are we out of the woods yet?

I go by a different name in every platform :D

[kzhyxmi]

𓂃✍︎𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑬𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺: list ʚɞ

➤ 𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐢 (she/her; Asian) STEM + ART

୨ৎ multifandom: dr.stone, genshin, one piece, atla, haikyuu, aot, jjk, mha, tba ୨ৎ dms are open! ୨ৎ i love comments left on my work ♡ ୨ৎ i go by different names on other platforms except wattpad :D

୨ৎ might see me as fumie, miki, or kimi, depending on the platform.

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Chapter 3.2: Under the Weather

Chapter WC: 5712 Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST; CHAPTER 3.1 SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing A/n: I'm backkk. Stanley faces the greatest threat yet in protecting his wife. However, the threat happened to be the said wife. THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD BTW.

But darling, you are the only exception — The Only Exception, Paramore.

Ninety-one days.

That was how long it had been since Captain Stanley Snyder was assigned to the most ridiculous security trap he had ever heard of.

Not that he consciously intended to keep count; it was rather an instinct—or a habit rather. Military life, after all, had taught him to keep track of days as missions had beginnings and endings, reports carried dates, and deployments were measured in months. 

Though, despite three months of being trapped—your words, not his—in a property under both of your names for the sake of security, slipping quietly into memory as time went by, your campaign against him had yet to show any signs of slowing down.

If anything, it had evolved.

However, unfortunately for your side, Stanley genuinely enjoyed watching you try. 

He had seen numerous soldiers, especially cadets, start off their career with pure determination—yet, none of the ones he had seen could compare to the one you carried.

Every triumphant smile that appeared whenever you thought you had finally cracked the code intentionally dimmed down every time he simply answered with “Of course, your highness” or worse, “Anything else, your highness?”

The offended look that came from you afterwards never failed to earn him a snicker. Sometimes, a genuine laugh. 

Front row entertainment or whatever they say.

Though he had never admitted it out loud, he had long concluded that your attempts resembled less of a battlefield and more of an artist endlessly revising the same painting in hopes of making a difference.

Always adding another brushstroke, another color—to which they translated to: always scheming and trying.

Yet none seemed to work, perhaps because he simply enjoyed seeing the scowl, often followed by a flying object aimed at him. Still, he admired his wife’s persistence.

The estate, in return, quietly adapted to the rhythm the two of you unknowingly established. A rhythm that consists of orders, dry remarks, pillows flying across the room, and something that was unexpected—laughter.

Though as the days went by, the seasons changed. The soft warmth shifted into something colder. The skies grew heavier over the following weeks, and clouds lingered longer than before until the first rainfall. 

And soon enough, the estate found itself wrapped in the familiar sound of the rain, the same way it constantly carried the sound of your voice as you called for him.

Except, every time the rain arrived, so did you. 

Stanley had to accept that fact. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t against it. 

“You done yet? The rain’s getting heavier.”

You barely turned around to look at him, hands occupied with arranging buckets, a watering can, and anything else that could hold the falling liquid.

“No. You can head back inside if you want to.”

He found himself standing behind your crouched figure, umbrella in hand to cover the two of you. Despite the umbrella, there were droplets of rain caught on the ends of his hair and droplet stains on the back of his shirt as he tilted the umbrella towards you, shielding you completely from the rain.

He had long learned that you weren’t planning to bring one the second he found your arms filled containers. Collecting rainwater for the indoor plants was the excuse you gave him. And honestly? He wished you ordered him to do it for you instead.

The Secretary of Defense had entrusted him with protecting his daughter from stalkers, kidnappers, and every threat imaginable.

However, he wasn’t warned that one of the most persistent dangers would turn out to be the individual he had to protect.

Stanley exhaled through his nose, mentally questioning if his wife was trying to rival his infamous stubbornness 

“No.” He repeated your answer. “You sure you don’t want me to do that instead?” 

You turned your head to face him, eyes catching sight of his knitted eyebrows, a slight scowl of concern on his face. A hum, followed by a small giggle of amusement, escaped from your lips. “What? Don’t tell me waiting in the rain is something your high competence can’t handle.”

He let out a small scoff. “It’s not the rain.”

“It’s the part where you’re chasing a fever with open arms.” 

The way his voice sounded so matter-of-fact had you giggling louder. 

Stanley should’ve known that it was not just about collecting rainwater. 

As a week of full rain went by, he found you standing at the edge of the porch, eyes gazing over the gardens soaked by droplets of rain.

The rain had gone softer this time, unlike the one that rattled windows and turned skies into a battlefield of thunder such as the previous night. 

You had silently disappeared after lunch, and now he found you standing far too close to the edge, willingly welcoming the droplets that had reached your figure.

He called out your name, his footsteps becoming louder as he walked towards you.

You turned around with a grin as he came to a halt. “Hm, thought I could get out of your watch a little longer.”

“Clearly it wouldn’t have ended well if you did.” He replied instantly, eyes scanning your figure. “What were you doing?”

“Admiring nature?” You raised a brow. “We have quite the garden, y’know?”

“We do.”

You tilted your head, confused. “...And?”

“And you're going to get soaked if you continue to stand there.” 

His reply made you look down at yourself, noticing the droplets scattered across your sleeves. 

You blinked up at him. “It isn't even raining that hard.” 

You noticed how he resisted the urge to sigh. “It doesn't have to.”

With narrowed eyes and folded arms, you let out a small huff. “I thought you were assigned to protect me from actual danger.” 

Stanley met your gaze evenly, unimpressed. “I am.” 

You spread one hand towards the rain. “And where, exactly, is the actual threat or danger here?” 

He didn't hesitate, taking another intentional step forward. “You.” 

Your brows instantly knitted together. “...Me?” 

“You have a very impressive habit of becoming your own greatest safety concern,” he deadpanned. 

You stared at him in disbelief. “Are you calling me a safety hazard again?!” 

“You keep proving my point.” 

“That's an insult!” You shot back. 

He exhaled slowly, taking the umbrella nearby as he noticed the rain starting to get heavier. 

“The assignment doesn't end at preventing kidnappings.” His tone remained flat, yet there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it. “Keeping you alive includes keeping you healthy.” 

You blinked in disbelief. “...Wow, are you a physician too on top of the many things you can do?” 

“Nice joke,” He deadpanned once again. 

You clicked the roof of your tongue. “Five more minutes?” 

“No.” His reply came instantly. 

You groaned, acting as if you were going to follow his order when your next actions clearly indicated otherwise. However, before you could take another step down the porch, an umbrella shadowed over your head.

Immediately, you looked up and met his unwavering gaze. And for a split second, you couldn't help but think of how warm his eyes looked—a striking contrast against the cold weather that seemed to match his personality halfway. 

Then, he extended his free hand, causing your gaze to drop down. 

“Come inside.” 

His voice sounded calm, far from what you expected. It wasn't an order nor a request. It was simply the quiet certainty of someone who had already decided that this conversation was over. 

You sighed dramatically, though the corners of your lips betrayed you. “You're no fun when you want to be, Stan.” 

Still, you slipped your hand into his. Only for a brief moment, that is. Just enough for him to help you step over the rain-slick stairs of the porch. 

And enough for you to feel how firm, large, and oddly grounding his hand was.

And truth be told—much to his dismay—you did in fact give yourself a fever. Happened to be the very moment the staff had taken their days off. 

Hence, Stanley was left to deal with the consequences he tried so hard to avoid. 

However, a fever was something he was quite unfamiliar with, considering he rarely had one throughout the years. He could recall having one as a child simply because everyone else in his family did, and that was it.

He could barely recall any other time he caught a fever.

Which is exactly why he found himself on a call with Xeno, while trying to keep his now asleep, fluffy, dramatic cat still in bed. 

“You interrupted my work with the urgency of a national emergency…” The scientist paused for a brief moment. “Because your wife has a fever?”

Stanley could clearly hear the disbelief mixed with amusement in the tone of his best friend’s voice. It was as if he had yet to hear anything greater than what he was summoned for. 

“Ain’t my fault my immune system wasn’t built to mimic a Victorian child’s.” He spat out flatly.

“Indeed,” A soft chuckle crackled through the speaker. “And it appears you are only now suffering the consequences of such remarkable genetic fortune.”

Stanley raised a brow, eyes glancing at your figure for a brief moment. “...Consequences?”

“You have spent years without so much as a memorable fever,” Xeno continued. “Which consequently means you’ve never had the opportunity to learn how to care for yourself with such conditions, let alone another human being who isn’t blessed with your biologically unreasonable immune system, Stan.”

Stanley’s brows knitted in an unamused manner. “I know how to take care of people, Xeno.”

“In combat,” the scientist was quick to add. “Gunshot wounds, field triage, and coordinate an entire battalion without breaking a sweat.”

Another pause, “Unfortunately, none of it appears to have prepared you for a wife with a fever.”

Stanley swore that he could see Xeno smiling behind the line.

“You sound utterly out of your depth, Stan. How fascinating.”

The captain merely dragged a hand down his face. “She kept refusing to stay in bed until her fever spiked up to thirty-nine degrees.” 

“I assume it’s due to the fever making her physically unable to?”

Stanley hummed in response, walking back to the edge of your bed. “She still tried to get up once after it spiked.”

Xeno’s laugh slipped through. “Oh, Stan, you are not battling a fever at all.”

Another laugh was heard. “You are battling your wife.”

Stanley quietly exhaled, eyes remaining on your sleeping figure tucked beneath the comfort of a light blanket. “...Unfortunately.”

“My condolences.” 

He ignored Xeno’s reply; his hand reached out, brushing the stray strands of your hair back, allowing the band of his hand to feel your warm forehead.

His brows furrowed once again, “Still hasn’t gone down, Xeno.”

On the other end, Xeno found his lips curling upward as he sensed the shift in Stanley’s voice. Concern unintentionally slipped without him knowing. It wasn’t dramatic, nor was it barely there; it was audible in a way that had the scientist entertaining hypotheses. 

However, he chose not to voice it. Not yet; it was simply too early to. 

“How long ago did you give her the medication?” 

Stanley glanced at the clock. “Fifteen minutes.”

Xeno blinked, “...Then you are worrying far too early.”

He pushed his glasses further up. “Antipyretics are not miracles, Stan.” 

“I know.”

His reply had Xeno raising a brow, amusement evident in his voice. “Do you? Your actions clearly contradict.”

Xeno had to cover his mouth to prevent another loud laugh from escaping. “Please do not inform me that you’re glaring at a thermometer.” 

Stanley replied flatly, “I’m not.”

“Stan,” Xeno’s voice continued to carry his amusement. “I assure you that you’re managing the situation well. Ensure she remains hydrated, allow the medication sufficient time to work, and refrain from keeping her bundled up in heavy sheets.” 

Then, a small smile appeared on his face. “You know, Stan…this is the first time I have heard you sound impatient over something that was not my ‘ramblings’ and military bureaucracy.”

Stanley merely let out a loud exhale. “Drop it.”

He heard another chuckle. “As you wish, I’ll leave you be. However, do note that the bet has yet to slip away from my mind.”

And before Stanley could reply, Xeno ended the call. 

What a supportive best friend, Stanley thought.

The first thing you became aware of was the cool sensation resting against your warm forehead. 

It wasn’t cold, just cool enough to cut through the unpleasant warmth that had settled over your entire body. 

A quiet groan escaped your lips as your brows knit together in confusion. The pain wasn’t like the gruelling pain you experienced before losing consciousness; it felt better in a way, yet not completely. 

Your eyelids fluttered open, only to squint tight again as the afternoon light entered your vision.

The room seemed to sway slightly before coming to focus. And then— you noticed him.

Stanley sat on the edge of your bed, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hands gently adjusting the damp towel he’d just placed across your warm forehead. 

His attention instantly shifted the moment your eyes opened, his brown-golden eyes meeting yours. 

“Welcome back.” 

You blinked once, eyes still adjusting to the new sight of him. Then, your voice came out weaker than you expected. “...Hi.”

Despite the heavy feeling that settled through every muscle of your body, you attempted to sit up. And immediately, you realized that was a terrible idea as pain shot through.

A soft groan escaped from your lips, brows furrowing harder than before.

Then, you felt Stanley move, hands holding you still in a manner you didn’t realize he was capable of. He placed a pillow behind you for support, adjusting the cool towel on your forehead.

“Easy, your fever hasn’t completely vanished.” 

You didn’t say anything—and for a moment you couldn’t quite tell if it was because you were too weak to or because your fever had stripped away whatever stubbornness that usually kept you upright. 

It felt strange. His touch wasn’t warm; it had always felt cold, as if his fingertips held ice before making contact with yours, especially now against your burning skin. 

Yet somehow, it anchored you. 

Somewhere along the way—you couldn’t quite tell when exactly—Stanley Snyder had unknowingly built himself into the definition of safe inside your mind. 

Perhaps you were simply overthinking it, as you were too weak to move away or let out a complaint. 

Perhaps it was because that had been the purpose of his job since the start. 

Or perhaps the number of times he’d simply been there to answer your inconvenient orders. 

Whatever the reason was, you wished it wasn’t the latter because the thought of the latter frightened you by a fraction. 

Stanley reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. “Drink.”

Your thoughts snapped into reality as you gazed upon the glass of water in front of you. 

With both hands, you accepted it. However, you only realized how heavy the glass was halfway through lifting it.

Stanley, of course, noticed it before you did. 

Without saying a word, his hand came underneath yours, steadying the glass until you’d taken careful sips. 

The moment you leaned back, he took it from you and placed it beside the bed again. 

You slowly raised a brow after noticing his unwavering stare. “...Do I really look that terrible right now?”

You failed to notice the faint twitch of his lips. Stanley’s gaze scanned your feverish state, pale skin and lips, your slumped posture, and sunken eyes. “You look sick.”

“I am sick.” You frowned again.

The twitch became more visible. His eyes glinted with the familiar amusement he hadn't carried since the first sign of your fever. “I wonder whose fault that is?”

Your face instantly fell in betrayal. “Wow, couldn’t even spare my sick self from your blunt meanness?” 

He raised a brow this time, crossing his arms across his chest, the rolled sleeves revealing the muscles and visible veins caused by years of military training and discipline. 

“Tried to stop you multiple times, didn’t I?” 

You gave him a weak glare. “Not my fault I wanted to take care of the plants I got, which were gifts, by the way.”

Stanley tilted his head slightly. “From?”

“Mom and Eli.” 

“You’ve got an impressive number without considering the outdoor ones.”

“Well…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Mom started it.”

“She thought the house looked a little empty two years ago.” You added. 

Stanley blinked once. “So she bought plants?”

“So she bought plants.” You confirmed by repeating his words. 

“At first it was just a few. Then she’d come home from work with another one every other week because she thought it would look good in the living room…or anywhere with a good amount of indirect light.” 

A quiet laugh escaped despite your fever. “Then she randomly decided half of them were my responsibility the second I said they looked nice.” 

A snort came after the thought of the memory. “There was one time she brought home a collection of Fittonias, and I thought they looked interesting, and she was like, ‘Which ones do you like the most?’ and they became mine after a minute.”

Stanley remained silent, though the corners of his lips kept twitching as he listened to your rambles. 

“They kept throwing a fit during the first few weeks—I genuinely nearly killed half of them before I figured them out; I think I nearly threw one out.” 

A snort finally escaped from his lips, earning a glare from you. 

“Hey, I’m talking about my unfortunate moments here.”

His shoulders shook harder after noticing a decorative pillow within your grasp. 

“...Wasn’t expecting houseplants to be a source of stress.”

“Very funny, Stanley.” You tiredly rolled your eyes and gave him an unamused look. “It still ranks below Dad’s job though.”

Stanley caught the shift immediately. “That sounded bitter.”

You gave him a small shrug. “It was supposed to.”

The tone of your voice merely gave him the tip of the iceberg, yet it was enough to tell him what he needed to know for now. He could tell your reasons must be personal; hence, he didn’t attempt to pry in. 

For a moment, there was silence. It wasn’t the awkward type that settled in—no, it was the comforting type. 

Your eyes wandered back towards him. “How long was I asleep?”

“About two hours.”

You gave another slow nod in response, feeling your body grow heavier again. 

“You should lay back down while your mother is on the way.” Stanley’s hands found your figure once again, helping you lay back down comfortably. 

You frowned. “...Mom’s on the way? But she has a fashion event in New York today.” 

His hands adjusted the cool towel again. “Had.” 

His eyes met your confused, tired ones. “She wrapped it up early after I called.”

“...She did?” A wave of guilt washed over you.

Your frown deepened as the thought settled through. “I ruined her schedule?”

“No,” His answer came instantly. “You got sick. And I was ordered to call her first if anything happened to your health.” 

“Seriously?” 

He simply nodded. “Your father’s with her.”

A groan escaped from you the second Stanley said those words. “A lecture’s on the way too? Amazing.”

He snorted at your response. “Unlucky.” 

You sent him another weak glare. “Yeah, my luck’s been amazing since a certain number thirteen appeared in my life.”

His laugh grew louder as he shook his head. “Blaming me again?”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “You’re supposed to defend me, Stan.”

“I’m supposed to keep you alive.” He corrected. “And I’m powerless against your Dad; I simply follow orders.”

“...Traitor.” 

An amused snort came out this time, his lips curling into a small smile. “It’s called following orders and not rebelling, unlike a certain someone, your highness.”

A soft protest escaped, yet you found the corners of your lips lifting despite yourself. 

Then, you felt your eyelids grow heavy again. 

“...Stan.”

“Hm?”

Your eyes searched for his gaze. “...Stay.”

“...That’s an order, by the way.”

His eyes found yours; the corners of his lips threatened to curl wider. “I figured.”

Satisfied with his response, you let your eyes drift shut again. 

The second Stanley received the message from the guards at the gate, he was already on his feet before the vehicle could reach their home. 

The moment the familiar pair stepped inside, Stanley could clearly see the worried expression written across your mother’s face. 

“Where is she?” The question arrived before the greetings could.

“Sleeping upstairs.” 

“Has her fever gone down?”

Stanley gave a brief nod. “Still there, but lower than earlier.”

That was all she needed to hear. Without another word, she headed upstairs. A mother responding to instinct, to habit, to years of experience. 

Silence followed as it were only Garrett and Stanley in the foyer.

Garrett loosened his tie slightly, eyes scanning over Stanley’s figure. Then, he let out an amused snort. 

“You look terrible, Stan.”

Stanley raised a brow, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Weren’t you stuck in a briefing with your favorite generals?” 

“Was. Had them stop their useless arguments after my assistant received your call.” 

Stanley returned the snort. “Must’ve been unfortunate to be stuck in the same room as those incompetent idiots.”

Garrett raised a brow, amused and surprised by his response. “Enjoying the benefits of your new job?” 

Stanley didn't answer, though the faint twitch of his lips was enough evidence for the Secretary of Defense to form a conclusion. 

Silence settled between them again. Then, they found themselves standing outside of the door, gazing ahead at the driveway. The sun was starting to set, reflecting over the small puddles of rain. 

Garrett had his hands in his pockets, gaze drifting back towards Stanley. “You know, I think this is the first time I met you without smelling like tobacco.” 

Stanley glanced at him, a hand instinctively reaching for his pocket where he usually stored it. That was when he realized the packet remained sealed. 

“Haven't had the time.” He reasoned casually. 

The veteran let out a quiet hum. “That's unlike you, Stan.” 

The captain merely shrugged. “Was occupied.” 

“Sure you were.” 

Another silence stretched between them. 

Garrett had known Stanley since his first achievement. A newly deployed, young soldier who seemed to have shaken the system with fear of what he was capable of. He knew he wasn't the type to neglect routine—habit. 

Reports were always submitted on time, equipment always remained maintained, even his smoke breaks found a way to seep through his hectic schedule of responsibilities. 

Yet today, his box of cigarettes remained sealed with plastic, and caged in his pockets. 

“You should've informed me that your daughter is a safety hazard.” Stanley's voice cut through the silence this time. 

He received a laugh from the veteran. “You're only finding that out now?” 

Stanley simply shook his head. “No. Realized it the second she couldn't wait for me to grab the bottle of vanilla after I said to wait.” 

Garrett raised a brow. “Did she get hurt?” 

Stanley was quick to reply. “Of course not.” 

A smile formed on Garrett's face. “Well, it seems you're doing your job quite well, Captain.” 

Stanley merely shook his head “I'd rather not make a habit of catching her before she falls.” 

“She's still trying to ruin your reputation?” Your father's smile widened.

“Every day.” 

Time went by smoothly after that. The familiar topic of assemblies, briefings, and operations seeped through their conversation easily. Perhaps the talk about certain soldiers bled through far too easily. 

The sound of footsteps caught both of their attention. In unison, they both turned, catching sight of your mother, who seemed to be trying to keep a smile down. 

She turned to Garrett. “It seems that your daughter is really sick.”

He raised a brow, clearly noticing how her words contradicted her facial expression. However, before he could reply, she turned to Stanley, a smile breaking through her defenses. 

“She's asking for you.” 

The two of them came to a short halt. Utter confusion and silence settled for a moment before Garrett barked out a laugh, looking far from a government official and more of a downright delighted father. 

“Oh, that's priceless.”

Stanley sent him a firm glare—ultimately forgetting that he was his superior for a moment. 

Your mother attempted to keep her smile from growing wider, yet the amusement in her eyes shone far too evidently. “She's complaining about your disappearance after she asked for you to stay, muttering something about not following orders.” 

Garrett turned to Stanley, “She's asking for you, Stan.” 

Stanley frowned slightly, “I don't see how that's amusing.” 

Your mother's gaze found his. “She never asks for her bodyguards. If anything, she prefers a distance at all times.”

“She tolerated them while trying to get rid of them, nothing more.” Her gaze softened, “This is the first.” 

She gave Stanley a warm smile. “She seemed to be grumpy about you not following her order.” 

Garrett let out another laugh, the sound quieter this time as he shook his head. “She’s really giving you a run for your reputation, isn’t she, Stan?”

Stanley answered with nothing more than a slow exhale through his nose. His gaze lingered on the doorway leading back inside, his thoughts briefly returning to the room upstairs. He had initially assumed that you’d want time alone with your mother. 

Apparently, he had misjudged that.

“You should head back upstairs before she issues another complaint.” He said, amusement lingering beneath his voice. “You’re good at following orders, aren’t you, Captain?” 

Stanley shook his head once, though a faint twitch threatened the corners of his mouth. “...Seems I don’t have much of a choice.”

He excused himself and headed back inside, footsteps fading across the foyer before disappearing up the staircase.

Your parents simply watched him walk back inside with knowing gazes. 

“From trying to crack his skull with a lamp to asking for him, huh.” Your father exclaimed softly as he leaned against a pillar, sounding rather satisfied than amused. 

For months, he couldn't help but feel the guilt eating him alive, running through every stream of his blood and thoughts. He knew what he did was irrational and couldn't help but think if his role as a worried father could even justify what he did. 

His wife hummed beside him. “Perhaps you were right about him.” 

“I've known him since he shook the whole department with fear. He unintentionally earned my trust.” 

His gaze lingered towards the staircase where Stanley had disappeared to moments ago.

“She trusts him as well.” Your mother added, her voice tinged with realization and acknowledgement. 

For a moment, your father remained silent, processing the weight of your mother's words. 

Then, he gave a small nod. “More than I expected.” 

A soft chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. “Probably more than both of them realized.” 

A faint smile tugged on the corners of his lips. You had spent years treating every bodyguard the same: respectful enough to acknowledge them, distant enough to remind them they were temporary. 

The flirting merely provided an opening for a report; the line between personal and strategy remained. Not once did you rely on them, search for them, or ask them to say. 

Yet somehow, number thirteen had found a way to blur the lines unintentionally, to cross the borders you've set, the walls you've created. 

“She's safe.” Your mother confirmed slowly. “As long as she's with him.”

He believed it too. Not because Stanley was the most capable soldier under his command, but rather because he saw the evidence first-hand. 

Garrett exhaled quietly. “Perhaps I can finally slow down on wondering whether I made the right decision.” 

“She probably still has a grudge against you and your legal team, though.” Your mother let out an amused laugh. 

He let out an exaggerated groan. “I thought she would've found Clause Thirteen funny.” 

His wife merely gave him an amused sigh. “Clearly not, dear.” 

Bonus: 

After more than an hour of waiting inside of his car, Stanley finally received the text message he had been waiting for. 

Fluffy, dramatic cat

Stannn, I'm done. 

Without waiting for a second longer, he stepped out of his car and locked it before walking towards the pottery shop. 

You had told him a week ago that you wanted to try pottery after finding out that there was a newly opened shop that offered lessons; however, you didn't want him to come in with you for a quite suspicious reason. 

Apparently, you had a surprise for him. 

The moment he entered the shop, his gaze found you eyeing the pots displayed neatly on the shelves, holding a paper bag with both hands. 

The sound of the entrance door opening caught your attention. Instinctively, you turned around and were met with the sight of your pretend husband. 

Your face brightened evidently, and Stanley couldn't tell if that was a good sign or not. 

You walked up to him with a grin. “Did I make you wait for too long?” 

He simply shook his head, hands reaching out for the paper bag within your hold. “Not at all.”

Stanley was used to staying still in one position for hours; the waiting time you gave him felt like nothing compared to what he used to do. 

The walk back to his car was short. He opened the passenger seat door, allowing you to step inside. However, as he was about to close it, you reached out for the paper bag. 

“I want to hold it.” 

He didn't question you. Instead, he carefully placed the paper bag on your lap. Afterwards, he turned to enter the car from the other side. 

“Stan,” You gave him an excited and eager smile. “Can I show you my surprise before we head home?” 

He tilted his head. “I can't tell if I should be worried with that grin on your face.” 

“Oh c'mon,” You smacked his arm with a force that had Stanley confirming your hits were getting harder. “Surprises are supposed to be good, aren't they?” 

“Depends on the person.” He rubbed the spot you hit moments ago. 

You shot him a quick glare before you reached out to open the sealed paper bag. After going through layers of packaging for the prevention of damage during transport, you held up a mug. 

However, it wasn't just any mug. The design of the mug was a chibi face of Stanley—the accuracy was hilarious in the terms of adorable.

Stanley stared at the mug in your hands. Then at you, then back at the mug. For a second, there was silence.

Then, his eyes narrowed, and his brows furrowed. “Is that supposed to be me?” 

The question came out so genuinely that your composure completely shattered. A laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it. 

“Yeah—” You wheezed, clutching the mug and your stomach at the same time. “Isn't the resemblance amazing?” 

“It's concerning.” 

His response made you laugh harder. 

Stanley noticed your grip around the poor ceramic loosen. Before gravity could claim it, a familiar hand caught your wrist and the mug with practiced ease. 

“Careful.” 

He took it from your hands before you managed to drop the very thing you'd spent the last few hours working on. 

“You're laughing way too hard,” he pointed out

You waved him off, trying—though failing—to speak normally. 

“I—I’m sorry—” You burst out into giggles again. 

“No, you're not.” 

“I know, right!” You clutched your stomach again while laughing. 

Stanley sighed quietly, though the faint curl of his lips said otherwise. His eyes remained on you for a moment longer before turning the mug in his hands. 

The details were honestly concerning. You had even painted his impossible long lashes, his purple lips, and even a cigarette. 

He rotated the mug again and found an engraving of words. 

Knight with a Frying Pan/Rapunzel wannabe.

He genuinely couldn't tell anymore if he should be insulted, impressed, or amused. However, it seemed the latter was winning. 

“...You made this?” 

Your laughter finally stopped, softening into a grin. “I did! Took forever to paint your lashes because my hands kept shaking and I wanted them to be perfect.” 

“Why?” 

“You would've noticed the shaky lines, Stan.” Your response came out genuine and soft. “Wouldn't want that.” 

Your reason had him come to a brief halt. “You thought I'd noticed?” 

You tilted your head in return. “Of course? You notice everything, Stan.” 

Something in his expression shifted faintly. Something both of you were completely unfamiliar with. 

Before the silence could remain longer, your grin widened. 

“Wait—” You reached out for the paper bag again. 

“I made another one.”

Stanley watched as you carefully pulled out a second mug, one that looked unmistakably like you. 

He didn't say anything. Instead, he reached out for the mug and rotated it, looking for an engraving of words, except there was none. 

“You didn't write anything on it?” 

You shrugged your shoulders, grin remaining. “I thought it looked accurate enough.” 

He returned the mug in your hands, a faint hint of amusement began to pool in his eyes. “Walking safety hazard would've topped it off.”

Your grin fell instantly as a sharp glare was sent in his direction.

“I'm not a safety hazard!” You jabbed his side, clearly annoyed. 

His amusement grew deeper, “Like I said, you keep on proving my point.” 

You sent him another sharp glare. “I'm taking my surprise back.” 

You reached over to snatch the mug back; however, he simply raised it higher, just out of your reach. 

“Isn't this supposed to be mine now?”

Your glare hardened as you stretched your arms further. Your seatbelt, which he buckled for you, unfortunately restrained you. 

“Stanley Snyder!” 

He tilted his head, a teasing smile plastered on his face. “Yes, your highness?” 

Oh, he was getting way too comfortable with messing with you. 

A/n: I’VE FINALLY FINISHED THIS CHAPTER AFTER WEEKSSS. I was not planning to let it go on that on, but my academics got a hold of me (ugh, the cons of being a slave for academics). And like, I was struggling to write this chapter, which is why I am so sorry if the quality degraded. ALSO, I’ve been itching to write the angst already like crazy. There’s two more chapters before Stan’s job starts to get real. I actually can’t quite tell if the pacing is fast since I’m planning to make this fic 13 chapters long (including the sub chaps for pacing and depth), but it won’t actually be 13 parts if you count the published parts and not the label on the chapters LOL. ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) Anyways, I’ve started foreshadowing in this chapter already, even though it felt like a filler or something (The point of this chapter was to build the relationship with Stan). I think they were quite faint, though, but I promise you all, everything is connected LMAO. Even the fillers and bonus parts. P.S I’ve yet to watch the last two episodes of Dr.Stone cuz I can’t accept the fact that it’s over (I’m a manga reader btw.) (╥‸╥) TAGLIST: @sillybibbybobby @asteruuu @millyloves2read @ero528 @brownielover5 @lost-in-horrorland @123dabby123 @shijm420 @necromantiste @bananasquash @iheartpieck @moonlightaangel @nanasecrect @no1bruh @moonshoon @shogunfurasblog @weponxwrites @theanaoevre @66rockid @bsdfanhuu @yosyosy @metalyuga3

[kayuekou]

how it lowkey felt getting your first ever comment on your first fic that you poured blood sweat and tears for

[kzhyxmi]

I genuinely dont wanna sound like im exaggerating but i genuinely believe that the comet senku fic is like one of the greatest fics out there oj my goodness honestly thank you so much for allowing me to see such a beauty in my lifetime idk what to say

Thank you omg, I loved writing that fic so much even though the comet parts were lowkey giving me a hard time cuz I was not that much knowledgeable about them anymore 😭 I miss the mini series and I'm planning to make a third part where they're actually MARRIED lol. I might write it in the middle of writing the Stanley series I'm working on😗

I will continue to write fics for senku cuz he literally needs more fics too 🗣️😭

[kzhyxmi]

I hope you know that I scream every time I see an update for your Stanley fic😩❤️ I love youuu

ILYT BAE, STANLEY NEEDS MORE FICS🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Chapter 3.1: The Art of Annoying Him

Chapter WC: 5646 Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST; CHAPTER 2 SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing A/n: I can’t tell if the pacing is fast, knowing damn well a kiss scene is nowhere close to happening (I’m serious cuz I’m a sucker for intimate scenes that don’t even include a kiss LMAO). I’m aiming to finish this series with 13 chapters, ehe. 2 more chapters before Stan’s job starts to get real, mwahhaahahaa. Spot the meme/s refs?

But strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you — Strawberries and Cigarettes, Troye Sivan.

Three hundred thirty-five days. 

A month had passed, and normally, it would’ve felt quick—brief like a simple gush of wind passing by. That is, if you weren’t counting the remainder of the year like a new year countdown. 

It didn’t feel fast at all. The first week was pure irritation, on your side, of course. It felt like you were trapped for months despite the seven days timeline, especially after you actually read the terms of the contract. 

Day two was when you had requested the digital copy, spent three uninterrupted hours—you had to force your dear pretend husband to maintain a minimum distance of five meters or else he would find out what being hit by a thick book feels like—of reading every page, subsection, notes, and analyzing each clause properly.

By the end of it, you could only groan in frustration. And you swore you heard the said pretend husband snicker at your conclusion. 

He nearly found out what it felt like to be hit by a thick book in the end if he hadn’t caught it in time.

Your conclusion was unacceptable, and you refused to give in to such terms. You were trapped. Completely, utterly, legally, professionally, insanely trapped. At one point, you could envision your father shaking hands with Stanley after he signed the contract and marriage certificate as if it were merely a business partnership. 

They had you questioning who was actually the number thirteen in the setup, with how all the odds were turned against.

The clause was truly gone. Exchanged with a clause that had you clutching the decorative pillows beside you like a lifeline, and glaring at Stanley Snyder as if he were the one who forged the said clause.

Clause 13: Emotional Attachments and Contract Termination.

The development of personal affection, emotional attachment, or romantic interest between the assigned officer and the protected individual shall not, in and of itself, constitute grounds for contract termination, withdrawal of services, or modification of the assignment. 

In simpler terms, Stanley wasn’t going to get fired if he somehow developed romantic feelings for you, or vice versa.

Your father just had to make his lawyers’ number that clause thirteen. Out of every possible number, it had to be thirteen.

Oh, he was already a terrible replacement for Cupid.

You reread the clause, again and again, more than four times just to ensure your eyes weren’t deceiving you. Especially since the fact that the clause was numbered thirteen felt like your father and his team of lawyers were mocking you.

It felt as if they gathered in a conference room and collectively decided to ruin an entire year of your life. Amazing move for a group of adults who were far older than you, and carried the term professionalism. 

It sounded so absurd in your head that you asked Stanley himself to read it out for you, in hopes your eyes were actually deceiving you. 

They were not. 

“This is hell— this clause is hell— Dad and his team of lawyers are hell!”

Stanley’s eyes drifted from the tablet screen towards your burning expression. “Looks legal to me,”

You sent him a sharp glare, “You’re the only one benefiting from it!”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards. “Strong words.”

You threw whatever was near you at him, which he caught effortlessly and placed it back. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.” His voice was laced with amusement and the confident teasing that had you fuming in your seat.

A groan escaped from your lips again. “Seriously, Stanley, can’t you see it? Why is this clause thirteen?”

Then, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world, to which it was honestly, “Because thirteen comes after twelve.” 

A crumpled ball of paper nearly met his face, followed by a murderous glare. You were starting to question if he was trying to test the thin ounce of patience you had left.

“You aren’t funny!”

He shrugged, fighting the second twitch of his lips. “Wasn’t aiming to be,”

You ran a hand down your face in annoyance. “There’s no way Dad didn’t personally number this clause.”

Your eyes met his, the exhausted and irritated pair met his striking ones.  “Right?”

He simply hummed, though his eyes carried amusement in the most evident possible way. “Pretty sure he was laughing after I read that clause for the first time.”

Oh, you were set on hiding both of their cigarette boxes, and perhaps their lighters on top of that.

The Secretary of Defense had apparently learned from his mistakes after the previous twelve fired bodyguards and countered by creating a contract so airtight that even a team of professional lawyers, armed with caffeine and questionable concentration, would struggle to find a loophole. 

Unfortunately for him, you weren’t a team of professional lawyers armed with caffeine and questionable concentration—you were a furious daughter with nothing but determination.

If you couldn’t get rid of him, you were going to make the next months as inconvenient as humanly possible. With the same clauses that were supposed to be against your odds.

The contract, after all, worked for both parties, even if it favored his side from your interpretation, if you found loopholes that weren’t supposed to be found.

And it seems your father had forgotten to inform his legal team that you possessed the determination of a detective handling an impossible case, as well as a high level of mischief reserved for your pretend husband.

And so the first brushstroke of your newest masterpiece, titled The Art of Annoying Him, was painted on a canvas built on determination and mischief. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The next few weeks blurred into memories of your numerous attempts to annoy your dearest contractual husband. 

Clause 5: Reasonable Assistance Requests

The protected individual may request reasonable assistance from the assigned officer—

That was all that you needed to read before schemes appeared in your head instantly. If it wasn’t obvious already, that one easily became your favorite. 

The legal team most likely intended it for emergencies. However, interpretation was subjective.

“Stanley, get me a fluffier blanket in my closet."

A minute later—

“Stanley, get me water.”

Not even two minutes after—

“Stanley, pass me the remote.”

The said remote was less than a foot away from your hand. 

He looked at the remote, then back at you. The expression on his face was unreadable, and for a brief moment, hope surged within you.

Except— the remote landed in your hands, causing your eye to twitch.

“You’re not even going to argue?”

He leaned back against the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between you two. “You asked.”

“You were supposed to snap or something.”

He glanced at you briefly, and a teasing smirk spread across his face. “Try harder next time.”

You tried to hit him with the remote. He caught it before you could land a hit.

The next day, you tried again. 

“Stanley,” 

“Yeah?”

You pointed at the sketchbook that lay on top of the coffee table. “Can you hand me that?”

You sat closest to the coffee table, yet Stanley simply stood up and handed it over. 

You blinked, brows knitting together. “Can you get my laptop upstairs?”

He didn’t even ask where, suggesting he already knew where you left your items. And it infuriated you, considering that it was only possible if he had followed your orders countless times, that it became a routine.

At one point, you were convinced he was going to start preparing for your orders in advance. 

The theory was proven after the third week.

“Stanley,” 

He hummed in response, hand occupied with the security reports from the gates.

“I’m cold.”

Before you could even ask him to bring you a blanket, he was already grabbing the blanket folded beside him and draped it over your shoulders.

For a second, you just stared as he went back to the reports he was reading.

Stanley had somehow adapted to your nonsense. Worse, he appeared to be entertained by it after you saw the faint twitch of the corners of his lips as he continued to read.

That bastard didn’t even bother to hide it.

Truthfully, if you were to ask Stanley, every attempt merely sounded like a mix of a needy cat seeking attention and a princess who liked sending out orders. 

Unfortunately for you, he was good at following orders.

You couldn’t quite decide if the situation felt like a jester trying to entertain the princess or if it was the other way around anymore.

The funnier part—well, in his case—was the nickname that developed along the way. Genuinely, you couldn’t quite remember when it exactly appeared.

Perhaps it was after the fifth request for a glass of water, despite standing closer to the refrigerator than he did. Or after the numerous calls you sent him, even when he was just in the room next door.

Regardless of its origin, the title sucked much to your annoyance. Simply because you knew it was to tease you.

“Stanley,” You barged into his office in the comfort of the estate as if you hadn't ordered him to leave you alone for the next ten minutes.

“Yeah?” He asked while writing the mission report of the week, barely glancing up.

“Let’s go out.” You pointed at his jacket that rested on his chair.

He hummed, finally glancing up. “Bored already?”

You shook your head and smiled evilly. “No, I just wanted to bother you.”

He blinked before a snicker broke through, shaking his head slightly.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair he sat on and swiftly put it on. Then came the look that suggested he was enjoying this far more than he should be.

A teasing grin threatened to appear across his face. “So, where am I escorting you, your highness?” 

You hated how he humored you. 

You scowled, “That sounds like an insult every time you use it.” 

“It’s accurate.” He shrugged.

“It’s definitely an insult.” 

He was already next to you. “If the crown fits.”

You gasped, causing his grin to appear fully. 

You could easily conclude he enjoyed his job without a doubt, and that your masterpiece was clearly nowhere near finished for some time.

Unfortunately for him, you had every intention of continuing to improve it.

Though, unfortunately for you, the intended muse seemed to enjoy the masterpiece more than its own artist.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The estate cradled the usual silence brought by the night. 

Or at least it was supposed to be.

The kitchen area was lit up, unlike the other corners of the estate. It was currently midnight, and the world beyond the glass doors and windows had long disappeared into the darkness, leaving nothing but their silhouettes and the cool breeze of the night.

The entire room felt different at this hour. Quieter, softer, as if everything else had come to an agreement to slow down. 

The only sounds that could be heard came from the occasional clink of metal against ceramic, the rustling of your notebook filled with a list and rankings of different cookie recipes you found online, and your mutters as you examined the recipe displayed on the screen of your tablet.

You were currently continuing your quest to find the best recipe online. However, before you could continue, there was already a problem that you encountered. Because at midnight, the unlit stairs and corners of the estate became suspicious. 

Which was precisely why Stanley found himself awake again, merely hours after he had fallen asleep. He had endured weeks of poor sleep before; operating on schedules that would send a cadet to unlist, missing a full eight hours of sleep was hardly a concern.

However, being woken up in the middle of the night because the person he was assigned to protect was afraid of the sudden dangers lurking in the shadows of their own home? That was something he had failed to experience until the second week of their stay. 

Stanley could still vividly remember the first time you had woken him up for such reasons. There was a quiet guilt that settled on your face when he woke up right before you could even reach a three-meter distance from him. 

The captain had to spend ten minutes trying to wipe it off your face by saying it was fine and that he was used to it. And unfortunately, the guilt merely vanished for a brief moment before returning when you heard him yawn. 

And after the frequent occurrence of midnight activities, be it waking him up to eat a midnight snack together, or asking him to cook—to which you were surprised to learn that he could—or baking together under the warm lights despite the cold night, it had slipped easily into a routine. 

One that you both shared.

Stanley found himself leaning against the kitchen counter, one arm resting against the marble surface while the other occupied a folder of security reports.

The security reports had been abandoned numerous times already. Not because they were difficult or something else, it was because every few minutes,

“Stanleeeey,” you dragged out the last syllable.

His eyes barely left the paper this time. “Yeah?”

“Pass me the brown sugar, it’s next to you.” 

In reality, it was between you two. Just a centimeter closer towards his side. He didn’t say anything as he reached out to give it to you. And in return? You gave him a knowing, cheeky grin, allowing him to confirm you did it on purpose, again.

Another, 

“Stanley, do you think I burnt my brown butter too much?” 

This time, he moved to check. The report was left forgotten on the counter again as his attention shifted fully to you. 

The smell reached his nose before his eyes could fully see the pan. And in that instant, he concluded you did. 

“Yeah, it doesn't look usable.” He remarked beside you.

You stared at the burnt butter before looking up to stare at Stanley, who was already looking at you. Then, your head moved back down to gaze at the pan again. 

“How did this even happen?” He raised a brow.

“Uhm,” You awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck. “I left the heat on while asking for the brown sugar. I swear I didn’t know it would burn that fast.”

There was a brief silence as Stanley blinked in response. Then,

“Pft—” 

“Don’t laugh!” Your hand was quick to land a hit on him. And somehow, you felt the hit far more than he did. 

He snickered before pulling your hand away, a teasing smile flashed on his face. “Backfired, huh?”

You let out a strangled, frustrated noise, and your other hand was already moving to land a hit on his chest. However, he caught your other hand too without much effort. The reflex had you sending a glare at him.

“Violence again?” He held your arms down, the amusement in his voice barely disappearing. “You can always try again instead, y’know?” 

You pulled away, considering his suggestion. Then a look of mischief appeared on your face. “Why should I when I have the most capable soldier by my side right now? The own words of the Secretary of Defense, might I add.”

That was definitely the best loophole you’ve found so far. Or at least you thought so. But it seems the said most capable soldier found your loopholes and attempts as nothing but front row entertainment. 

A laugh escaped him instantly. Not the usual snicker or snort, an actual laugh. 

“You burnt a batch.” The teasing tone in his voice became louder. “Now you want me to do it?”

You nodded without shame. “You’re already standing here, shouldn’t you be proving me right?” 

A snicker escaped this time. “You’re impossible, your highness.” Yet despite that, he found himself already rolling up the sleeves of his sweater.

 You held up two fingers with a grin. “That makes two of us, captain.”

Stanley pointed towards the side after he finished rolling his sleeves up. “Move.”

You gasped dramatically, hand clutching your chest. “I’m supposed to be the bossy one!”

“You are,” He answered instantly, hand already finding your lower back to move you away before you could protest.

Stanley stepped into your previous spot after he moved you to his. He stood with the confidence of someone who had definitely never imagined he’d be handling pastry ingredients at nearly one in the morning. 

But then again, the man had found himself doing things he had never done before ever since a certain damsel in distress appeared in his life, orders spilling one after the other purely just to bother him.

You watched as he cleared out the pan, scraping off any burnt bits with the spatula you were previously holding. Then, a thought appeared in your head. 

“Stanley, you really aren’t beating the knight-in-shining-armor allegations right now.” You pointed accusingly.

He snorted as he reached for a stick of butter. “Knight in shining armor?”

“Yeah, like look at yourself.” You gestured with your hands. “Showing up in the middle of the night—”

“You woke me up.” He corrected casually while placing the butter in the pan. 

“Shut up, let me continue.” You sent him a glare. “As I was saying, saving me from my own disasters, taking over when things go wrong—”

“It’s called preventing a second casualty.” He interjected again, crumpling up the wrapper before he threw it in the direction of the trash can, to which it landed perfectly.

You gasped again and shoved him lightly. He was barely moved. “Are you saying I’m a safety hazard?"

He simply hummed. “The burnt butter sure proves something.”

“Stanley Snyder!” You scowled and pinched his arm, earning a small wince from him. 

Afterward, for a minute or so, there was only a soft sizzling sound of the butter melting. You leaned against the counter, a soft yawn escaping from your lips. 

“Sleepy?” He asked after a quick glance.

You shook your head instantly. “No, I want to eat cookies.”

Stanley let out an exhale that leaned towards a laugh. The corners of his lips twitched upwards, though his gaze remained on the melting butter, avoiding your mistake as much as possible.

You simply watched him with slightly tired eyes. Then, “You know what, I take back my words earlier.”

“Knight with a frying pan sounds better.” You grinned mischievously, a laugh threatening to escape.

This time, he stopped stirring the melting butter. His head turned to look at you, unimpressed. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said all week.”

The laugh broke through your defense as you doubled over, holding the counter for support. “But you came to my rescue, Stan!”

“You’ll burn the kitchen next if I don’t.”

Another laugh escaped as you pointed at him. “Like I said, knight with a frying pan.”

“I’m not trying to replace Rapunzel.” He deadpanned.

Now you were straight-up cackling. Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling because in your head, you saw the vision all too well. “Wait— you actually can if you put on hair extensions and green contacts.”

He chose to remain silent, letting you laugh for as long as you could before you physically could no longer do so. And eventually, he was finished with your request and returned to his report folder, allowing you to take over again.

“I genuinely still think you’d look great trying to replace Rapunzel.” You suddenly let out while chopping the chocolate, to which you had to convince Stanley that you won’t cause another casualty.

“I wouldn’t.” He didn’t dare to look away from what he was reading. 

“You would.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“You have the hair for it already.”

He chose to remain silent again. Yet the grin on your face remained regardless.

After you were done with the knife and chopping board, you left them on the counter, the knife dangerously near the edge. Stanley, of course, noticed it.

“You can’t leave the knife like that,” He called out. However, you were already farther from him than earlier as you searched for another ingredient.  

“I know— Hold on, let me find the vanilla.”

Your eyes scanned the cabinets, the lower shelf, the middle, and another lower shelf—yet you were met with no sight of vanilla. And then, your eyes drifted towards the top shelf above the two-door refrigerator. Bingo.

The distance between your target—the vanilla—was offensive. Your fingers would be inches away if you tried to tiptoe, hence your second option was to climb the counters and angle yourself carefully to reach for it. 

Though, of course, that was the second option for a reason. Your first was none other than Stanley himself. 

“Stan.” 

“Yeah?” 

Your head turned in his direction, and you found him cleaning up the safety hazard that you had left.

“Can you get the vanilla?”

He glanced up briefly and found you pointing at the shelf above the refrigerator. Then, his attention drifted back to the abandoned knife and chopping board again.

“Give me a second."

Your brows knit in confusion, your head wondering if that was Stanley at all. You were used to your dear pretend husband tending to your bothersome orders right away, no matter how absurd they were. 

Unfortunately, if there was one thing he should’ve realized by now was the fact that you have yet to fully grasp the concept of waiting. Hence, in your head, that sounded like a ‘no’. 

Stanley was briefly occupied with cleaning and putting the knife away before you proved yourself right about being a safety hazard. However, he failed to consider another possible casualty you were already scheming unintentionally.

Because a second later, he heard sudden movements that clearly sounded far from anything good. His head snapped instantly in your direction, eyes catching the sight of you in the middle of climbing the countertops with pure determination and a terrifying stance.

The sound of your name cracked through the kitchen, tone sharper and louder than before, in a way you have yet to hear from him, causing you to flinch. Gone was the usual teasing drawl you heard from him, the amusement his voice carried when you gave him orders one after the other.

Your head whipped towards him instinctively, and the second you turned, your balance shifted. Yet before your hands could instinctively reach for the nearest support to balance yourself, you felt a pair of firm hands holding your figure in place.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice cut through fast, carrying a sharper tone than the previous one.

You looked down, and your eyes met his, realizing the sudden closeness between you two as he held you in place. His brows were furrowed, concern swimming through the warm color of his eyes in a way that made you still.

“...I was getting the vanilla.” 

He let out a faint scoff in disbelief. “I told you to give me a second, didn’t I?”

You blinked. The tone of his voice was definitely something. And for the first time since you met him, you were lost for words to argue back. Out of every attempt you made before to annoy or trigger the soldier, the one you made without the intention of doing so worked. 

And truthfully, the center brushstroke of this masterpiece of yours that was still a work in progress looked nothing like what you had imagined.

For the past month, he had met every single one of your attempts with the same infuriating reaction. Amusement, a raised brow, a dry remark, sometimes his face was practically screaming, nice try.

And now, as his hand remained on your lower back and the other secured your legs in place, there wasn’t a single trace of amusement to be found. It was just pure concern.

The realization made you stare. Not because you thought it was dramatic, but it was because it felt unfamiliar. You had finally seen his effortless composure crack, and the fact that it happened over a bottle of vanilla made it absurd in your head. 

Though before you could even reply, your feet suddenly left the countertop entirely. The world shifted in your vision as you found yourself being lifted effortlessly. 

“Stan—”

Your protest died halfway as Stanley carefully sat you down on the kitchen island instead. Then, he turned and reached out for the bottle of vanilla and placed it in your hands right after. 

The tension in his shoulders eased. “There,”

His gaze found yours again as he slowly exhaled through his nose. “Next time, just wait.” He paused. “Explaining to your father that his daughter suffered a concussion while attempting to retrieve vanilla at one in the morning is not a report I wanna write.”

And before you knew it, his hand reached up to flick your forehead softly. “You were an inch from cracking your skull with the edge of the island top before you could crack mine.”

You flushed instantly, hitting his arm in return. “Hey! I’ve given up on trying to crack your skull.”

“Yeah?” He raised a brow. “And decided to try and crack yours instead?” 

“I wasn’t trying to crack my skull—”

“I’d rather you try to crack mine again.” He muttered in disbelief. “No wonder your father aged a lot in the past decade, he’s gonna kill me.” 

“I said I wasn’t trying to crack it!” You threw your hands up. “Also, that’s just him aging normally. You can’t stop aging.”

“You sure found a way to make him age faster.” He deadpanned.

Stanley returned to the reports afterward— at least that was what he had attempted to do. He read the same paragraph thrice, simply because his gaze kept drifting towards you every few seconds as he did.

You were currently adding the dry ingredients with the same concentration he used whenever he was watching a target from the scope of his rifle, your gaze avoiding his as much as possible. 

He could easily sense the awkward atmosphere that stuck after the vanilla bottle incident. The usual stream of complaints and dramatic remarks had slowed considerably. The way your movements seemed tense didn’t go unnoticed either.

Stanley exhaled silently through his nose; the previous situation felt ridiculous in his head. He had been assigned to protect diplomats, politicians, and other important figures before, and yet somehow the closest thing to a heart attack he had experienced in months came from watching his fluffy, dramatic cat climb the kitchen counter.

He would’ve laughed if the fluffy, dramatic cat hadn’t happened to be his wife, who was close to proving his point about being a safety hazard.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The rest of the baking session passed by easily despite the awkward silence that fell. Perhaps it was because there was a certain captain hovering around suspiciously for your own good. At one point, you considered asking him to move five meters back because of the lingering awkwardness.

Except you didn’t and kept him as close as he wanted to be, eventually the lingering awkwardness disappeared right after you started asking for something again. And that time around, he answered every one of your orders instantly. 

Your conclusion? Stanley was definitely refusing to be dethroned as your father’s favorite soldier. 

You snickered at the thought. Partially because it sounded funny, and that it was his job to keep you safe— After all, it was merely for the mission, right?

“Stanley,” You moved a cookie near his mouth. “Try it and tell me what’s your review.” 

He simply did as he was told, already expecting it. It wasn’t the first time you had asked him; it was the sixth time he had unwillingly become a second-opinion guinea pig for the sake of your experiment. 

If anything, he was questioning how you went from trying to hit him with an expensive lamp a month ago to forcing him to eat cookies at two in the morning. Amazing character and relationship development, really. 

And if Stanley hadn’t chosen to let you have your fun, he would’ve genuinely asked Xeno to figure out what the best cookie recipe online was based on the science of baking.

However, he didn’t.

You were far too deep in a state of ecstasy as you concluded that this recipe was your new favorite, the newly ranked number one in your continuous list of rankings, to notice Stanley suddenly moving closer.

It was only when he called your name, and when you turned, your eyes nearly went wide at how close he was. It wasn’t as close as earlier when he prevented another casualty; however, you failed to see the reason for this one.

His eyes weren’t directly staring at yours, instead at the small streak of flour on your cheek. Though you couldn’t quite tell, as you were unaware of the said streak. 

His hand was already reaching out before you knew it. With a swift and gentle brush of his thumb, he wiped it away. 

“Messy,” He mumbled softly, voice tinged with a subtle amusement.

For some reason, you couldn’t think of a response again, just like earlier. Usually, you would’ve already retorted with something, yet now you couldn’t. Your heartbeat picked up its pace, and it had you confused all over again.

And somewhere between the cookies you tried to feed him, the leftover shavings of chopped chocolate on the countertop, the bottle of expensive vanilla that stayed within your reach, the casual brush of his thumb as he wiped away the streak of flour from your cheek, 

And the way he hovered suspiciously close to you in a way unlike before, as if you could continue to somehow make a simple midnight baking session into a reason for him to worry—

The first crack appeared. 

Neither of you noticed it yet; it was terribly subtle. But it was there even if it was not yet large enough to blur the line between devotion and duty.

A thin fracture hidden beneath layers of duty, professionalism, and the increasingly ridiculous contract that bound you two together for the remaining three hundred thirty-five days.

However, cracks had a tendency to spread, to grow bigger.

Whether the fracture would be mended or the two of you would fall through it unintentionally was a question only the remaining days could answer.

Bonus:

A few days after your deep analysis of the digital copy of the contract, your father had graced you with his presence. 

“Stanley, move eight meters back.” You ordered the man behind you as your eyes sent sharp glares at your father, who was sitting in front of you.

He didn’t say a thing, though you heard the faint sound of his footsteps.

You pushed a printed annotated copy of the contract terms forward. “Why did you remove that clause and exchange it for this insane one?” 

Your father simply picked up the printed copy. If anything, he looked rather impressed at how you managed to dissect the clauses in such ways. 

Then, to your absolute disbelief, he burst out laughing. The sound echoed throughout the living room, leaving you personally offended. 

You folded your arms across your chest, glare unwavering. “Dad, if you and your legal team thought you all were funny for that one, you guys weren’t.”

His laughter finally came to a stop. He reached out for the cup of tea Martha had prepared for him before calling out your name with a voice of pure amusement. It really was no longer questionable as to why Stanley and him got along.

“I didn’t need to put a clause preventing Stanley from falling for you.” 

“Why not?” You asked with a voice tinged with annoyance.

He sighed softly, though a grin remained on his face. “Stanley follows orders, shouldn’t you know that well by now?

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain anything.”

“It explains everything.” He argued back.

He placed the tea cup down, “If I told him to stand in a field for twelve hours and stare at a tree, he'd ask which tree.”

Your face twisted in disbelief. “No way, that sounds useless.”

“He’ll interpret it as an enemy lurking behind the trees, Sunny.” Your father deadpanned. “Test it out yourself, if you need proof.”

You blinked. “No thanks. Don’t wanna bother myself with whatever military tactic that was.”

He sighed again, “What I’m trying to say is that Stanley simply follows orders. He’s the last person you can emotionally manipulate around. Which is why there wasn’t a need to use the old clause.”

Your brows knit together. “So you added a new one? Numbered thirteen, too?

He cackled, “Ironic, isn’t it?”

You threw a decorative pillow at him. “You are really not funny, Dad. You and Stanley aren’t.”

He caught it easily, his shoulders shaking as he continued to laugh. 

You turned your head around to meet the gaze of your soldier, who happened to already be looking at you. He raised a brow, and you spotted the faint curl of his lips. 

You sent a glare at him, too. ‘Traitor. Are you sure this is your superior?’

“Fine,” You stood up furiously. 

Your father stared with concern in his eyes as he caught the previous glare you sent at his soldier. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“Nuh uh,” You spat out. “If I can’t get rid of him, he’ll just have to find out how unfortunate it is to live with me.”

You snatched the annotated copy from the coffee table, “He’s number thirteen after all."

Garrett slowly leaned back, eyes watching your storming off figure. Then, for a brief moment, he shared a glance with Stanley.

“God help that man.”

The said man was merely snickering before he trailed after your retreating figure. 

A/n: I received a comment on the last fic about the concept of the fic was good, but the ‘reader’ was leaning towards an OC because I assigned a nickname, and the way the ‘reader’ acts and that I assigned them a favorite food (I didn’t, it was Stan’s based on the Dr.stone wiki), and that the fic isn’t for everyone. And I genuinely get where they’re coming from because not every fic is for everyone. However, about the 'reader', I don’t know everyone and how everyone acts. The way I wrote the reader and what she does was PURELY for the sake of the plot (you guys will understand why in the later chaps), and I try to avoid the nickname as much as possible because I didn’t want to make it sound like I was writing an OC. I don’t assign physical appearances (that’s a damn dead giveaway), I also avoid assigning any favorites, like while I’m writing, I try to make anything related to that as vague as possible.  I've read multiple xreader fanfics before, not every author writes the reader the same way. And that's okay (imo cuz I read any xreader fics, LOL) It is genuinely okay to just skip and scroll if you don’t like a fic, gang. I’m just writing this fanfic for fun and because Stan needs more fanfics. 😭😀 TAGLIST: @sillybibbybobby @asteruuu @millyloves2read @ero528 @brownielover5 @lost-in-horrorland @123dabby123 @shijm420 @necromantiste @bananasquash @iheartpieck @moonlightaangel @nanasecrect @no1bruh @moonshoon @shogunfurasblog @weponxwrites @theanaoevre @66rockid @bsdfanhuu

[midnights-dragon]

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Chapter 2: Breakfast Wars and Truce

Chapter WC: 5670 Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST; CHAPTER 1 SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing A/N: Saw this official art of Stan and knew I had to make a scene about it cuz Style fits him so well in my head. I’VE BEEN ITCHING TO WRITE IT. 

You got the long hair, slicked-back, white-tshirt — Style, Taylor Swift.

Morning arrived far too quickly. 

Yet your countdown seemed to be running slowly as you still had three hundred sixty-four days left until you could escape this security trap without any exerted effort. That didn’t exactly mean you were going to wait for those to burn slowly.

A little fuel to speed things up shouldn’t hurt, right? Although you weren’t exactly aiming for a little.

Remnants of last night remained in your head, how you intentionally aimed to cave your intruder’s—who happened to be your pretend husband—skull in. 

Though in your defense, it wasn't really your fault; it was merely an act of self-defense. At least that's what you've been trying to remind yourself since the moment your eyes opened and fully regained consciousness. 

It was quite embarrassing, really. But could you blame yourself and instincts that were merely trying to save your life? Though it was hard to wash down the thought as you kept remembering how your husband— pretend husband, looked like he was stopping himself from laughing after undeniably noticing your embarrassed reaction. 

You groaned silently at the thought as your feet padded away softly on the cold wooden floors. The soft rays of sunlight seeped through the glass windows of the estate, offering a warm morning to soothe your mishaps. 

The heightened source of Vitamin D helped; however, the savory and sweet aroma that reached your nostrils completely dissolved every negative thought.

Your footsteps quickened as your eyes caught sight of Martha, carrying a tray of

 waffles and syrup. She stood near the glass doors that led to the covered terrace of the estate.

Her eyes met yours and offered a smile, “Good morning, Miss Sunny. Did you sleep well?”

You blinked. After a second passed, your face fell, and a groan fell from your lips as well. “...I wouldn’t say it was completely well.”

She tilted her head, concern written across her face. “Were the sheets not to your liking, dear? Was there something wrong with the air conditioning?” 

You shook your head almost instantly. “No, it’s not that.”

“I thought he was an intruder and well…” You ran a hand down your face in shame. 

“He?” This time, it was Martha who blinked, confused for a moment. And then, her eyes drifted towards the glass doors. “You mean Captain Snyder?” 

You buried your face in your hands fully. “Unfortunately. Why did he have to arrive in the middle of the night? He scared me.”

A soft laugh escaped from Martha as she gazed at your troubled and flustered face. “Oh, Sunny. I wouldn’t worry much if you’re worried he was offended.”

“Easy for you to say,” You ran a hand through the strands of your hair. “I tried to assault him with a lamp— thrice if he hadn’t disarmed me.”

She let out another laugh, and her smile widened. “Really? He didn't seem particularly upset earlier.” 

You let out a sound of absolute despair. Now you were quite sure the man had found your attempt amusing rather than offensive. Perhaps it would’ve been the latter if you actually managed to land a swing.

Martha adjusted the tray in her hand. “I doubt he’s thought much of it, dear. He’s been awake for a few hours.”

You offered to help her with it as your expression slowly changed. You were sure he arrived quite late last night, and yet he still woke up early?

“He helped Albert review this morning’s security schedules, inspected the grounds, checked the perimeter, and reviewed the staff roster,” She paused for a moment. “And then helped Albert and me with breakfast.”

She watched as your expression continued to shift with each word. Then, her head shifted to the glass door once again. “He’s outside, waiting for you.”

 You glanced at the nearest clock, it wasn’t even nine yet. And somehow, that man had lived half a day already. Meanwhile, you’ve spent every conscious second reliving your lamp incident. 

What an insulting comparison. 

Martha moved towards the terrace doors, sliding them open for you. “You should before your food goes cold, dear.” 

You nodded after a second. Yet your thoughts weren’t completely done at all. Perhaps there was a probability that he had forgotten about what happened last night—or no longer cared about it, and pitied your dignity. 

After all, according to Martha, he had spent the entire morning occupied with numerous tasks he willingly gave himself. The lamp incident should probably be an insignificant memory.

You read his file, he was a decorated soldier who had been entrusted with countless national security matters, surely he had more important things to think about than one woman—who happened to be his contractual wife—attempting to commit an accidental assault with an expensive household appliance. 

Right?

You frowned. The way you had pieced the last thought seemed considerably against your case. You doubted he was the type to dwell on embarrassing moments, mainly to ease your concern. 

If anything, he struck you as the kind of man who didn’t care about irrelevant things. Though you concluded that based on the information Elias gave you. 

Which, honestly, was excellent. Wonderful, even. That meant breakfast could proceed normally as long as there weren’t any reminders and mentions of the lamp. 

And the more you entertained the thought, the more reasonable your theory became. 

Unfortunately for you, fate has always enjoyed proving you wrong. 

The moment you stepped out of the glass doors, the morning breeze greeted you, carrying the scent of blooming florals and damp soil. The gardens stretched beyond the terrace, vibrant and bathed in the warm, golden light. Truly a sight for a morning hindrance. 

Then, your eyes caught sight of the breakfast table set in the middle of the terrace. The small variety of food filled your vision before your eyes drifted to the other end of the table. 

And instantly, you were met with an unfortunately familiar face. A mug of coffee in one hand, dressed in a simple white t-shirt that complemented his broad shoulders, and a pair of denim jeans. You noticed the way his hair was naturally styled in a slick back, with stray strands framing his forehead. And based on the observation you made from his neat-looking undercut, you concluded that he had recently gotten a haircut. 

Great, of course, he was completely ready for the day. What an insult to your prized, with the level of comfort pajamas, to which you awarded, of course. 

Must he be unfairly attractive? What a shame you two met this way. 

He looked up the second your footsteps reached his ears. Your eyes met before you could look away from him, and after a second passed, to your horror, you noticed the faint smirk that he swiftly covered as he brought the mug closer to his lips.

That bastard remembered. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were halfway through finishing your breakfast, eyes drifting from the garden then to your pretend husband from time to time as he discussed with Albert regarding security and everything else that revolved around it. You were far too deep within your thoughts to listen and understand any of it.

Thankfully, when you arrived earlier on, Albert appeared as you sat down, bringing files you assumed Stanley had requested. You wished everything fortunate would come to the former’s way right after. 

He saved you from the unfortunate reality that you had to actually converse properly with your supposed-to-be husband a little longer.

However, the second Albert left, his gaze instantly landed on you, completely catching you off guard. Luckily, you narrowly missed a choking situation caused by the waffles in your mouth and the sudden pair of striking eyes that locked with yours. 

“Done staring?” 

Your brows immediately furrowed in offense as you tried to defend yourself from such an accusation. “I was not staring.” 

What a complete lie. Of course, you would never admit it out loud. 

He hummed, and you didn’t need to be a genius to tell he wasn’t convinced at all. “Sure you weren’t.” 

“I was looking at the garden.” You shot back defensively. “Aren’t you awfully relaxed for someone who’s contractually married to me and supposed to be guarding me?”

He simply reclined in his chair with easy comfort. “I don’t see a reason not to be unless the mission goes south.”

Your eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Doesn’t our situation look insane to you?” 

Stanley leaned back further in his chair, one arm resting against the armrest as he regarded you over the rim of his coffee mug. “How so?”

You nearly dropped your fork, voice echoing incredulously. “How so?” 

“We’re literally married.” You emphasized, pointing a finger between him and you.

“Contractually,” he casually reminded.

“Exactly why it sounds insane!” A groan escaped from your lips as you threw your head back. You were starting to think you were surrounded by people who failed to sense the insanity of the setup.

Another wave of the morning breeze drifted through the terrace, reaching your nostrils, carrying the scent of nature that usually would soothe you down. However, this time, it couldn’t put a halt to your growing frustration.

“We literally got married before we even met, and now you’re supposed to be following me around for an entire year.”

Stanley simply took a sip of his coffee, far too unbothered. Truthfully speaking, he did initially find the situation the two of you were in far more than quite insane. In fact, Garrett had to spend half an hour trying to convince the captain back and forth. And the latter wasn’t exactly the easiest to convince. 

Eventually, the roles and ranks of Secretary and Captain blurred into nothing but a simple father pleading the only other man outside of his family that he trusted completely, to protect his treasured daughter. Perhaps that was what moved something within the soldier. Although he wasn’t the type to be, and definitely wasn’t fond of bodyguard missions, there was something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint yet. 

Was it his sheer intuition of following orders? Or was it intuition that came from something else? 

However, the insanity he viewed from his perspective, slowly began to fade away the second he met you—the second you had threatened him with an expensive lamp. Stanley had found your attempt far too amusing, though he kept an unimpressed look, purely because you missed. That look easily faded the moment he saw your embarrassed, retreating figure.

He was used to facing death threats, used to taking on dangerous missions, and used to willingly walking into the thin thread of death with nothing but a firearm and skill, yet he had never been threatened with a lamp before. 

And somehow, that attempt had slowly eased the insanity that he found. Because ever since he arrived, stepped foot inside of an unfamiliar estate, yet to be filled with memories that would eventually make it feel like a home rather than a prison for both of them, he had felt nothing but amusement and entertainment. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, this is his superior’s daughter who had him aging visibly for the past decades?

A pause settled between you as Stanley remained silent. And you hated how unbothered he looked; your past bodyguards weren’t this unbothered the second your mood shifted. Were they merely incompetent, or was your current one overly competent?

You weren’t one to surrender easily, however. “Okay, but surely this is one of the strangest missions you’ve ever had.” 

For the first time since you sat down, he seemed to have considered the question. And so you waited—it barely took three seconds. 

“Not really,” 

Your left eye twitched. “Not really? How?”

He shrugged; the motion was infuriating as usual. “I’ve been assigned far worse.”

“Does far worse mean sniping people on your own?” You asked with crossed arms and an accusing look.

Stanley didn’t bother to hide his amusement this time. He let out a small snort, corners of his lips curling slightly. “Did your research, huh?” 

You gave him a murderous glare. “Blame Elias.”

He let out a simple hum. He had already guessed as much. “Found anything interesting?” 

Your face twisted in disbelief as you drank a glass of fresh orange juice. “I think terrifying fits better. Can you confirm if Elias didn’t make up your file? The list made me think he did.”

Stanley raised a brow. “Confirm what?” 

You leaned closer. “The insanely long list of achievements— like do you actually snipe people on your own? I’m not into the job, so I barely know much about it, but don’t you need a spotter?” 

Before he could even respond, you were already dropping another round of questions. “Isn’t there math behind the shots? Do you actually calculate them on your own? Was the three kilometers something actually real, or was Elias exaggerating? Can you actually pilot, or was Elias lying to me because he knows I want someone who can fly me around?”

The list went on, and then, for the first time since he arrived, an actual laugh escaped from him. It sounded low and brief, the kind that had you halting for a moment. 

“You’re awfully interested in my career for someone who spent last night trying to crack my skull.”

Oh, now you were absolutely furious again as your soul nearly left your body. Twice in less than twenty-four hours, what an interesting streak to have.

You knew he remembered, but for him to bring it up? 

“I’ve been threatened by worse.” The amusement in his eyes deepened as he pushed back his hair with one hand, eyes directly staring into yours as he did. “The lamp was definitely the most memorable.” 

You let out a strangled, frustrated noise, a mix of exasperation and indignation. “Most people knock before entering rooms! Also, can you not bring that up?”

“Mad ‘bout last night?” He took a deliberate sip of his coffee, “Or is embarrassed a better word for it?” 

“Like I said, most people knock before entering rooms.” You scowled.

He simply shrugged. “And most people lock their doors at night.”

Then, as if what he was about to say next was the most natural thing in the world, he calmly said, “If you had lowered your swing by two point nine degrees, would've landed the hit.” 

Your mouth hung open, arms falling to your side. “How the heck did you calculate that?” 

“Observation and intuition,” he replied casually while slicing his waffles with cutlery. He looked far too domestic for someone who was discussing something far from the term. 

“Awfully confident, aren't you?” You then challenged, narrowing your eyes at him. “What if you're wrong and missed?” 

Stanley held your gaze; there was no arrogance in his expression, not a hint of smugness, amusement, or an effort to try and impress you.

“I don't.”

You frowned again. “...What?

“I never miss.”

His response arrived simply, as if he merely stated a fact. His voice carried a certainty that wasn't built on confidence, but rather experience. 

Considering his occupation, it sounded terrifying and chilling. At that exact moment, you began to understand why even generals feared his skill.

Your frown deepened, curiosity mixing with concern. “You're making me think you were exposed to guns the second you were born.” 

Amusement returned to his face, and this time, he didn't dare fight back the amused, small smile that formed. 

“Just you wait until I regain some of my dignity.” You reached out for a piece of fruit, stabbing it with your fork. 

He paused, setting his silverware on his plate. “Are you seriously planning to use your infamous schemes against me?”

Your eyes widened. “Hah? How do you know about those?” 

And then, dawned on you like a sudden flash of lightning. “Did my Dad tell you?” 

“He did.” His voice sounded so matter-of-fact. “ Told me ‘bout them before he even said what my mission was about.”

Traitor, an absolute traitor. 

A groan escaped from your lips, and your head fell into one hand. “Great, should’ve known you two were plotting against me before we even met.”

“I wouldn’t call it plotting.” He replied flatly.

You peeked up, “Oh yeah? What would you call it?”

“Preparation.”

You fully lifted your head, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That sounds like a synonym.”

“It’s a mandatory process before every mission.” He paused, eyes dancing with entertainment as his voice carried a teasing tone. “That eager to get rid of me already? It’s barely been twelve hours.”  

You chose to ignore his reply. If they had an initial plotting session or whatever Stanley referred to as, you would have yours too. You silently chewed on your waffles as schemes took over your thoughts. And as if he could read them, 

“Did you even read the terms and agreement of the contract?” He asked with a raised brow and a tinge of disbelief written on his face. 

You shook your head and reached out for the jar of water, which happened to be closer to him. Without even saying anything, his hand held the handle of the jar and poured you a glass of water, placing it near you.

You blinked for a moment, then continued. “The contract’s the same as always, there’s always a clause about my bodyguard getting fired if he develops any romantic feelings towards me, does a romantic gesture.”

“Or anything that’s related to those.” You waved a hand vaguely. “Which is why I stopped reading them after the third bodyguard.” 

He called out your name, and for a second, you couldn’t quite tell if he sounded serious or amused. Perhaps a strange mix of both that fought for the higher percentage. Then, he placed his mug down. 

“There isn’t one.” 

A frown immediately appeared on your face again. “What?”

“There’s no clause stating that my work ends if I somehow fell for your ‘romantic’ schemes.” 

The fork you were holding fell onto your plate, and the sharp clatter of silverware echoed right after as your eyes went wide. “What?!”

The amusement won the battle for the higher percentage as it became evident on his face. Stanley had to hold his mug closer to his face once again to hide the upward twitch of the corners of his lips. 

This man was finding you way too amusing despite the irrationality of this security trap. 

“You’re joking, there’s no way—” 

“I’m not.” He replied flatly.

“That’s ridiculous, there’s no way Dad would actually remove a clause like that!” You argued back, fingers curling inwards. 

He raised a brow, and you hated how his amusement was becoming far more visible. “Is it?” 

You nodded furiously. “Yes.”

Stanley looked entirely too entertained by your crisis. You, on the other hand, felt completely betrayed at the sudden news. Part of you was seriously regretting the careless act of not reading the contract before signing it spitefully. Another part was questioning what was running in your father’s head, as the terms and conditions were a work in progress. 

Was he thinking this arrangement would escalate to something else? No, the theory screamed impossible. Your father was the last person you could consider as an option to dethrone Cupid and take over. 

You pointed a finger accusingly at him. “You’re enjoying this.” 

He placed the mug down, “A little.” 

The honesty nearly killed you. It fueled your fury far greater than you and, somehow, even him, expected. Your father had completely removed the only clause you could take advantage of during the span of twelve bodyguards, your only hope of ending this security trap before it could last an entire year.

The two of them were genuinely proving that number thirteen was an unlucky number. And the lack of luck was leaning far more onto your side than the actual bodyguard number thirteen.

You let out another strangled, frustrated sound after swallowing down your last piece of food. Then, you abruptly stood up, turned around, and left without saying another word. 

Suddenly, the remaining three hundred sixty-four days felt longer and far worse than ever. 

As you stormed off, you couldn’t help but entertain the thought that this man was trying to earn justice for the twelve bodyguards you had gotten fired. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Fortunately for you, night had arrived quickly. Surprisingly fast considering you thought it would be a long day after the breakfast you had. 

The sun had set hours ago, leaving the moon and stars to shine over the darkness of the night sky, providing a soft glow that filtered through the giant glass windows of the living room. 

Originally, you had stayed in your room after the unfortunate events that occurred during breakfast, requesting to have your remaining meals for the day on the balcony as you kept yourself occupied with finishing the painting you had started last night. 

You kept seeing Stanley every now and then, though he kept a distance to which you assumed he could sense the bubbling fury that had yet to cool down. He seemed to have been occupied with other duties that involved being your bodyguard and head of security in the estate. 

You were starting to question how he had yet to make the area feel like a government military base. Honestly speaking, you were glad since you would dread to take your word back regarding how it felt like a countryside romance novel rather than a classified government operation.

However, you found yourself switching areas as you sought the warmth provided by the fireplace located in the living. 

Perhaps another reason was that you wished to admire the aesthetic interior that could somehow calm your revived anger after a call with your dearest brother, to which he laughed after you told him what happened during breakfast, proceeded to side with Stanley, and had the audacity to tell you to give him a chance and get to know him personally.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, Sunny.” He said. He was wrong in your eyes; it was hurting your leftover dignity. 

Too lost in another reality provided by the book you were reading, you failed to notice the controlled footsteps entering the room. 

As your finger flipped another page,

“It’s late,”

You looked up instantly, eyes landing on his familiar figure. Then, at the same second you saw the cigarette in his hand, the smell reached your senses. 

The moment he took another drag, you physically recoiled, hand reaching up to cover your nose, eyes glaring up at him. 

He simply stared back. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” You shot back with a scowl on your face.

He tilted his head slightly and raised a brow. “Smoking and making sure you head back upstairs?”

One hand remained on your nose while you pointed a finger at him. “Stay over there or walk back ten steps.”

Stanley glanced behind himself, then back at you. “Ten?” 

You paused for a brief moment. “No, make it fifteen.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You serious?”

He earned a nod from you instantly. “Dead serious.”

To your surprise, he took a few steps back. However, they were definitely nowhere near ten, let alone fifteen. However, it was enough to tell you that he wasn’t entirely ignoring your order.

“Don’t like smokers?” 

You lowered the book onto the soft cushion of the couch. “Yes, especially the smoke, and soldiers— or anyone involved in the military. Thanks for noticing.”

Instead of getting offended for qualifying at everything you mentioned, Stanley found himself snickering slightly at the evident sarcasm lacing your voice. 

“That’s unfortunate, I qualify for all three.” He raised the cigarette slightly. 

Your expression wrinkled, unimpressed. “Yeah, quite unfortunate, number thirteen.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and you were starting to question how he looked rather amused than offended. 

“Is that why you want to get rid of me?”

You whipped your head to stare at him. “Nuh uh, that’s the tip of the iceberg. I don’t like security traps, especially this one.”

He lowered the cigarette. “Your Dad’s the same, do you hate him too?”

You waved a hand vaguely. “No, he’s still my Dad, and he isn’t a bad one besides this stunt he pulled.”

Then, you flashed a mischievous grin. “Besides, I used to hide his boxes, and still do whenever I find one.”

“No wonder,” His voice was laced with something that sounded like he was impressed, yet amused. “He keeps asking me for one.”

There was a brief moment of silence before your jaw dropped. “You supply my dad with cigarettes? No wonder he likes you a lot!”

The accusation deepened his entertainment. However, instead of replying, he walked away, fading into the glass doors, leaving you confused.

Then, he appeared again. What baffled you this time was that he came back empty-handed, the cigarette missing from his fingers. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Where’s your cigarette?”

You watched as he sat on the chair in front of you, making himself comfortable. Then, he casually replied, “Threw it away.”

“Hah?” Your voice tinged with confusion. “Why? It was barely half-finished.”

He merely shrugged in his seat and chose not to respond to that. Instead, to your previous question. “Can’t exactly say no to your father when he asks for one, he’s my superior.” 

The way he had ignored your last question didn’t go unnoticed. And honestly, part of you was thankful he did. Although you didn’t entertain any thoughts in your head as to why. Perhaps he was merely trying to get on your good side after being on the opposite side since he arrived.

“So you just supply him some?” You pressed, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Supply is a strong word,” He answered with a steady voice. “He’s the Secretary of Defense.”

A soft gasp escaped your lips. “That’s not a valid excuse to help him ruin his lungs further!”

He leaned back. “I’m merely a soldier who follows orders.”

“No way he orders you to give him cigarettes.” You retorted in disbelief, brows knitting together.

He didn’t answer again; he simply shrugged his shoulders. For a second, you just stared at him, and he did the same. 

The fire from the fireplace crackled softly as it provided enough warmth between you two. Silence followed, and strangely enough, it wasn’t the awkward silence you were expecting. 

You couldn’t quite tell why as your brother’s voice and request filled your head, refusing to go quiet. 

“Give him a chance. It wouldn’t hurt to try, Sunny.”

You hated how he made sense, despite your pride disagreeing. You were going to be stuck with him for an entire year unless you figured something out, which you were eighty percent sure you wouldn’t be able to if the clause was really removed. 

Keeping him a stranger for the remainder of your time with him would not only make it hard for you—and perhaps him—it would mainly affect you more than him. 

With a groan, you shifted in a more comfortable position. His eyes briefly flickered at the sudden movement. 

Then, you stared at him again. “If I’m going to be stuck under your watch for an entire year, the least we could do is not be complete strangers.”

You leaned forward, elbows resting on your thighs as your chin settled on top of your clasped fingers. “Tell me about yourself.”

He paused, “Didn’t you read my file already?”

Oh, you were already regretting trying. 

You groaned again, running a hand down your face. “Yeah, but that file is basic information about you and more on your mission reports and achievements.”

You pointed the same hand at him. “How am I supposed to know what you like and don’t like from that?”

He raised a brow. “Do you have to know what I like and don’t?”

You blinked before pinching the bridge of your nose, internally screaming. “Okay, fine, let’s do this another way.”

You sat up straighter. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Burritos,” He replied flatly. Not bothering to explain how he liked his made, his favorite combination of ingredients, nothing. 

“What’s your favorite color?” 

“Light Gray.” 

“Favorite season?” 

“Winter.”

“Favorite hobby?”

“Shooting.” 

You stared at him as if he were insane. But then again, your whole setup was, every surrounding you was for enabling this at this point.

You shrank back onto your seat, both hands covering your face as you peeked through your fingers. “Please don’t tell me you have a favorite gun.” 

He grinned, actually grinned this time. “Do you wanna know?” 

Now you groaned loudly. “Out of everything you want to elaborate, you chose that? Come on, Stanley. I’m trying to make our situation better here.”

You sent him a sharp glare. “Can you at least exert some effort?”

He stared back, unwavered by your glare. “Seems irrelevant to.”

You couldn’t resist the urge to throw a decorative pillow at him, which he caught without looking. 

“Choosing violence again?” A faint smirk threatened to show.

You ignored the question and straightened again. “Fine, I’ll demonstrate.” 

And oh, he should’ve known not to let you, as he had to sit through an hour or perhaps more of listening to your rambles. Truthfully, he had survived, and continued to do so from time to time when he could not shut down Xeno’s rambles, however, yours were far worse. 

He had spent the majority of his childhood hearing sentences such as:

“Hypothetically speaking,"

“Wouldn’t it be interesting if—” 

“I have a theory on—”

And somehow, listening to your rambles was harder to keep up with.

Because at least Xeno stuck to one topic. You, on the other hand, kept on changing, getting easily distracted to explain something while explaining another thing.

He had already regretted his decision five minutes in.

One second, you were rambling about your grandmother, who got you into gardening after seeing her garden during the spring season; the next, you were rambling about how your brother started giving you nicknames, to which everyone else in the family started using. 

“Eli developed it after apparently—his words, not mine—Mom went into labor during a bad weather, he said the weather was really bad for days, and somehow it started sunning again after I was born.” You paused, staring at the ceiling. “When he first told me years ago, I straight up told him it sounded cheesy and made up.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “On top of that, he said I was a very cheerful and bright kid. Now he says I get too moody easily.”

Stanley merely listened as you continued to ramble. One elbow found itself resting on the armrest as he listened, and at some point, he swore the image he had of you, envisioned in his mind, shifted into a fluffy, dramatic cat. 

He accidentally snorted at the thought. 

“Did you know I got my creative side from my mother? She owns a clothing brand and has a whole line named after me. She’s so much cooler than Dad and his pew pew missions—”

You came to a halt when you realized Stanley had one hand covering his face as his shoulders shook briefly. 

You reached out for the last decorative pillow next to you and launched it at him. “Are you even listening to me?!”

Definitely a fluffy, dramatic cat. 

And honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you went from throwing things at him to actually scratching or wounding him.

Just days ago, he was buried in the heavy insanity the mission carried—and now, he’s snickering at the pure entertainment he gained, and it has only been a day.

Stanley couldn’t help but think that his wife was surely something.

Bonus:

“Don’t laugh,” Stanley’s voice cut through sharply.

The scientist had stopped eating several minutes ago, the moment Stanley had informed him of this new mission of his. One hand remained over his mouth as the other held his wine glass. His shoulders trembled ever so slightly. 

The captain merely stared in disbelief as his childhood friend, Xeno, attempted his best not to laugh. 

Seriously, Stanley swore he could try harder. 

“A security arrangement,” His dark eyes glimmered with an emotion that provided evidence that he was smiling beneath his hand. 

“You—” His voice finally cracked. “You accepted it, Stan?”

Stanley remained unfazed as he watched him give out a weak attempt not to laugh out loud in public. Basic etiquette, or whatever Xeno called it. 

“Yes.”

A laugh finally managed to escape Xeno’s lips, though it wasn’t loud and didn’t catch the attention of the other people that occupied the diner. 

“You have taken missions that had a far lower survival rate than this.” His shoulders continued to shake. “Remarkable, Stan. Truly remarkable.”

The captain sighed, placing his glass of wine down. “You done?”

“Not entirely.” Xeno fixed his posture. “What you have informed me does not sound like a security operation.”

He smirked and continued, “It seems more like a romance premise.”

Stanley genuinely looked done and unimpressed. 

“A contractual marriage disguised as a security operation?” He began listing with his fingers. “An estate, an entire year guarding her,”

Then he folded his hands. “I’ve read enough fiction to identify patterns when I see one. I rarely read fiction, Stan.”

“This ain’t fiction, Xeno.”

“Precisely what concerns me.” 

Xeno wore the kind of smile he did whenever he did experiments that easily concern a normal human being.

“The likelihood of spending an entire year married to a stranger without developing any form of emotional attachment is lower than you seem to think.” 

“Doubt that’s gonna happen,” Stanley shot flatly.

The scientist hummed. “Your confidence is truly admirable, Stan. Considering you’ve yet to meet her as well.”

“I’m serious.” Stanley refilled his glass. “It’s common sense and professionalism.”

“Ah, the famous last words of Stanley Snyder before the setup proves him incorrect.” Xeno’s smile became dangerous. “Fund my next research if you are indeed incorrect.”

A/N: I was cracking up while writing this chapter, and honestly, the next one is funnier if you ask me. I genuinely hope Stan isn’t ooc because that’s literally my biggest fear as a writer. I rewatched episodes trying to understand his character LMAO. Enjoy the funny moments while they last, mwahahah. I kissed the brick before throwing it in the last two senku fics (iykyk)◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ TAGLIST: @sillybibbybobby @asteru @millyloves2read @ero528 @brownielover5 @lost-in-horrorland @123dabby123 @shijm420 @necromantiste @bananasquash @iheartpieck @moonlightaangel @nanasecrect @no1bruh @moonshoon

[kzhyxmi]

You are singlehandedly keeping the senku fandom alive please never stop writing for him ilysm

I WILL EVEN WHEN THE ANIME ENDS🗣️🗣️🗣️

Love him too much, planning to make a series after i finish the stan series and post a maomao inspired reader x senku

[kzhyxmi]

The new dr.stone episodes really got me crying and idk if its cuz the anime is ending or its cuz my dearest Senku has come so far🥲🥹

As a manga reader, seeing the scenes animated really tugged on my heartstrings like damn LMAO😞

[avocad0ess]

I wonder who I would be today if I didn’t develop an obsession with fanficion when I was 11

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Chapter 1: Father, I Don't Want This Marriage!

Chapter WC: 4043 Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST; PROLOGUE SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing A/N: WARNING, Reader will be called sun-related nicknames, explanation will be given in the actual scenes in the next chapter. Tangled reference, I think?

Take me back to the night we met — The Night We Met, Lord Huron. 

You were fuming. Absolutely fuming. 

It has been twenty-four hours since you've locked yourself in your bedroom, refusing to answer to anyone at the door. 

You were set on making a point, a very important point. That point being that your father had lost his mind, utterly lost his mind 

One moment, you were enjoying a pleasant breakfast with your parents, listening with half an ear as your father explained that he had hired another bodyguard. You were barely paying attention, already plotting your routine of getting rid of them as usual. 

The next moment, he'd calmly informed you that the said bodyguard would be moving in with you into a countryside property. 

Your body paused for a brief moment before plotting a better plan in mind. 

Though it seems your father wasn't done. And then, as if he was merely discussing the weather, he had announced that the said bodyguard would marry you. For an entire year at that.

A whole year. A man you had never met. A man you had never spoken to. A man you had barely seen. 

You could still remember it vividly, the feeling of hearing the news that caused a ringing in your ears, the way your utensils slipped out of your fingers, the utter disbelief that washed over you

And for a moment, you had considered whether your father was merely joking around as usual. 

Except he wasn't. And the argument that followed after was spectacular, if you must say so. You could've sworn that if Elias was there, he would've been trying to calm you down along with your mother, yet give up after five minutes, considering how furious you were. Still are. 

Your mother had attempted to be kind and diplomatic, but the fury practically burned with your face and the sound of your voice. 

Your father had the audacity to attempt to be logical, yet you weren't hearing any of it. You countered him with a verbal attempted murder. 

Afterward, you marched upstairs, slammed your doors loud enough that the nearby helpers flinched in fear, and refused to come out. 

That had been exactly twenty-four hours ago. Twenty-four hours of refusing to come down for family meals, barely touching the food your mother left, and pretending not to hear your father pacing outside the door every few hours. 

And that was the worst part, far worse than the fake marriage announcement. It was the fact that your father was worried, so worried that he managed to come up with a security trap with such a level of insanity. 

And that made it difficult for you to stay angry. Because even after everything, he was just a father worrying over his little girl.

You sat curled up in the bay window of your room. A book long forgotten, as you clutched your blanket out of spite. 

Then, you heard a loud vibration from your smartphone. Your eyes drifted towards it for a brief moment. It was the thirty-third call from your older brother ever since he heard that you've spitefully locked yourself in your room after your verbal showdown with your father. 

With a groan of annoyance, you finally gave in and answered the call. You refused to answer to Elias as well after learning that apparently everyone knew of your father's irrational plan.

So much for being the Secretary of Defense. 

You were far too busy sulking and enraged at the insanity of the situation. And after learning that your favorite person also knew, you concluded that he was currently walking on very thin ice and a footstep away from being dethroned from the title. 

The second you answered, the call connected, and you instantly heard a familiar voice calling you by a familiar nickname. 

“Sunny?” The voice hit you like a punch. It sounded warm, concerned, and relieved. And suddenly, you hated how much you were missing your older brother, and how much the whole situation could've been avoided if he hadn't chosen to fly across the world for his dreams. 

Still, it was much better than having to watch him follow your father's footsteps. The thought was enough to make a shiver run down your spine. 

“Eli,” 

The silence on the other end lasted for less than a second. “Oh, thank goodness. I was so worried— Mom and Dad were so worried about you!” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “Should've thought of it before coming up with that stupid plan.”

He ignored your counter. “Have you eaten a proper meal? Drank at least a full glass of water?” 

“Couldn't resist a cheesecake slice, does that count?” You joked out, already knowing what your brother was going to say. 

You heard him groan from the other line, and you could imagine him running a hand down his face at your exact words. 

“That is not a proper meal, and you're old enough to know that, Sunny.” 

You couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes this time. “Yeah, and somehow I still need bodyguards despite being an adult? Not to mention that said bodyguard is supposed to marry me for the sake of security.”

Elias paused for a brief moment, the kind he used whenever he was trying to figure out what you were really feeling before he called out your name, no nickname, no Sunny this time. “I think you should hear Dad out on this one.” 

The words landed like a slap, and you sat upright, hand tightening around your smartphone. “What? Are you hearing yourself right now, Elias?”

“Are you actually serious right now?” Your voice cracked from disbelief.

“Sunny—” 

“No.” You stood up abruptly, tangling your blanket around your legs. 

“I thought you were on my side!” You spat out angrily. 

He called out your name, yet you cut him off again. 

“I can't believe you're siding with dad— Do you even know this guy?!” 

That was the thing everyone had failed to understand about you. During the duration of your verbal battle with your father, he kept talking about how this Stanley Snyder was his best soldier, best bodyguard you could ever have, best at everything. 

But to you, he was a complete stranger. And somehow, everyone was expecting you to just wake up one day and accept that you would be his pretend wife for a whole year just so he could keep a close distance and provide the security your previous bodyguards couldn't.

Your voice lowered, softer and far more vulnerable. “Do you know how insane all of this sounds from my perspective, Eli?” 

“Like what if I don't like him? What if we hate each other, or I'm uncomfortable with him?” Your throat tightened at your own words as the questions you've been trying not to think about finally spilled out. 

Because beneath all the anger caused by the situation, there was fear. 

Elias had been listening quietly, sensing the large wave of emotions from your voice. Finally, he decided to reply. “I know him.” 

His voice softened slightly. “I've met him countless times.” 

“What?” That made you pause as your brother continued. 

“Remember when Dad brought me to military functions?” 

You blinked. “Yes?” 

“I met Stanley there. Dad introduced me to him, and at first, I was really eager to finally meet Dad's favorite soldier, even if he didn't say it out loud.” The tone of his voice changed once again. “And I actually liked him.” 

His answer caught you off guard because you knew your brother. He was one to judge far worse than you do, and he wasn't easy to impress at all. He judged people thoroughly. Mostly ruthlessly from time to time. 

“Why?”

“Because he never cared about impressing dad.” 

“...Hah?”

You heard him laugh from the other line. “Most soldiers either try too hard to impress him or spend the entire time terrified. But Stanley never did; all he cared about was getting a mission done.”

“He treated Dad like an actual person, and that’s what got Dad respecting him— Well, besides his insane skill and competency.”

You paused for a brief moment, taking in your brother’s words. “Does Dad respect him that much?”

Elias laughed louder this time. “Sunny, I think Dad would've adopted him if he could.”

Despite your still simmering anger, you found yourself snorting at that. 

“Plus, he’s insanely skilled.” He added with a voice of admiration and an attempt to ease your worries.

“You literally just said that— Why are you and Dad starting to sound like a fan club?” You deadpanned.

Then, the tone of his voice suddenly shifted into something serious. He called out your name, “If Dad had told me at twenty-four that I had to fake a marriage with someone I have never met, I’d lock myself in my room too.”

The tension in your chest finally loosened. “Thank you. Finally, someone understands—”

“But,” 

You groaned instantly. “Elias.”

“If Dad had to choose a man to marry his daughter for an entire year for the sake of security, he would only choose Staney. Stanley would be his only option, no one else.”

With a gentler tone, “He trusts him that much, Sunny. He wouldn't purposely put you in the same walls with someone he doesn’t trust personally.”

You remained silent. Part of you was beginning to finally understand the situation from your father’s perspective, yet a more petty and spiteful part of you refused to. 

Elias sighed softly. “If you’re still doubtful—which I’m sure you are—I’ll send you his file.”

You remained silent for another second before finally speaking. “Eli, ya’know I’ll study his information and use it to get rid of him, right?”

He snorted, and you could imagine him shaking his head. “Yeah, but I doubt you’ll be able to get rid of him.”

You couldn’t resist the urge to roll your eyes. “What’s with the confidence for this guy? Just start a fan club at this point.”

He laughed harder, and you merely ignored him as your hand reached out for your tablet to open the file he had sent you.

For some reason, you felt your pulse speed up. Which was ridiculous considering you thought you weren’t nervous. You were gathering information for your schemes.

With a tap of your index finger, you opened the file and were immediately greeted with a standard military profile. A professional photograph, except that this guy was unfairly attractive, the type of attractive that belonged on magazine covers, not classified government files.

Broad shoulders, sharp features, blonde hair, brown striking eyes— and insanely long eyelashes. And for a moment, you were genuinely questioning if his eyelashes were longer than yours.

“He doesn’t talk much; he dislikes it when people talk too much. He’s the definition of shoot first, ask later.” 

“Sounds boring,” You spat out with narrowed eyes as you scanned the file further.

“No, Sunny. It sounds peaceful.” Elias answered with years of experience in handling a very chaotic sibling, especially during the questioning stage of a child that somehow lasted until adolescence. That sibling happened to be you. 

“Plus,” You swore you could hear the teasing in his voice. “Don’t you find him attractive? Didn’t you say you like—”

“I don't like soldiers or anyone involved in the military, Eli.” You interrupted sharply, annoyance evident in your voice. “Dad's just an exception because he's our dad.” 

Elias cackled at your response, and for a moment, you thought he was doubling over. 

You clicked your tongue, irritated. “Stop laughing, my situation isn’t funny— the heck?” 

Your sentence died the second you reached his list of achievements. “Sniper, pilot, captain of the most elite special operations unit— this guy shoots from a thousand-meter distance alone? No spotter?”

“He rarely needs a spotter; he knows his math well. Though he keeps saying it’s intuition even when his firing angles are precisely accurate when you do the math.”

Now you were beginning to actually worry regarding your new bodyguard—not to mention pretend husband—as your eyes read achievements after another, qualifications, commendations. At one point, you were genuinely considering that someone had started to make things up, that Elias had made the file himself to pull your walls down. 

“No one is this qualified, Elias. What do you mean by zero mission failures?”

Elias laughed again, sounding far too happy with your reaction as if it were his file you were reading. “Well, surprise, surprise. Stanley is.” 

“The heck? Is this guy a perfectionist or something?” You scrolled further. “Don’t tell me he gets frustrated if his mission goes south.” 

He snorted. “He does, but he gets them done anyway, according to Dad. Which is why he also thinks Stanley is his best bet.”

From the other side of the world, Elias was sipping a complicated latte order as if he wasn’t discussing his younger sister’s future pretend husband. 

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took Dad twelve bodyguards before he decided that he had enough and hired him.”

You would've laughed if you weren’t considering the entirety of the situation again. You set the tablet down and stared at the window. At that exact moment, you spotted your father entering his car, wearing a crisp suit. You looked away bitterly, eyes wishing the situation hadn’t gotten to this point.

You let out a soft sigh. “Dad trusts him that much, huh…”

The laughter and amusement left Elias’ voice. “Yeah.”

A simple answer, yet it hit harder than everything else. Because you knew your father. You knew how cautious he was, how selective, how difficult it was to earn his respect, how protective, especially when it came to you.

Garrett Williams trusted very few people, especially with his personal life. Stanley Snyder happened to be one of them. 

You had been too caught up with your anger due to the whole situation that you had forgotten to consider why your father was doing this. 

The threats, surveillance, danger, fear, the fact that your father seemed more worried and exhausted than usual, and how he hovered around you with your mother. He wasn’t trying to control you, no, he was terrified to the point of irrationality.

So much for hating his current and previous job, so much for causing the dangers and constant need for security in your life, so much for being the child who survived a high-risk pregnancy. 

It really shouldn't be a surprise for anyone if you hated the fact that you survived death before you were even born— you weren't supposed to be living. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The new house you were supposed to live in for the next entire year was far from what you had originally imagined. 

When your mother had informed you regarding relocating, you had considered something cold, a security compound, gray walls, armed guards lurking everywhere, the sort of place that screamed government operation.

Instead, you found yourself standing in front of what looked like the setting of a countryside romance novel. 

“...Oh,” The words escaped before you could stop them. 

The house, decorated with white walls, large windows, climbing roses around trellises, a porch that seems to wrap around the front and back of the house, and enough land surrounding the area that the nearest neighbor was nearly invisible. 

The air smelled different, cleaner and fresher, unlike the smell of the city traffic. The breeze carried the scent of greenery, far from the smoke emissions carried throughout the streets of a bustling city.

For a moment, you simply stood there before turning to your mother, who had a cheeky grin. 

Your eyes narrowed, “This is bribery.”

Her smile turned into something innocent. “Nonsense. I have no idea what you’re talking about, sunshine.”

Your eyes narrowed further, refusing to fall for her traps. After all, she was far more scheming than your father. “You found a house I couldn’t say no to. This is textbook bribery.”

She didn’t even try to deny it anymore and simply laughed. “Do you like it?”

You hated how quickly you nodded. “...Yes.”

A victorious smile appeared on your mother’s face this time. “Thought so.”

She watched as you walked into the property with bright, eager eyes that couldn’t contain your excitement. With a swift hand, she signaled the helpers to carry out your luggage before following you.

You had been manipulated yet again. Seriously, your family had to stop abusing how easily gullible you were.

But honestly, you had to thank your mother for choosing a house that wasn’t going to remind you of prison disguised as a security trap. 

The interior somehow managed to be even better. Warm wooden floors, large windows, a high-ceiling living room, soft sunlight pouring into nearly every room, comfortable furniture—all of it reminded you of the home you grew up in, far from what you were expecting.

Except, there was something that easily made you favor this house compared to your parents’ home. It was the backyard garden that ended your entire resistance. Surely, the flowers in the front yard were something, but the vastness of the backyard was something else. 

“The flowers have yet to bloom, Sunny. But they will once spring comes around. You wanted a garden where you could plant and keep multiple plants, right?”

That was the exact moment you concluded that your mother knew how to emotionally manipulate you far better than anyone else in your family. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The next pleasant surprise came in the form of staff. Two very familiar staff members greeted you. And honestly speaking, you were far from just grateful that you weren’t going to be stuck in a property with a man you had never met before. 

Barely knew if you did not consider the fact that you read his file the other day, that is.

Your mother had informed you that Albert and Martha were to stay with you for the entire year, and you nearly jumped in joy and relief. 

By evening, you had nearly unpacked everything. Though there was something you were far from comfortable with, even if it meant security reasons. Why was your pretend husband’s room a wall from yours?

What made matters worse is the connected balcony. Instead of peacefully being able to read at the balcony with a view of the garden, or anything to occupy yourself for the next twelve months, you had to be wary of him spotting you. 

Well, he will eventually see you and hover around, considering that was simply his job, but still, you were set on avoiding him as much as possible, until he arrives, and until you’ve come up with a plan to be his first failed mission and worst nightmare.

You snickered schemingly at the thought. He might be a highly skilled and capable soldier; however, you were a highly delusional and stubborn daughter. 

Two can play a game, if you must. 

You sat by the bay window of your new bedroom, wrapped in a light sweater as you silently painted the view of the garden. You were in awe at how the moonlight shone upon the greenery.

Your playlist had started to sound bland after numerous repeats. Which was why you switched tabs and clicked on a podcast regarding the entirety of Greek Mythology—anything to keep you awake and entertained. 

And as the story of Cupid and Psyche played for another time—you had already forgotten how many versions you’ve heard about them—you heard the faint sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. 

You halted, paintbrush frozen mid-motion as your eyes widened towards the door of your bedroom. 

The footsteps got louder as they got closer. One step after the other. Your grip on your paintbrush tightened. Albert and Martha were fast asleep in the east wing; you would’ve heard them come downstairs if they were awake. 

You were aware that there were a few stationed guards on a night shift until your new bodyguard and pretend husband were to arrive, hence, why is there an intruder making his way upstairs as of the moment? 

Your thoughts were spiraling, your pulse was rising, and your heart was dropping to the pits of your stomach. 

The podcast continued playing in the background, 

“And thus Cupid fell in love with Psyche—” 

You instantly reached out to pause it. A love story wasn’t exactly the soundtrack you wanted to hear if you were about to get murdered. 

Your father had hired what he and Elias took pride in as the best soldier, yet that soldier wasn’t even there to do his job. Amazing, seriously. 

The footsteps stopped, right outside of your bedroom door. Your instincts were screaming at you, and your heartbeat pounded in your ears. The paintbrush fell from your hands, into the jar of water near you, as you rushed to grab the nearest option that qualified as a weapon. 

The said option was a lamp that looked far too expensive to be broken. Though you were sure your mother wouldn’t mind purchasing another one if she knew it was for self-defense, right?

The doorknob turned, and your soul absolutely flew out of your body. You nearly screamed if you hadn’t physically covered your mouth with one hand. The intruder was going to spot you anyway; however, why not surprise the said intruder before they could? 

And at that exact moment, you could hear your father’s voice from the back of your head as it replayed a memory.

“Never try to play hero if you find yourself in a dangerous situation.”

Well, it was far too late to hide now, wasn’t it?

The door slowly opened. And before the intruder could even take a full step inside—

You charged. 

“Get out of my house!” The lamp swung through the air as you mustered every courage left and fought to bring your soul back into your body. 

The man immediately ducked, and the heavy lampshade narrowly missed his head. “What the—”

If you weren’t currently fighting for survival, you would've given yourself a pat on the back at how good that aim was. You missed, but still, the second try should surely do it. 

You swung again. He stepped back and caught the lamp before it could hit the door frame and shatter everywhere. 

Perhaps a third try should do the trick—

Except no, the second he caught the lamp so effortlessly, he detached it from your hold. And finally, you actually looked at him and froze instantly. 

Tall, very tall, broad shoulders, dark clothing, military posture, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, a small luggage behind him, the prettiest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen, that you remembered his file and concluded that the photo didn’t serve his face card enough justice. 

Though those eyes were currently looking at you, entirely unimpressed with the fact that you had just attempted to cave his skull in. 

A beat passed, and then another. You wished the ground would magically swallow you from the second floor. 

The stranger who happened to be your new bodyguard and pretend husband stared at the lamp and back at you.

“...Is this how you usually greet guests?”

You blinked, embarrassed. Very embarrassed by the first impression you gave your pretend husband for an entire year. You were already muttering the blame at your father inside of your head for not informing you that the said husband was arriving tonight. 

You really should’ve read the contract before signing that damn marriage certificate. At least the wedding band and house looked pretty.

There was a faint twitch from the corners of his lips after he noticed how your body backed away due to your embarrassment and the flushed look on your face as you refused to look back at him again.

“Stanley Snyder,” He let out as he fought back the twitch. He held his hand out, enough to reach your gaze, allowing you to spot the matching wedding band.

He called out your full name, “I guess this is your welcome home?”

Great, you started your marriage by mistaking your husband for an intruder and aiming for his head with an expensive lamp.

What a great way to start the beginning of the three hundred sixty-five days, don't you think?

A/N: I HIGHKEY wanted to pick names from the servants in Sofia first. Like Baileywick LMAOOO.  I love the dry humor and sarcasm that I add in narrations, LMAOOO. I was cackling while writing the last scene, and I failed to notice the delivery guy delivering my mother’s orders.

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing

Prologue

She's a certified mind blower. Knowing full, well, that I don't — No. 1 Party Anthem, Arctic Monkeys.

The overseas deployment had lasted exactly seven months. 

Seven months of dust, barely sleeping nights, classified objectives, and enough close calls to earn a dozen new gray hairs— that was the case of soldiers from other units, that is. 

Never the case of Captain Snyder's. Ironically enough, deployments are what kept him alive, and rifles are what honed his skills that terrified even the greatest generals. 

Though by the time he stepped out of the aircraft, all he wanted was a good cup of coffee and his preferred brand of cigarettes.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Less than an hour after returning to the base, he was informed that a message had arrived, requesting his immediate presence at the Office of the Secretary of Defense. 

Normally, Stanley would've assumed it was a debriefing, the usual protocol. Except no, not this time. For the message personally requested him, and it came from the Secretary of Defense himself. 

That was unusual; the captain couldn't tell if the old man, Garrett Williams, one of the most powerful men in the country, decorated veteran, and a figure whose name carried more than enough weight to make generals stand straighter.

Stanley respected him well enough to know it was urgent, but knew him well enough to know that something was also off. After all, the two bonded over competency and cigarettes. 

The secretary's aide ushered him through the familiar office doors and hallways. And soon, the familiar sight of a large, polished, government office greeted him. 

Garrett sat on the couch area, nursing a cigarette in one hand as his brows furrowed in a way someone would think he was growing more gray hairs by every minute. 

Stanley closed the door behind him and greeted the man. Instantly, the Secretary's eyes shot up.

“Stanley, welcome back.” He motioned at the seat in front of him. 

Stanley nodded once and sat across him, legs crossed as he leaned back towards the comfortable plush pillows of the couch. 

Garrett tossed a lighter at him, which he caught with ease, barely even looking. 

“How was your mission?” 

Stanley lit up a cigarette and took a drag. “A success, as always.” 

The secretary smirked in amusement. He wasn't one for favoritism, but a soldier with such competence and skill was something he didn't see on a daily basis. Not to mention how straightforward he is and quick to get things done. 

“What's the problem?” Stanley asked, eyeing the man in front of him. 

Garrett let out a brief chuckle. “Always straight to the point, aren't you, Stanley?” 

The captain merely shrugged and took another drag. “...Is it Elias or your daughter?” 

Having enough experience of hearing stories regarding the children of the Secretary of Defense, he could easily tell it wasn't the son who caused him such stress. Elias was reliable and predictable, barely causing his father any trouble. 

Garrett flicked the ash on the glass ashtray near him and sighed. “The latter. Made me fire her twelfth bodyguard since Elias flew abroad.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, I can't tell if I'm amused or mad at how good she is at getting them fired.” 

He reached out for a folder and slid it across the table, allowing Stanley to grab it. The latter took it with one hand and opened it, the folder resting on top of his crossed legs.

“Someone has their eyes on her,” Garrett muttered as Stanley was greeted by the sight of photographs, surveillance reports, and threat assessments. 

“Kept trying to explain to her that they are there for her own safety. She argued that she hated the idea of being followed around by ‘robots’ with how stiff and emotionless they are.” Garrett took a long drag. “Told her it's part of being professional— she decided to break their professionalism by making them fall for her so she has a reason to report them.” 

Stanley snickered as his eyes read the reports. “Smart,” 

Garrett sighed and threw his cigarette into the ashtray. “A smart menace.” 

Stanley closed the folder and took a long drag. “Has the stalking gone worse?” 

The secretary nodded. “Worse enough that I'm assigning one of my best men to her.” 

Stanley raised a brow, not liking how he could sense where the conversation was heading. “Which one?” 

The older man looked him dead in the eye. “You.” 

There was exactly ten seconds of silence as Stanley stared at him with a look of disbelief, amusement, and concern. 

He took a final drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brighter for a brief moment. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter has already gone through twelve bodyguards in less than six months.” 

Garrett merely pointed at him with a grin. “And you'll be number thirteen, Stan.” 

Stanley snorted briefly and tossed the finished cigarette into the ashtray. “Unlucky number.” 

His eyes looked up and met Garrett’s. “You seriously called me in to watch over your kid?” 

“It’s a special mission, Stan. One that involves my daughter.” 

“Funny, the special missions I'm usually assigned to are shooting targets miles away.” He smirked casually as he lit up another cigarette before tossing the lighter back. 

Garrett laughed out loud while catching the lighter. “Flexing your skill at me now, are you, captain?” 

The captain shrugged and leaned back further into the couch. “If she got rid of twelve, she'll get rid of me too.”

“No, she won't.” The answer came too quickly, too confidently, as if it were already considered and planned around. 

The secretary reached out for another cigarette and lit it up. “Elias has never had a problem with her because, in reality, she doesn't hate security. She hates the loneliness and lack of interaction that comes with it.” 

“Every bodyguard I've assigned follows basic protocols,” he gestured vaguely. “They stand behind her, watch her, report on her, guard her.” 

He took a drag on his own cigarette. “But apparently, they remind her that her older brother had left her.” 

“She doesn't need another guard that she can use to test my patience,” He stared directly at Stanley. “She needs someone she can't push away.” 

Then, he pointed his cigarette at him. “You are my best bet. A reputation of always finishing a mission follows you around.” 

He grinned at the captain. “And I'm a firm believer that if the Stanley Snyder says he'll protect someone, even the devil himself isn't getting through to him.”

“High praise,” Stanley narrowed his eyes at him. “Shouldn't you know I dislike bodyguard missions?” 

“I'll pay you a hefty amount of money monthly for the next three hundred sixty-five days.” 

Stanley tapped the cigarette over the ashtray. “Don't need it. Money's just piling up in my account.”

Garrett dragged a hand down his face. “Stan, you're the only soldier she can't emotionally manipulate and get rid of.” 

“So you really want me to watch over her for a year?” He raised a brow, no longer amused.

“Not just watch,” This time, it was the secretary who shrugged. “I’ve observed that she will only accept protection if it feels like companionship.” 

Garrett took an envelope and slid it across the table. Without saying anything, Stanley took it and opened it with his gloved hands. 

“Marry my daughter, Stanley.” Garrett let out, voice carrying a level of seriousness that killed any chance of Stanley questioning whether he was serious or not as his eyes scanned the marriage certificate, waiting for his signature and yours.

Stanley’s eyes left the paper and landed on the secretary ahead of him. With narrowed eyes of disbelief, he spat out, “What the hell?” 

And somewhere miles away, guarded by the comforting walls of the Williams household, you were busy happily eating takeout, to which you forced your older brother, Elias, to purchase despite him being on the other side of the world. Completely unaware of what bomb your father was planning to drop during breakfast the next day. 

Honestly speaking, you couldn't quite tell if Cupid was laughing hysterically or hollering at your father for skipping straight to the marriage certificate, bypassing the entire falling-in-love process, and unintentionally stealing his job. 

Because some stories began with love at first sight, as long as Cupid was around. Unfortunately, yours started with a marriage certificate you were utterly unaware of, and a bodyguard you finally couldn't get rid of. 

What a funny twist of fate. 

A/N: Finally started this fic after having this idea keep me on the edge for days after I thought of it. WE SERIOUSLY NEED MORE STAN FICS LIKE. 

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

Stanley Snyder X Reader SERIES MASTERLIST SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  STATUS: Ongoing

SERIES SOUNDTRACK

001. Risk It All — Bruno Mars. 

002. Drag Path — Twenty One Pilots. 

003. The Only Exception — Paramore

004. Out Of The Woods (Taylor's Version) — Taylor Swift

005. Waiting Room — Phoebe Bridgers

006. Scott Street — Phoebe Bridgers 

007. I Know The End — Phoebe Bridgers 

008. Style — Taylor Swift 

009. Do I Wanna Know? — Hozier

010. All I Want — Kodaline

011. Strawberries and Cigarettes — Troye Sivan 

012. You Are In Love (Taylor's Version) — Taylor Swift

013. Can't Help Falling In Love — Elvis Presley 

014. Someone To Stay — Vancouver Sleep Clinic

015. How Do I Live — LeAnn Rimes

016. Keep Me — Novo Amor

017. Look After You — The Fray

018. These Memories — Hollow Coves

019. No.1 Party Anthem — Arctic Monkeys 

020. I Wanna Be Yours — Arctic Monkeys 

021. Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby — Cigarettes After Sex

022. Come Back…Be Here (Taylor's Version) — Taylor Swift

023. Shape Of My Heart — Backstreet Boys

024. Angel With A Shotgun — The Cab 

[kzhyxmi]

Three Hundred Sixty-Five Days ❀˖° Stanley S.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Stanley Snyder X Reader SYNOPSIS: After successfully driving away twelve bodyguards, you found yourself horrified when your father’s latest solution was his most capable soldier, Stanley Snyder, a security trap disguised as a husband. Assigned to protect you for an entire year, what began as an arrangement evolved into something unexpected as danger lurked around, and the line between duty and devotion began to blur.  WARNINGS: she fell first, he fell HARDER, short-term enemies, late-night baking sessions, ordering stan around, kidnapping in later chapters, man went feral when they took his wife, angst, fluff, crack, everything in between, happy ending? Who knows, mwhaha. More tags to add along the way. 

STATUS: Ongoing

SERIES SOUNDTRACK

Prologue

Chapter 1: Father, I Don't Want This Marriage!

Chapter 2: Breakfast Wars and Truce

Chapter 3.1: The Art of Annoying Him

Chapter 3.2: Under the Weather

Chapter 4: Mission Creep

Chapter 5: When It Began to Blur?

Chapter 6.1: The Calm Before the Storm

Chapter 6.2: After the First Storm

Chapter 7: The Weight of Small Discoveries

Chapter 8.1: When Duty Called

Chapter 8.2: What Duty Couldn't Take

tba

IMPORTANT REMINDERS: -I do NOT own any Dr. Stone characters (except the OCs that are needed for the sake of the story) -This is purely fictional and for the sake of my entertainment and my readers’. Please do not take anything far too seriously. I will try my best to make facts as accurate as I can.  -English isn't my first language, so I apologize if there are any mistakes that I couldn't spot.  That's all, enjoy reading! 

TAGLIST (OPEN)

[kzhyxmi]

I WILL make the stanley snyder x reader tag alive with a series I'm working on (IT'S A BODYGUARD& FAKE HUSBAND STANLEY X READER😝😈)

[kzhyxmi]

Hihi!!!ヾ(＾ ∇ ＾).

I read the part two of your Senku fic and.. I cried it was so unbelievably beautiful!!!! Your characterization of Senku and all the other characters was absolutely beautiful. Senku is the number on yearner and I will not be told other wise.

I also really like how Xeno was playing Cupid, it made me giggle.

I actually had the idea of Xeno playing cupid while writing the first fic, cuz I was already planning to make the reader sick by then (and smh manifested my own sickness in the process) I was like thinking that Gen would be too understanding of the situation to pry, but Xeno wouldn't hesitate at all LMAOOO.

Now I'm planning a special or third part, probably set after marriage, still thinking of what will happen in that part (def has a scene where Senku has his "talk" with Xeno for choosing psychological warfare while his ex-girlfriend was sick asf) SUGGESTIONS ARE 10 BILLION PERCENT WELCOME😍