ago. The door creaked open, and a small figure darted out onto the lawn before anyone could stop him.
“Austin!”
The call came from Eden, your sister-in-law, who appeared a moment later, balancing baby Wyatt on her hip. She looked harried but happy, waving at you from the porch. Austin, however, was already halfway to the car, his untied sneakers slapping against the pavement.
You smiled despite yourself. Rolling down the window, you called out, “Hold on, buddy, let them do their job.”
The boy skidded to a stop as one of the agents gently but firmly intercepted him, patting him on the shoulder and guiding him back toward the porch. Austin complied, but his excitement was evident in every bouncing step.
By the time you exited the car, your father, Mark, was standing on the porch steps, arms crossed but with a wide grin splitting his face. “There she is,” he said, his voice booming with pride. “Madame President.”
You felt your cheeks flush as you climbed the steps. “Dad, don’t start.”
“Oh, I’ll start, alright,” he said, pulling you into a tight hug. “My daughter, the leader of the free world! They’re gonna need to expand that Oval Office just to fit my pride.”
“Mark, give her some room to breathe,” your mother, Odette, chided as she stepped outside. She was smaller than you remembered, her hair streaked with more gray than the last time you’d seen her. But her smile was as warm as ever. She held her arms open, and you leaned into her familiar embrace, the scent of lavender and vanilla washing over you.
“It’s good to see you, Mom,” you murmured.
“We’re so proud of you,” she said softly, pulling back to study your face. “But I bet you’re exhausted.”
You nodded, glancing over her shoulder to see your older brother Ryan descending the stairs, a grin on his face. “Well, well, look who decided to come back down to earth,” he teased, reaching out to clap you on the shoulder.
“Someone’s gotta keep you grounded,” you shot back, the familiar rhythm of sibling banter falling into place as though no time had passed.
Eden appeared beside him, Wyatt still on her hip. She offered you a smile, and you leaned in to kiss her cheek. “How’s this little guy doing?” you asked, reaching out to tickle Wyatt’s chin. The baby let out a squeal of laughter, his chubby arms flailing.
“He’s teething,” Eden said with a weary smile. “So, you know…living the dream.”
Austin, who had been hovering impatiently at the edge of the group, finally couldn’t contain himself. “Auntie!” he shouted, throwing his arms around your waist.
“Hey, kiddo,” you said, ruffling his hair. “What’s new?”
“I got an A on my science project!” he said, looking up at you with bright eyes.
“That’s great!” you said. “What was the project?”
“Volcanoes,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Dad helped me with the lava.”
Ryan coughed. “Helped is a strong word. He mostly just told me what to do.”
“That’s because you were doing it wrong!” Austin protested, and the group dissolved into laughter.
Inside, the house was exactly as you remembered it. The worn hardwood floors creaked under your feet, and the faint scent of your mother’s cooking lingered in the air. The walls were covered with family photos—some old, some new—including one of you on election night, surrounded by your team, your face frozen in an expression of shock and joy.
Dinner was already laid out on the long wooden table in the dining room. A roast chicken sat in the center, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, green beans, and your mother’s famous macaroni casserole. It was a far cry from the catered meals you’d been eating on the campaign trail, and your stomach growled in anticipation.
“Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Odette said, ushering everyone to their seats.
You took your usual spot, sandwiched between Austin and your father, while Ryan carved the chicken. Plates were passed around, and soon the room was filled with the clatter of silverware and the hum of conversation.
Mark raised his glass of water. “A toast,” he said, his voice cutting through the din. “To my daughter. The first woman to sit in the Oval Office. You’ve made us all so proud.”
“Here, here!” Ryan chimed in, lifting his own glass.
You felt a lump rise in your throat as you clinked glasses with everyone around the table. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by the simple joy of being surrounded by the people who had always believed in you.
After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, despite her protests. “You’re the President now,” she said, swatting your hands away from the plates. “You don’t need to be doing dishes.”
“Maybe not,” you said, grinning. “But I don’t think I’ve outgrown being your daughter.”
She relented, shaking her head with a fond smile, and the two of you worked side by side in comfortable silence. When the last dish was put away, you found yourself drawn to the living room, where the rest of the family had gathered.
Ryan was sprawled on the couch, flipping through a photo album with Austin perched beside him. Eden sat in the armchair, rocking Wyatt to sleep, while Mark stood by the fireplace, nursing a cup of coffee.
You sank into the armchair opposite Eden, your eyes drawn to the flickering flames in the hearth. “It feels good to be home,” you said softly.
Mark looked over at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve got a hell of a road ahead of you, kid,” he said. “But don’t forget—you’ve got us. We’re here for you, no matter what.”
You nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you said. “And I’m going to need that. All of it.”
Ryan looked up from the photo album, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think we’ll get to visit the White House? Austin’s dying to see the bowling alley.”
Austin’s head snapped up. “There’s a bowling alley?”
You laughed. “There is. And yeah, you’ll all come visit. But I can’t promise I’ll have much time for bowling.”
“Why not?” Austin asked, his brow furrowing. “You’re the President. Can’t you just…make time?”
The simplicity of his question made you smile. “It’s a little more complicated than that, buddy,” you said. “But I’ll do my best.”
Later that night, after the house had quieted and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself standing in the backyard. The air was crisp and cool, and the stars above were brighter than you remembered. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the enormity of your new role settle over you like a heavy cloak.
The back door creaked open, and Mark stepped outside, a blanket draped over his shoulders. He joined you on the porch, handing you a steaming mug of tea.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Too much on my mind.”
Mark nodded, staring out at the dark yard. “It’s a big job,” he said. “But if anyone can handle it, it’s you.”
“I hope so,” you said quietly.
He placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said. “And you’ve got us. Don’t forget that.”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude. “Thanks, Dad.”
He smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Come on,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.”
As you followed him inside, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in months. No matter how hard the road ahead might be, you knew you wouldn’t be walking it alone.
The Oval Office was as grand as you’d imagined—perhaps even more so. Its high, curved ceilings and rich, historic decor exuded authority, yet the warmth of the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows softened the edges, giving the room an almost serene quality.
You sat at the Resolute Desk, a stack of documents waiting for your signature. Each one bore the weight of history. Education reforms. Trade agreements. Environmental policies. Every flick of your pen carried consequences that rippled far beyond the iconic walls of this room.
Across the room, Becky, your ever-efficient assistant, was perched on the edge of one of the armchairs, tablet in hand. “After this meeting with the education committee, you’ve got a fifteen-minute break before the press briefing,” she said, scrolling rapidly through the day’s schedule. “Then at three, there’s the Cabinet discussion on infrastructure. And don’t forget the call with the German Chancellor at four.”
“Got it,” you replied, signing your name with a practiced flourish. “Anything else?”
Becky hesitated, glancing at her screen. “Oh, and your new personal bodyguard will be arriving shortly. Dean Winchester.”
You kept your expression neutral, though you’d been briefed extensively on this particular appointment. A former hitman, Dean’s resume wasn’t exactly typical for someone tasked with protecting the President. But his unconventional background—and the skillset that came with it—was exactly why he’d been chosen.
“Right,” you said, setting your pen down. “I’ve read his file. Has he been through security clearance?”
“Thoroughly vetted,” Becky assured you. “And cleared. He should be here any moment.”
You nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let’s hope he lives up to the hype.”
Just as Becky opened her mouth to reply, the door opened.
You looked up, and the words you were about to say caught in your throat.
Dean Winchester strode into the room with the kind of presence that made people stop and take notice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a casual confidence that hinted at years of facing danger head-on. He wore a dark gray suit that was tailored just enough to highlight his powerful frame but not so tight as to make him look polished or delicate. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted against his tanned skin, and his black tie was slightly loosened, as if he’d deliberately left it that way.
Despite the formal attire, there was an undeniable ruggedness about him. His short, tousled hair was just slightly too messy to be regulation, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw added an edge that no amount of tailoring could hide. His green eyes, sharp and assessing, swept the room before landing on you.
You found yourself momentarily distracted by the way the suit accentuated his broad chest and tapered waist. It was a rare thing for someone to wear something so formal yet exude the kind of raw, unrefined masculinity that Dean seemed to embody.
“Madame President,” he said, his voice low and gravelly as he stopped a respectful distance from your desk.
You forced yourself to refocus, clearing your throat as you rose from your seat. “Mr. Winchester.” You allowed yourself a small smile, noting the way his gaze remained steady but professional. “You clean up well.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Thanks. I aim to please.”
Becky glanced between the two of you before standing. “I’ll step out and make sure everything’s ready for the committee meeting,” she said, gathering her tablet.
“Thanks, Becky,” you said, watching her leave before turning back to Dean.
For a moment, the room felt smaller. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but take him in once more, your gaze lingering on the way his shoulders filled out the suit jacket, the way his long fingers rested casually at his sides, the way they gripped his chair as he sat down. You snapped your attention back to his face before he could notice.
Dean leaned back slightly in the chair, taking in the sight of you as you scanned your schedule on the tablet in front of you. The soft lighting of the Oval Office seemed to highlight the sharp lines of your features, and the way you carried yourself—confident, composed, entirely in command—struck him in a way he hadn’t expected.
He’d done his research, of course. He knew your career milestones, your policies, even a few of your personal quirks. But seeing you in person was different. The photographs didn’t do you justice.
As you spoke, your voice clear and firm, Dean found himself watching the curve of your lips, the subtle tilt of your head when you emphasized a point. You had a presence that filled the room, a quiet strength that made it impossible to look away.
“Your main job,” you were saying, “is to ensure my safety, both here and when I travel. You’ll coordinate with the Secret Service, but your focus will be on close-range protection. You’ll accompany me to all public appearances, meetings, and events.”
Dean nodded, forcing himself to focus on your words rather than the way your blouse fit perfectly beneath your blazer. “Understood. Anything specific I should know about your routine?”
You looked up, meeting his gaze. “It varies. I keep a tight schedule, but unexpected situations come up all the time. You’ll need to be adaptable.”
“I’m good at that,” Dean said, his tone confident but not cocky.
“Good.” You swiped at the tablet, then set it down on the desk. “I’ve read your file. Your skillset is…impressive.”
He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “That’s one way to put it.”
You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a wry smile. “I’d call it unconventional, but that seems to be exactly what I need.”
Dean’s gaze flicked over you again, this time lingering on the curve of your jawline, the way your fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk. He’d worked with plenty of high-profile people before, but you were in a league of your own.
“Anything else I should be aware of?” he asked, his voice low.
You tilted your head, considering him for a moment. “You’re going to see me at my best and my worst,” you said plainly. “Long hours, high stress, bad days, good days. It comes with the territory.”
Dean nodded. “I’m here to do my job, ma’am. Whatever it takes.”
Something in his tone made you pause, your gaze sharpening as you studied him. “You’ve been in worse situations, haven’t you?”
“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to high stakes,” he replied, his smirk returning.
You leaned back in your chair, satisfied. “Good. I’ll need someone who can keep a cool head under pressure. And someone who doesn’t mind telling me the hard truth when I need to hear it.”
Dean’s smirk widened slightly. “I can handle that.”
The conversation shifted to logistics—your upcoming travel schedule, security protocols, and daily routines. Dean asked a few questions, his tone professional, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was studying you as much as he was listening.
If you noticed the way his eyes dipped to your collarbone when you leaned forward to make a point, or how his gaze lingered on the curve of your wrist as you gestured, you didn’t let on. You were focused, deliberate, every bit the commander-in-chief he’d expected.
When the meeting wrapped up, you stood and extended a hand again. “Welcome aboard, Dean. I look forward to working with you.”
Dean rose, his hand engulfing yours once more. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”
As he turned to leave, you called after him, “And Dean?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“You really do look good in that suit.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Alone again, you returned to your desk, your mind already shifting to the next task. But for a moment, you allowed yourself a small smile.
It was going to be an interesting partnership.
“Ok, excuse me?” Bella had practically squealed when the door to your bedroom behind you, her and Steph had been shut by Dean, who was now waiting outside to give you some privacy, and thank God those walls were thick enough to hide this conversation. “You didn’t tell us your bodyguard was a Ben Affleck and Brad Pitt combo.”
Steph scoffed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. He’s better than that, he puts Adonis to shame— where’s he been hiding?” They both turned to you expectantly, clearly not aware that your Adonis-transcendent bodyguard was fresh out of the United States Penitentiary, Administrative Maximum Facility. Oh, that’s gonna be a hard pill to swallow, right?
“Prison.” You swallowed, clearing your throat awkwardly upon saying it, cause you weren’t often the bringer of news that a guy like Dean used to be a prolific criminal who kills for money. “ADX Florence. An ex-hitman, to be clear, with over 100 kills in the past two years.”
“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled, clearly not phased, which kind of concerned you with which brain they both were thinking from, and hopefully not the downstairs one. “Even better, oh my god, I was getting worried he’s a goodie.”
Steph raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Right? Like, you can’t just drop ‘ex-hitman with over 100 kills’ and not expect us to have questions. Or fantasies.”
“Steph!” you choked, glancing toward the door as if Dean could hear through the thick walls.
“What? I’m just saying!” She crossed her arms, leaning back against the bedpost. “Honestly, though? He’s got that whole ‘dark past but reformed bad boy’ thing going for him. You’re living every romance novel heroine’s dream.”
Bella, not to be outdone, clutched at her chest dramatically. “Forget romance novels—I’d climb him like a tree. That man looks like he could bench press me and not even break a sweat.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we not?”
“We absolutely can,” Bella countered, her voice rising with glee. “Seriously, you’ve got the hottest bodyguard in the country, and you didn’t think we needed to know this? Girl, where’s your sense of sisterhood?”
Steph was nodding in agreement. “Yeah, you’re withholding important information. Like, what’s he like in person? Is he all business, or does he have that smoldering, ‘I could kill you, but I won’t’ energy?”
Your cheeks burned, both from their shameless gushing and the mental image Steph’s words conjured. “He’s…fine. Professional.”
“‘Professional,’ she says,” Bella snorted. “Professional at looking fine as hell, maybe.” She leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice. “Come on. What’s he like? Does he flirt? Does he give you those ‘I’m secretly in love with you’ stares when you’re not looking?”
You glared at her. “No. Absolutely not. He’s just doing his job.”
“Sure he is,” Steph said with a smirk, clearly not buying it. “But don’t think we didn’t notice the way he looked at you when he shut the door earlier.”
You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”
“Oh, honey,” Bella interrupted, waving her hand dramatically. “He totally did. That man looked at you like you were the last piece of chocolate cake at a birthday party. And don’t even get me started on how he stood. You know, all broody and protective, like some kind of…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.
“Alpha wolf guarding his mate,” Steph supplied helpfully.
“Exactly!” Bella snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Steph. That’s exactly the vibe.”
You groaned again, resisting the urge to bang your head against the nearest wall. “You two need help.”
“What we need,” Steph said, grinning wickedly, “is for you to admit that you’ve at least thought about it. Because if you haven’t, you’re lying.”
“I haven’t!” you protested, a little too quickly.
Bella’s eyes lit up like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh my God, you totally have! Look at you—your ears are turning red.”
“Leave me alone,” you muttered, glaring at the floor.
But they weren’t about to let you off the hook.
“Okay, okay,” Steph said, holding up a hand as if to calm the chaos. “Let’s be serious for a second. He’s obviously gorgeous, and clearly there’s some…tension. But what’s the story? Like, how did you even end up with him as your bodyguard? I feel like there’s a Netflix series waiting to happen here.”
You hesitated, weighing how much to tell them. “It’s…complicated. He was recommended through some very high-level channels. Apparently, he’s the best at what he does.”
“And what he does is kill people,” Bella said, her voice dripping with mock solemnity.
You shot her a look. “Not anymore. He’s reformed. He went through a rigorous vetting process before he was even considered for the position.”
Steph tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, he’s done bad things, but now he’s protecting the President of the United States. That’s a redemption arc if I’ve ever heard one.”
Bella sighed wistfully. “And he’s doing it all while looking like a Calvin Klein model who got lost on his way to the shoot.”
“Can we not turn this into a thirst-fest?” you pleaded, though you knew it was a losing battle.
Bella leaned closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, sweetie. It’s already a thirst-fest. You’re just in denial.”
The conversation spiraled from there, with Bella and Steph taking turns crafting increasingly absurd fantasies about Dean’s hypothetical love life.
“He probably has a tragic backstory,” Bella said dreamily, lying back on the bed. “Like, maybe he lost the love of his life in some tragic accident, and now he’s sworn to protect others to atone for his past.”
“Or,” Steph countered, “he’s secretly a billionaire who does this for the adrenaline rush. Like, by day he’s your bodyguard, but by night he’s funding orphanages and saving puppies.”
Bella clapped her hands. “Yes! And in his free time, he restores classic cars and writes poetry.”
You stared at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “You two have officially lost it.”
“Or,” Steph said, ignoring you entirely, “he’s secretly in love with you, and this whole bodyguard thing is just an excuse to be close to you.”
Bella gasped, sitting up suddenly. “Steph, that’s it! That’s the one!”
You buried your face in your hands. “I regret ever letting you meet him.”
“Don’t be like that,” Bella said, patting your shoulder. “We’re just saying—you’re sitting on a goldmine of romantic potential here. If you don’t at least consider it, we will.”
“Noted,” you said dryly, standing up and heading for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Unlike you two.”
Bella and Steph exchanged knowing looks as you opened the door to find Dean standing just outside, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.
He straightened slightly when you stepped into the hallway, his eyes meeting yours. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” you said quickly, avoiding his gaze as you brushed past him.
But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Steph and Bella might have been onto something.
The drive to Sam’s place was smooth, the kind of easy journey Dean Winchester hadn’t experienced in years. Maybe ever. The hum of the Impala’s engine, a comforting growl beneath him, was as close to peace as Dean could imagine. His day off had finally rolled around, and he hadn’t hesitated to decide how he’d spend it.
Sam had settled in a quiet neighborhood outside Washington, D.C., where tree-lined streets and neat, white-picket fences painted a picture of suburban serenity. It was a far cry from the lives they’d led growing up, but Dean couldn’t deny it suited his little brother.
Pulling up to the house, Dean killed the engine and climbed out, adjusting his leather jacket as he took in the sight. The two-story home was modest but inviting, with a tidy lawn and a swing set in the backyard visible through the side gate. He could hear faint laughter—probably from Dean Jr., Sam and Jess’s kid, who, much to Dean’s delight, was his namesake.
Dean’s boots crunched against the gravel path as he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, and Sam stood there, looking every bit the family man.
“Dean,” Sam greeted, his face lighting up in a grin. “Right on time.”
“Of course,” Dean said, stepping inside. “I’m punctual now. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a government job.”
Sam chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he shut the door behind him. “I’m still getting used to the idea.”
Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Pictures adorned the walls—Jess and Sam on their wedding day, little Dean Jr. blowing out candles on a birthday cake, snapshots of family trips to the beach. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and Dean’s stomach growled in response.
“Jess is cooking?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.
“She insists,” Sam replied with a shrug. “Says you need a proper meal after all that ‘White House food.’”
Dean smirked. “Tell her I’m not gonna argue with that.”
Jess appeared moments later, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She was glowing, as she always seemed to be, her blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail and her smile bright enough to light up the room.
“Dean!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a quick hug. “It’s been too long.”
“Too long,” Dean agreed, glancing over her shoulder. “Where’s the rugrat?”
As if on cue, the sound of small feet thudding down the stairs filled the house. Dean Jr. appeared, his face lighting up when he saw his uncle. The kid was a spitting image of Sam, with floppy brown hair and wide hazel eyes, but he had Dean’s mischievous grin.
“Uncle Dean!”
“Dean-o!” Dean crouched, catching the boy as he barreled into him. “What’s up, kiddo? You keeping your old man in line?”
Dean Jr. nodded enthusiastically. “Dad says you work for the President now. Is that true?”
Dean ruffled the boy’s hair. “Sure is. Cool, huh?”
“Super cool,” Dean Jr. said, his eyes wide with awe.
“Alright, enough hero worship,” Sam teased, though his smile betrayed how much he enjoyed seeing his son and brother bond. “Come on, dinner’s almost ready.”
The meal was hearty—roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables—and filled with easy conversation. Dean filled them in on the basics of his new job, skirting around the grittier details of his past. Sam and Jess shared stories about their life, from Jess’s latest work project to Dean Jr.’s adventures in Little League.
It was only after the dishes were cleared and Jess had taken Dean Jr. upstairs to bed that the conversation turned serious.
The brothers sat in the living room, each nursing a beer. The light from the fireplace cast a warm glow, and the house was quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards above.
“So,” Sam began, leaning back on the couch, “you gonna tell me how this happened?”
Dean took a long swig of his beer, then set the bottle down on the coffee table. “What, me working for the President? Thought you already knew.”
“I know the headlines,” Sam said, his brow furrowing. “But what I don’t know is how you went from ADX Florence to the White House.”
Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d ask eventually.”
“Of course I’d ask.” Sam’s voice was gentle but firm. “You were in prison, Dean. The kind of prison people don’t just walk out of.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It started with a newspaper.”
Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”
Dean nodded. “I was in my cell, flipping through this paper someone left behind. Saw an ad for a private security position with the President. They were looking for someone who could think outside the box, someone with…unconventional skills.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “And you thought, ‘Hey, that sounds like me’?”
“Something like that.” Dean’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Figured I didn’t have much to lose, so I wrote up a resume. Handed it off to my lawyer, told him to file it.”
Sam stared at him, his disbelief evident. “And they just…hired you?”
“No,” Dean said with a chuckle. “They didn’t even call me at first. Took weeks before I heard anything. When they finally did, they put me through the wringer—interviews, background checks, psych evaluations. The works.”
“And they still hired you?” Sam asked, shaking his head in amazement.
“Guess they figured my track record spoke for itself,” Dean said, his tone turning more serious. “I’ve done things, Sam. Bad things. But I’ve also done what needed to be done when no one else could. They saw that.”
Sam was quiet for a moment, processing his brother’s words. “And now you’re protecting the most powerful person in the world.”
Dean nodded. “Guess you could say I’m making up for lost time.”
Sam studied his brother, his expression thoughtful. “You know, Jess and I were talking about you the other night. About how far you’ve come. We’re proud of you, Dean.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably, not used to hearing such straightforward praise. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Sammy.”
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious. You’ve been through hell and back, and somehow you’re still standing.”
Dean took another sip of his beer, his gaze distant. “Yeah, well. Standing’s about all I’m good at.”
“That’s not true,” Sam said firmly. “You’ve got a purpose now. A second chance. Don’t sell yourself short.”
Dean glanced at his brother, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Sammy.”
Sam returned the smile, then leaned back with a sigh. “So, what’s she like? The President.”
Dean hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “She’s…different.”
“Different how?”
“She’s smart. Sharp as hell. Tough, but not in a fake way. And she actually listens, which is more than I can say for most people in her position.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you respect her.”
“I do,” Dean admitted.
“And for your type…” Sam smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone. “She’s pretty hot.”
Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”
“What?” Sam asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying. You’ve got a thing for strong women, and she sounds like she fits the bill.”
Dean shook his head, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it,” Sam said with a grin. “Besides, you deserve someone who can keep up with you.”
Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through him at his brother’s words.
The rest of the evening passed in easy conversation, the kind that only happened between brothers who’d been through it all together. When Dean finally stood to leave, Sam walked him to the door, clapping him on the shoulder as he stepped outside.
“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet but steady.
“You too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his gaze lingering on his brother’s home—the warmth, the love, the life Sam had built.
As Dean climbed into the Impala and drove away, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place for him in this world after all.
NEXT UP:
“Dean,” you said, a touch of surprise in your voice. “I thought you were on your break.”
He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his gaze locked with yours, and the air seemed to thicken. There was something different about him—an intensity in his expression, a flicker of something unspoken.
Without a word, he reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening it further before slipping it over his head and tossing it onto one of the chairs.
Your eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”
Dean didn’t answer. He shrugged out of his suit jacket next, draping it over the back of a chair with deliberate ease. His movements were slow, calculated, and impossibly confident.
“Dean?” you repeated, your voice catching slightly.
His shirt followed. Button by button, he undid it with maddening patience, his green eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitched as he peeled it off, revealing the broad, chiseled planes of his chest and the faint scars that crisscrossed his skin—a testament to a dangerous past.
By the time his hands went to his belt, your pulse was racing.
“What are you—” you began, but the words died in your throat as he stepped forward.
In one smooth motion, Dean swept the documents off your desk, scattering them across the floor. He leaned down, his hands bracketing you on either side as he effortlessly lifted you onto the polished wood surface.
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dandadan fills the well-written-female-characters shaped hole in my heart.
#*head scratch* well#i mean i had to say it#you can't blame me you know where i came from#but i mean even with all the other shows i casually tune into. dandadan stands out a lot 😭#this also helps the (equally well-written) dynamics between female characters!#it's so surprisingly refreshing considering it's an action shounen#but ahhhhh i'm not even close to catching up with the latest manga release and man...even with acro-silky and turbo granny's backstory aside#it's so lovely to see how well the female characters are written outside of major plot-progression events#i'm so excited to keep reading you have no idea like.#AND THE ROMANCE????? THE ROMANCE!!!!!! oh my god.#i've heard about the intensive research that went into writing it and IT WAS WORTH IT WOW#DORKS IN LOVE#dandadan#i feel like a starved dog fed well for the first time in a long while.
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HEY. POINTS FINGER… any thoughts on how everyone reacted when the other joined the team? as in how did killer react when dust came, how did he and dust react when horror came, how did they all react when cross came, etc. i love love LOVE your bad sanses thoughts way too much they make me so happy. if i write hurt you write comfort and it’s awesome. also how do you think they slowly started to get closer? just.. bah give me your thoughts on them!!!! any thoughts!!!!!!!!!
You fool!! You’ve given me a chance to ramble about my special little guys and now this post will stretch on forever!! Mwahahahahah >:3c
No but seriously this is probably gonna be wicked long cause I have 1 million thoughts about these guys joining and meeting each other so uh, readmore for everybody’s safety and sanity
(^ I wrote that in the document before I started typing out my actual thoughts and uh
yeah no kidding, this is like a fucking essay so proceed with caution)
OKAY SO
I’ve said before that Nightmare got Dust for two reasons; one being that Dream had just recently started working with Ink (and soon Blue) so he and Killer were no longer able to gang up on Dream. He wanted somebody else to bulk up their numbers and give Killer a little back up. He also was starting to realise that Killer didn’t handle being alone very well, since this was when he most often got worked up and broke things around the castle (and sometimes tipped over into stage 3). Dust would be a perfect fit since he had the same amount of lvl and fighting experience as Killer, and since they were so close in circumstance they would be practically like brothers right?
The irony that he thought this about a guy he was recruiting to help kill his brother was apparently lost on him.
They absolutely hated each other. Like, it was instant. Killer saw him as a replacement, why would boss go out and get another sans - one with almost the same backstory as me - when I’m right here? Does he think I’m not good enough? Am I disposable and this is the backup for when I die in combat? He didn’t take it well. He took it all out on Dust too, not cooperating in battle, trying to start fights in the castle, etc. He couldn’t outright kill him because Nightmare had given him strict orders not to, but Killer loves a loophole. If he roughed Dust up down to 1hp and something else happened to finish him off, technically he’d followed orders.
Dust just straight up didn’t want to be there. Nightmare just showing up and yoinking him had worked fine with Killer, but Dust had wanted to sit in his empty au and die, he had no intention of joining a team or doing work of any kind - good or bad. The only reason he didn’t just lie down and refuse the entire time was that he had to fight back against Killer, as much as he wanted to die he refused to give this ass the satisfaction or lvl. He didn’t intend to be any help out in the field either, but again, Killer was making sure he got fired at so he had to retaliate to stay alive.
Eventually it got bad enough that Nightmare had to pull Killer aside and demand answers. In the year or so of knowing him Killer had never willfully disobeyed orders before, so Nightmare needed to know what had gotten into him. He dispelled the replacement rumour right away, he still wasn’t quite softened up enough to be sappy about it but he made sure Killer understood what a good worker he was and that Nightmare had no intention of losing him. It didn’t help a lot, they still hated each other for other reasons, but it eased a little.
Killer still had pretty frequent dips into stage 3, except now he would go straight for Dust usually. Nightmare had tried to explain what he’d learned about it to Dust, but he didn’t really believe that it wasn’t just Killer deciding to try and kill him for funsies. He only accepted it after a particular episode where he attacked Nightmare instead, which Dust knew Killer wouldn’t try in his right mind.
After he came back to his senses he sought Dust out. The air around Killer was very different after a stage 3, sort of sombre and almost calm, so Dust let them sit together and Killer apologised for giving him such a hard time. They actually talked for the first time in months while Killer was still calm (or tolerable, as Dust describes it), and it didn’t magically fix everything but, things were a little better. They still fought and argued and bothered each other but it wasn’t as sharp, there was a lack of real murderous intent in it all, and sometimes after an episode they would talk a little bit. It was the best Nightmare was going to get for now, so he took it.
They were still completely incompetent about taking care of themselves though. Neither of them would eat unless prompted and Nightmare didn’t have good enough knowledge of mortals to know when that should be to stop them passing out from hunger on the job. Not to mention the stars were now a full team, and with the way Killer and Dust would sometimes rather target each other on the field he could do with more backup.
Horror was the first of the group to get a choice in joining. Nightmare had taken note of how much Dust didn’t want to be part of things, and while it was in his best interests in the long run given his situation, Horror’s au was still mostly intact - though a little in disrepair. Horror was also the first in the group to have a good (and ongoing) relationship with his brother, so Nightmare knew he couldn’t just pop in and steal him, he had to be a bit more diplomatic with this one and offer a deal.
He gave Horror some time to think on his proposal - he would set up regular deliveries of food to Horror’s au in exchange for him joining their team - and was quite surprised when Horror agreed, with some stipulations. Horror was equally surprised when Nightmare agreed so easily to his terms (that he didn’t want his brother to know what he’d be doing, and that he wouldn’t kill). A little down the line the terms were altered to add that he would also be left to visit his au every week or so.
Horror was not impressed meeting the other two. He didn’t need his power as judge anymore to sense the lvl coming off them both, and given who they were working for he was instantly distrustful of them both (the uh, brother situation did not help). He was also in a place that had an abundance of food for the first time in probably years, so he was doing a lot of going hog wild in the kitchen and then getting very sick as a result.
Dust didn’t particularly feel anything for him. This guy hated him, sure, but it wasn’t forward and slashy like with Killer, it was just quiet loathing which was fine. That’s how Dust felt about himself so, y’know, mood. He did kind of feel sorry for him though, not just because of the whole famine and everything, but also because he was watching this guy eat like his life depended on it and then get sick and undo it day after day. He was the one who suggested Horror getting his food in moderation to Nightmare, which did help but was an absolute ordeal to enforce. Y’know how some people get hangry? Imagine that but you haven’t had a proper meal in years and now these people give you tiny amounts of food and don’t let you eat more for hours. The hunger mood swings were a sight to behold, you would never have guessed in those days that Horror specified not wanting to kill.
When his ability to eat had evened out and he was in better shape, Horror made a point of apologising to Dust for being aggressive with him. Over time he’d kind of softened up on him from his initial impression, since he could see plainly how wracked with guilt Dust was over his situation. It was a little easier to imagine that whatever he’d done was truly out of desperation and not just for fun, as Horror had assumed at first sight.
They also both retained that classic sans laziness, so it was easy for them to share a space while saying and doing nothing. It made Horror the first person that Dust willingly spent time around in the castle (and vice versa since Horror was still largely suspicious of Nightmare and Killer - the deal seemed too good to be true and the stage 3 episodes didn’t help). As time went on, Horror kind of became Dust’s emotional support skeleton in a way. Dust had become quite averse to touch in his solitude and Horror very slowly brought him back out with casual gentle touches, until not only did he no longer freeze or stiffen at being grabbed but Dust would seek him out to flop next to on the couch. Horror claimed it was just returning the favour for helping with his eating situation, but really it was nice to have something resembling a friend here.
Killer, for his part, was going through This is My Replacement 2: Electric Boogaloo. Not to the same degree as with Dust, since Horror was quite a bit different, but Killer was still wary of this new addition. He didn’t really instigate anything though since, to be honest, Horror had the intimidation factor. He was like a foot taller than both of them, he had a cracked skull and completely different magic and it seemed like every time Killer saw him he was eating bread like a wolf eats a deer. So while he was going through his food moderating, Killer mostly just stayed quiet and kept his distance.
Horror had not softened on him like he had with Dust, since Killer didn’t openly show remorse. He still watched him with distrust, especially after seeing the way he scrapped with Dust for seemingly no reason other than for violence’s sake. Killer was still mostly targeting Dust in his stage 3s, but Horror had to be careful to stay out of his way since he was still working with much lower hp than the other two. What did start to convince him was seeing how similar Killer and Dust were after a stage 3 episode. Once Killer was slightly more composed (ie stopped crying), he became so tired and quiet and blunt about things he normally joked his way around. It was a little startling, but also started to bring Horror around to the idea that Killer might regret his actions too, just buried under several layers of whatever the hell is also wrong with him at any given time.
Killer and Horror only really started interacting after talking about Dust. Killer was asking how he got Dust to like him since he seems to hate everyone and everything else, Horror told him very pointedly it was because he wasn’t trying to kill Dust. Killer admitted he wasn’t trying to kill Dust, at least not anymore, he just wanted to fight for fun. It opened up a better channel of understanding, knowing that Killer did not actually have murderous intent behind his swings (stage 3 notwithstanding). It made it easier for Horror to occasionally get involved in the roughhousing which Killer delighted in, knowing that the other two knew how to hold back enough to keep him from dusting.
Speaking of stage 3, it was around this time that Killer and Dust made a very important deal. After a particularly rough episode with a little too close of a call, Killer showed up in Dust’s room and begged him shakily to make a promise - that if he ever got too out of control during one of his stages, Dust would kill him. He’d been told over and over by Nightmare that it was impossible for Killer to hurt him since he was immortal, but now there were more people around him where that wasn’t the case, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he came out of a stage and found himself alone. Dust promised.
It’s also worth mentioning that, once they were all close enough to be on speaking terms, Horror started bullying the shit out of these two about eating. Now that Horror knew neither of them were going to kill him, he felt safe enough to pick them up by the scruff and set them at the table to say they weren’t leaving until they had at least a snack. He let them pick what they would eat - he wasn’t that cruel about it - but he had to see them eat at least 3 times a day or they would hear about it.
It was by no means perfect or regular, but after about half a year Nightmare finally had henchmen who ate food and worked together (mostly).
Now here’s the problem… I still haven’t really figured out how or why Cross joined the team. Like, obviously there’s some kind of point in the events of underverse where it splits off into an alternate timeline, but I haven’t really figured out where yet so. Leave that one with me just a little longer. Cross joins.
Nightmare really truly didn’t intend to take anyone else in. They were (mostly) getting along, they were pretty well matched to fight the stars, he had no need of more mortals.
…but he was also pretty soft at this point. Every one of them had taken a blow to his I’m immortal I’m an island I don’t get attached to others persona and he’d gotten pretty damn fond of them all. This was why when he felt the sheer weight of loneliness radiating off of Cross, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave him.
So Cross entered the castle.
He did not particularly intend to stay or make friends, he was trying to get his world back and nothing more. He even revealed a little down the line that he outright refused to kill, and was quite surprised to find that Nightmare was fine with that. At the start he was polite but not friendly with the others and mostly kept to himself.
Dust, as is often the case, did not really have an opinion. Another new guy, this one was self sufficient and didn’t bother him so he had no reason to get involved. He was content to be in the same room as Cross but didn’t start up any conversations.
Horror felt the need to speak to Cross, since Dust would happily stay silent for years and Killer was, well, Killer. Horror was somehow the closest thing to normal they had, so he was the one that made small talk. Mostly asking what Cross would like for meals and encouraging him to pick something he liked when he got the answer of “anything is fine”. As Cross settled in a bit more and actually opened up, they bonded over being the only two to enjoy food. Horror made a point of adding chocolate to the stock they kept in the kitchen and making tacos here and there for Cross.
Horror was also the first Cross kind of warmed to, mostly because he was the one devoid of lvl and Nightmare had mentioned he’d also said he wouldn’t kill. Learning a little about his au’s situation only softened Cross to him more, especially seeing that he still cared a lot for his brother and was trying to protect his home (even if Cross found it unthinkable that he lived away from it). It was through Horror that he also got accustomed to Dust, how being quiet and distant was kind of his default and that he also felt deeply haunted by the loss of his world. They weren’t exactly friends, but it was comfortable enough.
So now boss had taken in another new person, someone who takes orders like a soldier and fights with knives and ruthless precision and aims to be his righthand man, and Killer was ecstatic. By now he’d mostly put his fears of being disposable behind him, Nightmare had gotten a bit less subtle in showing how important they all were to him and Killer felt confident he wouldn’t be replaced. Which was a little bit funny, because the only guy he didn’t feel threatened by was the one who absolutely competed for his spot.
Cross needed to prove he was useful, he had to feel like he earned his keep and that all the training and suffering he’d done was for a reason. When Nightmare sent them on missions, Cross aimed to be the fastest and the most efficient and to report to Nightmare without question. Horror and Dust looking on would have expected Killer to see this 100% as a threat to his position as (self proclaimed) Nightmare’s second in command, and to go for this guy’s throat when nobody else was around.
But Killer was fascinated. Cross was completely different from any of them, bar Nightmare whose au is a whole different kettle of fish, so he had a certain element of unpredictability to him. Horror and Dust were both based on classic sans just like him, so to a certain degree he knew how they would feel about most things and what they might say, the only differences being in what they had experienced through their own timelines. Cross was based on a swap sans and his au had taken wild twists and turns away from usual events, so Killer had to learn everything about him by poking and prodding for answers or observing from a distance, much like back when it was just him and Nightmare. Cross was something new to be studied and Killer loved taking notes.
Cross did not see this as friendly. He was competing with Killer for approval, not realising Killer was playing their contest like a game. When he saw Cross training he would jump in to spar for fun, but Cross saw his rival trying to get a jump on him and take him out of the running. When Killer would hang around and pester Cross in their off time with questions, it didn’t seem like someone taking interest, it seemed like someone being nosy and looking for weaknesses to exploit. When Horror mentioned that Killer was being surprisingly contained and friendly, Cross really thought he was fucking with him.
The first time Cross was willing to even consider this was the case was when his locket came loose on the field and Killer ran back to find it, since one of the notes he’d taken was how the locket wasn’t something Cross would play about (the same as Horror with food). It didn’t make sense for someone who was seriously competing to have him kicked out to just hand his necklace back, no ransoms or attempts to crush it to upset him, just some vague remark about “owing him one” and then right back to Nightmare for orders.
Cross had to give him something of a chance after that, Horror helped a lot by telling him “he doesn’t want to hurt you, he just doesn’t know how to be normal”. It was mostly a playful jab at Killer, but reframing their interactions changed it significantly for Cross. Now they were sparring playfully and having friendly competition on jobs. He wasn’t as put off when Killer went into stage 3 because he knew he could match him in combat and the others were always on hand to help restrain or distract him. Cross also took note of how Killer calmed down a lot for physical touch, not unlike how Dust had warmed up to Horror. It went a long way into not only making him a little less combative for attention every day, but it seemed to put longer stretches between his episodes (which Cross had also started tracking so they wouldn’t be caught out by them as much).
For his part, Killer has disobeyed instructions in the past to benefit Cross, usually ignoring the task to help him if he’s hurt. He’s also given Nightmare nudges towards praising him because he’s noted that that’s what Cross needs in the same way he needs touch (not that Nightmare doesn’t praise them normally, but when Cross is going through it and needs something). He also doesn’t particularly like chocolate but has made a point of not admitting this to Horror so he can give his chocolate to Cross.
(It’s also worth noting that Cross is the only one, besides Nightmare, that has been to Horror’s au. He offered to help out during the food delivery and got to meet Horror’s Papyrus (who he is a little intimidated by but ultimately friendly with, even though it’s a little weird since he’s a good bit different from his own Papyrus). Dust and Killer can’t really visit for a few reasons, mostly because everyone will notice their lvl immediately and know what they’ve done. Dust especially doesn’t know how he would react to having a Papyrus in front of him again and doesn’t want to put Horror's family at risk to find out. Whenever he visits, his Papyrus asks about Cross now and sometimes tries to make tacos for him (key word tries, he’s still a Papyrus after all). He may have joked that seeing Cross sometimes is “like having another brother but younger and less lazy” and when Horror told him this Cross may or may not have cried.)
And that’s where we are now!
They’re a very strange group who’ve been through some inexplicable events and have all changed each other in one way or another. And whether or not it can be admitted, they are a family c:
Now onto how Nightmare was made emotionally open by each of them!! In this essay I will no just kidding could you imagine this is already like 7 pages long
If you got to the end of this post please drink some water and get yourself a snack
#Ask#Wickjump#UTDR#UTMV#Truce au#Tagging that since this is the events I'm working off for these guys#My fanon canon if you will#Also I am SO sorry oh my god#This is like an essay for a degree I could submit this for peer review akdghjdjfsjl#I didn't mean to say so much I swear this was me trying to keep it concise!!#I think I've genuinely spent like 6 hours writing this between last night and this morning#Which is wild because like whose attention span is this??#Anyway I have a lot of thoughts about these guys (clearly)#I have given them a lot of events that I haven't really drawn or written about yet#There's a couple of things in here that I've referenced before here and there#But I guess this is kind of a masterpost for it all#Man I have to go to work in like an hour this was wild akdguigfgy#WICK THANK YOU!!!! This was really fun to do and it's got me excited to work on my other stuff in the background :D#And when I get back from work I'm gonna think of an ask to get you rambling next >:3c#But for realsies thank you so much this was super sweet and really fun <3
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hey guys so I just started reading Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott and OMG AHSBNSBSBSNSNBSHZHSHDBFHGGHFHGRJ2KSHSBSNSK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THE RELATIVITY BETWEEN DIMENSIONS!!!!!!
#probably the nerdiest thing i will ever read in my entire life but I AM SO HAPPY#Its the unabridged and corrected 1992 republication btw. if you wanna get specific#the only book in which i have actually decided to read the introductory notes and i do NOT regret it because the editor's one IMMEDIATELY#brought up the “oh but surely the second dimension has thickness how else would flatlanders see anything” AND GAVE A REALLY GOOD ANSWER.#which i cannot tell you here. bc it is several paragraphs long and idk how i would shorten it. i would hit tag limit. if thats a thing.#anyways. I'm only a little bit into the first part which basically explains how Flatland works as a society so i haven't even gotten to the#sphere yet but OH MAN I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED ABOUT A ROUND OBJECT IN MY LIFE#IM LOSING IT OVER THIS BOOK AAAA :D#me: im so glad i dont have a math class during my senior year! now i dont have to learn anything math-related!#also me: but what if i started studying a complex and almost entirely theoretical part of geometry#bc YEAH i didn't just buy this book bc of gravity falls. I BOUGHT IT BC IVE BEEN RESEARCHING THE 4TH DIMENSION WOOOOOOO!!!!!#one thing i will say i dont like. introductory note suggests the the 4th dimension might be time. this is ok tho bc its followed up with#also saying that time is not a spatial dimension and exist across the 0 1st 2nd and 3rd dimensions which. that epuld mean we live in 4d#already. so. i was worried for a second but THANK YOU THANK YOU OH MY GOD PEOPLE TRYING TO SAY “OH THE 4TH DIMENSION IS TIME” I HATE THAT SO#MUCH AAAAGGHHHH AT LEAST RECOGNIZE ITS NOT SPATIAL!!! TIME IS NOT A SPATIAL DIMENSION!!!!!!! IF IT WAS THEN 4D TRAVEL AND TIME TRAVEL WPULD#BE FHE SAME THING AND DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY MUCH COOLER POSSIBILITIES WPULD BE THROWN AWAY IF THAT WAS THAT CASE!!!!! AND. AND. IF THE 4TH#DIMENSION IS TIME. THEN WHATS THE 5TH?? 6TH?? YPU CANT KEEP GOINF ON FOREVER LIKE THAT. YPURE JUST MAKEING MORE 3D WORLSS WITH STUFF IN#ADDITION TO TIME. INTERESTING BUT THAY IS NOT ABOHT HIGHRER DIEMSBSJSNSBAKAJSHDHDHHDHDHDJ#sorry for the rant. jsut. agh i want a spatial 4th dimension. i dont think tesseracts exist through time that would just be an aged cube#anyways yeahhh i love the 4th dimension. new hyperfixation or new special interest? ill have to wait and see. anyways i have done it i have#an oc whos 4 dimensional now and she is the coolest ever i love her#but yeah this book is sosososo good i am literally gonna bring it to school to read instead of draw bc i would lose it if i didn't#10/10 would recommend to anyone who wants to Think
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"I can't believe you made me fly!!" The man snarls, holding onto dear life to his harness strap, scared and agitated. "I fucking HATE planes!"
"Nice to see you haven't changed much, Logan." Hank mutters, not looking away from the sky.
Wade was looking out the window, ooohing and awwing at the scenery. "Aww come on, this isn't any different from the air drills in camp!" He smiles widely, his mouth wrinkles showing through his mask.
"I failed those!!"
"Oh- well.. I got an F for fantastic!" He grins, making Logan groan. "Of course you did..."
Birds of a feather I guess..
"They put me on snipe after that." He giggles.
Hank blinked a bit, glancing beside him. "You didn't bring any loaded guns did you?"
"Nope! Well-" he takes a small pistol off his calf, popping it open and unloading it. "Now I don't!"
Swallowing, Hank muttered. "Jesus Christ, save us.."
"I thought that was Elf's thing?" Logan mutters.
"It is but.." he glances to Wade as if he was a massive danger. "Never too late to start praying.. thats what Kurt always says. Speaking of which, he's off the radar too."
"What?" His thick brows scrunch, gritting his teeth, tearing into the seat as the plane jumped slightly in speed. "DON'T DO THAT!"
"My friend, you're fine, this is my latest model. The MXV-69"
A small chuckle came from Wade, making Beast sigh. "You haven't changed either I see.."
"What? Its funny."
"Numaric jokes are usually in my point of view but that one I never understood the humor of." He clicks a few buttons, easing up on the steering.
"That's what she said-" Wade whispers.
"Wade-" Logan grumbled. "So what's this about being 'off radar'?"
"Well- just as I said. He's off our radar. He volunteered to go in..."
Logans voice lowered, looking at the floor. "..Never came out..Is he..?"
"I don't think so. Mentioned something about having to 'rescue you back to salvation' a couple of times from these forests but... his tracker must have died. Or froze, because his heart line went flat this morning."
Was it terrible for Logan to think 'If you would have told me that, I would have come sooner.' ? Because he did. And now he felt guilty. He'd come to save Kurt, someone whos more then capable of finding his way, but not a 6 year old girl?
The plane was quiet.
"Logan.. just so you know.. I don't think you did it." Hank admits.
"...Didnt think I did what?" He knew exactly what he thought he didn't do.
"About the kid.. I don't think you did it."
"Thank you!! This is what I've been saying!! Local gym teacher goes nuts and tries to kill a kid? Doesn't seem right. There had to be something else going on!" Wades hands go up, excited that someone else believed his husband and not just himself.
"Why not?" He knew Hank was a man of science. He wouldn't believe something unless there was proof or a hell of a good case as to why.
"Well.. the thing is.. when I analyzed the kid, something was.. off. I've never seen anything like it. It was like he was... a shell."
"What?"
"Yes. It didn't match up with any of our data base either. The kid wasn't even enrolled."
Now, it was Wade's turn. "What!? No no no, that's gotta be wrong. I saw that kid all the time. He was in Gambits cooking class even. He was failing- sure- but we all have our vices."
"No, I mean. It was as if he were nothing but a husk. A host, maybe."
"Oh like Venom?"
"No. Yes? I'm not sure. S. H. E. I. L. D took him before I could finish testing..but if I read those readings right... Logan.. that kid was a plant."
Thinking about old Worst Wolverine being called by each of the X men individually after they have a falling out because Logan injured a child very badly to the point the only reason they didn't die is because another classmates healing abilities all while he just... walked away.
Well- ran.. away... leaving a child to die. He's tried to explain thousands of times that he blacked out, that he didn't remember doing any of this. He tries to say that maybe it was someone else, that mystique did this shit all the time in his universe.
"Yeah, well!? This isn't your universe! Because the REAL Logan would never do this.." Scott screams at him as Logan leaves the Mansion for the last time. He doesn't come back. He didn't even get to tell his Xkits goodbye. It got to the point where Laura dropped out, taking Gabby with her, wanting nothing to do with the school anymore.
So now, here he is. In Maine, an old fisherman, part-time hunter, and the only people he lets around him have healing factors.
He lives with Wade, who still- by the way- doesn't have any grey hairs (maybe because hes bald but- yk)
One night, while Logan is out, making himself feel useful by feeding the small town they're in, providing for more poor families, feeding their children's hungry mouths and asking nothing in return but respect. (It gets to the point that the children cheer when they see Logan, wanting to hug him, but he growls at them to get off, too afraid of hurting them) Wade finally awnsers the ringing phone.
"What." There's vemon in his tone, but soon his eyes widden, and he frowns.
Walking outside he stands there a moment, knowing Logan can hear him.
He ignores him, looking at the fish, litsening, his breathing slowing as he skewers some with his claws. Its not exactly spear fishing but- close.
"What?" His voice is almost annoyed, as if knowing what his long time Husband was about to ask him.
"Logan.."
"No."
"Logan-"
He shakes his head. "Don't care."
"...She's missing."
He pauses, turning after scraping the dead fish into a bucket. "Who's missing?"
"There's a little girl missing."
"So?"
"Logan!"
"I'm not helping them, Wade. That's final." He growls.
For a moment, Wade frowns, but he didn't learn to obey thy husband like the bible said.
He never did.
"Logan, there's a 6 year old out there. All alone. Cold. Probably going to be eaten by wolves!" He shouts from the back porch, knowing his place enough to stay here and not come near his fish. Even after all these years, Logan was still finicky over his food. "And all because some old fart won't help her!"
The silence thickened as Logan thought about it, the hero side of his brain yelling 'We'll find her!' And the hurt old part of him saying 'That's not my buisness.'
".. You find her then." He compromises.
"I can't! And if anyone knows those Canadian woods, it's you! You said you knew those forests like the back of your hand!" Wade protests. "If I could smell someone through miles of freezing snow, I would. But I can't. So here I am, asking The Wolverine to go do what he does best."
He grunts, glaring. "And that is?"
"Helping a little girl get back to her mommy..." Wade says, knowing that he was sold. He knew he was sold the moment he told him to do it himself. "She doesn't have much time, Logan." He sighs, putting a cherry on top.
The greyed man huffed, grumbling under his breath for a moment. "Who will stay here with the dog?"
"Gabby can! She loves gabs." Gott'em.
"What about Laura? Why can't she find her?"
Shit.
"Logan, Laura has barley been in those woods. You've lived in them for years. So. What will it be. Pull up your panties and go save a little girls life? Or do it anyway when our baby girl gets lost too?"
Logan scoffs, disappointed. "..She wouldn't get lost.."
"She would if the scent kept being blown away.."
Wade adds, seeing the 'god damn it, he's right.' look on the old mans brow.
He lets out a large sigh. "...I don't want any help."
"Oh well too fucking bad bucko, I'm gonna go pack my snow suit!"
"No! I mean... I don’t want any help from THEM.."
"No promises. I'm not letting poor Susie die just because you have a grudge. Now put your fish in the freezer and lets go! They're coming to pick us up-"
"I ain't flying!!" Logan snarls, watching as his lover ran off, having a deep feeling that he would be in the air shortly..
#search and rescue#find her au#old man logan#old man wade#scott summers#what if#deadpool and wolverine#poolverine#logan howlett#wade wilson#deadpool#wolverine#deadpool 3#deadclaws#logan wolverine#worst wolverine#hank mccoy#kurt wagner#gambit
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"The Moon looks beautiful tonight doesn't It....?"
#(🚂) *.✧ — Valentine Grantz#(♡) 。.゚— Eli Clark#taking a little break from my project to talk about them bc my brain is FRIED and my back is BROKEN#just gotta say. ehem#THANK YOU SO MUCH MILO FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL ART OMFG I LITERALLY WOKE UP AND SAW THIS WITH MY EYES ALMOST CLOSED. STILL ASLEEP AND JUMPED#MAN IT GOT ME SO EXCITED ALL DAY. THINKING ABOUT THE MOMENT TO POST IT#I'M SO PROUD OF U MAN. THE SHADONG IT'S SO SOFT AND BEAUTIFUL#AND. I ALREADY SAID IT. BUT IDC. YOU DRAW VALENTINE SO HANDSOME MAN#THW HAIR LOOKS SO BEAUTIFUL AND HIS FAAAAACEEEE. HIS EEYEEEESSSS#man you did so much justice to him THANK YOU SO NUCH I'M SO GRATEFUL#eli..... omfg#he looks so sweet and cute... that little smile of his ARGH#I LOVE HOW HIS HAIR IS POKES THROUGH THE ROBE AND THE#WHAT IS IT CALLED#MY ENGLISH IS FAILING ME#DAMN IT#YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.#BUT HE LOOKS SO CUTE ARGGHHH I wanna kiss him so bad I need to k#the way he holds his hand.... looking at the moon#oh gosh you knew exactly what to do I'm so.#gotta make a confession but#I completly fell in love with Eli the moment we were watching stageplay and he went to visit Aesop to talk to him and. watch. thw. mmmmmmoon#AGRHHRGGRHGRVRVRHHR#I'm not a hater I'm just#I love him so much it makes my brain hurt#now gotta continue with this thing#I'll talk more about them tomorrow#THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN MIWO#🩵 — Milo!!!#(🔮)*.♡ — Valeli
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okay i really AM working on the path to paradise. if all goes according to plan i'll have chapter 15 this weekend AHHHHHH
#oh man i feel so bad#it doesn't help that i've been 'trying' to start writing it again the past two days and i'm getting stuck on the first few paragraphs#my new job transition has been....... interesting#palliative medicine is.... a completely different beast#in the sense that like. you have so much time to talk to patients. to try to help them feel better.#we're doing formal communication training. roleplaying. consistent and reasonable hours#its hard to step back and slow down after spending the last 3 years in critical care#but this is... nice. important. i think its gonna be good.#also! i really AM going to comic con!!!!!!#i can't believe i've lived in sd for 6 years and never got to go#obviously i scalped the tickets and WAY overpaid for them#but tbh its kinda a bucket-list once-in-a-lifetime thing for me#i can imagine its going to be EXTREMELY overwhelming#but i am excited about it. truly.#ANYWAY. i also played all of persona 3 reload and persona 4 golden#predictably kanji is my favorite from p4. obviously naoto too.#p3? hard to say. koromaru definitely.#i have a soft spot for aigis and shinjiro also#a bit dissapointed that you couldn't play female protag like how are they going to resell a nearly 20 year old game without including that.#and that project aigis wasn't included. i mean i'm gonna buy it but i'm not gonna be happy about it#...anyway. love you guys. sorry i've been not good at writing BUT NEVER GIVE UP ON MEEEEE
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it's been like 9 years and the undertale ost is still as great as the first time i listened to it
I remember i learned about this game because my bro told me about it and I watched him play it, back when it was fairly new (no big boom yet). I thought it was neat & funny but y'know what is the part that made go "oh, i love you forever"? the shop theme
#yomiel speaks#If you've been here for a while yknow how much i looooove deltarune. I'm excited for the game to be finished someday#But i dont about its older sibling a lot. I do love it too i assure you. I still love the backgrounds so much#Idk what to say that hasnt been said already ⚙️💭 It's A Fun Game With A Good Cast and Great Music#I mean. I also love undertale yellow. It'd be unudual if i liked a fan prequel and not the original game its based on AHAHAHDHFJ#Man now i wanna replay UT Yellow. I miss that sheriff sometimes <:]#Oh god wait. Hard-working charming southern man with eyewear. Looks between starlo and engie. Good lird do i have a type
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oh baby we're so back
#so i had. a somewhat cracked idea#so i had made some genshin ocs for fun a few months ago#and ended up getting way too attached to one of them in particular#and i kept thinking like man drawing them is one thing but i would love to see that oc as like an actual character in action#without manipulating the actual game of course. cuz that can get you banned and i don't want that ;3;#but then i was like wait. i could just mock it up in blender#because i've used blender before. i had to use it for a couple years in high school for art and animation stuff#and then promptly never really used it again except once in college for fun and it didn't stick#but now i'm like. super pumped about this#i want my vision to come true and by god i will do it#at first i was gonna use the genshin models for base part and started by looking up how people import them#but then i was like. oh yeah i could just draw it and then plop that into blender and just trace that essentially#which i forgot was a thing a lot of people do kjlkjlkl#but like i still want it to be accurate? or close at least#so like idk this isn't something i'm gonna be finishing in an afternoon this will be like. many months of work#but i'm actually rly excited about it man#this isn't getting into the animation aspect yet cuz that. will truly be tricky. cuz idk if you can import that data or not#from genshin i mean. like just slapping those animations onto the character at first#i think that either isn't possible or is more complicated than i would imagine#like. how many bones Do they have. makes ya think#but anyway i can't animate if i don't have a model so i'll cross that bridge first lol
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