#which I did not get at all this time so as a result I’m a bit of a mess

[chleem]

Rest of my life

One shot: bf drew x gf yn

Summary: babysitting drew’s niece leads to the realization that you’re the one for him.  

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Warnings: so sweet u get cavities

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Which girl did you knock up?” 

Is the first thing you say upon entering Drew’s apartment, your eyes landing on Drew, who has a baby securely strapped against his stomach in a white carrier, the baby looking over at you with doe eyes. 

Drew freezes for a second, then shakes his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he sets a large bag down on the kitchen table. "Oh, y’know, some girl I met on set."

There’s a reason why you and Drew are perfect for each other; the playful banter comes so naturally between you two that it feels like breathing, like there’s no awkwardness in this situation; finding Drew with a baby you’ve never seen before. 

Although, this baby looks oddly familiar. 

“Remember Lils?” Drew asks, as you walk over to him, setting your own bag on the table as well. 

Your eyes light up at the name, recalling the times Drew would show you pictures of his niece. “Oh hi,” you immediately pitch your voice higher, making it soft and playful. The baby, with her big, curious eyes, reaches out her tiny hand, and before you even know it, she’s grabbing onto your finger. 

Her little grip is surprisingly strong, and you can’t help but smile at how adorable she is. “She grew so big,” you comment, looking up at Drew. 

He’s got a soft smile on his lips. “I’know, and I got her for the whole day.”

Your raise an eyebrow playfully at him, “I thought we’re going to the beach today.”

“Yeah, we are,” he emphasizes on that word, his eyes bouncing back between him and Lil. 

Lil lets go of your hand, so you cross your arms at Drew. You roll your eyes, yet the grin on your face gives away your amusement. “Fine. I won’t rob you of your uncle-niece time.”

A chuckle escapes Drew’s lips, and he brings you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your waist. “Lil says it’s okay for you to be there,” his voice, low and playful, as he plants a kiss on your jaw. “Third wheel, you okay with that?”

“Delightful,” you try to sound annoyed at that idea, but really, you looked forward to it. 

Originally, it was a beach date with Drew, but his sister must’ve had some emergency, leading to the sudden babysit. You had no idea that it was going to turn out like this, but you don’t mind. 

Besides, it gives you a chance to see what uncle Drew is like. 

“Aww, don’t be jealous,” he teases, rubbing your elbow, a habit he’s grown into since knowing you. 

“I could never compete with this girl,” you smile down at Lil, whose lips slowly forms an O. You coo at her, playing with her little adorable fingers.

Drew glances down at his watch, snapping you out of the little world you’ve absorbed yourself with Lil in only a few seconds. “Hotdog stand might close. Let’s go.”

“I’m trying the taco one!” You happily chirp, remembering how the last time you went there, a long argument between the two of you resulted in you getting the pizza flavored hot dog. 

“Alright, alright,” Drew assures, taking both of the bags off the table. 

You make an attempt to grab at least one bag from him, but he declines, carrying it all the way to the car himself. 

——

Unknowingly, the whole day at the beach has passed. 

Drew had been so focused on spending time with his niece, he didn’t even notice the way the sky changed. One moment, they were splashing in the shallow waves, building sandcastles, the next, the sun was dipping low.

He walks back to the beach with hotdogs in his hands; buying the snacks now since the crowd has disappeared. 

He replays scenes of today in his mind, thinking about how easy it’s been today. How effortless it felt, spending time with you and Lil. He’d watched you interact with his niece all afternoon—how you encouraged her to explore the sand, showing her the little crabs skittering along the shoreline etc. 

And now, as he makes his way back, he can’t shake the image of you laughing with Lil, your face lighting up when the baby made a funny sound or reached out for you.

He reaches the blanket that the two of you had spread out earlier on the sand, and he glances over your shoulder, expecting to see you playing with Lil. 

Instead, he freezes. 

There you are, holding his niece in your arms. Lil’s fast asleep, her little body relaxed against your chest. 

Drew’s first thought is how cute his niece is. 

His eyes then drift over to you; And that’s when it hits him.

The realization of this moment, the quiet way you’re holding his baby niece, strikes him. His heart skips a beat as he watches you, a quiet warmth flooding his chest. 

The sight of you with her, so natural, so right, feels more profound than anything he expected.

What is this feeling? He thinks.

He tries to shake it off. It’s not just about Lil. It’s about you, the way you make everything feel so simple, so easy. He never expected to see you like this, to see you so gentle, so present.

Is this what love feels like? He doesn’t know. But in that moment, staring at the two of you, something in him clicks. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it’s there—this pull, this feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything he thought he wanted was right here in front of him.

“Drew?” 

Your voice is gentle and soft as you call out for him, afraid to wake the baby up. 

Your gaze meets his, and for a second, the world feels smaller. His heart skips again, mind racing around as he scrambles for words in his mind. 

“Hey,” he manages to breathe out, sitting down beside you. He’s careful with his movements, even when handing you your hotdog to your free hand. His lips curl into a soft smile,  almost shy, “she’s out cold, huh?”

He watches as you completely ignore his words, biting down on the hotdog you’ve been waiting for for the whole day. His smile grows; his mind reminded of how easy it is to be around you. It’s not that you’ve said much or done anything extraordinary—just the way you seem to savor the simple things, like food, time spent together—it draws him in every time.

“Good?” Drew asks, teasing hinted in his voice, yet his eyes soften as he waits for your answer. 

“Strange. The pizza flavor’s better,” you comment through chews. 

Laughter erupts in his chest, making you look confusingly at him. You swallow, looking at him with doe eyes. “Let me take her,” he says, his hands reaching for his niece. 

You let him, mainly because of how hungry you are. The exchange is smooth; he now holds Lil in his arms, and you hold onto the two hotdogs, eating away one of them. 

“Y/n?”

You quickly finish the bite, humming at Drew continue talking. He’s looking at you with a soft gaze, almost smitten. He calls for your name, but doesn’t say anything. 

“You want a bite?” You ask, filling in the silence. 

Drew chuckles, and with his free hand, he pulls you by the back of your neck closer to him. He kisses you, slow and soft. You relax under his touch, letting the warm and bubbly feeling flow through you. 

You eventually pull away, needing to catch your breath. Drew’s lips are apart as he stares at you; the look in his eyes making it hard to steady your heartbeat. 

For seconds that felt like minutes, silence lingers between you two, eyes locked into each others’ as if any move, would disturb the calmness of this moment. 

Well, the moment is disturbed, because the smell of poop enters the air, as well as the sound of crying. 

Lil's awake, and in a stinky emergency.

You’re the first to pull away, chuckling as you glance down at Lil. “Shit.”

“Yup,” he purses his lips. You get ready to put the hotdogs down, wanting to help change her diapers, when Drew stops you. “I’ll do it.”

“Do I even have the appetite anymore?” You joke, the smile reappearing on Drew’s lips after hearing that. 

“When do you not?” He comments, setting Lil down and reaching for the diaper bag. 

You hit his arm playfully again, laughter coming out of you. You turn and look out onto the ocean waves, putting the hotdogs down to the side.

This moment right here? You want to remember it always. Remember this beach, this adorable little baby, this hotdog (just important as everything else), and this man, that you’ve found yourself to rely on more than you should. 

You hope Drew feels the same way too; that this moment right now, will forever be engraved in your heart. 

Little did you know; it's already engraved in his, as the moment he fell in love with you. 

The moment he realized, that you’re who he wants for the rest of his life. 

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word count: 1.5k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: my first time writing something of pure fluff...hope you enjoyed reading! i was in the mode for something sweet, craving a bf real bad T_T

and yes, im a creep that stalked his sister's ig to find the name of his niece. im sorry im sorry im sorry

[drdemonprince]

I’ve only just read your Burnout piece on Substack and it made me think of the anon you answered awhile back about anti depressants and anti anxiety medications.

I’m Autistic and am on anti anxiety medication which basically masked all the warning signs and symptoms of Autistic burnout. Those usual indicators I usually can pick up on which indicate I’m doing too much and not resting enough weren’t present on the medication.

I felt good (although very numb like the anon said) so I kept on taking on more and more and initially thought it was great! I’ve never been able to commit to things or work on multiple projects at once even ones that super interest and excite me because I get overwhelmed and burnt out quickly.

But without the warning signs I kept going and going until I started to feel really weird. Disassociated, not sleeping, upset stomach, drinking a lot. I thought everything was great so it took awhile to piece together that this is maybe what Autistic burnout results in when it’s covered by meds.

I’m now slowly withdrawing from the meds. I figure the authentic anxiety is better than false measures of “success”.

So just a warning to Autistic people I guess, I don’t know if what I’ve experienced is common or just subjective but it’s worth being aware of.

This is pretty much how I feel about psychiatric medication for myself, as well. I want the warning signs. I want to notice my body and brain rebelling. A lot of psychiatric drugs are somewhat effective at making us feel more numb, for a while, which is why they are used as a stopgap when a person's situation is unmanageable. I'm a big believer in the "Affect as Information" Hypothesis: when we feel like shit, that means something about our circumstances simply has got to change. Often that means giving up responsibilities, letting people down, letting things go.

I even feel the same way about weed. I have a lot of friends who use weed daily to manage their overwhelm, and it seems to work great for them, and potentially I should be doing the same thing. But I am terrified of having a massive dependence on a large quantity of weed in order to function, and when I *did* use weed daily, it became a baseline need and made me dissociate even further from myself. I now take the desire to use weed or otherwise get blasted as a signal that something is amiss and that I'm overwhelmed and seeking escape -- that doesn't mean I don't listen to that desire some of the time. I get high and/or drunk on the weekends pretty often. But I don't want to lose touch with my body's warning system. AND I have the immense luxury of being able to change my life circumstances when things get to be too much. If someone doesn't have that freedom, well, sometimes substances are the best thing you can get - be that psychiatric or off market.

[cupoteahatter]

I do personally think that like, Evan and Sam are on a slow burn path but in the way of, I don’t think either of them have realised or started to contextualise yet that they’re feeling something alongside that deep profound platonic love for each other.

Now hang on before anyone yells at me hear me out- to start with Sam, we’re witnessing her coming back to this group of people who all love and adore her after being surrounded by people who might adore her, but don’t know her and don’t make any attempts to know her, she’s reuniting with people who very specifically make her feel accompanied and known and it’s not just a text message check up or phone call or an origami bird, she has them in person again for a good period of time after not having them physically with her, so she’s going to stick to “I’m with my friends again, I’m with people who know me and that doesn’t need to change right now.”

(Which is not to say she didn’t feel their love and support even when they weren’t together, that always exists, it’s just more present than before.)

And I don’t think Evan has sat still long enough or without a distraction long enough to truly start to consider it, especially since he and K did break up and that potentially means he’s not thinking about or considering anything other than platonic feelings but one thing about Evan is that nowadays even when he’s alone he keeps that love his friends have for him in the forefront of his mind- Even when he gets insecure about it -these are his friends, they love and they support him so he will do it right back, aggressively. But I think as a result of that he’s staying solidly in a platonic mindset for all of his relationships as it currently stands.

What I do think is that both of them are starting to wake up to the possibility of it, especially with those I Love Yous that suddenly seem to have a double meaning, but neither of them wanna sit still nor have the time to sit and really think about why they’re different all of a sudden, even as they verbally affirm that they’re attracted to one another.

And honestly? That’s the slow burn baby and I am fucking OBSESSED!

[joocomics]

ಬ be quiet (or not)

pairing: non-idol!ten x fem!reader

genre: smut — mdni! wc: 953

contains: university au, sub!reader, usage of toys (vibrator), exhibitionism kink, dirty talk, light humiliation kink

[ wayv masterlist | general masterlist ]

“I will move my hand now,” Ten warns you, but his low voice with an evident sneering tone makes it sound more like a command than anything else; a command he knows you’d suck at following.

It sounds like I want to see you try and fail.

His bold eyes peer into yours in attempt to read your answer in the way they are glazed over with arousal. It’s a small plaything that’s working between your legs, but with a strong impact on your whole body, causing your gaze to be constantly refocusing on the view in front of you, more specifically on him from different angles as you’re locked inside the bathroom.

“You probably know how to keep quiet since you brought this little thing with you.” Ten’s hand retrieves and he cannot help but grin when he catches you desperately tucking your lip between your teeth to avoid making a sound the second he uncovers your mouth. “C’mon, tell me… Why do you have this in your bag anyway?”

The same warmth that overflowed your body when you ran into him on the stairs earlier spreads beneath your skin once again. How come you forget to zip up your bag once and out of all things you keep inside your vibrator is what falls out of it? And out of all people in this building he’s the one to witness it?

However, the feeling of indignity you suffered from in that particular situation which led to this present moment lingers differently now… and you’re enjoying it rather than wanting to escape from it.

“It’s just…” you speak up quietly, “I’ve been feeling stressed out lately.”

“So you hide and touch yourself in public?” His eyes widen with a sparkling glow, the same way they did when he picked up your toy to observe it up close. It’s a discreet size, but there was no way he could ignore it while helping you gather your stuff.

“I—“ you gulp after an unsuccessful attempt to respond. The effects of the vibrations are causing moans to rise into your throat. “I’ve never done it h-here. Just in my car.”

You look at Ten with more concentration after his finger lifts your chin higher. He’s attractive, he really is. Especially when he’s smirking at you condescendingly like that and you can’t do anything except anticipate his next move or his next teasing question.

The son of the dean of this university… If you could turn back time to tell your past self that one day you’re going to find yourself hidden in the campus bathroom with him while everyone else is in class you wouldn’t believe yourself.

“No, I get it, baby,” Ten nods as a gesture of rapport. “It’s exam season, that’s always stressful, isn’t it?” The artificial concern drips from his voice, erotic and tempting in a way you cannot describe.

The small space of the cubicle is making you both feel hotter and you can sense sweat growing on your neck as the buzzing sensation starts to burn in your core.

You move the vibrating head in a slow circle, doubling the pressure on your clit by pressing harder.

“I’m close—“ You whisper the same moment Ten leans in with a hand against the wall behind you where your figure is quivering from the approaching high.

His gaze lowers all the way down to your panties stretched from your ankles. They have a dark spot, a result from the few minutes you spent making out before he turned on your personal toy.

“I think I’m gonna keep those.” He says as you pant into his face; his expression changes into something completely new once your free hand grasps on his hoodie. He swallows the reckless urge forming inside him at the same pace as his erection throbs - stimulated even further from the pretty way you’re breaking down for his eyes only. “I want to make sure that you’re really gonna come over at my place tonight.”

A high pitched sound echoes throughout the tiled walls, but there was no time to prevent it as Ten’s fingers slip inside you without a warning, eager to speed up the process of reaching your climax, but also unable to stop wondering how you feel down there.

“Fuck—“ he mutters in one breath, guiding his lips against yours, but without actually touching them, “you’re perfect for my cock, pretty.”

“I will—“ you mewl in a delayed response while quickening the circles on your sensitive point. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your tummy tightens from the gliding movements that excite your walls with each rub.

“Good.” Ten chuckles amused by your reactions, by your neediness, before his voice turns firm again. “I’m gonna teach you how to actually keep quiet. A perverted girl like you needs a lesson or two.”

You’re unsure if it was just a coincidence or if his words were what pushed you over the edge, but seconds later, you cum around his curled fingers, making him snicker again; this time with your efforts to endure the sensation as calmly as possible which were quite pathetic.

“Tsk, almost got us caught.” He grabs your face with a quick domineering grip almost as if he wants to look at you carefully one more time so he can make sure he has all its details memorised.

Fortunately, the rush washed over you just in time for him to go.

In eight minutes lectures will start coming to an end, and as the son of the dean, he wants to save himself the trouble of being seen leaving the women’s bathroom with a boner and a pair of panties in the back pocket of his jeans.

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

! please keep in mind that english is not my first language. i apologise for any mistakes i’ve might missed

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The truth - Part 1." Daryl Dixon imagine.

(Not my gif! But thanks to the amazing people who make them)

For the first time in his life, Daryl tells Carol the story of how you two met.

A/N: This got longer than I thought hehehe that’s why I’m dividing it in two parts. Thank you so much for all the love my last imagine received! I still can’t believe it. That’s why I thought of combining the stories a bit, and showing you how I imagine Daryl and (Y/N) met, just because I’m crazy and I even thought about making it a serie hahahaha but here you’ll see a bit of how they broke up and in the second part, how they got back together and then later had Marley. Only on this occasion (I’ll try not to do it often) I used the pronoun she and her, but you can read it however you like. Thanks in advance!

“Rick told me that Spencer invited (Y/N) to his house for dinner. He’s been really insistent on them getting to know each other more since we got here.”

For him, it is as if Carol’s words are a sharp razor that cuts his breath away, that makes the world, his world to stop completely, leaving a great void where silence lies and reigns, without the constant grunts of the walkers on the other side of Alexandria's gates, without the singing of the birds that nest in the tree just outside the window of the home they share, without being able to hear the sound of his own breathing that seems to stop too just like the beating of his weak heart. 

Because it was Daryl who told (Y/N) he couldn’t be with her, so he wanted to believe that after that, she managed to extinguish every feeling she once had for him, as well as the light of their love that once shone and the one that was turn off when he left her, which trapped them in the shadows of a cold hurricane and an endless night, always so close but never together, running in circles far from each other without knowing where they were going, drifting like a lost ship in the ocean and in a complete darkness.

But that’s bullshit, Daryl knows it, because she had been the only woman Daryl Dixon was capable of loving, and she is the only woman he would love for the rest of his life.

“Um…” He swings the knife against his finger, sinking it in a little harder than necessary, but not able to ask more.

The night melts into his deathly silence, but, sitting beside him on the wooden step outside their house, Carol lets out a long sigh.

“What do you want, Daryl? Do you really want to see her with someone else?”

Daryl’s chest feels hot, boiling, like the result of a high fever, like he’s been running for hours without stopping to catch a breath.

“I jus' want 'er to be happy.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Carol shakes her head, incredulous, but she has a magical way of telling the truth and still sounding sweet. “She loves you, you, and I know she’ll only be happy with you, even if you’re the surliest man I’ve ever met.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, unable to look her in the eyes as he continues to stare at the grass, hiding behind his hair the eyes of a man who would give his life for the person he loves, but who is too cowardly to stop listening to the voices in his head that tormented him every night, that kept telling him that he would never be worthy of her love, that he would never be the man capable of being loved.

But Carol knows him, and she knows that he is beginning to drown, so, with a warm smile, she speaks again.

“How did you meet her by the way? I don’t think you ever told me that story.”

Softly, because he wasn’t used to doing it often, Daryl smiles at the memory, and his ocean-blue eyes light up and fill with life, and for a moment, he is able to lift his head and look at the moon shining above them.

“We were still pretty young. One night, Merle kicked me out of the ugly apartment we shared during one of his meetings with some drug dealers, so with nothin' to do, I went to a bar to kill some time. It was a shitty place, so I was surprised when she sat at the bar too, just a few feet away from me.”

“What was she like?”

“As beautiful as she is now.”

Carol can hear the smile in his deep voice, as warm as the thought of (Y/N).

“And what were you like?”

“A motherfucker with nothin' to offer 'er.” There’s no emotion in his voice, but before Carol can give him a telling off, Daryl speaks again. “But she looked at me like she could see somethin' in me, somethin' I didn’t even know existed. She talked to me first, and asked if the bike outside was mine. I told 'er that it was, and she, with 'er eyes full of life, told me that 'er older brother used to have one just like that. I laughed a little because she shouldn't be there, she didn't belong in a place like that, and when I asked her, she chuckled, a warm sound, like she was full of colors in that shitty world…”

Daryl chuckles, and for the first time in the long night, he is able to look at Carol, only to confirm with his gaze everything he still could sense about (Y/N) at that moment. Carol can see his smile this time, slight but unmistakable.

“And what happened next?”

“She told me she was runnin' away, that 'er father was goin' to marry her off to some dude of a wealthy family that would get 'em out of the debt that bastard got himself into in the first place. She was goin' to be sold, like a thing, by 'er own fuckin' father.” Carol can hear the venom in his voice, the hatred, the spite in the memory of his own father before he abandoned them. “I asked 'er if she had a place to go, and she said no. I don’t know what went through ma mind when I told 'er ma couch was available, I don’t know what went through 'er mind when she said okay n' thank you. That night when we got back to ma place, Merle told 'er she didn’t look like some hooker he used to bring home. And (Y/N), without any fear, walked up to him and pulled out the gun she had stolen from 'er father, then pressed it against ma brother’s chin, askin' him to repeat what he had just said. Merle loved 'er after that, and I didn’t even know that asshole was capable of lovin' someone.”

Carol laughs.

“I didn’t think I could love (Y/N) more, but now I kinda do.”

Daryl chuckles too.

“Yeah, I kind of did too. I even thought, I have to marry this woman.”

“And you wanted to? Marry her, I mean.”

For a few seconds, Daryl thinks deeply about whether sharing one of his many secrets is the right thing to do, whether saying those words out loud would change the course of things, but at that moment, he considers that saying them is appropriate.

“I bought a ring a year after we got together. It took me a while to get the money, but I finally did it.” Daryl is relieved that she can’t feel the heat on his cheeks, the blush of a boy who fell in love long before he knew what the hell love was.

“And how did you two get together in the first place?”

Daryl shrugs, smiling slightly at her like a little boy: and thankfully, he’d stopped pressing the knife against his finger.

“I don’t even know myself. I guess it started a little after the dinner she made us the next day. I told 'er she could stay as long as she needed to get 'er life together, and Merle asked her to stay if she made him dinner. She was about to shoot him when he told 'er that our mom had never made us such a delicious dinner…” Daryl chuckles, just a little humorous, because the funny memory is mixed with the sad one. “We jus'… at first it was purely carnal, we would have sex to release stress, we would do it and then I would leave ma room that was hers at the time, but there was always somethin' sweet about 'er, I could feel it in the way we kissed, in the way 'er body shuddered as I touched 'er soft skin, in the way she pulled me against 'er body durin'…” Daryl looks back into Carol’s eyes after realizing that he was dreaming out loud, but Carol is there, smiling at him. “There was one night, where I jokingly told 'er that I was enjoyin' this thing of makin' love every night so much that we should consider doin' it durin' the day too, and she jus' looked at me with a confused expression, but with a slight smile on those lips that I was dyin' to kiss in the mornings and at all hours, and she told me that was the first time that I didn't say we had sex.”

Carol smiles, quickly understanding what came next.

“You were falling in love with her.”

Daryl nods softly.

“I was completely devoted to that woman from the moment I met 'er.”

“And you told her?”

Daryl shakes his head.

“Not with words, I ain't good with words, never was. But she knew, I think that’s why she stayed with me all that time.”

“She stayed with you because you’re a good man, Daryl, you always were and you always will be.”

Daryl shrugs, this time in a gesture that dismissed such an affirmation.

“I never told 'er I loved 'er, and she never asked me to tell 'er, but I could feel that she loved me in every kiss, in every hug, in every blessed smile of hers.”

“And how did you two split up when the end of the world began?”

“She got a job shortly after I invited 'er to ma house. She was a vet, and even though she had little experience, 'er boss trusted 'er n' gave 'er a job. That night when people started runnin' and shootin', I went to look for 'er but she wasn’t there. Her boss had been bitten n' I even thought she had been too, but somethin' in me told me that she was stronger, smarter and that she had managed to escape. When Merle and I left town, I never stopped lookin' for 'er: I knew she was alive, and I jus' had to find ma way back to 'er.”

“And you found her after all.”

“Yes, I did, but when we got to the prison, somethin' in me kept tellin' me that I wasn’t enough for 'er, that even if I took care of 'er, she deserved better. That night I told 'er that I couldn’t be with 'er, not in the way she would have wanted. But the way she looked at me, as calm as she had always been… I’ll never forget the way she nodded and walked away…”

Unconsciously, Daryl presses the tip of the knife against his hand again, so imperceptibly that neither he nor Carol notice.

“But you couldn’t stay away from her.”

Daryl chuckles again, embarrassed with himself at the memory of Carol almost catching them in the act.

“Hell no, I had missed 'er body so much. But it was like goin' back to the beginnin’. We had sex when everyone else went to sleep, but I knew it was jus' that: sex. I knew it the moment she wouldn’t let me kiss 'er, the way she hid 'er face in my neck, holding onto my shoulders. So I jus' held 'er against me, huggin' her for as long as she lemme until we were done and she asked me to leave. It was like that all this time. I always have 'er close, but never close enough.”

Carol nods.

“That’s why you stayed here, even though you never really adjusted to this life.”

Daryl frowns, going deeper into his own thoughts.

“I always spent most of ma life in the woods, runnin' away from ma father n' mother, and when they left, I did it to escape from myself. But when she came into ma life, Merle used to tease me and tell me that I had been tamed, that after every job I had, I always came home jus' because she was there. When we came to this place, I considered livin' on the outskirts like I always liked, but I… I can’t be away from 'er.”

Carol’s expression turns into pure sadness, because she knows that Daryl is a good man, strong, loyal to his family, willing to die for one of them without a second’s hesitation, so the insecurities he kept secret were like a knife in his heart and hers. But when she sees (Y/N) from afar coming home after her job at the infirmary, Carol knows that everything comes down to that moment, as if there was no way to escape that decision that Daryl must make, which is now or never.

(Y/N) is still a little far away, so she takes advantage of the moment.

“You are the best man I have ever known, Daryl Dixon, and you deserve all the love you can ever get: from me, from our family, and from her.” Carol steps closer to him, hoping her words are as honest as she intends them to sound, and for a moment, they manage to draw Daryl’s gaze into hers. “I’ll ask you one question only. Do you love her? Do you really, truly love her?”

Daryl holds her gaze, but despite his terror, he manages to find the words he’s been dying to say to her. And when he speaks, his voice is low, husky, but self-assured.

“I do. I love 'er.”

“Then tell her, Pookie.” Carol kisses his temple, smiling at him with all the love she has for him. “I guess you still have the ring. So take her to someplace she likes, tell her the things you always wanted to tell her but were always afraid to say, and ask her to marry you.”

Daryl looks at her silently, with the expression of a scared child.

“What if she says no?”

“She will say yes. I promise. But you have to do it now, Daryl, before she loses hope with you.”

Without saying another word, Carol gets up and goes into the house, leaving him alone, so Daryl can silently contemplate his life, the choices he made, and the love for her that he kept deep in his wounded, frightened heart. But there's something about Daryl that drives him to stop always keeping to himself like he always did, to stop staying on the sidelines, to stop being that man tortured by his own thoughts, to stop loving her silently from the shadows, always behind her to protect her from everything, just so that, in that moment, he would be the brave man she always saw in him.

When (Y/N) arrives at their house, she smiles at him slightly before walking past him, but stopping, just like her heart, when she hears him call her by that funny and almost ridiculous nickname, but with his voice full of love.

“Peach?”

Her hand stops on the doorknob.

“Yes?”

For a small, fleeting moment, Daryl forgets how to speak, as if she were able to snatch all the words from him.

“Are ya doin' somethin' tonight?”

She frowns slightly, and although he hasn’t turned to look at her, she looks at him strangely.

“I don’t think so… going to sleep I guess, why?”

Daryl swallows the lump that forms in his throat.

“I thought that… maybe I could take ya somewhere, but we would have to leave before the sun comes up.”

Her heart is beating fast, an involuntary movement, because it’s been a while since they’ve been truly alone. It's a scary feeling, but deep down, she knows that everything is okay as long as they are together, even though they weren't together.

“Okay.”

There’s a certain playfulness in her voice, masked behind her confusion, but Daryl can sense it.

“I’ll knock on yer door when it’s time to go.”

She nods.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

“G'night, peach.”

She laughs softly, but it’s the same lively sound he heard when they first met, and that, somehow, is like a good omen for him.

“You too.” But she pauses, thinking deeply if her next words will make any change in him. She is afraid, she is so afraid of feeling close to him again, but the fear of losing him at some point is bigger than anything, but not by some walker, because he was smarter than that, but perhaps by himself, because Daryl's worst enemy was his own conscience. “Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

Her heart beats differently, but she can’t hold her words prisoner anymore.

“You promised me you wouldn’t do it anymore.”

He knows it without her saying it, because after so many years, she knows him well, better than anyone, and Daryl can feel his own shame blossoming inside him.

“M'sorry.”

There’s a deep emptiness in his words, and she can’t help but feel that weight on her shoulders too. So, silently, she sits beside him for a moment, admiring the beauty of the moon that, despite that new world, hadn’t changed thankfully.

(Y/N) reaches out her hand to him, the hand he hurt, and Daryl, unable to look her in the eyes, holds her hand as he feels the warmth of her body close to him, for the first time in months. Maybe she was never good with words either, but right now, all he needs from her is to have her close, as close as he would be to her if she said yes.

[nyx-knacks-writes]

Be More Careful, Okay?

Based off of @princeloww's idea of Alec and Campbell being uncle and nephew. I think Alec is a tad out of character here, but I saw this prompt by @prompt-dealer and had an image of Campbell being chased by an angry Alec, and I couldn't resist. No spoilers for either Broadchurch or Takin' Over the Asylum, and none for princeloww's The Never-Ending Sky, either. This is just my little idea of something that could occur if Campbell were to end up in Alec's care. I take zero credit for the idea of Campbell and Alec living together and zero credit for the prompt.

“I’m too young to die!”

“Young ain’t got nothin’ to do with it!”

Alec chased Campbell around the house, literally around the outside of the house, yelling obscenities and threatening—well, Campbell didn’t exactly know what he was threatening, but chances were high that it wasn’t good. Nature of a threat, after all.

Truth be told, Alec also didn’t know what he was threatening. He’d figure that out later. However, he did know that Campbell was in deep trouble. Trouble so deep that he wasn’t exactly sure how to punish the boy. Especially given that Campbell wasn’t even his son. So round and round they went, both yelling and trying not to slip on wet grass that would surely yank their feet out from under them at the first opportunity, causing an impromptu meeting with the cold, wet, muddy ground. 

The first offense had been the shirts. Campbell had had good intentions, really. He’d come home early from school on Monday, seen that the bathroom laundry hamper was full, and decided he’d do a load of washing to help his uncle. What a lovely nephew he was, right? Right? Wrong. Despite his best efforts to sort the colored clothing from the whites and the darks, he’d missed a pair of socks. A pair of red socks. A pair of brand-new red socks the exact color of a freshly washed fire engine gleaming in the summer sun. The shirts had come out pink. Oops. When Alec finally got to see the result of his nephew’s good intentions, he’d simply sighed and shaken his head. No sense in getting mad. He could probably do with some new shirts anyway. He’d donate the pink ones to a charity shop in town. Yeah, yeah, “real men wear pink” and all that, but what was he supposed to do? Like it or not, pink was still very much thought of as a feminine color. He could only imagine the abuse he’d suffer at the hands of his coworkers if he came in wearing a pink shirt. Big, bad DI Hardy in pink? Unthinkable. So he’d donated the old shirts, added a shopping trip to his weekend plans, and obtained the new white shirts that he preferred. A little hit to the wallet, but ultimately, no lasting harm done.

The second offense had been the soup. After the Sandbrook case had finally been solved and closed, Miller had insisted Alec start taking better care of himself and get a hobby. So what did he choose but learning to cook, which would satisfy both her demands? Ever the efficient one, wasn’t he? However, some dishes required a couple of extra hands for the sake of timing, so he would recruit Daisy and/or Campbell, depending on the day and on who was around, to help him out in the kitchen. On Tuesday, he’d needed both of them. It was going to be pumpkin soup for dinner that night, since it had been so cold and rainy, and Alec had asked Campbell to add the cream, nutmeg, salt, and pepper to the pot while he began pureeing vegetables a few cups at a time and Daisy helped him to avoid overloading the food processor. Four teaspoons of nutmeg would do it. However, when Alec caught sight of the little container of nutmeg on the counter after putting the soup back onto the stove to simmer, there was no teaspoon in sight. Instead, there was a tablespoon with a suspicious coating of brown powder sitting only an inch or so away.

“Campbell,” he’d asked slowly, “how much nutmeg did ye put in the soup?”

“Four tablespoons,” Campbell answered, looking up from the knife he was washing. “Why?”

Alec cursed, cut the gas, and put the soup pot on the stove’s back burner.

“Nutmeg is poisonous in high quantities,” he said. “The recipe called for four teaspoons, not tablespoons. If we eat that, we’ll end up in hospital.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, debating on chastising Campbell versus just letting it go. ‘Try to read it a bit more carefully next time, aye?” he eventually said as Campbell made a point to look anywhere else but at his uncle’s eyes. “Anyone have suggestions for dinner tonight? Looks like we’ll be doing takeaway.”

The next day, Campbell really did wind up in the hospital. Not for ignoring his uncle’s warning about the soup, but instead for a skateboard accident. It had been something of an impulse buy on Campbell’s part, and while he was getting to be rather good when it was dry, he’d not yet practiced when it was wet. He’d missed the bus to school in the morning, pondered what to do, and instead of calling a friend or his uncle or even Ellie Miller, he’d decided that the best possible way to rectify this problem was to attempt to skateboard to school and ask to leave the board in the office until the end of the day. He’d load up his backpack, throw on a rain jacket, hop on the board, and sail off into the morning light, perfectly balanced and confident that as long as he was careful, nothing would go wrong. 

What actually happened was that he rolled out with all his things, made it about halfway to the building, hydroplaned on a small hill, and ate dirt. Great. One ambulance ride, a thorough wound-washing, a chunk of chin and six stitches later, he was sitting in a hospital bed as Alec chewed him out for being irresponsible and not just calling for help or walking to school instead of getting on a set of wheels that had not been properly tested for mildly inclement weather. Not that he could be too hard on the boy. His intentions (get to school without inconveniencing anyone) had been good, and the fall, given its consequences, had really been punishment enough for poor Campbell. He looked like he’d expected a bowl of cherries and gotten a cherry bomb instead: a little confused and a lot regretful. Like he was contemplating the choices in his life that had brought him to this moment. 

Thursday had been blessedly normal. No blood, no pink shirts, no ruined meals. Normal ride to school, normal day, normal ride home. He didn’t even have homework for once in his school career! Maybe he was in the clear! Maybe his little bad-luck streak was over!

And then on Friday he inadvertently dyed his uncle’s hair a bright teal. What he wanted to do was put a teal streak in his own hair. It had been something he’d been thinking about for a while, and after having such a rough week, he figured that it wouldn’t hurt to try. He’d spent the afternoon in and out of the bathroom, making sure he was doing it right and not dying the whole house at the same time, and it had come out beautifully! Not a drop anywhere but in his hair, nice clean stripe, absolutely gorgeous. His one mistake? Leaving the bottle in the shower. When he’d gone to rinse out the excess dye, he’d taken the bottle into the shower with him to check the instructions for how to properly care for the freshly dyed hair. When he was all set, he’d left it there. And what did his poor, unsuspecting uncle do when he went to wash his hair later that night? He grabbed the dye bottle instead of the shampoo. And what did he see when his hair finally dried? Bright teal. Everywhere. All over his head. No missing it. Thus leading to the lovely game of ring-around-the-house. It was a little childish, yeah, but Campbell hadn’t been sure what his uncle was going to do with him when the newly teal-headed man had stormed into the living room with murder in his eyes. The options had been limited, so Campbell chose to run. 

Uncle and nephew made the oval at least four times over, pushing Alec’s pacemaker to the limit, before Alec finally stopped seeing red and had the bright idea to simply wait for Campbell to come back around again. He snagged at his nephew’s hood when the opportunity presented itself and pulled the boy against his chest. 

“Campbell, I . . . why?” Alec asked helplessly, wind going out of his sails. “I know ye’ve had a tough time adjusting here, but why?”

“I didnae mean to!” Campbell squawked. “I left the dye in the shower by accident, I swear!”

“I know ye didnae mean to, I’m asking ye why ye haven’t been more careful! Two out of the last five days ye’ve injured or nearly killed yerself, an’ I just want to know why!”

Alec stopped for a moment, released a breath, and let it go. 

“Look, I know ye’re not happy to be here. I know nothing’s the same and ye’re not even with yer mum and da anymore. I’m worried about ye. Please, just . . . I need ye to be more careful. That’s all. That’s why I’m upset. Now please, let’s stop these Looney Tunes shenanigans an’ go back inside. It’s too cold an’ wet to be out at this time of night.”

Campbell stopped to consider that for a moment, and Alec realized what he’d said. However, the apology wasn’t halfway out of his mouth before Campbell cracked a grin.

“But I am a looney.” 

“Campbell—”

“How can ye expect me no’ to engage in Looney Tunes shenanigans when I am, in fact, a looney?”

“Campbell—”

“In fact, you ought to be thankful that I don’t engage in more Looney Tunes shenanigans just to spite ye! In fact—!”

“Campbell!”

The boy in question stopped talking, but his grin didn’t fade even a little.

“Yes?”

“Inside. Please.”

And so, the pair trooped to the door in silence, neither sure what to say to the other until Campbell paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ll be more careful,” he promised. “I didnae mean to worry ye, really. I’ve just had an unlucky couple of days. I’m fine.”

“Really fine?”

“Aye, really fine.”

“And ye know ye can ask fer help any time?”

“Aye.”

“And—”

“Yes, yes, come on, let’s go inside! I haven’t eaten since lunch, an’ dinner won’t cook itself. What are we makin’ tonight?”

[woodywood101blog]

Experimental: Postpartum

It was a rough 24 hours following the birth of the babies, but the quick-thinking duo of Mike and Anna were able to rapidly stabilise the internal bleeding resulting from Yazan’s body rejecting the uterus. Randy barely got any sleep as he stayed by Yazan’s bedside to make sure he and the babies were okay. The team fed Yazan through a drip to ensure that he could produce milk for the babies. Randy helped get the breast pumps set up to feed the babies by bottle.

After a week in a medically induced coma, the team decided to try and wake up Yazan. In what could only be described as a miracle, Yazan woke up. He groaned and turned to face Randy. Randy tightly gripped Yazan’s hands as he burst into tears. “Oh my god, Yaz! You scared me for a hot minute!”

“Wh-where’s my babies?” Yazan looked down at his breasts being pumped and his smaller belly and rapidly looked around the room.

“Yaz, your babies are alright. They’re in the nursery next door. We can bring them in.”

Yazan started crying intensely as he realised just how close he was to never being able to see his kids that he grew so attached to over the months. Randy got up and hugged Yazan tightly, kissing his head as they both cried together. “You’re alright, babe.”

After a further two weeks at the RPA, the team provided clearance for Yazan and the babies to be discharged. All four of the babies passed their tests with flying colours, which Randy had great pleasure in running. Yazan felt sore from both being in a coma and as his body started to readjust back to a vague presentation of itself before he got pregnant.

“Hey, before you go, I just have something I need to sort out with you. Can we talk privately?” Mike said to Yazan. They walked towards a courtyard table and sat, Yazan groaning as he tried to contort his legs to sit.

“You are one incredible man, you know that right? I truly cannot believe how incredibly strong and courageous you are. Take away the history of being the first man to successfully carry children to term, you are now a father to four beautiful children. And that man over there,” Mike said as he pointed towards Randy. “That man loves everything about you. He literally did not leave your bedside until we forced him to go back to the apartment to ‘grab things’. He ran all the tests and did all the feedings of the babies. That is true love right there.”

Yazan glanced back at Randy, who was holding a coffee while chatting with Anna. Randy looked back and smiled at Yazan.

“I can’t be a barrier to true love. So, I spoke with a family lawyer, and I’m going to get the process started on relinquishing my parental responsibilities. I have also arranged for Randy to speak with another lawyer to get the ball rolling on getting the kids American passports, because technically your kids are just Australians at the moment.”

Yazan looked up at Mike and quietly said, “Thank you. I am so sorry for being an asshole.”

“I’ll blame the hormones, it’s fine.” Mike and Yazan chuckled as they sipped their cups of coffee.

***

After a couple more weeks of interviews, urgent Family Court hearings and interviews at the United States Consulate in Sydney, Yazan was granted sole parental responsibility of the four kids, and the four kids were granted American citizenship. From there, it was just a matter of getting the kids back to the United States to start their new life together, alongside Randy.

Randy relished the opportunity to be a father, and took a strong lead in supporting Yazan to settle into a routine. This also included selling his apartment downtown and moving in with Yazan to the newly expanded family home. Randy did a lot of the day chores, like cleaning, cooking and bills, while Yazan focused on feeding the babies and other odd bits of chores as needed.

Yazan awkwardly had to explain to the hospital’s HR that he needed to move to part-time work as he had four babies to look after. His cause was not helped when his breasts started to leak milk during the meeting. However, he managed to arrange 3 full months of leave, and would slowly transition back to 3 days a week. Randy also took two weeks paternity leave, which he was surprised HR agreed to.

Over the days and weeks, Yazan and Randy found their groove as they settled into their new life with Anna, Michael, Tanner and Richard. Yazan chose Anna and Michael to recognise the incredible support they gave during the birth, and Randy chose Tanner and Richard after other close colleagues at work.

They never truly explained to friends what happened. However, their friend Tanner was clued into Yazan’s growing belly, but never commented in fear it was just regular weight gain. Yazan quietly told Tanner the full story over lunch one day as he brought the kids in to see his haematology colleagues, plus Randy.

***

Yazan was getting himself ready one morning before the kids woke up, and sighed as he looked in the mirror. His entire body had transformed from the muscular hunk he was known to be at the hospital to an overweight man with actual breasts that needed to be pumped to avoid unexpected leakages. He started to wonder whether he could ever get his pre-baby body back.

As Yazan walked out of the bedroom and into the living room, Randy noticed Yazan’s demeanour.

“Hey, babe, how are you feeling today?”

“I feel disgusting today.”

“What brought that feeling?”

“I just.. I mean, look at me! I’m a fucking cow with full-grown double-D tits. I still look like I’m pregnant and I just… I just want this to go back to normal.”

Randy stood up and slowly walked towards Yazan, who felt ashamed.

“I know I should be proud because my body went through so much to bring these kids into the world, and I get to sustain life with these breasts, but I’m not a man anymore. I’m just… a baby machine!”

Randy chuckled as he hugged Yazan tightly, kissing him on the forehead. “Rightio, Yaz. As you said, you have gone through so much. And you know what, you’re alive, the kids are alive, and if the price to pay at the moment is that you have some love handles, is that really the end of the world?”

“No…”

“Right. I love you, Yaz. I love all of you, every nook and crevice. And yes, I even love your belly and your tits. Why? Because you are so much stronger than any other man on Earth. You have literally done what no other man has done: bring new life. That is beyond incredible, babe! Heck, if I could, I would.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, I still have Mike’s number.”

“You get the point! I love you and I will be there for you, regardless of how you look or how you’ve changed or what’s happened. You are who I want to be with for my whole life.”

Yazan raised an eyebrow as he saw Randy step back and bend down on one knee.

“Randy.. What are you doing?”

“Look, I don’t have a ring, but I’ll ask anyway: I love you, Yazan. I want to spend the rest of my life with you… Yazan, will you marry me?”

Yazan’s eyes widened as he realised what Randy just asked. He beamed and quietly screamed out “Yes!”. As he ran towards Randy to hug and kiss, they heard the baby monitor squeal with the four babies awake.

***

Six months later, Yazan and Randy managed to tie the knot. They didn’t want to wait much longer, and didn’t necessarily care for a lot of the formalities, given the unconventional nature of how they became a family, so it was fairly easy to arrange the wedding at a civil registry, and then arrange a low-key dinner with friends, family and other loved ones.

They invited Mike and Anna to come along from Australia to the ceremony. They were delighted to be invited, and eagerly accepted a separate invite from Yazan to come to their place and see the kids.

As Anna was holding up baby Anna, Mike got to chatting with Randy and Yazan. “So, we have some news from the research side of things. The university provisionally approved further research.”

“Oh, amazing! That’s good to hear.” Randy said.

“Yeah, it was a bit stressful trying to explain at a high level what happened, but the university saw the merit in continuing the research into the hormone supplements to see what sort of expanded uses it could help with. And, Yazan, you’d be pleased to know that the research approval had nothing to do with your pregnancy.”

“Wait, what? How?” Yazan was confused.

“Well… I hadn’t actually told anyone at the time, but when you were being discharged from hospital, I was actually 12 weeks pregnant.”

Randy and Yazan’s eyes widened in shock. Mike pulled out his phone to show his lock screen photo. It showed a small baby girl. “This is Shayna.” Randy and Yazan joyfully hugged Mike as Mike started to tear up in happiness too.

“I’ve been doing this research for years because I so desperately wanted to have a child of my own. My dream has come true.” Mike said through tears.

***

A year later, the four kids had grown into their own distinct personalities. Anna was the boss and had no hesitation in getting her brothers to do what she wanted. Michael was inquisitive, always waddling around the house looking for something exciting to do. Tanner was quieter, sometimes in his own world, but always happy and joyful. And Richard was energetic, always running around the house and making Yazan and Randy’s lives busier than it already was.

As they settled the four kids into bed, Yazan and Randy slid onto the sofa and sighed.

Randy sighed, “Ahh, isn’t this bliss? The kids are asleep, the house is clean, everyone is fed, and I now have a nice glass of red.”

“Yep, cheers to that.” Yazan replied as they clinked their glasses. “Hey babe, I was thinking today…”

“You know I don’t like it when you start phrases like that!”

“Randy, you’ll like this idea! I was thinking… about seeing whether Mike was really correct about the uterus and ovary being fully-functional?”

“Huh, what?”

“You know how I vented that the magic salt -”

“The hormonal supplements?”

“Yes, the hormonal supplements caused me to grow a fully-functioning uterus and ovary… I was wondering whether you wanted to see if that hypothesis was correct?”

“Are you saying you want another child?”

“In other words, yes.”

Randy scooched over towards Yazan and sensually kissed his lips. “I’ve been wondering whether you would ever say yes to having another child.”

Yazan moaned, “I want you to breed me with your kid, or kids.”

They slowly took each other’s shirts off and continued to make out on their sofa. We’ll clean this up tomorrow, Yazan thought as he took his shorts off and prepared to take Randy’s dick once again in his manpussy.

***

One lazy Saturday morning, Yazan was sitting at the dining table, making sure the kids ate their scrambled eggs and toast. Randy turned around with two plates filled with a classic Yazan breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, avocado, salt and pepper and toast.

As Randy put the plate of food down in front of Yazan, Yazan’s nose twitched. He felt a sudden wave of nausea.

“Babe, are you o-”

Yazan ran to the closest bathroom and vomited into the toilet. Randy quickly calmed the kids down then moved across to Yazan in the bathroom. He knocked on the door. “Babe? Are you okay?”

Yazan groaned. Randy opened the door and saw Yazan sitting near the toilet bowl, looking worse for wear.

“Should I run past the pharmacist and get a test?”

The End

Note from Woody: Just want to send a massive thank you to everyone for their lovely words and motivation to get this over the line. It's been a labour of love, so to speak... In particular, a massive thank you to @bigmpregnm for both the morphs and the support!

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Skydiving.

word count - 1.4k

The camera then cut to a video of you walking up a grass hill towards a big house, you were wearing a white play suit, your hair tied up in a pony tail as you fiddled with your wedding ring, something that you often did when you were nervous.

You walked up to the house, walking through it and letting your feet lead you outside.

You peered your head around the corner, making eye contact with all of the contestants.

Oti Mabuse,

Tulisa,

Danny Jones,

Dean McCullough,

And Jane Moore.

“Ahh!” Tulisa ran towards you the second she saw you and embraced you in a hug. You recognised all of the people in front of you which you were glad about.

You had met Tulisa a few times over the years, a few times when Harry had performed on the x-factor.

“It’s so nice to see all of you,” you grinned, after Danny Jones brought you in for a hug.

“Can’t believe Harry Styles wife is stood right in front of me,” Dean couldn’t wrap his head around it. “— think you can give him my number when we get out of here?”

You laughed, embracing him.

Danny smiled, before bringing everyone around him into a hug.

“Campmates!”

The sound of helicopters in the air brought you out of the hug, you lifted your head up, linking arms with Dean.

“What is that noise?” He asked, mouth falling agape.

“It’s a helicopter!” You exclaimed, pointing your hand up into the air. “— holy cow!”

Soon enough, six helicopters could be seen.

“Six?” Danny widened his eyes. “Are you having a laugh?”

Jane pointed to one of the helicopters. “It’s Ant and Dec!”

The six camp mates started jumping up and down, you had to admit that you were a little bit excited.

“Six helicopters,” Danny could hardly contain his excitement as he counted all the people around him. “One, two, three, four, five, six!”

It felt like something out of a movie as the double act walked towards the six of you, you gulped.

“Here comes trouble!” Oti gasped.

“Look at you, you all look gorgeous,” Ant grinned and held his hands out.

Dec smiled. “— welcome to Australia!”

“Now take in all that’s around you,” Dec continued, an evil glint to his eye. “— because you won’t be here long.”

You gulped, one foot kicking the heel of your other foot out of nerves.

Was it too late to back out?

You and Dean exchanged a look.

“You all about to take part in a race to become the first leaders of camp,” the shorter host began explaining. “— down there are six helicopters, each for one of you.”

“Oh god,” you eyes widened slightly. “I know where this is going.”

Ant pointed at you all. “Before you take off you might want to grab yourselves a parachute! Because you’ll all be skydiving out of your chopper!”

Danny started pumping his hands up into the air.

“Someone’s excited.”

Danny let out a laugh. “— I don’t know why I just thought I’d celebrate.”

That got you laughing.

“Once you landed, you’ll meet your other celebrities.” Ant continued. “— you will then have to pick a celebrity to partner up with.”

Dec instructed. “The pair who win the race will become the first leaders of camp and that comes with perks.”

“You’ll be sleeping in the comfort of the leaders lodge and will be exempt from the first bush tucker trial.”

Ant then remembered something as he turned to his best friend. “I’ve just realised we’re terrible hosts, we haven’t offered them a welcome drink.”

“I’m fine thanks.” You smiled, making everyone laugh at you.

Just as you said that, a waiter came walking over, holding a tray of drinks in his hand.

“The welcome drinks are not very welcoming,” Dec expressed, “— this is blended bull’s penis and fish eye with vomit fruit garnish.”

Oh god, you were going to be sick.

“The order in which you finish your drinks will be the order in which you jump out of the helicopter, which will then result in the order you pick your partner.”

The six camp mates then walked over to pick up one of the glasses and you made the grave mistake of smelling the contents.

Your never doing that again.

“The race is about to begin,” Ant stated. “Ready…steady…go!”

You placed the vomit fruit up to your mouth and chewed on it as fast as you possible could, your eyes were closed, focusing on anything but the food in your mouth.

You then brought the drink up to your mouth, drinking through the straw, you pulled away and gagged, nothing came up but you were close.

When you looked up, you noticed Danny was almost done and Tulisa was close behind him.

There was no way that you were going to come last.

The straw came back in connection with your mouth and you drank like your life depended on it.

Danny finished his drink first, placing his drink on the table, and Tulisa came third, followed by you in third, Jane in fourth, Dean in fifth and Oti in sixth.

The next think you knew, you were running down the hill towards the helicopters, a man with a parachute waiting for you.

Up, up and away.

As Harry approached the beach area, was when he spotted a few other celebrities stood there.

“Harry!”Melvin exclaimed, running over to give the man a hug. “— long time no see!”

“Hi, how are you?”the singer asked, stepping away from the embrace.

“I’m good,” Melvin smiled. “You?”

Harry nodded his head as he fiddled with his wedding ring. “Yeah, m’good, tired but good.”

The next camp mate approached, it was Colleen Rooney.

So then everyone was there.

GK Barry,

Alan Halsall,

Barry McGuigan,

Colleen Rooney,

And Melvin Odoom.

“So this is it then?” GK asked, looking around at everyone. “— honestly im shitting it, not going to lie to you all.”

Suddenly a ringing sound became known to the celebrities, Harry pursed his lips.

“What’s that?” Colleen asked, hands on her hips.

“Shall we have a look?”

Alan leaned forward and hesitantly pressed the button, Harry stood there, eyebrows furrowed.

The ringing stopped.

“Celebrities…” it was Ant.

“How are you all feeling?”

“M’palms are sweaty.” Harry murmured, wiping them against his shorts.

He was wearing a pair of cream shorts with a white tank top with a matching cream top over the top.

“Well we can help with that because you are about to take part in a race to become the first leaders of camp and they will sleep in the leaders lodge and will be exempt from the first bush ticket trial.”

“However, the race has already began, five of your fellow celebrities will be skydiving down next to you and will be picking one of you to be part of the team.”

That was when Harry realised that one of those contestants would be his wife, and he knew for a fact that his wife was immensely scared of heights.

So scared that on the flight out of here, she was practically in his lap during the take off, he had to hold her down in the seat.

“Once your picked, you will then leave the beach and continue the race.”

You were shitting it.

There was no way that you would be able to jump out of this helicopter.

Oh god.

Oh golly gosh.

The professional skydiver was sat behind you, attached.

You looked out of the window and watched as Danny exited the helicopter and shortly after Tulisa did the same.

Now it was your turn.

“Are you ready?”The skydiver asked, shimmying the two of you closer to the open door.

“I don’t think I can do it.” A start tear fell down your face as you contemplated the idea of skydiving.

And then your mind drifted to Harry.

What would he be saying to you if he was sat next to you.

“Y’got this m’sunshine.”

“M’so proud of you already.”

“Let’s do it.” You took a big intake of breath as you were shuffled even closer.

And when the light turned green you were propelled out of it and flipping through the sky.

A scream ripped through your chest.

But once you had stopped flipping, it was one of the most amazing things you had ever seen.

You were above the ocean, you could see things for miles.

“This is amazing!”you exclaimed, as you fell.

Danny was the first to land and he partnered up with Barry and Tulisa picked Alan.

When you landed, you fell softly but rough on the sand, you were quickly unclipped and you ran forward to pick a partner.

And when you approached, you got the biggest surprise of your life.

“H?”

He grinned up at you sheepishly whilst rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sunshine!”

taglist: @luvr4miya @thurhomish @shanice

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 53

Alright so I’m gonna level with you. 

I REALLY wanted to do a V3 based pic for this day. However at the time I couldn’t for the life of me come up with an actual idea for it.

I think it’s because I was very tunnel visioned on specifically trying to do something with Junko Enoshima the 53rd, for very obvious reasons. This was back before I really had any opinions on Tsumugi, at that point the space she held in my brain was “Unique Antagonist that shows up semi-often in Junkan Fics.”

Which isn’t like, the best way one could view the character I can imagine. Though she had it better than Yasuke at least I didn’t even know who he was outside of occasionally appearing in these fics until like, somewhere in the first month of Project Production. I’ve never read DR0, someday though. someday. 

Anyway back to Tsumugi, mostly thanks to the local bandit, I’ve come to appreciate the character a lot more. I’m not like, an expert on the character. I'm still kind of feeling things out purely through osmosis, i’m not really an expert on nothing. However I like her a lot more than I used to, which means I have hindsight.

If I was making Day 53 right now I would probably just make some kind of art about Tsumugi being a Junkan Shipper. We’ve all given characters headcanon based on ourselves before, gender, sexuality, personal experiences, that weird clicking thing you can do with your thumb (or is that just me?), we love to impart aspects of ourselves onto these characters. 

And when the hell else am I going to headcanon such a specific fuckin’ aspect of myself such as “I ship Junkan” onto a character? It’s Tsumugi or nothing.

Honestly I’m not gonna guarantee but I might actually just make a pic based on what I’m currently thinking for a Tsumugi Themed Junkan art, and just, posted the same day as this one? If I do i’ll schedule it in advance to post like, an hour or two after this one. Enjoy the suspense of whether I actually did that or not! 

Oh, and I actually edited this image a bit. Both because I thought Junko's face just looked, bad in this. But also for reasons I'm not gonna bother getting into right now. However as a result we got this funny bit during the editing process

What if Junko was creepypasta lol . . . . . . . oh

oh god DAMMIT WAIT I LIKE THIS. Now I can't draw it until this Day gets released! DAMMIT!

[cigarettesaftersae]

Homesick 04 - Bewitched

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Series: sae x f!reader | childhoodlovers!au

Stuck in a small town near the coast with a previous crush on a boy who returns after years

Sae's hands land on the handle of the door leading inside Maria’s Cafe. To the left was two young ladies sipping hot brewing coffee, to the far right of the corner was another lady expect older with a book in her two hands and a mug of hot coffee cooling off by her side, then to his front, he saw your back, your color hair, the apron wrapped around your waist from the back and hearing; the sound of your voice. He guessed you and Maria were deep into conversion, To his amuse, they didn’t seem to notice him yet.

“I wondered if you knew anything about Itoshi Sae, you know um, red hair, teal eyes, very long under eye lashes. I’m kinda jealous of them.”

She chuckles with her back facing you, making a small cup of coffee for the waiting customers.

“Is this for research or something else?”

“Something like that”

Was she another fan? How annoying

”He’s a beautiful young man, yet I do pity him. His whole life has been revolved around soccer. I fear it gets the worse of him.”

He couldn’t disagree with Maria; soccer has been the one and only thing he ever truly revolved around. Besides his younger brother, it has truly been soccer that kidnapped and trapped him to where he is now: shaping his manners and resulting the outcome of his relationships.

“So…is he like special or something?” With a gentle tone, you asked

No, he really wasn’t special. Just there, gifted with talents like no other.

“Looks like someone doesn’t pay attention to the news and gossips.” Maria spoke

The gentle tone you carried tend to become gentler, so gentle, he couldn’t hear you anymore. Your voices and Maria’s muffled out.

“Hah, I don’t really like those much despite..——”

Despite what exactly?

“—being a journalist” you breathe out

A journalist? Were you slowly building a relationship with him for an interview, most people would schedule an appointment with him, follow him around, etc. Did you follow him to the beach? What exactly are your plans towards him? Are you simply a fan? A nosy journalist, butting their nose where it doesn’t belong? For a moment, he found a small inch of interest outside of soccer towards you. He was curious, what were your intentions? He knows he shouldn’t care; he knows he’s busy, but just an inch isn’t so bad.

—

How did you get here again? Another day working with Sae as Maria rests at home, though you were slightly annoyed by his way of work. He just worked in the back, no help even if the front may get busy which wasn’t— for now. But you can understand his reason why; if he works in the front, people may recognize him for being The Sae Itoshi, Japan’s prodigy. You just simply couldn’t stand him, his demeanor, manners, and long dumb eyelashes.

You slip out your phone since it wasn’t too busy, searching up Sae Itoshi. Watching a match where he scored marvelous goals that seemed extremely impossible, all without a sweat. You could notice he avoided the camera, strayed interest apart from his teammates— “What are you doing?” Sae’s melancholy voice interrupted you, quickly and embarrassingly turn off your phone- slamming it on the table hoping it didn’t break. “Nothing, just passing time..”

“There’s a customer.” He said plainly

You turned around, slightly surprised and disappointed in yourself. You sighed, how could you let yourself get distracted so stupidly. “I apologize—”

Before you could finish that sentence, Sae had taken care of the order, an iced coffee. He stared at you, waiting for you to make the cup of coffee. Looks like the roles had been switched, with you in the back and him in the front.

You head to the back making a cup of coffee, as you stepped out to hand the customer his order but you wished you had just kept Sae in the back. A group of young high school girls gathered around the front leaning in to get a better glimpse of Sae’s perfect and flawless features.

“Um Could we get a picture together?” One of the girls begged

“No” Sae didn’t even bother to look at them, he stared down at the register just hoping they go away and forget this ever happened. What do you do—? You panicked, the iced coffee you had just made now had been poured all over Sae. The empty coffee cup slipped out of your hands and onto the ground. You blinked, looking at the droplets be slowly pulled by gravity from Sae’s hair, neck and bare arms. “U-uh— I’m so sorry…” At least you’re both even now, only it was iced coffee so he didn’t suffer the burn...lucky.

“You’re alright, take care of them” Sae walked away from register and disappeared into the back.

The group of girls walked away after Sae left as well. You waited for Sae to clean himself up into a new attire, luckily the cafe had shirts just packed away into a box. Maybe you should apologize again, more formally. Heading into the back, you find Sae who recently changed clothes.

“I want to apologize again…It looked like the only solution beside you weren’t doing anything much to shoo them off. Does this usually happen?” Your voice treaded near the end, almost anxious to pronounce the first syllabus of your question

“Yeah” he answered like it was just a casual interaction, popularity is a thief to your own skin.

“Well if it makes you feel any better, we do close early today since it’s a Wednesday.”

“I already know that.”

Should’ve known trying to cheer up someone as aloof as him wouldn’t entirely work. Can’t say you didn’t try.

The day had gone by with a quick breath, you worked with cups of coffee accompanied by the red hair boy as the sun laid lower each clicking hour. Golden sunshine glittering this side of the world to a dark sky and a bright moon up alone dancing along with the stars. You sleep, wake up, eat, and repeat till time arrives to you with Saturday. You appreciated that the cafe closed every Saturdays, even with closing days you still visit Maria. Stepping on her wooden old porch as she welcomed you inside her home’s warm air. Her house contained of a sweet old smell with bright, cozy, vintage furniture surrounding you despite everything here being slightly new to you it was more nostalgic than new. Dancing down the stairs to the halls to the kitchen that lingered the smell of fresh baked cookies that your mama would make be painted sweetly in your head for a little bit. Thinking of that memory felt like taking a bite of red-velvet cake that freshened with cream cheese around it. Maria granted those memories to light for you.

“Thank you so much for the tea Maria” You thanked with a sweet smile

“Oh your welcome dear. I do apologize for disappearing for a few days, the old age is catching up to me quicker than I thought it would”

“Oh no it’s all right, I’m just glad you could rest. And uh…I came here to visit but I saw all the leaves that were unraked. If you don’t mind, I could help you clean them up”

“I can’t ask you to do that much for me, you already token care of me dearly sweet pea”

“It would cure my boredom”

“Raking leaves?”

“Yes.”

-

You can start to feel a bit tired now, and you’re not even half way finished. Autumn has structed it’s most powerful storm of leaves right at the house of a old lady, how boo boo butt Autumn is. The rums of a vehicle arrived, it looked almost…familiar— It’s Sae’s car. The classy black engine and extremely tinted windows, it’s Sae Itoshi. He parked into the driveway, stepping out of the car he seemed even elegant while doing that. He walked up to you just staring at you like you were a dumb snail on the sidewalk.

“Um..hi?” You awkwardly welcome

His hand reaches out to you, almost flinching just to find a colored leaf that seemed to be collected from the top of your head then into the fingerprints of his.

“You had a leaf on your head, you looked stupid.”

“Well, I’m raking leaves, there’s leaves everywhere. It’d be uncommon to not find one my head”

“And you looked stupid,”

“I—” You couldn’t even come up with anything to say and even if you had something to say he had already started walking away to Maria’s house.

“asshole..” you mumble to yourself before getting back to raking the leaves. Piling all the colorful leaves into one area and into a bag for trash. Despite this long full job of raking leaves, you still found deep enjoyment for it. The crunch crisp sound once you stepped on it, or the windy air passing by, or the pumpkin spice lattes selling out, or maybe,

maybe its just Autumn itself, you admired the season of change always since the start you laid eyes on a red maple leaf, running to your mama, showing her the wonderful patterns of vines on this red maple leaf. Putting up your very first red maple leaf up into picture to remember it as your first love, Autumn.

You look up to the sound of crunched leaves, seeing Sae who seemed to be…helping you out? Or no, helping Maria out

You mind your own business of cleaning up piles and piles and piles of what seemed, forever, an endless ocean of leaves. You dump the leaves into the bag, this remains as a cycle for about an hour, at least you’re both a quarter finished. Thanks to Sae’s help.

“I’m going to go inside, finish this all up.”

All—

You’ve been doing this from the start, yes you suggested this idea first but there’s a reason why helping is a thing.

“What? That isn’t fair, and we’re almost done lets just finish it up together so it’s quick. I don’t want to be here all day.”

“Not my problem”

Real asshole, He didn’t even bother to listen to your complaining and started walking away. Before he could, you gush the bag of leaves to flood all over Sae. You now just realized what you had done, what if he makes you a maid forever as payback? Or make you eat apple sauce, ew.

“…I’M SO SORRY-”

You squint your eyes for protection when Sae kicks the pile of leaves beneath your foot to your face.

“um…I’m sorry..what are you doing—?” You apologize but Sae walked away, over to the bags piled of leaves and picked it up. Guessing he was going to clean up the rip you made into the bag you held. But that would seem out of character. He would just tell you to clean that up and walk away.

Sae dumps the bag of leaves over your head.

“We’re even now.”

You pouted, he looked ready to just walk away again and let only you clean the mess up. No way, again you grabbed another bag and dump it towards Sae.

“Lukewarm…”

“Lukewarm?”

“Yeah, you’re acting like a child”

“You just did the same thing to me.”

“You started it”

“Maybe if you had heard me out and helped me clean the rest of this mess, I wouldn’t have started anything”

Without a notice, Maria comes up from behind

“Please, please, sweeties why must you bicker?”

“nothing too serious—”

“She made a mess and won’t clean it up”

“Lies, he was going to leave me to do this all alone. It’s unfair Miss Maria, making a woman do all the work alone, do you not stand for woman rights?” You accused of Sae with a bit of playfulness

“Now you’re assuming things—”

“Ah- ah -ah” you cut him off

You heard the chuckle of Maria move through air, you both stopped arguing to look at her with a confused expression and tilted head.

“What’s so funny..?” You mumble with a small pout, you knew this was embarrassing but still fun but now she’s laughing at you? or is it at him? or both of us?

“What?” He asked with a rush tone

“Well.. looked at the mess you two made. Another hour at raking for you two I believe.” She begins to walk away with a soft giggle still leaving her lips

A soft giggle leaves your lips,

“What are you laughing about Octopus?”

“Nothing!…It’s just you have a leaf on your head…you look stupid”

The soft giggle transform into a chuckle then to a party of laughter. You almost didn’t see it since it blended into Sae’s red hair color. It was a red maple leaf.

.

.

.

If you find a leaf on your head in the season of Autumn, it can grant a wish or love.

(yes its a season of blossom manhwa ref)

[waynes-multiverse]

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

Let's jump into it! 🍿

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That means you got… 64% of the vote

Whoa! You can almost call that a landslide! 🥳

Suck it, Amara 😝

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus effing Christ...

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

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

Chills! Literal chills! 👏

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

Uhm, sweetie...? You feelin' good? 😂

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

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

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

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

You did good, boo 😘👏

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

A realist, you might say 😂

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

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

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

He’s not being a perv.

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

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

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

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

Yes. Just been there last week again 😂

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

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

I died somewhere while reading this paragraph 🔥🥵🫠

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

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

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

“So he’s a bad boy.” Bella giggled

DECEASED 🤣🤣🤣 Bella should join the PR team!

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

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

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

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

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐱𝐲𝐳 1

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

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

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

NOW PLAYING: Power by Little Mix

office fever

God, the wait was killing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t do that.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Steph, no—”

“Yes—”

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

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

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

2014 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTIONS, FINAL POLL RESULTS

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

AMARA SHURLEY — 36%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Madam President,

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

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

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

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

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

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

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

The next step was trickier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean frowned. “Who?”

“Didn’t say. Get up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s me in a nutshell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean Winchester.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His ass felt like it was in heaven right now.

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

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

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

Then he swallowed. Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this answer was simple.

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

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

“You’re hired.”

You’re. Hired. He could die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jerk.”

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

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

“Austin!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

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

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

“I hope so,” you said quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“You really do look good in that suit.”

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

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

It was going to be an interesting partnership.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “What? He didn’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uncle Dean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam blinked. “A newspaper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Different how?”

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

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

“I do,” Dean admitted.

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

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “Sam!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT UP:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

[theswedishpajas]

The man truly can’t take a genuine compliment 🙄

[skinreflectsthesun]

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[prozach27]

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[fingertipsmp3]

Divinity can be found in the handwritten letter

[cuteniaarts]

Fanny, my sweet, beautiful girl

17.11.2012 – 14.04.2019