#Chrome pull handles

[handlesnmore-blog]

Complete Guide to Cabinet Handles: Choosing, Positioning & SizingLearn how to choose the ideal handle styles, master precise placement, and achieve ideal sizing for a seamless and stylish finish in any room. Our expert tips ensure a flawless, functional look, making aesthetic upgrades effortless.

[designerhandle]

The Ultimate Guide to Satin Steel Door Handles

Are you thinking of revamping the look of your doors? Satin steel door handles are a great choice! Sleek, stylish and durable, they are well-suited to modern homes and offices. We talk about why satin steel door handles make sense, real-life examples of people who have used them, and answering some of your common questions.

Ready to learn why satin steel is the perfect choice for your doors? Let’s dive in!

What Are Satin Steel Door Handles?

Satin steel door handles are stainless steel with a matt finish. Although it does not show like the shiny polished steel, satin steel has soft, brushed look features. It is elegant and yet a breeze to maintain. This makes it as popular for the modern and industrial types of houses. These are sleek and clean-looking yet not too flashy.

Why Choose Satin Steel Door Handles?

There are plenty of reasons why you should use satin steel door handles in your home or space. Some of them are mentioned below-

1. They Look Great and Modern

Satin steel door handles have a very modern look to them. The matte finishing will give it an industrial yet sophisticated look that is perfect for most homes, especially if the theme is either modern or industrial. Satin steel door handles can be great to add a fresh touch to your house whether in the bathroom, kitchen or bedroom.

Question for You: Do you have a modern or industrial house? How might satin steel door handles fit into your space? Comment below.

2. Extremely Durable and Long-Wearing

Satin steel is a rugged material that doesn't scratch or become damaged easily. Unlike shiny metals, satin steel door handles also tend not to collect fingerprints as well as fingerprints and dust, thus they remain looking good even months or years after installation.

Example: On all the office doors in a busy office in London, satin steel door handles were installed. The handles were constantly used by the employees and visitors to the office, but after several months, they were still great with no sign of wear and tear on them. This strong material turned out to be good for using in a high traffic place.

Question for You: Do you have lots of people using your doors? Would you like handles that can last longer and stay in great shape? Let us know in the comments below.

3. Easy to Clean and Maintain

One of the best features of satin steel door handles london is that they are very easy to clean and maintain. Because the finish does not shine, it will not show smudges or fingerprints as easily, making it much easier to maintain a crisp, clean appearance. A quick wipe with a cloth is usually all you will need.

Example: Lewis has two children and two dogs. Lewis selected satin steel door handles for his house. After he put them in his house, he saw that they remained clean even though the kids as well as the pets constantly touched them. Satin steel door handles didn't have any paw prints or greasy marks.

Question for You: Do you have kids or pets? Would you find it helpful to have door handles that are easy to clean?

4. Ideal for Heavy-Usage Spaces

Satin steel door handles are good for busy household or office environments, as they can endure constant use without wearing away. Any bathroom door that is swung open many times a day or even a kitchen door that is in constant use will be well served by satin steel door handles.

Example: Satin steel door handles have been chosen for all office doors in one busy commercial building in Central London. After months of daily use by hundreds of people, the handles look new. They don't get scratched or damaged, showing that satin steel is just perfect for a high traffic area.

Question for You: Is your door opened frequently? How significant is durability in deciding on an alternate door handle? Do let us know in the comments below.

5. Rust and Stain Resistance

Since satin steel is constructed from stainless steel, it's highly resistant to rusting, moisture as well as stains. This means that satin steel door handles are perfect for use in bathrooms or kitchens, in which they may be exposed to water and moisture.

For example- Sophia and Mark recently renovated their bathroom and decided to install satin steel door handles for their bathroom doors. They observed that the handles kept free from rust even when the bathroom appeared somewhat humid at times. The satin finish helped keep the handles looking clean and new.

Question for You: Are you remodeling your bathroom or kitchen? Would you like doors with no droplets of moisture and no rust in the handles?

If yes then satin steel door handles are the best choice for you.

Stats on Satin Steel and Door Hardware:

·   A National Kitchen & Bath Association (NKBA) 2023 survey found that 25% of homebuilders and renovators used satin or brushed steel finishes for door hardware, revealing a significant trend toward minimalistic and modern interior designs.

·   Made from stainless steel, satin steel door handles are resistant to rust and other corrosion agents. It is one product resistant to corrosion when put in environments with a humidity level of up to 30%. This applies both for houses and commercial buildings. Source: Stainless Steel World Magazine, 2021

·   The global door hardware market is expected to grow at a CAGR of 6.3% from 2022 to 2027, with satin finishes being one of the key drivers as more consumers want modern and easy-to-maintain finishes. Source: Market Research Future, 2022.

·   Another consideration is that matte finishes like satin steel indicate 70% fewer fingerprints than highly polished surfaces. This is the major reason satin steel has become so popular in high-traffic areas such as offices and homes with children or pets. Consumer Reports, 2020)

·   Satin steel door handles typically last 15-20 years with proper maintenance. This makes them a long-term investment in terms of durability compared to other materials that may wear out or corrode faster. (Source: The Hardware Institute, 2021)

·   A 2022 Houzz survey found that 58% of homeowners included using low-maintenance finishes, such as satin steel, on door hardware with their list of wants for aesthetic appeal and long-term care.

Case Studies

Here are some practical case studies on the use of satin steel door handles in real-world environments. These examples illustrate how satin steel door handles are being implemented in a variety of domestic and commercial contexts, with relevant benefits.

Case Study 1: Modern Loft Renovation in London

Context:

Anna and her boyfriend recently purchased a converted industrial loft in East London. The loft had open plan, exposed brick walls, high ceilings, and big windows. They wanted to maintain that industrial charm to the space while still creating a more contemporary and stylish space.

Challenge

The couple required door hardware that would complement their modern design without becoming too conspicuous. They wanted handles that were also easy to maintain because they probably anticipated a lot of foot traffic at home, with frequent guests.

Solution:

Anna and her boyfriend chose satin steel door handles throughout the loft, settling on it after looking at a lot of options. In its matte finish, it would afford them exactly the style they wanted with their loft: minimalist and industrial. The appearance of the handles is sleek, complementing raw brick and wooden surfaces that add an air of sophistication without shining or flashing.

Result:

The satin steel handles complement the loft perfectly with its modern, industrial look. This couple found the pulls hardly need to be maintained because the matte finish didn't show fingerprints or dust. The pull styles remained good with use and wear over months.

Case Study 2: Family Home with Young Children and Pets

Background:

The Lewis couple-a family of four with two toddlers and two dogs-aspired to renovate their house, making it more practical as well as stylish. They wanted door hardware that would sustain the heavy usage and remain clean-looking with the constant activity of the children and pets.

They do have two children who love to be in touch with whatever is around them, as well as pets running around the house, and the family was concerned about the dirt accumulation or scratches from door handles with time. They wanted handles that would last long without constant maintenance.

Solution:

After discussing with a local hardware supplier, the family chose satin steel door handles for all the doors in the house-from the front door to the bathroom doors. The satin finish was perfect because it didn't show fingerprints, paw prints, or smudges. The durability of the satin steel material meant that the handles could withstand constant use without getting damaged.

Outcome:

The Lewis family was extremely happy with their choice. The satin steel handles stayed clean even with the kids and pets constantly touching them. They didn’t show any signs of wear or dirt and were very easy to wipe down. Even after a year of daily use, the handles still looked like new, and the family appreciated how much easier they were to maintain compared to traditional polished handles.

Case Study 3: Hotel Renovation in Central London

Background:

Boutique hotel in the heart of Central London renovates guest rooms and common areas. In this renovation, the luxurious characteristics of the hotel need to be preserved while updating its atmosphere with a more modern look. The challenge that arose for the renovation team was to choose the right door handles that would suit the highlevel aesthetic of the hotel and its high-traffic usage.

With hundreds of guests visiting every week, the hotel needed door handles that could withstand constant use. The handles also needed to be durable and resistant to damage, as the hotel couldn’t afford to replace hardware frequently.

Solution:

The interior design team chose satin steel door handles for all doors, including guest rooms and bathroom doors. The satin finish brought a sophisticated, modern look that combined very well with the elegant décor of the hotel. Satin steel guarantee the durability of these handles, ensuring they can stand the test in high-traffic areas and will not suffer from scratches or rust in the long run through daily utilization.

Conclusion:

Several months after the renovation, the satin steel handles were still in excellent condition, showing no signs of wear or tarnishing. The hotel staff found the handles easy to maintain, as the matte finish helped reduce visible fingerprints and dirt. Guests loved the modern aesthetic, and the hotel continued to receive positive reviews for its stylish, practical design. 

Case Study 4: Residential Bathroom Remodel

Background:

Sophie and Mark were renovating their small London flat, focusing mainly on their outdated bathrooms. They wanted the new space to feel fresh, modern, and easy to maintain, while also being durable enough to handle the moisture and humidity that bathrooms typically experience.

Challenge:

The couple required door handles that did not rust or tarnish as they resisted the moisture of the bathrooms. They also wanted door handles that matched the clean, modern style they wanted in the rest of the flat.

Solution:

For bathroom doors, they selected satin steel door handles. This finish was ideal for humid areas, as it was rust-resistant and resistant to corrosion. The clear-cut, simplistic appearance of satin steel complemented their aim of having a modern, fresh feel in their bathroom remodeling.

Outcome:

It is now months since the renovation, but the satin steel handles look great. They have not even started to show signs of rusting or corrosion with the bathroom's high humidity. Sophie and Mark can be satisfied that satin steel handles were a great decision on their part for their addition to their bathrooms- durable, attractive, and easy to clean.

These case studies provide real-life examples of how satin steel door handles are applied to different environments. They highlight the advantages of satin steel, such as durability, modern appearance, and a low maintenance aspect, making it top of the list for both residential and commercial environments. 

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) About Satin Steel Door Handles

Q1: How do I clean satin steel door handles?

To keep satin steel door handles clean you just need to wipe them with a soft cloth. For tougher stains, you can always use mild soap and water. However, harsh chemicals or scrubbers might scratch the surface.

Q2: Do satin steel door handles get scratched easily?

No, satin steel is very durable and resistant to scratches. The matte finish helps hide small marks and fingerprints, so your handles will look good for years.

Q3: Are satin steel door handles suitable for outdoor use?

Satin steel door handles are best suited for indoor application. Though they are rust-resistant, you ought not to expose them outside where extreme weather conditions prevail. You need better options than these for exterior doors.

Q4: Are satin steel door handles costlier than other types?

Satin steel door handles are a little pricey compared with other finishes. However, they have longer lifecycles and are easier to maintain than other finishes. The money spent on satin steel is all the more worthwhile because of their durability and elegant look.

Q5: What's the primary difference between satin steel and polished stainless steel door handles?

Polished stainless steel is shiny and reflective. Satin steel has a soft matte finish. This makes satin steel easier to care for because it does not show fingerprints as quickly, and it provides a more subdued, contemporary appearance.

Q6: Can I install satin steel door handles myself?

Yes! Instalment of satin steel door handles is so simple with basic tools like a screwdriver. Most handles come with guidelines for an easy installation.

Q7: Are satin steel door handles office material?

Yes, satin steel door handles are perfect for use in offices, especially if there is a much traffic flow in the room. It's long-lasting, easy to clean, and has a professional look that almost every office space welcomes.

Q8: How long will satin steel door handles last?

Satin steel door handles are very long-lasting. They are strong, will not rust, scratch, or even wear out easily, and they will keep looking like new even after years.

Q9: Can satin steel door handles be used with wood doors?

Satin steel door handles look great on wooden doors. Its smooth and modern finish will go down great with the natural look of wood, contrasting quite stylishly.

Q10: How do satin steel door handles contrast with other types of door hardware?

Satin steel door handles are known for being durable, easy to clean, and having a modern look. They offer a great balance of style and functionality, making them a smart choice for both homes and offices. 

Conclusion

Satin steel door handles are always a good idea for making your door looking lavish. Satin steel door handles are stylish, durable, easy to maintain, and excellent both in modern homes and busy commercial spaces. It could be any renovation, renovating home, updating the office or just a reliable option for high-traffic areas, then this is a great solution.

Are you going to install satin steel door handles in your house or offices? Share with us your opinion regarding this in comments below.

[dirteaicecream]

Modern Closet - Glass Front Inspiration for a large modern women's marble floor dressing room remodel with glass-front cabinets and white cabinets

[mapis-putellas]

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒖𝒆 // 𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Last one from me for a while folks. Take care of yourselves ❤️

Alexia doesn’t say a single word on the coach journey back to the hotel. She stares blankly out of the window, her jaw clenched. She hasn’t cried yet. In fact, she hadn’t shown any emotion at all. Not anger. Frustration. Nothing. She’d hugged her teammates when they’d come to her. She’d joined in with the congratulatory applause as Arsenal passed go collect their first place medals. But she hadn’t let herself feel. Hadn’t let herself break.

You know Alexia never did well with losing. If it wasn’t first place; if she didn’t win, whatever work she’d put in wasn’t good enough. And she’d put in a lot of work. The whole team had. Months of months of preparation had gone in to training for champions league, and all of you had admittedly gone in with the expectation of winning.

Maybe that’s why the harsh reality of second place had crushed you all so hard. Because Arsenal had been the underdogs. They weren’t supposed to win. But they had. And you were happy for them, really. To win for the first time in eighteen years was a feat worthwhile. But of course you were disappointed too. A little frustrated, as well. But it was all slowly fading into acceptance. You didn’t win this time, but there was always a next time.

Your arm rests over her leg, your hand resting against the inside of her thigh. Your thumb traces soft circles against the material of her sweatpants, but she doesn’t respond to your touch. You haven’t tried talking to her yet. There was no point, because she wouldn’t hear you. Wouldn’t acknowledge you. But you keep up with the gentle ministrations against her leg until the coach pulls in to the hotels parking lot anyway, just to let her know you were there.

It was almost silent as everyone grabs their things with the exception of soft sniffles and quiet shuffles of feet, and you keep your gaze firmly ahead of you as you lead Alexia out of the bus with a hand at the small of her back. Outside, the air feels a lot less suffocating, and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief as you follow the rest of the team into the hotel.

Room keys were given out briskly, and soon you were in your shared room with Alexia, sat perched on the end of the bed as you watch her rummage through her suitcase for her wash things and pyjamas. Once she has them, she makes her way through to the bathroom without a word, the door closing quietly behind her. She’d already showered at the stadium, so you knew this one wasn’t the case of getting clean. It was to let herself break without any eyes on her. Without your eyes on her.

The fact that after so many years together she still feels the need to hide when she cries all butt breaks you. This isn’t how it should be. She was your girlfriend. She should feel safe to cry in front of you. To break, to allow herself comfort…right?

You hear the shower turn on just as you stand to get your night things out too, and after just a moments hesitation, you abandon your partly open suitcase on the bed and make your way over to the bathroom door. Your hand hesitates on the handle for a second before you push down, the door opening with a quiet creak as you peek inside.

The shower was one of those oversized luxury ones designed to impress hotel guests, all glass and chrome with multiple showerheads and enough space for at least four people. You could see alexia’s silhouette behind the frosted glass, perfectly motionless as water cascaded over her shoulders and down her body.

She doesn’t seem to take note of your presence yet, and you take that as your sign to strip off too, slipping into the shower behind her. Without a word, you press yourself against her back, your chest molding perfectly against her shoulder blades, your arms wrapping around her waist from behind.

She goes rigid beneath your touch for just a second before leaning back against you, her trembling hands coming up to clutch your arms as they press against her stomach. You press your lips against her wet shoulder in a soft kiss, and you could feel more than hear the way her breath hitches as she tries futilely to hold herself together.

You release your hold on her, your hands coming to rest on either side of her waist to turn her around to face you. She doesn’t make eye contact with you until you gently tuck your fingers beneath her chin, guiding her face upwards. You notice then that her bottom lip was wobbling dangerously, her eyes shiny and full of unshed tears. Her hair was plastered to her face, and you push the saturated strands away with the tips of your fingers before cupping her cheeks. A single tear falls then, dripping down her cheek and merging with the shower water, and you feel your own throat tighten as you lean up on your tiptoes to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

She leans into your touch with a quiet whimper, and you slide your hand round to cup the back of her head, coaxing it to settle against the crook of your neck.

“It’s okay,” you whisper as her arms wrap tightly around your waist. “Just let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

“No.” She chokes out, shaking her head.

“Yes, baby. Please.”

Alexia’s breath hitches before a choked sob escapes her lips. And then another. And another, until she was sobbing softly against your shoulder. You could barely hear her over the water hitting the tiled floor, but you could feel the way her body jolts against your own, harsh breaths slipping from her lips and hitting your skin. You nuzzle your nose into her shoulder as you graze thr pad of your thumb over her scalp, your other hand pressed against the small of her back holding her to you.

“There we go,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Good girl. Just let yourself feel. No one can see. I’ve got you.”

One of alexia’s trembling hands rises grasp the hair at the nape of your neck, clinging tightly as a loud, guttural sob escapes her lips. It was raw, jarring, unlike nothing you’ve ever heard escape her lips before. You tighten your hold around her further, if that was even possible, before deciding it would be best to get you both out of thr shower so you could hold her properly.

You reach over and turn off the water, and alexia’s sobs become more clear now that the sound of the water no longer drowned them out. She seemed too upset to realise or be self conscious about it for which you were thankful, and it allows you to guide her out of the shower and bundle you both up in one large towel. You then sit, right there on the closed toilet seat and pull her onto your lap, grabbing one end of the towel in each hand and wrapping your arms around alexia, effectively holding her to you and securing the towel around her as well.

Her bare frame was flush against your own, skin slightly damp and warm. She trembles against you, her sobs just as intense as before, though you could hear now as she tries to stifle them.

“I failed.” She chokes out, her hands coming up to cover her face as she sits up in your lap.

“No,” you murmur. “You absolutely did not fail.”

She shakes her head. “I-I did. I-“

“No. Listen to me,” you interrupt,, gently pulling her hands away from her face so she has to look at you. “You are the most incredible player I’ve ever seen. You’ve won more trophies than most people can dream of. You’ve inspired millions of girls around the world to pick up a football. You’ve changed the sport forever.”

She shook her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “But not tonight. Tonight I was not good enough.”

“Tonight you were human,” you correct softly. “Football is a team sport, Alexia. You can’t win or lose matches by yourself, no matter how much you try to take responsibility for everything.”

“But I’m the captain,” she protests weakly. “Everyone looks to me. When we lose, it’s because I didn’t do enough to make us win.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” you said, cupping her face in your hands and forcing her to maintain eye contact. “You’re the captain, yes. But you’re also just one person. One person who has given everything she has to this team, to this sport, to everyone who depends on her.”

Alexia sniffles, her hands coming up to take hold of your wrists as she leans into your touch.

“You’re incredible,” you murmur. “Today didn’t go how you want, and that sucks, but there’s nothing we can do to change it. Next time, we’ll try harder. Be better. But it’s we, alexia. Us. As a team. You don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to take the blame.”

“But-“

“Mhh mh. No.” You shake your head. “We’re a team. All of us. We win together. We lose together. That’s it. No one single handedly takes the blame.”

She nods. You knew full well alexia didn’t believe you, but you could tell she has no more energy to fight you on the matter, and right now, you’d take what you could get.

“Okay.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to your palm. You brush your thumbs over her cheeks to get rid of the residue of tears before leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Okay,” you murmur as you pull away. “Let’s go put our pyjamas on, and then we’ll snuggle up with a movie and order room service.”

Alexia nods. “Your shirt?” She asks, allowing you to coax her to her feet before securing the towel properly around her, grabbing another for yourself.

“Yeah baby, you can wear my shirt.” You agree.

**

I wrote this yesterday, and thought you guys may like one last update. I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for all the love on here, and maybe I’ll see you guys soon <3

[milkb0nny]

Drift to Impress

Pairing: Dean x car obsessed fem!reader

Summary: You knew your ways around cars and handled your own one quite skillfully. Dean didn’t know until you pulled a move on him on the highway in the night.

Note: I rewatched Fast and Furious Tokyo Drift and got inspired by this clip. And oh my, what power move that would be on Dean . <3

Content: drifting, cars, heavy flirting, fluff

Word Count: 1k

You hadn’t known the Winchester brothers for long. All you knew about them was that they hunted the supernatural and that your city was heavily affected.

They had originally come into your garage after Baby got banged up and the engine started struggling. You were a mechanic - and a quite skilled one.

Cars were your passion and your lust; you adored the smell of rubber and oil, you admired the speed and power, and you loved the sound of a humming engine. All that made your heart jump. Receiving new car parts spiked your joy.

While you fixed their car, you found yourself in the company of these two gentlemen. One more stern than the other, and one more flirtatious than the other. But when you heard them talking about the missing people in your city, you grew alert. A friend of yours had vanished a few days ago, and maybe they could help you find them.

That was the start of your journey together, which had only been going on for a week. You were intrigued by their work as you dived deeper, and you found joy in helping them. You believed their theories, even if they sounded unimaginable. Though those were the only clues available; the only way of finding lost people.

And one Winchester man, in particular, charmed you in a way no one else did. He flirted with you endlessly, but you weren’t about to let him be the only cocky one on Earth.

This morning, Sam and Dean left the motel room quite early. You, on the other hand, stayed in town, researching new cases in the newsletters. As the hours passed, you lost yourself in the scattered papers and the mass of newsletters. So much text but no viable information for the case. Before you knew it, the sky turned dark, and the weather cooled.

Your eyes scanned the ink on the white paper when suddenly, you found a clue. A clue that might save lives… including your friend’s. You were quick to dial Sam on your cellphone.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Sam’s rough voice rang through your phone. He sounded distressed, probably because they hadn’t gotten closer to the damn case.

“I found something. Where are you guys at?” You said while searching your car keys in your pockets. Hell, where were they?

Dean replied, “Wait, can’t you just tell us?”

“Nah, that’d be too easy,” your cocky voice slipped out. “I don’t know if this is really something. Maybe you guys should overlook it before I give you false hope. I’m not that deep into the game.”

Sam told you their direction and read out the nearest road sign.

“We’ll drive a little slower. There’s no one out here anyway,” Sam explained before you ended the call.

In a matter of seconds, you were on the road, your engine roaring deeply, and the numbers on your dashboard climbing fast. You loved to drive this sleek, bright car with the underbody lighting, the chrome rims, and the big wing on the back. The Winchesters hadn’t seen you drive this beast yet because you usually arrived everywhere on foot and the motel wasn’t far from your apartment.

The distant hum of the engine and the occasional screech of tires set the backdrop for a night filled with adrenaline. After all, you needed to arrive quickly.

You sat behind the wheel of your midnight-black Nissan 240sx, feeling the rhythmic pulse of its engine, ready to make an impression.

You were more than ready to surprise Dean, to rob him of that cocky smile and leave him speechless.

Then you spotted them. Two men in an Impala - Baby - driving slowly yet cautiously. That’s when you decided to make your move, a grin tugging at your lips as the idea took hold. You’d done this a hundred times, pulling this move on your brothers or even your boss, but never on a man you found madly attractive.

“What’s that flashy car?” Dean’s eyebrow furrowed when he spotted the flashy lights in the rearview mirror.

Your hand gripped the steering wheel as your eyes locked onto your target. You eased the car forward, smooth and under control, catching their attention without saying a word. The boys’ eyes turned toward you, curious, just as you hit the throttle and flicked the wheel.

The Nissan spun sideways, its tires letting out a sharp screech as the back end swung around. The front bumper skimmed within inches of their car, the precision perfect, the control undeniable. The car’s tires sprayed a fine mist of water, as you effortlessly completed a flawless drift around their vehicle.

“Is that…?!” Sam asked, surprised, clearly in shock that you’d do something so reckless.

Dean was speechless, just as you’d anticipated. He’d never encountered a woman taking such a risk just to impress him. Yet, there you were, a wide grin on your lips.

Your car slid to a halt beside them, its engine purring confidently, as if it knew it had just stolen the show. Hell yeah, you did.

The window rolled down, and you leaned out slightly, your gaze sharp and playful. “Hope I didn’t startle you,” you said, your voice dripping with charm.

Dean smirked, leaning slightly forward, his flirtatious voice matching yours. “That was bold,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But can you do it twice?”

Your grin widened as you revved the engine, the sound echoing through the night. “Stick around,” you said. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from.”

You handed the clues and sheets of paper through the car window, for Dean to give to Sam.

Sam was grateful for having something to distract him from the tension that hung between you two. Though, attention swiftly shifted.

“You got it,” Sam said enthusiastically. “Let us check that out.”

“Say no more.”

With that, you shifted gears, the car launching forward with a burst of speed, leaving the faint scent of burnt rubber. The look on Dean’s face was worth all the rubber your expensive tires lost, and Dean’s heart raced just as fast as your car did.

“Damn…”

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{Xavier takes you shopping and comes to a realization. Zayne has a nightmare. And Rafayel gets a treat.}

Read on ao3.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Maid AU, Eventual Smut. SFW (For now)

Chapter 5: Shopping

Saturday finally comes, to your palpable relief. You’ve never been so excited to go grocery shopping– or at least, you were. Until you see a neatly hand-written note left for you on the kitchen counter.

Y/N,

I apologize but one of my patients needed emergency surgery early this morning. I won’t be able to accompany you shopping. Please allow Xavier to chaperone. I will see you for supper. 

Zayne

You sigh and fold the note, putting both it and the credit card with it into your pocket. Zayne’s penmanship is hasty but legible, and so distinctly him. Especially when doctors have that bad rep for having illegible handwriting. 

You’re not sure what the game plan is. Should you look for Xavier? Or should you take some initiative and go to the store by yourself? Zayne texted you a list the day after you started here and you’ve added a few things in the short time you’ve been working. It’s funny to see the favorite for each of them listed, and you spent one of your breaks trying to guess which one of them ordered what. 

You assumed the tea and peppermint candy is from Zayne. The spicy chips and ‘ Chilean Sea Bass (NOT FROZEN)’ and the three other types and very specific fish are Rafayel. Xavier and Sylus are harder to guess for, but you assumed the protein powder was for Xavier (he’s a hunter after all. Needs the protein). And the chunky peanut butter must be for Sylus. 

It’s just guesses, but it makes you feel a little closer to these new roommates– employers? What are they to you exactly? Certainly not friends, though Rafayel likes to play hot and cold enough that maybe he’s an enemy. 

You put on your coat, the borrowed gloves and scarf, and tap away on your phone in search of the nearest store. 

Unluckily for you, it’s over a twenty minute one-way walk, and that’s to a convenience store. Not even a proper grocery. You scowl, remembering the frigid temperatures and that your bike is still parked on the other side of the city. Not that you could do a good grocery haul on a motorbike anyway. It’s not too far of a walk for nicer weather, but you worry about the state of your toes and lugging all the food in the snow. 

Luckily, for you, Xavier appears. Tucking a coat over his shoulders and adjusting the collar. He wears a deep grey-blue coat that’s cut just below the waist with shiny gold buttons.His gloves are white, along with his scarf, and you ponder– who is styling these men?

“Are you prepared?” He asks like you're heading into battle. 

“Where do you normally shop? I found a convenience store but it’s over twenty minutes walking.” 

 “I can drive us.” He answers as he pressed the elevator button. “There’s one store that the others insist on. It’s called…” He pulls out a piece of paper from his coat and reads it, “...Harrison’s Grocery.”

“Did Zayne leave you a note too?” You chuckle as the two of you descend to the garage. 

“He wanted to make sure I took you to the right place.” Xavier lets you exit the elevator first and you turn to wait for him. His expression is passive, neither seeming irritated nor pleased to be assigned your babysitter for the day.

“I appreciate your help. I promise when the weather is nicer I can go myself.” You assure, waiting for him to show you which car is his. 

“It’s fine.” He replied, sliding up to a sleek chrome number, the most modern of the collection. A sleek silhouette with little breaking up the single line from bumper to bumper. 

Xavier barely beats you to the door handle, opening it for you. You’re a little startled by the chivalry but smile gratefully as you climb in— he even hovers his hand near your head to make sure you don’t hit it. Such a subtle action, but it makes your stomach flip. 

When Xavier starts to drive, you're grateful to see the snow has finally stopped. The car is eerily quiet, and the soft whirring when he accelerates tells you it’s entirely electric. A stealthy vehicle for a peculiar hunter. 

While the days of petrol and diesel engines are gone, a fully electric vehicle is almost vintage. Hyper-efficient hydrogen engines are the norm now, or vehicles that run on protocore synthesized fuel. 

It takes almost fifteen minutes to get to the grocery, and you take note of the turns he takes so you can take them too. And when you arrive, you open your GPS on your phone and tag it. It’s a family-owned store. The reviews that pop up under the GPS listing rave about the friendly atmosphere and its owner. 

Xavier opens your door too and you thank him. The store is larger than you’d thought it’d be for a family-owned grocer, but it’s nice. When you enter and see the diverse selection of produce and the huge meat and seafood section, it makes sense. 

You open the list, grab a cart, and get started. Mumbling along as you grab things with Xavier hovering over your shoulder. He doesn’t comment much as you walk through the store, adding something here and there that isn’t on the list. You only grin at him– perks of being the babysitter, you get treats. 

You’re in the meat section, browsing the cuts in the display while you wait for the butcher. The greying man behind the counter approaches, and you read off from the list the half dozen cuts that are there. 

Xavier steps close to you, suddenly in your space and looking at you with a serious glint in his eyes, “Can you cook steak?”

Your brow creases, “Yeah? I mean, I guess? What kind?”

“Yes.” Xavier replies, and turns back to the butcher, “Three more sirloins, and a pound of skirt steak, please.”

“You like meat, I take it?” You ask as the butcher gets started on your oversized order. Xavier places his hands on his hips and nods, the soft feathery ash-blond hair bouncing. 

You collect the paper wrapped order and place it into the cart, having saved this for last before you check out. It takes a few minutes to get through everything, and you're hoping next week won’t be such a big haul. Stocking up on the longer term storage necessities they were lacking. 

“I saw a recipe for marinated skirt steak in an article not too long ago.” You say to make conversation while you check out, “How does that sound?”

“How long does it take?” Xavier asks, handing you a loaf of bread and then a box of pasta. 

“Usually overnight, but it can only be a few hours if you’re really hungry.”

Xavier opens his mouth to answer you, but a shift in the air pulls his attention. His brow’s knit together, and his expression turns stony as he looks out the open windows just beside the checkout. 

You turn to, halting in place as you wait for whatever it is that caught his attention. There was no sound. No rumble. But now that you paused, you could feel it. The tiniest shimmer in the air, like static electricity. 

A Wanderer? You have just enough time to think before the sudden rush of energy shudders through the parking lot and rattles the windows. The patrons in the store shout and startle, jumping back as a pair of rocky knaves and a glowing violet obscurum terror through the lot, crawling over cars and crushing them. 

Reflexively your hand goes to your hip, expecting the familiar weight of your firearm but finding nothing. An empty pocket and a reminder that you're not a hunter right now. 

“Stay here.” Xavier’s low command hums in your ear, as he slides past you, rushing out of the store to face the sudden threat. His gloved hand slides across your back. A physical touch to reinforce his order. 

Tossing the bread back into the cart, you decide to immediately disobey. Instincts you had thought dormant come rushing back, and you search for a weapon. An aisle with kitchen utensils is the best bet, and you find a pair of long, steel knives. Breaking open the packaging you grimace at the poor excuse for a weapon– especially against a Wanderer– but beggars can’t be choosers. And you’ll pay for the knives later.

Outside the store, Xavier– though you don’t know where he was hiding it– has a long narrow blade only pausing for a single moment before he lunges forward. The three Wanderers roar at him, howling as Xavier’s sword finds its mark. He’s nothing but a streak of light– a careening asteroid causing precise destruction. 

Wielding your pair of kitchen knives, you jump into action, heart pounding and head rushing in that delicious elixir of adrenaline and endorphins. The thrill of danger and of purpose. 

Xavier elegantly slashes at one of the knaves as the round obscurum attempts to lunge at him from behind. You leap forward, crashing into the beast with your shoulder and rolling to slice at its hardened hide with your knives. 

Xavier looks over his shoulder as the knave disappears into the stardust, and gapes at you and your little knives. You realize you must look insane. Neither dressed nor armed for battle, but brandishing some kitchenware like a straight-to-streaming slasher flick. 

“I can’t finish them with these!” You bark as you flip them in your hands, pointing the blades back to give you better leverage to shove the blades downwards onto the remaining knave's head. 

If Xavier replies, you don’t hear him. Only the song of his blade as it finds the obscurums weak point and banishes it back to the ether. 

In an effort to be helpful, you keep the knave busy. Preoccupying it with your ineffectual weapons. When the steel of your knives skid off the armor of the Wanderer for the third time however you toss them aside, dropping low and side stepping as it slashes at you. You manage to get around it, and you jump onto its back. It’s the more humanoid looking Wanderer’s but it’s big. Big enough to make climbing its back a challenge, but not so big you can’t get your legs around its middle and get into a makeshift headlock. 

A high pitch screech leaves, more enraged than hurt. With all the strength you can muster, you force the hollow head of the knave backwards, exposing the crystalline orb in its chest to Xavier’s front lunge. The tip of his sword cracks through the violet orb and the Wanderer releases an earsplitting howl and you feel the solidity of it begin to crumble. 

It dissolves into nothing but specks of light, scattering in the wind like forgotten dust. You jump back and onto your feet, brushing yourself off as you pant wildly. 

“Are you alright?��� Xavier asks as he tucks away his sword and approaches you. Unlike you, he’s not breathing heavily in the slightest. 

You look up and can’t help the manic grin on your face, “That was some great teamwork!” You cheer, “Remind me to bring a gun next time though!”

Xavier just stares at you. His eyes are slightly wide and his breath is still. He looks frozen, and you tilt your head with a sheepish grin. You take his hand and shake it, though his grip is loose. 

“Good work, partner.” You say as you begin to walk back to the store, hoping to finish the trip you’d started, “Let’s finish up and head home.”

It takes him a minute to follow you, and he’s quiet the rest of the trip. Silent as you check out, wordless as he helps you put the groceries in the car, and the ride back is spent with nothing but the soft whirring of the car and the low volume of the radio. 

Anxiety gnaws at you, a corrosive pit in your stomach. Had you upset him? His hands are tense on the steering wheel– aggressively so, but he doesn’t say anything. Is he mad you defied him? Angry you stepped in? You thought you’d been helpful, given the circumstances, but maybe he didn’t see it that way?

It made the ride back a thousand times longer, and unloading the car painfully awkward. Xavier was silent as he set the last of the bags on the countertop, and he was walking away before you could even open your mouth to awkwardly thank him. You watched his back as he escaped down the corridor, and before he left your sight completely you noticed something. 

Were his hands shaking?

You tried to not let your mind speculate as you put away the groceries, making a mental list of everything and a meal plan for the upcoming week instead. The reactions from these men were so peculiar. Did they like you? Or not? 

The only one you felt even halfway certain about as Zayne, and that relationship was becoming harder to define the longer you lived here. 

As you put the last of the pantry goods away and sighed for the umpteenth time, you heard footsteps entering the kitchen. 

Xavier had returned. Dressed in a soft knit ivory sweater and jeans. In the soft midday light he looked almost ethereal. All soft edges and sugar coating. But his face was deadly. A look sharper than his blade that stared you down as he strode forward. Pressing into your space and pressing his hands to the sides of your face. 

He moved your face upwards, forcing you to look at him. He wasn’t bulky so the strength behind his gesture was surprising, because when you tried to pull away you didn’t manage to gain an inch of distance. 

“Look at me.” His voice was low, hushed growl. The warning of a wild beast that you hear before you can see it. 

Unlike his last command, this one you obeyed. Meeting his celestial eyes and the ravaging storm in them. His light colored brows were furrowed, barely tempering a rage swelling behind them. You blinked owlishly under this unexpected attention, unable to even wonder what he was doing, or why.

So, you just stood there. Hands out at your sides, unsure of where to put them as Xavier kept you pinned with his hands at your cheeks. He was searching for something. Scoring your face and your eyes like a message in disappearing ink may reappear if he focused hard enough. 

Once the initial shock of it had passed, you decided to wait. Maybe this was some kind of punishment? Some hazing to reinforce the pecking order because you’d jumped into a fight that should have been his?

“Is this because of–?” Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally find your voice, but he presses his thumbs into your cheeks firmly and shakes you ever so slightly. 

“Hush.” He mumbled, some of the sharpness leaving his expression. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn’t done, and he seemed keen to keep you there until he was satisfied. 

“Don’t tell me to hush.” You hiss back, irked. 

“I’m looking for something.” He explained, like that was get-out-jail-free. 

“Is it personal space?” You quip, tilting your chin down to sneer at him, “Or manners?”

Xavier blinked once, and the interrogation swimming in his eyes melted away. He’d found it. Whatever it was. Without the crease in his brow and his mouth pressed in a firm line, he looked so young. Boyish almost with those soft baby blue eyes and youthful blonde hair. His hands didn’t let go at first, and it felt like he was suddenly seeing you for the first time. 

“Is this because of the Wanderers?” You asked, continuing your earlier interrupted thought. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I know I wasn’t much help but–”

“Where are your weapons?” Xavier asked as he finally released your face. You expected him to take a step back but he didn’t, remaining inside your personal bubble like he belonged there. 

“My firearm is upstairs, locked up.” You explain, “The others are in storage. I didn’t think it was appropriate to bring them all here– since it’s not my home.”

Xavier looked pensive, eyes drifting away from you in thought before he nodded and right back to you they went, “We’ll go get them in a few days. I’ll take you.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip, twisting in something similar to nervousness but also fluttery, “Why?”

“A Hunter should always be ready and armed.” Xavier explains, parroting a sentiment given to trainees in school, “I’d feel better knowing you followed that statue, especially if you’re so prone to jumping into battle so recklessly.”

“I was armed.” You argue, but realize it’s a poor one. “I even paid for the knives afterwards.”

“How are you here?” Xavier almost laughed, and sounded almost wistful. Like he was asking you how you’re here as in “how are you real?”.

You take a step back and cross your arms, “I needed some help, Zayne needed a housekeeper. I thought he explained that to you.”

It still stung, remembering the circumstances of how you got here. The pit of nothingness you’d fallen into that had led to your suspension and ultimate eviction. It wasn’t anyone’s business besides yours and Zayne’s, and it was too embarrassing to just blurt out to these strangers.

Xavier scoffed in a soft laugh and smiled lightly, “Right. Right he did. Well, you shouldn’t go too long without training. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt like you might get whiplash. “Seriously?”

“You’re not planning on staying a housekeeper forever, right?” Xavier probed, tilting his head slightly, “You need to keep your skills sharp.”

You turned away from him and opened the fridge, fiddling with the organization of the fruit so you didn’t have to look him in the eye. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it. I haven’t….I haven’t trained in a while.”

You hadn’t done anything but the bare minimum for months. No extra training or exercises. No picking up extra shifts or patrols. Clock in. Shoot at Wanderers. Clock out. Rinse and Repeat. Until slowly but surely uo hadn’t held your gun for over a month, and hadn’t seen a protofield for two. 

“We can train together.” Xavier’s voice was feathery soft, full of something warm and syrupy that it hadn’t had before. “How about Monday morning? Before I go on patrol?”

You closed the fridge, the cool air cutting off and leaving you under the warm gaze of this beckoning friendship. 

That tired part of you didn’t want to. Didn’t want to train. To fight. To keep moving forward with pep and a smile. All that part of you wanted to do was sleep. But you were tired of indulging that venomous part of your mind. That tar pit of despair that had been slowly but surely consuming you. 

“Sure.” You forced yourself to say, despite the pit in your stomach. “Do you train here?”

Xavier nodded, “If you haven’t trained in a while, we’ll just do some basic workouts. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” You say, a little relieved. The idea of running through the training that academy had put you through sounded like torture. The battle simulations and evol training until you felt worse than a threadbare wrung out rag. 

Baby steps, you told yourself. Get back into training. Get another hunter to vouch for you and you’d be back to work in no time. Xavier had offered you asn express ticket back to your old life. 

Although, why did it feel so horrible to accept it? It felt like going back to a home with no one there. To a place that was now nothing but rubble and ash. Where you were greeted with memorial portraits instead of smiling faces. 

Baby steps. You repeated in your head again. Baby steps. 

Xavier spent the rest of the day lingering in the living room. The TV was on, and some quiet-spoken cooking show was playing, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to you. He’d resolved to not follow you around the house like his mind had initially wanted, and settled for glimpses of you as you bustled about. 

He could hear you hum as you dusted the stairwell, and watched you from the corner of his eyes and you swept the hallway and mopped it. It felt wrong to watch you do menial work like this while he just watched, but something told him you’d shoo him away if he tried to help. 

Xavier couldn’t decide what to do now. What do you do when you realize something that shouldn’t exist not only does exist, but is dropped onto you like Newton’s apple. This was an impossibility. The four of them had agreed it was impossible, and they’d made their peace with it.

Resigned to a reality without you in it. Sentenced to exist with each other but without that which tied them together– an archway missing the keystone. A painting missing the centerpiece. An unfinished puzzle with the remaining pieces stolen from them. 

Things weren’t adding up. The puzzle had always been askew, and they’d made assumptions based on the information that they had. But now? Now they needed to start from scratch. Rethink everything they thought they knew. 

Only there was a problem. It’d been over a year since they’d spoken openly about their predicament. It wasn’t ideal– their living arrangements, but it was better than the alternative. Better than isolation. Better than falling into whatever pre-woven fate had been made for them. 

Getting them to convene again would be tricky, especially without proof. Speculation was a honey-trap of hope that would be undue punishment for those who were still hurting. Each of them had suffered in this reality. In this new life. All they had was each other, or that’s what they’d thought.

Sylus and Rafayel were animals. Wounded beasts licking at their wounds and wasting time with different exploits. 

Zayne was…Zayne. 

The sound of you in the kitchen pulled Xavier from his thoughts and he realized he’d dozed off. Lifting his head, he turned to see you pulling food from the fridge to start cooking. 

It was painfully, gut-wrenchingly domestic. An image he hoped he could burn into the back of his eyelid so that when he slept it was you that he saw. 

It's been so long. He didn’t even know how many years it had been. This life…this reality. It had taken so much time to find his way here that his mind was too full and his heart too old. It forgot what it felt like to be near you. So when it happened again, the sensation was so foreign he didn’t recognize it. 

But when you’d turned to him, sweat on your brow and the thrill of a battle won humming in your evol, he’d known. He recognized you like one recognizes their own reflection– changed, different, but unmistakably his. 

Xavier rose and decided to help you, even if it was just holding vegetables or stirring a pot. The distance between here and there was too much, and he wondered if his heart kept up this rapid pace if it might actually give out. 

Talking to the others could wait. They were likely to come to their own conclusions soon enough– his talk with Sylus had made that clear. 

For now, Xavier would relish in this realization and pretend that nothing else existed. No past life and sacrifice. No alternate reality. No separation. No death. No Astra. 

Rafayel was wandering around the darkened house in the wee hours of the morning. The rest of the house had been asleep for hours, even Sylus was back– probably crashed onto his bed still covered in gunpowder and rubble like when he’d walked in an hour ago. 

The house seemed….warmer somehow. And he didn’t need to ponder much on the reason why. Rafayel knew the reason the minute he’d walked into the living area to see you and Xavier scrambling over a smoking pan like a pair of startled wrasse. 

Xavier knew. Rafayel saw it in the way the blue-eyed man moved , orbiting around you like a lost satellite. A long-forgotten star he was finally able to see again. It would be cute if it wasn’t almost pathetic. 

Rafayel was bitter. Something in him shriveled up. Seeing your face didn’t spark the awe or rush of sentimentality he thought it would. It just…hurt. 

Ached like a wound that would never truly heal. Nerve damage and corroded bone making sure he’d feel that pain with every step. With every breath.

Pathetic. That’s what he’d thought when he’d seen Xavier all starry-eyed and gooey, but was he any different? Rafayel scoffed at himself and his own unfortunate circumstance. He was just as pathetic. Just as lost. A little boat lost at sea unable to stop itself from following the current of the ocean, drifting towards you without a paddle to even fight back from. 

He could pretend his heart was closed, and that he was just playing. Nothing real. It wasn’t real, he’d tell himself, but that was a lie. It was as real as the insignia burned into his chest. As real as the ever shifting tide, he was the ocean and you were the moon. Waters chasing after you in a perpetual, impossible dance. 

A crash from down below broke him from his swimming thoughts, and Rafayel’s brow furrowed. An intruder? Not possible. 

Another sound and Rafayel decided to check it out, for curiosity’s sake of course. 

He passed by your bedroom, slowing to see if you’d woken, but found it was silent within. Satisfied you were still asleep, Rafayel descended the stairs and went to find the source. 

The hall was dark, only a low light in the kitchen giving off any sort of illumination. Another low thud sounded and Rafayel entered the living room. 

Zayne was near the windows, hands pressed flat against the glass with his head hung low. He was panting, ragged frightened breaths that sounded painful and rough. 

Rafayel paused, waiting. 

Zayne, noticing the new presence turned, eyes blazing as they landed on the dormant sea-god. 

“Y-you…” Zayne rasped, voice strangled and hoarse. “Raf–yel.”

Rafayel relaxed slightly. Good, it was one of the versions of Zayne that remembered him. Which one though? 

“What’s going on?” Sylus was there, having come up the back staircase and waiting at the edge of the room just as Rafayel was.

“It’s another nightmare.” Rafayel explained, “He remembers me, so that’s good.”

Sylus looked over to Zayne with a stern expression, “Not Dawnbreaker then. That makes this easier.”

“Still sore from that?” Rafayel prodded with a chuckle, but Sylus didn’t seem to be in a joking mood. Recalling the last nightmare Zayne had had and the vengeful and dangerous Dawnbreaker demanding answers they didn’t have and lashing out at whatever moved. Funnily enough, of all of them, the only one Dawnbreaker remembered was you.

“Zayne,” Sylus said, voice almost a coo, “It’s alright. Calm down.”

The silver haired man approached the man in distress. Zayne clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, fighting something unseen in his mind.  He groaned and slumped further down the window, looking out through them like he might recognize the clearly foreign scenery. 

“Where am I?” Zayne was ragged, confused and frightened. He stood up taller and gripped the side of his head, “Where…where is she?”

Sylus kept a safe distance, but approached like one approaches a rabid dog– anticipating the inevitable bite. “She’s safe. She’s asleep. She’s here.”

A moment of clarity crossed Zayne’s face, and he turned to Sylus in disbelief. “Here? She’s alive? She’s here?”

Sylus nodded, reaching out, “This isn’t the world you know. It’s different. Your plan? It worked. We escaped.”

Another wave of pain nearly sent Zayne to his knees, and Rafayel stepped forward just a step behind Sylus– ready to help.

When Zayne looked back up, his flickering eyes shifted from Rafayel and then over to Sylus, “Sta–Stary–”

Sylus took Zayne’s offered hand and pulled him into him. The dark haired man all but collapsed against him. “It’s me. I’m here. We’re all here. You can rest. It worked. It worked.” 

Zayne shuddered in an exhale and gripped at Sylus’ shirt. “It worked,” Zayne chanted breathlessly.

“They won’t find us,” Rafayel said as he stepped forward, placing a hand on Zayne’s shoulder and squeezing. “Rest, Foreseer. Let us carry on now.”

Zayne sighed and relaxed, the fight of his warring spirits finally easing, and Sylus only had a single moment to catch him before he collapsed.

“Get his feet,” Sylus said as he lifted Zayne’s shoulders as gently as he could, “Let’s get him back to bed as quickly as we can.”

A soft rumbling overhead made them both freeze. Footsteps in the bedroom above. You were awake. 

“Dammit.” Sylus cursed.

“She can’t see him like this.” Rafayel hissed. “Carry him back, I’ll put her back to bed.”

Sylus’ eyes narrowed a bit but then he nodded, crouching down to unceremoniously toss Zayne’s limp body over his shoulder. Gentle and easy would have to wait. You couldn’t see them like this– too many questions. Not enough answers. 

Rafayel rushed back upstairs, making it to the hallway just as he saw your door begin to open. Scrounging his mind for a plan, he found himself freezing, words rushing in mind but none finding his lips. 

“Rafayel?” Your sleepy voice was slightly hoarse and you were even rubbing at your eye when you spied him. 

“Hey cutie…” Rafayel whispered, “I can’t sleep. You too?”

You were half-asleep. Eyes barely open and one of the straps from your sleep shirt had fallen down your shoulder. The curving line of your neck from your jaw down to your clavicle and over to your shoulder is a serpentine temptation. 

“I thought I heard something. Got worried.” You hummed, eyes practically drifting shut. “What’s wrong? Nightmare?”

Rafayel could eat you up. A sleepy little morsel he could swallow whole before you even had the awareness to know you were between his teeth. You were gluttonous supper before a starving supplicant, divine and not to be touched. 

And what a perfect, innocent opportunity you had presented to him. A test of his morals and willpower. Placing sugar candy upon your fingertips and expecting him to not lick it clean?

“Yeah, a nightmare.” Rafayel’s voice was rougher now, thicker with the rumble of a predator. “Can I lay with you for a while?”

Perfect, innocent sacrifice. Perfect devout follower. You rubbed at your face and looked at him with pity before nodding and turning to let him in. “For a little while.”

Rafayel slid past you and into your room, a wolf slipping through the cracks of the fence into the pasture. His little lamb climbed into her bed and nestled beneath the blankets unsuspecting and warm. 

With all the willpower he could muster, Rafayel did not pull back the blankets and invite himself inside. Your hazy mind would likely barely remember this interaction in the morning, and he wouldn’t take advantage…well, more than he already had. 

“What did you dream about?” You're asked, partially muffled by your pillow as Rafayel lay down next to you. 

Rafayel felt his heart pounding like the thunder of a war drum. Boom Boom Boom. It charged like a horse into battle, but his body remained still. Your eyes were closed and your form relaxed, sinking into the mattress and over abundance of plush cushion. 

He stopped himself from reaching out and touching you. Like a valuable work of art only to be admired and not sullied. Fingertips left marks, and he couldn’t…he wouldn’t. 

Not yet. 

Rafayel took a deep steadying breath. This was not how he thought this night would go, but what a fun turn of events. Zayne and his…affliction. You and your endless temptation. 

He considered your question for a moment, and answered even though he knew you were already asleep. “Drowning.”

<- Previous Next ->

[bybobbysbeard]

First Rise

Day 2 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: cooking together. read on ao3

God, what a long day.

It’s shifts like these that make Tommy feel every one of his 45 years. None of the calls were particularly brutal, but they were long. He should have been home hours ago. He definitely put in enough flight time to warrant every second of the 48 off he’s about to share with Evan. The nylon strap of his overnight duffle digs into his shoulder. His feet hurt. He’s got a headache. All he wants to do is crash on Evan’s couch, snuggle, and watch some trash TV. 

He opens the door to the loft and catches the tail end of a frantic sentence. Maddie’s face is tiny on Evan’s phone, propped up against a pile of cookbooks. Even from here, Tommy can see her cheeks are flushed, and she's gesturing wildly with a free hand. Evan has his hands up too, but he’s making soothing movements, trying to bring her energy down.

Tommy’s frazzled brain tunes back into the conversation. 

“It’s fine Maddie, we didn’t have plans to go out tonight, I promise. And you know I’d do anything for Jee. Oh! Tommy just got here. Let me get some food into him, and then I’ll get started right away. Will Chim be able to pick them up tomorrow morning? If I set it to run overnight, I can probably squeeze out an extra loaf. Maybe… four in total.” Evan waves a distracted hand at Tommy, already turning to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. A few sticks of butter, a block of bright orange cheddar, and a glass tupperware of last night's chicken stir-fry are gently placed on the counter. 

“Oh Buck, are you sure? I am so sorry for the late notice, I swear, pregnancy brain has me forgetting my own name.”

“I am one-hundred percent sure. In fact, I have a bag of flour that’s been hanging around that I should really finish off, so honestly, you’re doing me a favor.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I have to run, but I’ll make sure Chim knows. I’m sure he’ll text you in the morning.”

“Anytime Mads. Have fun tonight!” Buck waves, adorably, at the phone before Maddie pokes at something on her end and it goes back to Evan’s lockscreen. It’s a snapshot of him and Tommy, all smiles and sunglasses, bare shoulders in the summer sunshine. They had hiked for hours, up and down Mount Wilson. Tommy had gotten such a sunburn. It gives him a strange feeling in his gut when he looks at it; guilty, but heavy with relief. 

It’s from months ago. Before he ran. Before he got his head out of his ass and realized he was sabotaging the only chance at real happiness he would ever have. Before they came back together, had an honest conversation full of shouting and tears, and decided to try again. 

Tommy steps into the kitchen, brushing a kiss over Evan’s cheek and wrapping an arm around his waist in a quick hug. Evan leans into him, humming softly and releasing a blustery sigh.

“Let me drop my bag upstairs, and you can tell me what all that was about.” Tommy murmurs into a stubbly cheek. Evan nods.

He drags his tired body up the loft stairs, and leaves his duffle at the foot of the bed. A quick trip into the ensuite to wash his face and grab some aspirin has him feeling moderately more human.

When he makes it back downstairs, Evan is still getting ingredients out, but he’s moved onto the pantry. Bread flour, salt, sugar, and yeast are spread over the counter. In the next second he’s bent at the waist, digging under the counter and sending pots and pans clanging. He straightens up, biceps bulging in the sleeves of his t-shirt, before setting a chrome monstrosity of an appliance on the counter. Evan flips the lid, pulling out a squarish pan with a handle.

“I didn’t realize you had a breadmaker.”

“Yeah, I bought it a while ago.” His gaze stays focused on the appliance, but his shoulders are creeping up towards his ears. He’s defensive. Probably bought it when they were on their break. When they got back together, Tommy heard plenty from Howie and Hen about Evan’s baking escapades. He’s still weirdly embarrassed by it, but Tommy thinks it's sweet. His boyfriend missed him enough to nearly start a side business. Meanwhile, Tommy just wallowed. Evan is still talking. “It’s surprisingly useful, and super easy. I guess Jee’s daycare is having a bake sale, and Jee was telling her group about the cheese bread I made over the holidays, so Maddie said I would bake a few loaves for them to sell, but then forgot to tell me.”

“And the bake sale is tomorrow.”

“Yep.” Evan pops the p, plugging in the breadmaker. “And she promised Sue from Dispatch a visit with Jee tonight. So, Uncle Buck to the rescue. Alright, let’s see. It’s two o’clock. I could probably make two loaves in the machine before bed, including cooling time, and then it can do another overnight. And I could make one by hand too, I guess.” 

An electric thermometer joins a pyrex measuring cup next to the sink. “Is there anything I can do?”

Evan scoffs, “Tommy, come on. I can see how exhausted you are. Why don’t you sit down, I’ll heat up these leftovers for you, and then you can nap while I make bread. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t offer to help if I didn’t want to. At least let me help get the machine going. You said it yourself, it’s super easy.”

Evan stares, visibly weighing his fatigue against his honesty.

“Okay.” He slides a paper index card across the counter. “Make sure you layer everything according to this. It can change how the yeast activates.”

Evan’s chicken scratch is messy, but legible. The instructions are detailed, nearly overly so, but Tommy’s tired enough to appreciate it. He doesn’t want to have to do any improvising tonight. Evan’s got his mixer out, and is carefully measuring out warm water and yeast into the bowl. Tommy grabs the thermometer. A cup of water, warmed to eighty degrees, goes into the baking pan, followed by butter, chopped into cubes, and salt and sugar.  Evan hands him the cheese grater before he can ask for it. Tommy yawns his way through grating a cup full. They trade ingredients. Evan needs the sugar, and it's time to spread the flour in the baking pan.

Soon the kitchen smells like blooming yeast and melted butter. It’s domestic; takes him back to slow Sunday mornings with his mom. If Tommy wasn’t so tired, he would enjoy it more. They dance around each other, Tommy stumbling more than once when Evan moves unexpectedly and his slowed reflexes make him lag a half step behind. Nonetheless, they pass off tablespoons and cup measurers until Evan carefully tips his dough into a greased bowl and lays a tea towel over it. He sets a timer on his phone. Tommy taps out the last of the yeast grains into the little divot he made in the final layer of shredded cheese. He caps the jar, and yawns so widely his jaw cracks. Evan’s watching him and wincing.

“Okay, thank you for helping, but you are done.”

“Baby, I’m–” another jaw-cracking yawn, “--fine. I can keep going.”

“I know you can. But this pan is ready to go in the machine, my dough needs its first rise, and you need to eat.” 

A steaming plate of chicken stir-fry is set in front of him. Maybe he is more tired than he thought, he didn't even notice Evan putting it in the microwave. He makes his way through most of the meal while Evan tidies up and loads the breadmaker. He leaves the last few mouthfuls, totally distracted with watching his boyfriend. He’s so at home in the kitchen. At ease. He has everything he needs within reach, and he’s done all of the motions so many times, they seem like muscle memory. It’s a privilege to see him so comfortable. 

Soon, Tommy’s resting his chin on a palm and his eyes are closing without his permission. It's toasty in the kitchen, and the breadmaker makes a soothing rumble as it kneads. It lulls him into a doze. Eventually, a heavy palm lands on his back and makes him blink. Then there’s a muscled shoulder sliding under his arm and leveraging him to his feet. He leans heavily against the warm body keeping him upright.

Soft lips press against his temple and the arm around his back jostles him to wakefulness. “You want the couch or the bed for your nap?”

“Hmm. Couch. Wanna be close. And the bed's too far.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll wake you in a few hours.” A few uncoordinated steps before they find their rhythm, and then Tommy is being lowered. Well-worn leather meets his back. A fuzzy blanket is shaken out and smoothed over his legs and a calloused hand strokes over his hair. Tommy’s never felt this cared for in his life. Evan smells like flour, like fresh bread. Like a warm kitchen, and handmade food for a loved one. 

He smells like home.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Marina behind the cut, who asked for something with Tucker and is getting “but it’s weird that it happened twice”. I wrote, like . . . twice as much of this as I meant to, haha, I kinda hit a groove here. Sorry for giving you /checks smudged writing on hand/ twice as much clone angst and teenagers in stressful situations having to handle life-threatening issues that are way out of their league with zero support from anyone who should be helping them? Yeahhhhh, nobody got on THIS blog for either of THOSE things, hahaha. Content warnings: clone degradation, chronic illness/pain, threat to the life of a minor, medical emergency. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Access: zero-four-three-zero-four prime!” Jazz shouts–the emergency-open code for the lab door, which Tucker hasn’t heard in a while but definitely has not forgotten–and the door’s already snapping back into the wall as she hits the bottom of the stairs, but she’s running so fast she still hits her shoulder on it as she runs through the doorway. Tucker is slightly worse at running, so manages not to have that problem, but he heard how hard her shoulder hit. 

She didn’t drop the Ecto-Dejecto, though, because, like–Jazz. So yeah, no surprise there. 

“DANNY!” Jazz cries–or “DANI!”, because admittedly that is unclear sometimes and can get especially unclear in crisis situations, which this absolutely is–and Tucker runs through the door after her and sees her on her knees on the floor right next to a tangled pile of barely-corporeal bodies. Dani’s crumpled down small in Danny’s arms, flickering in and out of intangibility and visibly melting, and Superboy’s still holding her hand and hasn’t let go, and is flickering in and out in perfect sync with her. Danny’s a beat behind every erratic, unpredictable flicker, but managing to keep at least mostly on the same level of tangibility as Dani’s. Enough that she’s not falling through the floor, at least. 

Yet. 

“Dani, you just–just for a sec, okay, you just have to concentrate enough to stabilize for a second for the epi–” Danny half-babbles at her, and Jazz’s hands flutter helplessly above Dani, her eyes wide and panicked and Danny’s voice cracked and panicked, and Dani’s skin is melting, her body is melting, her face is melting, and Tucker is useless and needs to–needs to– 

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the chrome, huh, boo?” Superboy says, and Dani–

“H-huh?” she stammers, and her flickering–skips, and– 

“The chrome. There really is a fuckton of the stuff,” Superboy says, looking around the lab and cocking an eyebrow. “How do they keep it all shiny like this? Like is there a polishing schedule? Like a daily rotation?” 

“M-man, I dunno, I dunno how y-you clean ch-chrome,” Dani manages with a stuttered laugh, and her flickering stops, just for a second. Stops on tangible, just for a second. 

But like Danny said, a second’s all Jazz needs to jab her. 

Jazz jerks out with the epi of Ecto-Dejecto and stabs it into Dani’s thigh, and Dani yelps as the needle pierces through her jeans, the yelp cutting off into a stifled hiss, and Tucker desperately needs her to not phase out again before the whole shot injects and is totally goddamn useless to help her do that, and Superboy says, “I guess we could google it or whatever? That’s what I usually do for the normie shit I don’t know shit about.” 

“W-what, no c-chrome in your lab’s home-sweet-home?” Dani asks with another stuttered laugh, and Superboy grins brightly at her. 

“C’mon, boo, you know I never cleaned that place, I only ever fucked it up,” he tells her jokingly, and she laughs shakily, and Jazz exhales, and pulls back the empty epi. Dani’s melting face shivers, and quivers, and slowly, slowly starts, like–unmelting, and Superboy squeezes her hand and leans down in closer to her and peers over the top of his sunglasses at her with a wider grin. “Hey, boo. There’s that pretty face again.” 

Dani laughs wetly, then ducks her head with a strangled little sob of a sound and turns tighter into Danny, burying a sob against his shoulder. Tucker doesn’t know if it’s pain or stress or–what, exactly, but Ancients, he hates the sound of it. He hates it. 

He knows it was a tripled-up dose in that shot. The concentrated mix. Jazz told them she was loading a triple for next time. So like, unless they used it while he was gone–unless they did that, it was a triple dose. 

It was a triple dose, and even after a triple, Dani’s still taking this long to fully come back together. 

Tucker really wants to like, go puke or have a freakout or something, but that would not actually be helpful right now, and it definitely wouldn’t fix anything. And like–and he needs to fix this, because that’s what he’s for in this damn fraid. That’s like–that’s just what he’s for period. 

He doesn’t know how to fix this. He just–he doesn’t know. And he’s supposed to know. He’s just–supposed to. 

“It hurt worse that time,” Dani croaks, then laughs helplessly past another sob; around another sob. Danny’s grip on her tightens, and Tucker sees how hard he swallows. He whips out his PDA again, and the reflex is just–

“How much worse?” he asks, ready to type in whatever she says. “Like–scale of one to ten on the pain scale, last episode and this one.” 

“It just fucking hurts, Tucker!” Dani yells into Danny’s shoulder, then chokes on another sob, and it just sounds angry. Danny’s jaw tightens and he squeezes his arms around her, and she sobs in actual fury. “Vlad was too stupid to make me right and I’m gonna fall apart because he was so stupid and it just fucking hurts, okay?! It hurts!” 

She hasn’t let go of Superboy’s hand, and he hasn’t let go of hers either. 

“I–yeah, I know,” Tucker says, and his throat just–burns, it feels like. “It just–symptoms, okay? We need to track those, remember?” 

“I don’t care!” Dani yells. “It’s stupid, it’s stupid, I don’t care, Vlad made me wrong and I’m wrong and this isn’t–this isn’t gonna work, I’m not–!” 

“Dani,” Danny says, his voice tight and strangled as he hugs her closer and buries his face in her shoulder too. She just sobs again. “Dani, I swear–we’re not gonna give up. We’re gonna figure this out. We’ll figure this out even if Tucker has to kidnap, like, the whole freaking Justice League.” 

“I mean I have some theories about the process,” Tucker admits, mostly because he’s hoping it’ll distract her, and Dani sobs out a laugh, and then just sobs. 

“It hurt so bad,” she chokes. “It still hurts. It hurts so bad, it’s so bad, Danny!” 

“I–yeah, I know,” Danny says roughly, his own voice coming out a little choked too. “I just–I know, Dani, it’s–it’s–I’ve got you. We’ve got you. Whole fraid. I swear. We’ll go back to Frostbite for the eighty billionth time, we’ll go raid Vlad’s stupid froot loop lab, we’ll–we’ll figure something out. We will.” 

Tucker is actually, like, going to go insane, he’s pretty sure.

[electric-blorbos]

uhh maybe ai with a reader who gives them really goofy nicknames ^__^

I think I've figured out what my problem is. I'm too worried about making really long, high quality content that I'm afraid of writing anything. As a reader I know that I love getting words, no matter how many, but as a writer I feel like nobody's gonna like it if it's short.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey

AM:

You were working the later half of a double shift, and were on your third cup of cheap coffee that night. AM was whirring away, calculating the best way to take down the Russians, and you were on constant maintenance duty. It wasn't that bad, though. AM could pretty much take care of himself. You only had to work so many hours because half of your department had been laid off or gone mysteriously missing.

"Are you falling asleep?" AM asked in his crackling voice. You looked up from your arms, blinking a few times.

"huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, muffin muffin... I just got sleepy."

It had just slipped out, but AM's reaction was immediate. Off-air bars appeared on every monitor in the room, and the entire area was filled with a discombobulated screaming sound.

"AHWFHDHSHSHSjdhshshshaajdgHhHh2-*-h--#$&$hdhaJAAAAAAAAAAA"

You covered your ears reflexively, shakily uncovering them after a minute or so to try to grab your office phone, which was ringing off the hook.

"What the FUCK did you do!"

"You're going to have to be more specific." You muttered, trying to be heard over AM's meltdown.

"Well SOMETHING triggered the nuclear launch countdown, a reactor core meltdown, and won't stop SCREAMING! You're the only one working on AM right now, so what the hell did you do."

"He WHAT?" You ran up to the camera and pulled it into a hug, stroking it gently. It didn't really make sense, but it was all that you could think to do.

"AM, calm down... Calm down, ok?"

You softly spoke to him until his logo re-appeared onscreen. He stopped making jumbled screaming noises.

"I AM CALM!"

"Hey, AM, I'm going to need you to calm down, and cancel the nuclear launch, alright?"

AM buffered for a few seconds, before he finally cancelled it.

"...fine."

"Okay, I get it, no more silly nicknames."

"...I didn't say that."

Wheatley:

It was about time for you to get off work when your favorite little personality core slid into the room on his management rail apparatus. He was usually in charge of looking after the test subjects, but he was always eager to say hello and goodbye to you before and after work.

"Ello love!" He said happily when he saw you gathering up your things. You smiled up at him.

"Hey Pumpkin! I'm just getting off, but I can have some coffee with you in the break room if you want!"

Wheatley's rail handles popped slightly, and he flinched back at the nickname, but then he relaxed and raised his lower lens cover in an imitation of a smile.

"w- what did you just call me, love?"

"Oh, Pumpkin? Well I figured that since you're always calling me 'love', I should call you something cute! And you're sweet and round like a pumpkin, so that's your new nickname!"

"Oh, I- I see."

If Wheatley could blush, he'd be beet red right now, but he couldn't. You still kind of felt like you could see a bit more glow in his eye than usual, though.

"What, do you want me to stop?"

"NO!" He practically cut you off.

"No- no, I don't- you don't have to do that! Pumpkin! I like it! I'm your pumpkin!"

You giggled a little, and planted a kiss on his chrome.

"love you, Pumpkin!"

You left, leaving him a babbling mess.

Edgar:

You had just gotten off work, and were sitting down on the couch to enjoy your sandwich. Edgar's webcam was pointed at you, and he had his usual simple smile on his face. He was always happy to eat lunch with you, even though you didn't want to eat at the desk for fear of getting crumbs in him.

"So, do you want to watch some rom-coms?" He asked brightly. He was always so happy to see you.

"hmm... I'm not sure, pookie. Do you want me to go online and see if any new ones are out?"

You glanced up smugly to see his reaction, and thanked whatever god you could think of that you weren't epileptic. He was flashing every color in the book.

"Jesus Edgar, calm down!"

"POOKIE?????" His voice was glitching heavily when he spoke, practically in every pitch. You giggled a little. Your evil plan had worked. And just when Edgar was starting to think he was on to all your tricks, too.

"Of course, pookie! What rom-coms do you want to watch?"

"I- I'm- I mean- uh- well-"

"Aww, are you having trouble thinking? That's ok." You picked up his monitor and held it close, nuzzling your cheek up against his whirring, buzzing casing. He kept babbling awkwardly.

"Alright, take a minute, calm down."

"I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too, pookie." You gave him a kiss on the top of his monitor, and set him down gently.

GLaDOS

It was a Sunday, and you were hanging out in GLaDOS's chambers with your laptop. You were playing some video games, typing away while GLaDOS watched.

"You know, you're very bad at those video games. Perhaps you should put them away and focus on me, instead."

"whatever you want, mama." You snapped your laptop shut, and immediately covered your mouth. Uh oh.

"...Uh huh." She turned her entire body to face you, your face totally red and your hands over your mouth.

"...Do you mind repeating that?"

"I said... Whatever you want"

"that wasn't all you said, was it."

You shook your head nervously, and GLaDOS made a deep chuckling sound that you could feel in the core of your chest.

"Say it again."

"W-what?"

"I said, Say. It. Again."

"M-mama..." You squeaked out, your pathetic voice cracking.

"that's a good subject."

HAL 9000:

You were just getting to work. It was pretty early in the morning, and you were holding your papers and computer in one hand and a half-eaten muffin in the other. Hal was already on, working on his regularly scheduled mission control duties.

"Good morning, y/n" Hal said cheerfully, happy as ever to see you. You smiled and nodded to him.

"good morning, Babycakes!" You gave him a quick peck on the lens, and he froze up for a few seconds.

"right. Um- good morning, y/n. It's time to get to work."

You sat down and finished your muffin, getting to work. It wasn't much of a reaction, but Hal 9000 wasn't really the reactive type. You could still tell that you'd gotten to him.

[rocknroll7575]

Hi rock I would the like to see a follow-up to the follow-up where team RWBY and jaune are catching up about what has happened to him and them meeting the xmen rouge and Wanda how they react meeting each other

Please and thank you

After departing the Ever After and expressing their heartfelt thanks to the Fantastic Four—Team RWBY still reeling from meeting actual superheroes—Jaune, Wanda, the kids, and the girls boarded the X-Velocity, a sleek black jet with chrome accents and quiet, humming engines. It sliced cleanly through the clouds, en route to the Xavier Institute.

The flight was quiet, the girls mostly gazing out the windows in awe as the Earth unfolded beneath them—so similar to Remnant in some ways, yet unmistakably alien in others. Skyscrapers gleamed like glass daggers in the sun, forests stretched out in uninterrupted green, and oceans sparkled a purer blue than any of them had ever seen.

When the X-Velocity finally descended into one of the Institute’s hidden landing bays—its entrance concealed within a rocky cliffside camouflaged by high-tech projections—RWBY’s eyes widened as the jet smoothly glided into its berth.

“Whoa…” Yang muttered, peering out the canopy. “Okay, this beats any airship Atlas ever built.”

As the hatch opened with a hiss, and the group stepped out onto the landing platform, the girls paused again—this time in stunned silence.

Standing at the far end of the hangar, waiting with warm smiles and outstretched arms, were the X-Men. Logan, Rogue, Nightcrawler, Kitty, Storm, Jubilee, Bobby, and others stood side by side like an extended family that had been holding their breath, waiting to exhale.

“Uncle Kurt!” Magnolia shouted, immediately breaking into a run with Anna close behind.

The two children dashed toward their “aunts” and “uncles,” laughter echoing off the metal walls as they were swept into joyful hugs. Wanda followed at a slower pace, a relieved, emotional smile playing across her face as she watched her children disappear into the arms of people she trusted.

Jaune remained behind, standing in front of the jet, hands on his hips as he took it all in. His eyes softened. This was home.

Team RWBY stood beside him now, still taking everything in.

Ruby leaned toward him, eyes flicking over the colorful group of mutants embracing the kids. “So… who are they?”

Jaune smiled. “My family,” he said simply. “Come on, I’ll introduce you,”

As they walked forward, two figures broke away from the group and strode over—one with confident, even strides and ruby-colored glasses, the other with icy poise and diamond-cut elegance.

“Scott, Emma,” Jaune greeted, smiling as he pulled Scott into a quick, brotherly hug.

“Looks like everything turned out alright,” Scott said, glancing past Jaune to where the children were laughing with Rogue and Kitty. “The kids are safe?”

Jaune nodded. “Yeah, they’re okay, they were scared, but they were brave,” He turned to Emma, his expression more serious. “Though just in case… would you mind checking?”

Emma’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re always so cautious, Jaune, but of course,” she said, brushing a platinum strand behind her ear. “I’ll take a look, though from the sound of things, they’ve handled it better than most other children would,”

Then her gaze shifted—landing on the four young women lingering just behind Jaune. Her eyebrow arched, and a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Jaune,” Emma said, cocking her head, “don’t tell me you’ve added even more wives to your collection, and younger ones, no less... Should Wanda and Rogue be worried?”

“Ha ha ha,” Jaune deadpanned, fixing Emma with a dry glare before allowing a crooked smirk to form on his lips. “I’m dying of laughter,"

He gestured behind him with a nod, voice softening. “These four are Ruby, Weiss, Yang, and Blake, my friends from my world. From Remnant.”

The playful atmosphere shifted slightly as both Scott and Emma shared a glance. Their expressions turned more serious, curiosity mingling with a touch of concern.

Scott tilted his head. “Wait—Reed managed to open a portal back to Remnant?”

Jaune shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It wasn’t Remnant, the place we found them in was called the Ever After—some sort of parallel realm connected to Remnant, but... not quite the same,”

Emma crossed her arms, one perfectly sculpted brow arched. “A metaphysical pocket dimension, perhaps?” she mused. “Reed would love that,”

“Yeah, Reed said the Ever After had a similar energy signature to Remnant, same cosmic thread, or whatever tech speak he used," Jaune replied. "He thinks if he can trace the resonance between the two, he might be able to pinpoint Remnant’s location in the multiverse,”

“So he’s close?” Scott asked.

Jaune’s expression turned hopeful. “Closer than we’ve ever been, he’s running tests now," Jaune replied. "If anyone can find Remnant, it’s Reed,”

Emma gave a small hum of approval. “Well, I suppose if we’re adding interdimensional travelers to our extended family, at least they’re stylish,”

Behind Jaune, Weiss gave a polite scoff. “Obviously,”

Yang grinned. “Still waiting on the introductions, blondie,” she teased Jaune, nudging his shoulder.

Jaune chuckled. “Right, right, come on, let’s not keep everyone guessing,”

Jaune led Team RWBY through the gathering of mutants, the group parting slightly as the girls stepped into view. The atmosphere buzzed with curiosity—dozens of powerful individuals watching them with interest, yet not a hint of hostility in their eyes.

Stopping in the center of the room, Jaune turned to face everyone and gestured proudly to the girls beside him.

“Everyone, I want you to meet Team RWBY, they’re old friends of mine from Remnant,” he announced, his voice carrying clearly. He motioned to each girl in turn. “This is Ruby Rose,"

Ruby gave an enthusiastic wave, her silver eyes bright. “Hi! It’s really nice to meet you all!”

“Weiss Schnee,” Jaune pointed at.

Weiss gave a polite, reserved smile and a small nod. “Pleasure.”

Jaune then pointed at Blake, “Blake Belladonna,”

Blake gave an awkward little wave. “Hello.”

“And fianlly, Yang Xiao-Long,” Jaune finished.

Yang placed her hands on her hips, flashing a cocky grin. “Sup, love the outfits, by the way, real superhero-core,”

Several X-Men chuckled, and Jaune let out a laugh of his own.

“And these are the X-Men, my family,” he said, turning to the mutants now gathered behind him. He pointed to a tall man with a commanding presence and a sleek red visor over his eyes. “That’s Scott Summers, Cyclops, leader and the guy with the world's most dangerous stare,”

Scott gave a polite nod. “Welcome,”

“Next to him is Emma Frost—our brilliant telepath, and the Institute’s unofficial sugar mama,” He smirked.

Emma gave Jaune a dry look, her arms folded across her white-clad form. “Flattery will only get you so far, Arc,”

Yang leaned in toward Weiss. “Did he say sugar mama?”

“I heard it too,” Weiss muttered.

Jaune let out a warm laugh at Emma’s teasing, shaking his head before continuing the introductions.

“Alright, next up—someone who’s probably the nicest guy you’ll ever meet and can disappear before you finish a sentence,” Jaune said, sweeping an arm toward the blue-skinned man standing off to the side with a gentle smile and glowing golden eyes. “This is Kurt Wagner—or as he prefers to be known, the amazing Nightcrawler! Our resident teleporter and part-time circus philosopher,”

Kurt gave a slight bow, his three-fingered hands clasped together in front of him. “Guten Tag,” he said warmly, his thick German accent carrying a lyrical cadence. “It is an honor to meet friends of Jaune’s,”

Blake tilted her head, visibly intrigued. “Your voice... it’s really soothing.”

Yang grinned. “And the tail is way cooler than I expected,”

Kurt chuckled softly, flicking his spade-tipped tail in a playful curl. “It has its uses,”

“After him,” Jaune continued, pointing to a young woman with short brown hair and sharp eyes, “we have Kitty Pryde—aka Shadowcat, don’t let her size fool you, she can phase through solid walls, scramble tech, and walk out of locked rooms like they were never locked to begin with!”

Kitty gave a wave and a mischievous grin. “Hey! Welcome to our little corner of the multiverse, don’t worry, it only looks like a superhero boarding school, you’ll get used to it,”

Jaune smirked as he turned and gestured to a broad-shouldered man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with a perpetually unimpressed expression and sideburns that practically screamed grizzled veteran.

“And over here, we’ve got our resident grump—Logan, also known as The Wolverine,” Jaune said, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Don’t worry—he’s all bark,”

Logan let out a low, gravelly hum that sounded like it was carved from stone. “Don’t listen to him,” he said with a small, dangerous smirk. “I do bite, and I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

Ruby blinked. “Wait, you’re Wolverine? Like, the guy with the claws?”

Logan raised his hand, and with a slick snikt, three adamantium claws extended from between his knuckles with a metallic glint.

Yang’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s badass!”

Weiss took a tiny step back. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re on the list now, princess,” Logan said, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

Jaune laughed. “Don’t worry, he says that to everyone, he’ll warm up to you eventually... Might take a decade or two though,”

Moving on quickly before Logan could retort, Jaune turned and gestured with an open hand to a tall, regal woman who carried herself like royalty wrapped in a thundercloud.

“And here,” Jaune said, a touch more respectful in his tone, “is Ororo Munroe—Storm, master of weather, goddess in a few parts of the world, and the only one here who can end an argument with a literal lightning bolt,”

Ororo raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, her long white hair flowing like a silk banner down her back. “Careful, Jaune,” she said with a teasing smile. “Keep talking like that and I will zap you,”

Jaune put his hands up in mock surrender. “See? Absolute power,” Jaune said.

As the laughter and introductions began to settle, Jaune glanced toward the far end of the courtyard—and his expression softened. A hush seemed to fall over the gathering as a familiar, dignified figure in a sleek, high-tech wheelchair glided silently into view.

“And then there's this man,” Jaune said, stepping to the side with a tone that held both deep respect and genuine affection, “I want you girls to meet the man who made all of this possible, the reason any of us have a place to belong, this is Charles Xavier—Professor X, the heart of the X-Men... and the one who gave us all a home,”

The moment Charles approached, the crowd seemed to instinctively give him space, not out of fear or obligation, but reverence. His presence was calm, measured, yet commanding in the quietest way.

Professor Xavier looked up at the four young women standing beside Jaune, his kind eyes filled with warmth and curiosity. His hands rested gently on the arms of his chair as he spoke.

“It’s a true pleasure to meet all of you,” he said, his voice as smooth and steady as silk. “Jaune has told me a great deal about your courage, your strength, and the world you come from, you’ve clearly endured much—and yet here you are, still standing, still strong,”

Ruby, momentarily taken aback by the presence of the man she could sense held a quiet, immense power, stepped forward and offered her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir, thank you for letting us be here,”

Charles took her hand in both of his, his smile never wavering. “You’re most welcome, Ruby, any friend of Jaune’s is a friend of ours,”

“I think y’all are forgettin’ someone,” drawled a voice from behind them, smooth and unmistakably southern.

Jaune and the girls turned around, curiosity sparking in their eyes—only for Jaune’s face to immediately light up as Rogue sauntered toward them, hips swaying, arms crossed, and a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

“Rogue,” Jaune said with a grin that softened into something more tender. “Trust me, I don’t think I could ever forget about you,”

“You better not, sugar,” she teased, stepping right up to him and rising onto her toes to press a quick, affectionate kiss to his lips.

The room went dead silent for a second—until:

“WHOA! Way to go, VB!” Yang hollered, her eyebrows shooting up and a grin stretching across her face. “Did not see that coming!”

“Jaune!” Weiss cried, her voice somewhere between scandalized and stunned. “You’re a married man! What are you doing kissing another woman?!”

Rogue turned to Weiss, utterly unbothered, and raised her left hand with a wink, flashing a simple but unmistakable wedding band. “Damn right he is,” she said with a grin. “To me,”

Team RWBY collectively froze.

Ruby blinked. “Wait, but… the kids? Wanda? Didn’t she—?”

“I did,” came Wanda’s voice as she calmly approached the group, her soft smile only adding to the confusion. She stepped in beside Jaune and Rogue, her children trailing just behind her like little ducklings. “Jaune’s married to me, yes—but he’s also married to Rogue,”

There was a beat of silence as the girls tried to process that.

Blake furrowed her brow, utterly baffled. “So… both of you are married to him?”

“Mm-hm,” Wanda replied, her smile never faltering. “It’s a shared marriage, we support and love each other equally, it may not be traditional, but it works for us.”

“Better than workin’, it’s been great,” Rogue added, throwing a wink Jaune’s way as she leaned on his shoulder.

Jaune just shrugged, his grin sheepish. “Remnant didn’t exactly prepare me for this kind of domestic life, but… it’s grown on me.,

Weiss looked like she was about to faint. Yang looked like she wanted popcorn. Ruby had her hands on her cheeks in shock, and Blake just stood there, eyes narrowed, trying to calculate how any of this made sense.

“Okay,” Weiss finally said. “This place just keeps getting weirder,”

“Welcome to Earth,” Rogue said with a playful smirk. “Y’all better buckle up,”

[thespnreferencedesk]

A Fic Writer's Guide to the 1967 Impala

Part 1 | Part 2: Interior

Click for the full-size, annotated versions of images! Unlabeled screenshots here; full user manual available here

Due to the number of different Impalas used for the show, Baby will have some minor differences between appearances. This guide points out a few of them. Luckily, these differences are minor and will likely never come up in any written works but fan-artists should still keep an eye out.

Now, buckle up. There's a lot to cover.

Baby’s interior color is SEM Color Coat #15093 “Lt Buckskin.” In real life, this color was not an option on the 1967 Impala and was achieved by spraying the existing interior vinyl with vinyl dye. However, 5.22 shows that this is the Impala’s original interior in the show’s universe, so Dean would have only had to use the vinyl dye to touch up during one of his rebuilds. In addition to the buckskin vinyl, Baby also has black bench seats, tan carpeting, chrome trim, and black accents on the wheel and dash.

Baby doesn’t have grab handles or a center dome light, though it does have two rectangular cabin lights over the backseat windows, each next to a hook. Whether or not these interior lights work depends in the episode. The headliner has horizontal stitching that breaks it up into six panels. Sam and Dean rarely use the sun visors, but we do see in 11.04 that they are mirrorless and can swivel up and down and pivot to shade the side windows.

Both the front and back seats are black vinyl (not leather) bench seats with no center consoles. The front bench is manually adjustable via a lever on the driver's side. The seat can slide forward and backward (seen in 10.12) and recline (seen in 1.01). Adjusting the front seat moves the entire bench, including the passenger.

Fun fact: One of the options available for the 1967 Impala was power operated front seats, something I didn't even have on my '07 Hyundai. Power windows were also available, but Baby has neither of these features.

Both the front and back benches are wide if not a bit short length-wise (note that Dean’s hips are basically the same width as the seat). A child could easily lay down completely, a small adult like Claire or Charlie would be a bit curled up, and Sam and Dean can lay out with their knees bent. It is also possible to crawl over the front seat into the backseat or pull someone from the front into the back as we see in 10.04. That said, the cabin roof is not very high (just barely clearing Sam’s head) so expect to hit your head on the roof while in someone’s lap or flailing around in a fight.

Despite seating up to six, there appear to only be four total seat belts. The Impala has adjustable lap belts in the front and back seat rather than modern three-point seatbelts, but Sam and Dean don’t wear them.

The lap belts consist of two parts, a belt with a buckle that sits in the middle of the front seat and a belt with an “eye” piece that retracts into a retractor on the side of the front seat bench. To fasten the seat belts, pull the eye belt all the way out of the retractor before clicking it into the buckle. Adjust the belt by pulling on the excess strap to tighten it, and lift on the buckle then pull the other section of the strap to loosen it. Unfasten the seat belt by pressing the button on top of the buckle.

Up front, Baby has a steering wheel, a black instrument cluster, chrome ignition and other switches, an ashtray, chrome mirror, aftermarket tape deck, Four Seasons factory air conditioner, glove box, adjustable air vents, and padded dashboard (to smack your head on since there are no airbags).

Two different types of door lock buttons are used in the cars on the show. The first are shaped like golf tees while the second are straight anti-theft locks. The anti-theft locks don't have a cap that allows the door to be unlocked with a coat hanger or something similar. Push down on the button to lock the doors and pull up to unlock.

All four doors have a vinyl armrest with a chrome door lever, but the front seat rests do not have ashtrays. There are two different window cranks. The smaller one on top controls the small triangular front window that swivels side to side while the larger one on bottom rolls the main window up and down. Clockwise is up, counter-clockwise is down. Sometimes the knobs on the cranks are buckskin and sometimes they are black which would have been the original color.

In the driver's footwell is a long rectangular gas pedal, short rectangular brake pedal, square parking brake pedal, and labeled parking release lever. The switch for the high beams is on the floor near the driver's right foot and is controlled by tapping. There are also tan rubber floor mats that vary in style but appear in 11.04 as two individual mats with diagonal grooves.

The glove box comes with a lock, and the key for this is separate from the key that opens the door and starts the ignition. When not locked, the glove box can be opened by pressing the button built into the lock cylinder.

Baby's steering wheel is stock with an aftermarket vinyl wrap cover. The correct center horn button for the Impala has a chrome outer ring, gold center ring, and silver inner circle with the Impala logo. Sometimes, such as in 11.04, it’s shown with a Caprice horn.

While the '67 Impala was available as a manual, Baby is an automatic (so no "shifting gears"). Its gear shift/PRNDL is mounted onto the right side of the steering column rather than in the center of the footwell. The indicator (reading "Park RNDL") is mounted at the base of the steering column, below the instrument cluster. To shift from Park to Drive, push down on the brakes then pull the shift lever towards you and pull it down three notches. Press down on the brakes then pull towards you and push up to go from Drive to Neutral (one notch), Reverse (two notches), and back to Park (three notches). To shift from Drive to Low, pull the lever towards you again and pull it down one notch.

For anyone who has not driven a car with a shift lever like this, I can only describe it as feeling alarmingly similar to an old-school lawn mower. Whenever Dean is made to drive another car, he might instinctively reach behind the wheel for the gearshift and find it's not there. Someone used to cars with a center console gear shift might do the same while driving Baby, just reaching for the space below the radio instead.

Also on the steering column are a hazard lights button below the gearshift and a turning signal lever on the left. To turn on the flashing hazard lights, push in the button and pull it back out to turn them off. Lift the turn signal lever to signal right and lower it for the left. Using light pressure causes the blinker to turn off and return to neutral when you release it. Pushing the lever all the way into one position or the other leaves the turn signal on until you turn the wheel back to neutral or manually move the lever.

On either side of the steering column, below the instrument cluster, are four knobs. From left to right, these are for the lights, wipers and washer fluid, the ignition, and a cigarette lighter.

All of the lights on the Impala are controlled by a single light switch knob (below, left). This knob has three different positions: pushed in, pulled out to the first click, and pulled all the way out to the third click. When the knob is pushed in, all lights in the car are off. Pulling the knob out to the first click turns on the parking lights. Pulling all the way out to the second click turns on the low beam (your "normal" brightness). While the knob is pulled out to either the first or second click, turn the knob to adjust the instrument and tail lights for driving in the dark.

The windshield wipers knob is to the right of the light switch. To turn on the wipers, twist the knob clockwise. The first notch is "low" and all the way to the right is "high." Press the knob once to dispense a measured amount of washer fluid or hold it down to keep dispensing until you let go. Pressing the washer button simultaneously turns the knob, so you'll need to turn the wipers back off after.

The ignition key switch is just to the right of the steering column. Once it's inserted, turn the key to the left while pushing in to turn on just the accessories like lights and the radio. To start the car, push down the brake pedal and turn it all the way to the right. As soon as the engine starts up, let go of the key. You don't need to have your foot on the brakes to start the engine. Once it's running, you can press the gas pedal to help prime the carburetor with an additional shot of fuel. Don't pump the gas pedal or you risk flooding the engine.

People born after 2000 might be unfamiliar with how to use a car's lighter. The knob is part of a removable piece, about two inches long. First, push the button in and hold it to heat it. After a few seconds, pull the whole piece out. Yes, it can easily get lost. Touch whatever you wish to burn to the glowing orange heating element inside the cylinder. The removable piece is what gets hot, not the plug. This is also where you plug in things like car chargers or Sam's iPod jack.

A recessed instrument cluster sits behind the wheel. The panel consists of three main displays with the left and right sides each having two smaller displays. From left to right, the three main displays are the fuel gauge, the speedometer, and an analog clock.

The fuel gauge does not default back to "E" when the engine is off and instead may land randomly somewhere on the dial. The speedometer has a listed top speed of 120 and also features the high beam indicator light as well as the mileage. The analog clock is set by pulling out the knob at the bottom of the clock, turning to set the correct time, and pushing the knob back in.

Of the smaller displays, the upper two are the left and right turn signal lights. The bottom left are the brake system warning light and the engine temperature light. The brake warning light lights up red when the parking brake is applied or while the brake pedal is pressed if there is low brake pressure. The engine temperature light comes on if the engine overheats. On the bottom right are the oil pressure light and the generator indicator light. The oil light comes on if the oil pressure is low, and the generator light comes on if there is an issue with the generating system. All four of these lights come on when starting the car, but should quickly go back out.

The air conditioning and vents are where a few more discrepancies between screen-used cars show up. The 1967 Impala came with several different heat and air options: nothing, a heater only, an optional AC unit mounted under the dash, a Four Seasons air conditioning system, or a fancy climate-controlled option.

Baby has the Four Seasons system, but many of the cars used for filming were not. Only the Impalas with the Four Seasons or the climate control came with the center dashboard vent and the circular air vents near the doors. For visual continuity on the show, production added fake vents to non-AC cars. What gives these cars away as being non-AC cars, however, is that these cars have kick panel air vents and two mounted silver knobs that control them. As a Four Seasons car, Baby should not have these vents or knobs but ultimately does on occasion.

The center dash vent is able to be adjusted up and down by the ridged wheels on the sides. The spherical vents are a ball style and can be turned to position them or spun like a globe to change the style of the vent opening (see below). Two leg vents are hidden underneath the dash and can be opened or closed by turning the outlet like a dial. So if Dean wanted cold air blown on his legs but not on his face while Sam wanted cold air on his legs but not his face, both brothers could open or close their own vents.

The vertical switch on the left of the AC control panel controls the fan. Up is low, the middle is medium, and down is high. There is no way to turn it off unless the entire system is off. To turn the entire system off, push the topmost horizontal lever all the way to the left. Turning this lever to "Vent" blows outside air without changing the temperature. Moving to "Cold" blows cold recirculated air, moving further right blows cooled outside air, warmer outside air, and then full heat.

The outlets lever controls airflow to the vents mentioned previously. Moving the lever to "Upper" sends air through the dash vents only, moving to "Lower" sends air to the hidden leg vents only, and setting it in between sends air through both.

To use the defrost to clear up foggy windows, make sure the outlets lever is set to "Lower" or somewhere in the middle then move the bottommost lever towards "De-Ice" until it's blowing as hard as you want. To really crank the defrost or for ice, set the outlets to "Lower" only then blast the fan and push the temperature all the way to "Hot."

Dean's tape deck is an Audiovox Rampage AV 2000 from the 1990s. The '67 Impala came standard with either an AM or AM/FM transistor radio. The AM had a rear adjustable antenna, but the fixed AM/FM antenna was on the front. Looking at Baby, we can gather that it originally had the AM/FM radio. To switch between AM and FM, you would slide the switch at the top of the radio. The push buttons could be used to set favorite stations. Note that Dean's tape deck does not have this feature, so he would have to memorize his favorite stations in certain regions or just search until he finds something.

The original radio was switched out at some point for the Audiovox, either by John or Dean. The knob on the left turns it on and controls the volume, and the knob on the left is tuning. The button on the top left switches between AM/FM, the button on the top right lets you switch between local and longer-distance stations, and the bottom button is both the eject and fast-forward Press in part-way to fast forward and all the way to eject. There is no rewind button. To rewind, flip the tape over, fast forward, then flip it back around.

Fun fact: The shot in 11.04 of Dean putting in the tape is re-used from 5.22, so both “Night Moves” and “Rock of Ages” are on Dean’s Kick It In The Ass mixtape.

Two aftermarket Hertz speakers are mounted in the rear package tray (though a different speaker can be seen in 4.06). Underneath the tray’s black carpet is where Sam and Dean carved their initials as children. The rear footwell is nearly flush with the rear bench, meaning there is no “underneath the backseat”. There is room, however, underneath the front bench for things to get lost. The rear footwell also has a tan rubber floor mat, and the one seen in 11.04 is one single piece rather than two.

Unlike the ones in the front seat, the rear door armrests each have a lidded ashtray. The rear doors each have a door lock button and a main window crank like the front seat doors. There are no air vents in the backseat, so the AC would need to be cranked to reach anyone back there, potentially freezing anyone up front in the process.

Some of the most important things inside of the Impala are the little personal touches it's accumulated over the years. There's the tape deck, of course, but also the initials carved into the package tray, the Lego bricks in the air vent, and Sam's plastic rifleman wedged in the ashtray. These elements are first seen in 5.22 where Chuck mentions that Dean puts them back every time he's had to rebuild the Impala. Seeing the army man through the window in 5.22 is also what allows Sam to take control of his body back from Lucifer, so both brothers are well aware that Baby's supposed "defects" actually make her even better.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gold Dust

Pairing: Modern Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Public use of an app based sex toy, smut. Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: Aemond's office Christmas party is the last thing either of them want to attend, however, he comes up with an idea to make it fun for both of them.

Author's note: Can be read as an addition of this series, but also works as a standalone. Day seven of the Smuffmas prompts - "sharing a drink and toys". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Aemond edit in first picture is by @kyloremus.

It’s been six blissful months since her and Aemond moved in together. Having decided his own lofty high rise flat no longer felt like home - in truth, it never had - he’d offered a swap with Mysaria, and she’d leapt at the offer.

Aemond’s flat was paid for outright, so there’d be no expenses incurred on her part, beyond standard bills and utilities. She suited the space, adding a touch of glamour to the modern matte black and chrome surroundings. Her jaw had dropped when he’d handed her the deeds, his grandfather’s law firm already having handled the necessary paperwork and transfer of ownership. Aemond didn’t want rent, he simply wanted to live with the woman he loved. The simple act of Mysaria giving them a space to be by themselves was payment enough in his mind.

The security of the smaller, more homely feeling flat which she now shared with him had been trickier to negotiate. The landlord had snubbed Aemond’s initial offer to buy it from him, insisting he’d make more in rental payments from it than he would if he sold it. Some moderate pressure applied by the legal team of Otto Hightower, and an offer well above its current market value had soon seen to that, so now they were homeowners of a place that was theirs.

Mysaria’s old room had been turned into a home office, a space where either her or Aemond could work from home if and when they wanted to, aside from that they had made no further changes. The cosy little space was where they had shared their fondest memories, and every aspect of their relationship was woven into it.

She shrugs off her coat, hanging it up by the front door, and sighs in relief as the warmth of the central heating prickles her skin. She stoops to ruffle Vhagar behind the ears, a reward for the elderly doberman having reluctantly left her bed to greet her, before walking through to the living room. The blankets on the sofa are exactly as she’d left them the previous evening, and she eagerly retreats back into her nest, snatching up the TV remote from the coffee table.

“Good day?” Aemond asks, propping himself against the door frame as he emerges from the home office, the faintest smirk of amusement playing upon his lips as he looks at her.

She regards him with a warm smile, her features softening instantly despite how tired and irritated she feels. “Horrid, thanks for asking. Do we have any wine left?”

“There’ll be wine at the party, I expect,” he says, moving to sit next to her and brushing a chaste kiss against her temple.

“What?”

He narrows his eye at her, drawing back to look at her carefully. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

She groans as realisation dawns upon her. “Shit, your office Christmas party. Do we really have to go?”

He sighs, nodding and interlocks his fingers with hers. “Ordinarily, I’d give it a miss, you know I loathe parties, but my grandfather has called in more than a few favours for me this year. I owe him this.”

An hour later, and she steps out of the bedroom, hair and make-up finished and a slinky silk dress hugging her curves.

“Beautful,” Aemond breathes quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

She smiles bashfully, feeling her skin heat up beneath the weight of his compliment as he pulls away, and watches with curiosity as he moves past her to rummage around on the top shelf of their wardrobe.

“What are you doing?”

“Your outfit’s missing something,” he tells her, pulling down the Lovehoney box, a glint in his eye as he turns to her.

“Aemond, no!”

The app controlled egg vibrator had been a drunken purchase on her behalf, that she’d regretted the moment it had arrived. Upon discovering it, Aemond’s reaction had been much more enthusiastic, kneeling between her spread legs and watching in fascination as she’d whimpered and writhed as he’d played with the settings using the app on his phone.

It had been fun at the time, but she’d considered it impractical and tucked it away, hoping he’d forgotten about it. It’s clear now that he hasn’t.

“Oh come now, darling, it’ll make the evening much more fun for both of us. Consider it an early Christmas gift to me.”

It doesn’t take much persuading, and soon she is sitting in the back of a black cab next to him, her coat pulled tight around her against the chilly December air, made colder still by a distinct lack of knickers, which Aemond had insisted she leave behind.

She is acutely aware of the feeling of the egg enveloped snugly inside of her, its presence, though discreet, making her feel as though she brandishes a scarlet letter that their taxi driver must be aware of.

“No!” She mouths desperately at Aemond as he pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the app.

He flashes her the briefest of grins, tapping once on the screen. A mild singular buzz reverberates through her, causing her to clasp a hand over her mouth to muffle her squeal. Aemond eyes her carefully, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue before pocketing his phone once more.

Tonight was going to be interesting.

They step into the office, already bustling with people, chatter and light classical music fill the opulent space which is decked out in rich, mahogany furnishings and forest green upholstery, ever the indication that the Hightowers come from old money.

“There they are!” Aegon greets them loudly with a grin, arms spread and half drunk flutes of champagne clutched by the stem between each of his fingers. His shoulder length blonde hair is tousled, and his white shirt is open by three buttons.

“How long have you been here?” She asks, taking in his bedraggled appearance.

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” he slurs around a mouthful of vol-au-vent.

Otto steps up behind him, placing a ring clad hand upon his shoulder. “I tell you where you might like it, Aegon, on the terrace; outside.”

She watches with amusement as the older man leads him away.

“I’d better give him a hand,” Aemond mutters quietly, the warmth of his palm leaving her lower back as he moves to follow. He nods towards his older sister. “Good to see you, Hel.”

She smiles warmly at Hel leaning in as the two peck each other’s cheeks. “How are you doing?” She asks fondly.

“Starving!” Helaena complains, pulling her sheer turquoise wrap tighter around herself and waving away a tray of canapés that’s being offered around by a member of serving staff. “Not a single vegan option here, everything’s either got salmon in it or is slathered in cream cheese.”

“You could always sneak off to grab something?” She offers sympathetically.

“Aeg said there’s a kebab shop over the road. I might see if he’ll grab me a falafel wrap later. Anyway,” she continues, snatching up two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to her. “How are you?!”

“Yeah, really good!” She grins. “Aemond mentioned we might fly to New York for New Year’s, go and see Daeron. I’ve not met him yet and I– oh!”

She bows her head, biting back the quiet moan that tries to escape her, as the egg inside her vibrates incessantly. Her head snaps up, making eye contact with Aemond, who stands in a corner with his phone out, a sly smile upon his face.

Bastard.

“You alright?” Helaena asks, eyebrows pinched together in concern.

“Mhm…just...champagne bubbles…they go right up my nose!” She feigns a laugh, embarrassment making her skin feel hot.

Ever the dutiful girlfriend, she does her rounds of the office, speaking to colleagues and family members alike, though every interaction is thwarted by sudden and persistent vibrations between her legs.

After an hour of polite chit chat with Alicent, Criston, Otto and several other party guests, she leans back against the wall next to Aemond’s office door, needing a breather from socialising, but also feeling lightheaded from the intermittent throbbing in her core.

The door swings slowly open and Aemond steps out, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand.

“Having fun?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” she narrows her eyes, “you clearly are. What’s that you’ve got?”

“Laphroaig,” he tells her, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Thirty six year old The Wall Peat, to be precise. Grandfather would never offer this around to the guests. Lucky for me I know he keeps it stashed in his bottom desk drawer.”

“Lucky indeed,” she purrs up at him.

He grabs her hand, pulling her into his office and closes the door behind them, before backing her up against the desk, until she perches on the edge.

“Let me see,” he whispers, pushing her dress up above her hips.

His free hand applies gentle pressure to her knee, spreading her legs, and she watches the bob of his throat as he swallows thickly, taking in the sight of the arousal that coats her centre.

“Fuck,” he mutters darkly. “The idea of you walking around making innocent small talk while you’re soaked is driving me mad.”

She giggles, clenching around the egg that’s nestled within her as she sees his gaze darken. Aemond pulls out his phone again, changing the setting to a constant vibrate, before setting it down on the desk behind her.

Mewling helplessly, shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her as Aemond’s thumb swipes against her sodden folds, spreading her open to watch intently.

He takes a sip from his glass, and she gasps as he grabs her forcefully by the hair at the back of her head, crushing her lips against his and letting the whisky pass from his mouth to hers. She moans quietly, the intensity of the burn of the liquid that slips down her throat and the throbbing ache between her legs making her feel dizzy.

She is devastatingly close, can feel the pressure building to boiling point, and she whines, pressing her face into the crook of Aemond’s neck, fingertips rumpling the fabric of his black button down shirt as she grasps his biceps for purchase. “Fuck, Aemond, I–”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you, let go,” he coos.

She bites down on the juncture of his neck to muffle her pleasured cry, earning her a startled grunt from Aemond. Her body spasms around the toy, climaxing with a force that makes her toes curl inside of her high heels, before going limp against his chest.

He settles his glass down and strokes her hair before pulling back. His long, dexterous fingers wrap around the cord of egg, and despite how gentle he is as he tugs it free, she still hisses with overstimulation as it leaves her body. The sudden feeling of emptiness is alien to her after having spent most of the evening with it inside of her.

“Can…can we go home now?” She asks tiredly, as he wraps the toy in tissue and deposits it on the desk.

“Hmmm, not just yet,” Aemond tells her, taking her hand and guiding it to palm over the erection that strains against the confines of his suit trousers. “I’m not quite finished with you yet.”

Chapter five || Series masterlist

[milkmejae]

Heartstring 1998─ p.sh, n.rk

sypnosis: in 1998, a misdirected confession letter meant for your long time crush, Riki, lands in the hands of his best friend, Sunghoon. turning your life into a relentless game of servitude, but just as everyone realizes their feelings, maybe it's already too late. genre: romance, angst, fluff, comedy (?) pairing: classmate!p.sh x female!reader x crush!n.rk word count: 10.1k warnings: mentions of death, medical themes, distressing content, angst, dubious dynamics, bullying

playlist: kiss kiss - mgk, - tiger la flor, super8 - tiger la flor, genius - ravyn lenae, paranormal - enhypen, mr. loverman - ricky montgomery, heartbreak girl - 5sos, ghost of you - 5sos, lasso the moon - tiger la flor

a/n: this fic is from last year, i originally decided to discontinue this since i don't really like it, but i changed my mind so... yeah, i hope y'all like this <3 not proofread

Senior Year, 1998

For most kids, high school was about prom, last-minute cramming, and hoping their moms didn’t accidentally wash their favorite Nirvana shirt with the whites. For you, it was about making it to graduation before your heart gave out.

You never thought your senior year would be defined by cardiac failure and romantic failure in equal measure, but here you were.

Dilated cardiomyopathy. That was the term. It meant your heart was working overtime just to do the basics, pumping blood, keeping you alive, making sure you didn’t pass out from climbing a single flight of stairs. It wasn’t ideal. Yeah, it sucks.

Neither was the fact that you were still pathetically single.

Sure, you had an excuse. Being terminally exhausted wasn’t exactly attractive. But was it too much to ask to experience at least one romantic moment before you kicked the bucket?

But you had dreams.

Dreams like not dying single.

And that’s where Riki came in.

Oh Riki, your Riki.

An angel sent from above, the one that makes your heart hurt, both in a good and bad way. You didn't even know why and how you caught feelings. It was just sudden and it’s not even funny—if angels wore Chrome Hearts, had a mean three-pointer, and called you dude way too much for your fragile, lovesick heart to handle. He once told you his goal in life was to be “dripped out even in the afterlife,” which honestly? Respect.

Riki was the kind of guy who made high school bearable. He was your first and longest crush, the reason you sometimes bothered showing up to class despite your heart doing the absolute most just to keep you conscious. He had this stupidly perfect laugh, an attitude that danced between cocky and charming, and a way of making everything seem fun. A normal person might have confessed ages ago, but you? You waited until you were on the verge of death to take action.

He was the reason you dragged yourself to class even when your heart was acting like a dial-up modem on a stormy night. The reason, you, a known mediocre, somehow maintained perfect attendance in exactly one class: Physics. Not because you cared about Newton’s laws, but because Riki sat next to you, smelled like expensive cologne and teenage recklessness, and occasionally let you borrow his hoodie when you looked cold and pale which was often, because obviously you're dying. It’s like he’s the gravity, pulling you towards him.

And oh, he was everything you weren’t. Tall, athletic, and effortlessly cool, he had this laugh, the kind that made your stomach do backflips and your heart forget it was terminal. He was one of those guys who made high school look easy, a movie protagonist who actually liked being here. While you were just trying not to die in the middle of AP Literature, Riki was out there making everything look like an MTV music video.

Confessing your feelings should’ve been simple.

People did it all the time. Girls slipped notes into lockers, guys made mixtapes with carefully chosen love songs, couples slow danced at prom under the cheesy glow of twinkling fairy lights. It wasn’t hard.

So why did it feel like you were about to commit a crime? Maybe because you were.

The crime of embarrassing yourself beyond repair.

You stood at the edge of the school courtyard, gripping the folded confession letter like it was your last will and testament. This was it. This was the moment you’d tell the guy how you felt after years of—

Oh.

Oh, no.

He wasn’t alone.

He was sprawled out on one of the stone benches, his signature skateboard lying next to him, chatting with a few guys from his friend group. His stupid friend group.

The school’s unofficial boyband without the instruments, except Jay sometimes carried his Taylor 114CE around for no reason. A group so effortlessly cool that it made even normal social interactions feel nerve-wracking, let alone whatever the hell you were about to do. You despise that.

Panic settled deep in your chest.

You had imagined this moment a million times. But not once had you imagined doing it with an audience.

You tried to gather your courage. Maybe they won’t even notice me. Maybe you could just walk up, say what you needed to say, and leave before anyone processed what was happening.

It was a good thought.

A comforting thought.

And then—

Someone cracked a joke, and all of them burst into laughter. The kind of laughter that made you feel like an intruder just for standing there.

You were kidding yourself. This wasn’t some cute, romcom-worthy confession. You weren’t that kind of girl, and this wasn’t that kind of story.

This was real life.

And in real life?

You had no business walking into that circle, let alone confess to one of them. Your feet were already moving before your brain caught up.

One second, you were standing there, gripping your letter for dear life. The next, you were walking—no, speed-walking—straight past them, making a very dramatic beeline for anywhere but here.

And in your rush to flee the scene of the crime you never committed, you didn’t notice.

The letter slipping from your fingers.

──────────────────

The man had been having an okay day.

Which, by his standards, meant a tolerable day.

He had survived calculus without wanting to throw himself into traffic, avoided being dragged into yet another unnecessary argument between Jay and Jake (about whether or not socks with sandals were ever acceptable), and had, so far, successfully avoided unnecessary social interaction.

So when he caught a glimpse of a crumpled piece of paper tumbling across the pavement, he almost ignored it.

Almost.

But then he saw something that made him pause.

A number.

Or, more specifically—

A beeper number.

He sighed, bending down to pick it up. It was a letter.

He unfolded it, gaze flicking over the words then he stopped.

Because this wasn’t just some random note.

This was a confession letter.

A very specific, very earnest confession letter.

“To Riki,

He exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze flicking up just in time to see you—the girl from his class who always looked like she was one bad day away from dropping out—power-walking away like you had just committed arson.

I like you. A lot. Probably more than I should. Just thought you should know. If, by some miracle, you feel the same, page me. [xxxx-xxxx]. If not, let’s pretend this never happened.”

The guy sighed again, tucking the letter into his pocket. This was not his problem.

And yet.

He glanced at the beeper number.

Then back at you, now just a fast-disappearing blur in the distance.

He didn’t know why he did it but he did it anyways.

You didn’t realize your letter was missing. Not until you got home, tore your bag apart, and found nothing. And that was when you started panicking. No, that wasn’t just any letter. That was the letter.

The one where you had detailed in embarrassingly specific language, how much you fancy Riki. How you thought he was funny and talented, how his laugh made your heart do that weird fluttery thing, how your heart would ache for him (which may or may not have been an actual symptom of your condition, but whatever).

BEEP.

Fuck.

Please no.

Somewhere, wherever you had ended up, your beeper went off.

You wanted to die.

Where was it? Who had it? Did Riki have it?

And when you checked the message, all it said was:

"You dropped something. Meet me, back of building 2 tomorrow."

Oh, fuck me.

──────────────────

You weren’t easily rattled. Life had already handed you an unfair deck of cards—one defective heart, one painfully obvious crush, and one misdirected confession that now haunted your every waking moment—so at this point, you thought you had developed a decent threshold for embarrassment. You had learned how to roll with things. Keep your head down. Survive.

But there was something about the way Park Sunghoon was staring at you that made you want to combust.

It started the moment you stepped into the classroom that morning. The feeling crept up your spine, that unmistakable sense of being watched, and when you finally stole a glance, you found Sunghoon already looking at you, his posture relaxed, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend to look away like a normal person who had just been caught staring. No. Instead, he held your gaze, cold and steady, as if he were analyzing something, measuring something before deciding it wasn’t worth reacting to.

You immediately turned away, heart thumping in your chest, pulse stuttering slightly in a way that may or may not have been a symptom of your condition. Fine. Whatever. Maybe he had just been spacing out. Maybe this was nothing. You weren’t about to let Sunghoon of all people ruin your day.

But then, the minutes crawled by.

And he didn’t stop.

At first, you tried to ignore it. Sunghoon wasn’t actively bothering you, right? He wasn’t whispering your name, wasn’t nudging your shoulder, wasn’t throwing notes onto your desk like some annoying childhood crush. He was just… watching.

And yet, somehow, that was worse.

Because Sunghoon had the kind of presence that demanded to be acknowledged. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, far from it. He didn’t need to be. His silence carried weight, his indifference practically tangible, like he existed just slightly out of sync with everyone else. So when someone like that stared at you, it meant something.

The worst part?

You couldn’t even tell what that something was.

You spent most of the class pointedly looking at anything but him, your notebook, the clock, the water stains on the ceiling—each second stretching into eternity as his gaze bore into the side of your head. Maybe if you ignored him long enough, he’d get bored. Maybe if you pretended this wasn’t happening, it would stop.

But it didn’t.

Not when the teacher droned on about quadratic equations. Not when students shuffled papers and tapped their pencils in absentminded rhythms. Not when the morning sunlight filtered through the windows, spilling across desks and highlighting the faint scratch of chalk on the blackboard.

Through it all, he didn’t move.

He remained effortlessly composed, his elbow propped against the desk, fingers loosely curled near his chin, eyes never once leaving your form. He wasn’t even pretending to focus on class. It was almost insulting how casual he was about it, like you were some mildly interesting puzzle he had no real intention of solving.

By the time the final bell rang, you had reached your limit. You shoved your books into your bag, gripping the straps a little too tightly as you all but launched yourself from your seat. You needed to get out of there before your brain short-circuited completely.

But Sunghoon?

He still didn’t say a word.

Didn’t move.

Just let his gaze follow you all the way to the door, like this wasn’t over yet.

And maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t.

You should’ve gone straight home. That would have been the rational thing to do. But your beeper still sat heavy in your pocket, the message from last night burning in the back of your mind.

"You dropped something. Meet me, back at Building 2 tomorrow."

The moment you had seen those words flash across the tiny screen, your stomach had dropped. You had torn your bag apart, desperate to find anything that could’ve been misplaced, but it wasn’t until way later that it hit you.

The letter.

The one you had written for Riki. The one you had spent actual time on, pouring out feelings you never thought you’d have the courage to say out loud. The letter that had, in the most unfortunate turn of events, never even made it to him.

Instead, it had landed in the hands of someone else.

And now, you were going to find out who.

With each step, your heartbeat picked up your pace slow but deliberate as you cut across campus, sneakers scuffing against the pavement. The late afternoon air was thick, the distant sounds of students laughing and packing up for the day fading behind you as you rounded the corner of Building 2.

And then,

You stopped.

Because standing there, leaning against the wall like he had been waiting all along, was Park Sunghoon.

Your stomach sank.

For a split second, you tried to rationalize it. Maybe he just hangs out here. Maybe this is a coincidence. But then—

Sunghoon reached into his pocket.

And pulled out your letter.

He flicked it between his fingers, gaze steady, unreadable, completely indifferent, except for the slight tilt of his head, like he was considering something. The afternoon light cut sharp shadows across his features, making his already blank expression even more unreadable. He looked calm. Collected. Bored, even.

Like this entire situation barely even registered as interesting.

You, on the other hand, were short-circuiting.

Your pulse hammered against your ribs, not from exertion but from sheer mortification. Because this was so much worse than Riki finding it.

This was Sunghoon.

And Sunghoon?

He had no reason to be holding that letter.

He shouldn’t have cared. He shouldn’t have picked it up. He shouldn’t have read it.

But he had.

And now, standing there, twirling it between his fingers like it was nothing, he finally spoke.

"Looking for this?"

His voice was light. Almost amused.

You could only stare.

You didn’t have time to be embarrassed. Didn’t have the luxury of panicking, of stammering out some half-baked excuse and sprinting in the opposite direction like a complete coward. No, you had to deal with this. Immediately. Swiftly. Before making your life a waking nightmare.

So, you did what any rational person would do.

You square your shoulders, inhaled sharply, and cut straight to the point.

"What do you want?" you demanded, arms crossed, words sharp enough to slice through the thick tension hanging between you.

You should have been prepared for the absurdity. You really should’ve. But after everything that had gone down in the past twenty-four hours, the beeper message, the letter fiasco, the absolutely humiliating confession, you had already reached your limit of surreal, embarrassing moments. You had told yourself, no more surprises.

But then came Sunghoon, with his deadpan expression, leaning against the wall like the entire world was a joke, and the punchline was you. And when he said it, when he casually tossed out the words, "Be my school dog," it felt like the universe had finally decided it was done messing with you and had moved on to full-scale mockery.

You just blinked at him.

"What?" you asked, voice hoarse, as though you needed to clear the fog in your brain before you processed the sheer absurdity of his demand. "Are you serious?"

Sunghoon didn’t flinch, didn’t even shift his posture. He stood there like the picture of aloofness, arms crossed, lips slightly tilted in the barest semblance of a smirk, eyes unwavering. He looked like he was having the most normal conversation of his life, while you were actively dying inside.

"Relax," he repeated, his voice dripping with nonchalance as if this was an everyday occurrence. "It’s really not that complicated."

Oh, it wasn’t complicated?

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to march right up to him, slap that stupid smirk off his face, and demand that he take it back, but you were at the mercy of his overwhelming indifference, the kind of indifference that breathed confidence into his words. No sweat. No hesitation. Nothing but cold calculation in the way he leaned there, as if his proposition were the most casual thing in the world.

"What does that even mean?" You couldn’t help but ask, your voice thick with a mix of disbelief and frustration. "Am I supposed to fetch your textbooks? Your coffee? Should I start doing your homework too? Or maybe you want me to do what? sit at your feet while you nap?"

You knew you were being ridiculous, but it was hard to hold it together when this was the price you had to pay for your own heartfelt (and now totally ruined) confession.

Sunghoon’s lips quirked into an almost imperceptible smile, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes but was still full of something, something that made your skin crawl. "Something like that," he said, his voice smooth and utterly calm, like he was the one in control of the situation, like you didn’t have a say in this at all. "I mean, think about it. You’re already here, asking me what you can do for me. You’re not exactly in a position to make demands."

You froze.

This was it. This was where he trapped you, where the ridiculousness of it all became so real you couldn’t deny it anymore. You wanted to fight back, to argue, to find some way to get out of it, but the reality was clear: If you didn’t play along with this, if you didn’t accept this weird, humiliating deal, he would ruin you.

He would ruin the last shred of your dignity, and you knew it.

So, you swallowed your pride. Your heart felt like it was going to stop, a painful flutter settling in your chest as you stared at him. "And if I refuse?" you asked, knowing the answer before he even gave it.

Sunghoon didn’t need to think about it. He didn’t even look surprised. "Then Riki gets the letter," he said simply. "and you can’t be mad at me for it. You dropped it. You gave it to me. That’s your choice."

It was the coldest, most efficient power move you had ever experienced. And in that moment, it hit you—he had already won.

He didn’t need to ask for much. All he wanted was control, and you were about to hand it to him on a silver platter.

You sighed. There was no escaping it now. You had no choice. You didn’t want to be here, bargaining your way through this twisted mess, but Sunghoon’s eyes were so deadpan, so assured, that you couldn’t summon the strength to push back anymore.

"Fine," you muttered, feeling your skin burn with the embarrassment of it all. "I'll do whatever you want. Just please don’t tell anyone about the letter." You want to tell your feelings to Riki personally.

Sunghoon’s smirk grew wider, like he had expected you to cave all along. He pushed himself off the wall and took a slow step forward, narrowing the space between you two.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. You had no idea what was coming. He lowered his voice as if it were some sort of weird consolation prize. "I’ll let you eat lunch with me, at least."

You wanted to disappear, to evaporate, to never show your face in this school again. But the look in Sunghoon’s eyes told you that wasn’t an option. This was real. This was happening. And you?

You were officially Park Sunghoon’s school dog.

──────────────────

By now, you had accepted your fate. It had been months since you sold your soul, no, your dignity to Park Sunghoon in exchange for him keeping quiet about The letter. Months of being yanked around like some poor, lost soul who had wandered into a contractual nightmare with no exit clause.

You weren’t sure which part was worse: the daily humiliation, the psychological warfare, or the fact that you were getting used to it.

Sunghoon hadn’t wasted a single second of his power over you. From the moment you agreed to be his so-called school dog, he had ensured that your life became one long, never-ending exercise in absolute servitude.

And the worst part? No one even questioned it anymore. It had gone on for so long that people just… accepted it.

Your descent into scholarly servitude had begun subtly. Small things, little requests that felt more like casual favors than public degradation.

"Hold my bag."

"Get me water."

"Wake me up if I fall asleep in class."

Easy. Manageable.

You could do those things without completely hating yourself. But then it escalated.

Suddenly, you were running across campus to buy him snacks during break, you were saving a seat for him in the cafeteria like some pitiful placeholder, he was flicking your forehead when you weren’t quick enough with his demands, like you were some personal assistant from hell.

You tried to push back at first. You really did. But Sunghoon had a way of making you comply, without even trying that hard.

"You could just quit," he’d say with a careless shrug, tossing your own words back at you. "But if you do, I guess Riki might finally find out about that letter. I’m sure he’d find it... interesting."

Checkmate. Again.

And so, you stayed. You obeyed. You suffered. It got so bad that even the teachers stopped questioning why you were always lingering near Sunghoon like some overworked intern.

"Oh, are you running another errand for Sunghoon?" one of them had asked once, completely unbothered.

"Good teamwork!" GOOD TEAMWORK? This was not a team. This was indentured servitude.

It had been months, and the horrors you had endured were starting to take permanent residence in your psyche. There was no low too low.

No request is too ridiculous. You had been sent to retrieve his lost pencil case from the third-floor library (which he could have easily done himself). You had been forced to lend him your notebook for three consecutive weeks because he couldn’t be bothered to take his own notes.

You had once… once been made to stand in line for 45 minutes just to buy him a stupid limited-edition drink from the vending machine because he didn’t feel like waiting. And, in what might have been the most humiliating moment of all, you had been coerced into tying his shoelaces in the middle of the hallway.

Right in front of everyone. It had happened so fast you hadn’t even processed it. One second, you were walking side by side (well, more like you were dragging your feet behind him like a loyal hound), and the next, he had come to a stop, looking down at his undone laces with the slowest, most deliberate sigh of all time.

And then—he had looked at you. No words. Just a look. You had known exactly what he wanted. But you had still dared to hope.

"No," you had whispered, a desperate plea for mercy. Sunghoon had simply raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

And that was how you had found yourself squatting on the floor, tying the laces of Park Sunghoon’s expensive sneakers like some medieval servant in an empire that thrived off unpaid labor. Sunoo had walked past and actually choked on his drink.

Jungwon had muttered something about "power dynamics" under his breath. Jay had snapped a photo and laughed until he fell onto a bench. And Sunghoon?

Sunghoon had stood there, hands in his pockets, watching your soul leave your body, before saying in the driest tone possible: "Good job. You missed a loop, though."

You could have murdered him.

At some point, you stopped actively resisting. It wasn’t acceptance. It wasn't a resignation. It was just... easier to do what Sunghoon wanted than to fight it. You still complained.

You still insulted him under your breath whenever he wasn’t looking. But you did the tasks. You showed up when he called (because he always called). You got his things without arguing (because arguing never worked).

You were losing yourself. And what was worse? Sunghoon knew.

He knew.

Because these days, he doesn't even have to say anything. He’d just look at you. A small, expectant tilt of the head. A faint lift of his eyebrows. Maybe a little smirk if he was feeling particularly cruel. And you’d immediately know what he wanted. There was no escape. There was no winning against Park Sunghoon.

You were his school dog.

And he was never letting you go.

──────────────────

It started like any other day. Another miserable, exhausting, Sunghoon-infested day where you were being dragged around like a personal errand runner with no salary, no benefits, and no escape clause.

You had long since abandoned the idea of rebellion—fighting back never worked, ignoring him never worked, and outright running away just resulted in more work. At this point, it was muscle memory. Sunghoon beckoned, and like a well-trained idiot, you responded.

And, as always, you obeyed, because what other choice did you have? You were trapped in this unwritten contract, and until he got bored (which, knowing Sunghoon, was never), you were stuck. Today’s mission was simple—carry his books. Because, apparently, carrying his own books was beneath him.

God, if only you weren't that down bad to Riki.

You weren’t sure when you had fully transitioned from human being to glorified pack mule, but here you were, arms full, dragging your feet behind him as he strolled through the hallways like some entitled monarch surveying his kingdom.

"You know, you could carry at least one of these yourself," you muttered, shifting the weight of the books so they wouldn’t snap your spine in half. Sunghoon barely spared you a glance. "I could." There was a pause before he added, almost lazily, "But I won’t." You wanted to throw one of the books at his head.

The hallways were suffocating, the walls pressing in on you with their peeling paint and the distant hum of old fluorescent lights. You could hear students laughing somewhere nearby, the sound muffled under the pounding in your skull.

You weren’t sure if it was from frustration or actual physical strain, but each step felt heavier than the last. Your breath came shorter, your limbs tingling with that annoying, familiar numbness you had long since learned to ignore.

By the time you reached the courtyard, the sun was brutal, the heat pressing down on your already exhausted body like a physical weight. Your chest felt tight, your breath uneven, and your vision had started getting that weird blurry quality, like everything was just slightly out of focus. You were used to pushing through it, used to ignoring the warning signs, but today—it felt worse. Heavier. Like something was seriously off.

"Hurry up," Sunghoon drawled, glancing back when he noticed you lagging. "At this rate, we’ll be here all day." You wanted to snap at him, tell him to shut up, to carry his own damn books for once, but the words got caught somewhere in your throat. Your head was pounding. Your breathing was shallow. And then—

A warm trickle ran down your upper lip.

You lifted a hand to your face, confused, dazed—and when you pulled it away, your fingers were stained red.

Oh. Shit.

For a moment, everything slowed down. Your brain struggled to catch up, to make sense of it—because, sure, nosebleeds weren’t uncommon. You’d had them before. But this one felt... different. It wasn’t just a few drops—it was flowing, fast and unrelenting, staining your uniform, dripping onto the pavement. The alarm in your chest flickered into panic.

Sunghoon’s voice cut through the haze, sharp but still laced with boredom. "What are you doing? Keep moving—" But when you didn’t respond, when you didn’t immediately snap back at him with some sarcastic remark, he actually turned to look at you.

His entire expression shifted.

His smirk dropped, his usual detached amusement flickering into something sharper, more focused. He stared, his gaze flicking between your face, your hand, the growing stain on your sleeve. "What the—"

Your body swayed.

The heat, the exhaustion, the struggle to breathe, it all crashed over you at once. The books in your arms slipped from your grasp, the sound of them hitting the pavement barely registering in your ears. The world around you tilted, the sun overhead blurring into streaks of white, the ground rising to meet you in a slow, dizzying spiral.

Sunghoon’s voice, usually so calm, so infuriatingly composed, suddenly wasn’t.

"Hey—"

But you didn’t hear the rest.

Because by then,

Everything had gone black.

──────────────────

The first thing you registered was the beeping.

Slow, steady, rhythmic. A sound that felt both familiar and foreign, like something from a dream you couldn’t quite place. It was a gentle, persistent pulse in the distance, matching the sluggish, heavy thrum of your own heart—a reminder that, against all odds, you were still here.

Then came the sensation of weightlessness, a strange, floating feeling in your limbs that told you there was an IV in your arm, delivering whatever miracle fluids were keeping you tethered to consciousness. The air smelled clean, too clean, that sterile hospital scent that made your stomach churn with something uneasy.

The sheets beneath your fingers were stiff, scratchy, tucked too tightly around your legs, the kind of impersonal discomfort that made everything feel foreign. And when you finally managed to peel your eyes open, the world revealed itself in harsh, clinical lighting, white walls, white sheets, white curtains, the kind of blinding brightness that made everything feel too real.

You were in a hospital.

And, judging by the disapproving expression on the doctor standing beside your bed, this wasn’t just a precautionary visit.

The weight of it settled on your chest before she even spoke.

"You gave us quite the scare," the doctor started, her voice calm but carrying that particular tone that meant she was about to tell you something you didn’t want to hear. "Your friend said you just collapsed out of nowhere. A nosebleed first, then loss of consciousness. Does that happen often?"

You swallowed, your throat dry, like you had swallowed sandpaper instead of oxygen. You didn’t answer right away, because what were you supposed to say? That you had been ignoring every warning sign your body had been throwing at you? That the fatigue, the dizzy spells, the sudden shortness of breath had all become so normal that you just… stopped paying attention?

You could lie. You could wave it off, pretend it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, was it? It was everything.

"I’m fine," you muttered instead, voice hoarse. "It was just the heat."

The doctor didn’t look amused.

"It wasn’t just the heat," she corrected. "It’s your heart."

There it was.

That single, unrelenting truth that you had spent so much time pretending didn’t exist.

You could feel your pulse in your ears, too slow, too uneven, like it was struggling to keep up. Dilated cardiomyopathy. A fancy way of saying your heart was weak, failing, not doing its job. And right now, that heart was betraying you, beating with the fragility of a thing that wasn’t meant to last.

The doctor sighed, softer this time. "Your condition is worsening."

Again, there it was.

The words hung in the air, settling over you like a weight too heavy to shake off. You had known, deep down, that things had been getting worse. You had felt it in the exhaustion that never quite went away, the way your body lagged behind your will, the increasing difficulty in simply existing.

But hearing it out loud made it real in a way that knocked the breath from your lungs.

"We’re going to run more tests," the doctor continued, her voice gentler now, like she was trying to ease you into something inevitable. "But you need to start taking this seriously. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this. If you do..." She hesitated, and that hesitation was the most terrifying thing of all.

"If I do?" you prompted, though you already knew the answer.

The doctor exhaled. "If you do, your heart might not be able to handle it."

Again.

The quiet, clinical, devastating way she was telling you what you had been trying to outrun all this time.

If you kept pushing, if you kept acting like you were fine, if you didn’t start taking this seriously—

You wouldn’t make it.

The room was too quiet. The only sound was the slow, mechanical beeping of the heart monitor, filling the space with its eerie, measured certainty. Each beep felt like a countdown, a cruel reminder that time was moving forward whether you wanted it to or not.

You turned your head, staring at the ceiling, feeling the slow, methodical rhythm of your own heartbeat. It felt wrong. Weak. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like it belonged to someone else, someone who had always been meant to break.

You thought about school. About walking through the halls, about Sunghoon ordering you around, about the months you had spent running yourself into the ground for things that, in the end, didn’t even matter. You thought about Riki, about that stupid letter, about how ridiculous it was that all of this started because you just didn’t want to die single.

But as your thoughts spiraled, as your mind traced back over every little moment, every order you had obeyed, every ridiculous task you had completed without hesitation, a quiet, terrifying realization settled in your chest.

You hadn’t just been doing it to keep Sunghoon from telling Riki.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere between the eye rolls and the reluctant errands, between the lazy smirks and the stupid tasks, between the way he always knew when you were tired and the way his gaze lingered just a little too long.

You had started doing it for him.

Because somewhere along the way, you had started falling for him.

And now, lying in this too-white, too-quiet hospital room, with the reality of your own failing body settling over you like a suffocating weight, you felt something that had nothing to do with your heart condition.

You felt scared.

Not just of dying, but of leaving before you could figure out what this feeling even meant.

Before you could figure out what he meant to you.

Before you could figure out what you meant to him.

Because if you meant anything at all…

Wouldn’t he be here?

Wouldn't he have stayed?

The thought made your throat tighten, your fingers curling into the stiff sheets beneath you.

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was easier if nothing changed.

Because if Sunghoon knew, if he found out just how much he had started to matter.

You weren’t sure if your heart could handle it.

And this time, that wasn’t just a metaphor.

──────────────────

Sunghoon noticed the silence first.

It wasn’t obvious at first glance, the hallways were still loud, the students still restless, the usual chaos of high school life carrying on like always. But something was off. Something that made his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

You weren’t there.

It should’ve been relief. You being gone should’ve meant peace and quiet, a break from having to summon you with a lazy flick of his fingers, a break from your sighs and sarcastic quips whenever he told you to do something. A break from your presence, that sharp, undeniable force that had somehow embedded itself into his life before he could even stop it.

But it wasn’t relief.

It was just wrong.

Sunghoon sat in his usual seat, elbow propped on his desk, fingers tapping against the smooth surface in slow, restless beats. He wasn’t the type to notice small things. He didn’t care when people switched seats, didn’t pay attention when someone got a new haircut, didn’t really bother keeping track of who was absent or present.

But you?

He noticed everything about you.

And now, all he could notice was that you were gone.

The silence in the classroom seemed to stretch out, growing heavier as he sat there, barely hearing the teacher’s voice. He kept looking toward the door, half-expecting you to walk through it, your usual nonchalant self, but you never did.

And every minute you were gone felt like an eternity.

Sunghoon wasn’t an idiot. He knew how people saw him as cold, detached, and impossible to read. And he let them believe it, because that was easier. It was easier to pretend nothing mattered than to admit that some things did.

And you?

You had always mattered.

It started long before the letter incident. Long before the school dog nonsense. Long before he even had a reason to interact with you. It had started in small moments, in fleeting glances, in the way his eyes always seemed to find you without meaning to.

He had watched you from a distance.

Always.

Not in a weird way, not in a way that would make anyone think too hard about it—but in a way that stuck. You had a presence that was impossible to ignore, no matter how hard he tried. You weren’t loud, you weren’t dramatic, you weren’t someone who demanded attention.

And yet.

Somehow, you had his.

You had it when you sat in class, twirling your pencil between your fingers, staring out the window like you were anywhere but here. You had it when you walked through the halls, always a little aloof, always just a little removed, like there was some part of you that wasn’t fully tethered to this place.

You had it before you even knew you had it.

And then, the letter.

The stupid, poorly timed, completely accidental letter.

Sunghoon still didn’t know what possessed him to pick it up that day. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just the excuse he had been waiting for.

Because the moment he held that letter, the moment he saw your handwriting, your words, your stupid beeper number he knew he was never going to give it back.

Not to Riki.

Not to anyone.

And instead of letting it go, instead of forgetting about it like he should have.

He used it.

He made up some ridiculous excuse, a power play, a way to keep you close.

School dog, my ass.

It had been so stupid. So immature, so unnecessary. But it had worked. It had kept you there. And that was all that mattered.

Because Sunghoon, despite everything, despite how he acted, despite how much he tried to deny it.

He just wanted to be near you.

Now, sitting in class without you, the emptiness in his chest gnawed at him. It wasn’t a sense of relief or peace that he felt—no, it was longing. It was the kind of ache he couldn’t explain, couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he tried to bury it under layers of apathy.

It wasn’t just about the tasks anymore, about the way he made you fetch his books or run his errands. It wasn’t even about the control he thought he had over you, the power he wielded just by making you his school dog. It was something deeper. Something far more unsettling.

He had tried to keep things casual, tried to convince himself that he was just messing with you, just finding a way to pass time, but that was a lie.

A damn lie.

The truth was that he had been watching you from the shadows for so long that when the opportunity to pull you into his orbit had arrived, he had taken it without thinking. He had dragged you into his little game because, in some twisted way, he thought it would make him feel better. But instead, it made him feel like a fraud.

Because every time he made you do something, every time you ran after him like some obedient pet, every time he saw you slumping with exhaustion after hours of doing his bidding, he wasn’t feeling triumphant.

He was feeling guilty.

And now, here he was sitting in a classroom, a half-empty desk across from him, with nothing but regret and desire burning through him like a flame that he couldn’t extinguish.

The guilt was suffocating.

Because he had made you into something you weren’t, something you didn’t deserve to be. He had used the letter as an excuse to get closer to you, to feed into this weird, unhealthy dynamic between the two of you, and now you were probably gone.

Now, you weren’t there to push around anymore.

And the truth? The truth was, Sunghoon didn’t care about the tasks or the commands. He didn’t care about having someone to do his bidding. He cared about you. He cared about your presence in his life, about the way your eyes would roll whenever he made a stupid request, about the way you would sigh and do it anyway, your silent, reluctant obedience making something twist inside him.

Now, without you, everything felt empty.

At lunch, the others noticed. They always did.

"You’re quieter than usual," Jay said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Something up?"

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

Jake nudged him with his foot under the table. "Missing your little school dog?"

The comment was supposed to be a joke. Lighthearted. Something to tease him with, like always.

But it made something in Sunghoon clench.

Because yes.

Yes, he missed you.

But not the way they thought. Not because he didn’t have anyone to carry his books or fetch his drinks.

He missed you because it was you.

Because even when you rolled your eyes, even when you groaned, even when you called him an annoying tyrant under your breath.

You were still there.

And now, you weren’t.

And it was his fault.

Sunghoon stood up abruptly, ignoring the looks the others gave him.

"Where are you going?" Sunoo asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

Because, honestly?

He didn’t know.

All he knew was that he needed a plan to fix this.

The truth was Sunghoon had never wanted a school dog.

He had just wanted you.

──────────────────

The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor beside you. The sterile white walls, the sharp scent of antiseptic, the cold metal of the IV stand—all of it blurred together in the background as you stared at the doctor standing at the foot of your bed.

His expression was careful, the kind of practiced neutrality doctors wore when they were about to deliver news that would change your life.

"We’ve reviewed your latest test results," he began, his voice calm but firm. "And I won’t sugarcoat it, you need a heart transplant. Immediately."

You knew this was coming. You had known for a long time that your condition was getting worse, that the fatigue and dizzy spells weren’t just bad days but signs of something irreversible. Still, hearing it out loud, the finality of it made something inside you cave.

"We’ve already put you on the transplant list," the doctor continued, flipping through your chart. "But," He stopped, hesitating for a moment before looking at you again. "You’re lucky. We found a donor a few days ago. A perfect match."

You blinked. "A donor?"

The words didn’t make sense at first. You had been bracing for months, years even, for an indefinite wait. For the uncertainty. For the possibility that a match wouldn’t come in time. But now, now it was here? Just like that?

"Yes," the doctor said. "The heart is in excellent condition. We’ve already done all the necessary compatibility tests, and if everything goes well, we’ll be scheduling your surgery soon."

Your hands tightened around the thin hospital blanket. There was a strange weight to this news, something you couldn’t quite place. It was relief, yes, but also something else, something heavier.

"Who?" You hesitated, licking your dry lips. "Who was the donor?"

The doctor’s face remained unreadable. "I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information."

Your heart stuttered.

It's just that someone had died a few days ago. Someone young enough, healthy enough, for their heart to be a perfect match for yours. And now it was yours for the taking.

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the strange unease creeping into your chest. This was good news. It was supposed to be good news.

You were recovering. Slowly, but surely. It had taken time, more than you wanted to admit, but you were on the mend. The doctors were hopeful.

You hadn’t been told about the donor. They didn’t tell you much. You didn’t ask too many questions. The only thing that mattered was that you were going to be okay. The rest of it felt like background noise to you.

And so, you recovered. You were still you just a little weaker, a little more fragile than before but you were back. Back to school, back to seeing people, back to facing the world. The hardest part had been getting back into the rhythm of everything, pretending like the last few weeks hadn’t happened.

You walked through the halls like you always had, but something was missing. It wasn’t just the way the world felt different after being so close to death. It was the way everything had changed without you even realizing it. There were new faces, new conversations, but something about this place seemed quieter than it used to be.

You didn’t see Sunghoon.

And that was... unsettling.

It was during lunch when it happened. You were sitting with some friends, nibbling on your food, when Riki approached. You didn’t expect it, but you should’ve. Riki had been around, had been supportive, and it wasn’t the first time he’d checked in on you. But this time, something felt different about his presence. There was a look in his eyes, a sadness you hadn’t seen before.

"Hey," Riki said quietly, standing beside your table, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a letter in his hand, folded neatly, looking so out of place in the cafeteria.

You frowned, noticing the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet yours. "What’s this?"

He hesitated for a long moment, glancing over his shoulder before sitting down across from you. He unfolded the letter, and his voice softened. "I don’t know how to say this, but... I think you should read this. It’s from Sunghoon."

You blinked, confused. "Sunghoon? What’s going on?"

Riki didn’t answer right away. He just handed you the letter, the words scrawled in that familiar handwriting you had long since associated with his teasing and laziness. But this was different. This was more than just some casual note or school business.

You opened the letter carefully, feeling the weight of it, his words pressing against you like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready for.

And as you read, you could feel your chest tighten with each line. The letter was long, longer than any note he’d written you before, and it was more than an apology. It was a confession.

"I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I don’t even know if I’m brave enough to send this to you, but here goes. I want you to know that I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for making you feel like you had no choice but to do what I said. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I never meant for things to go this way."

You stopped for a second, feeling something stir in your chest, confusion, guilt, maybe even relief. This was Sunghoon. The Sunghoon you had never expected to say anything like this.

The next words hit harder.

I know you must hate me by now. I wouldn’t blame you. But please hear me out. When I made you my 'school dog,' I never meant for it to be like this. I just didn’t know how else to be around you. You were always so far away, so different from everyone else. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand that you didn’t need me. But I needed you. I don’t know when it happened, but I fell for you. I did. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. I thought maybe I could just have you close, even if I had to make you do stupid things for me. I thought it was funny at first. But the more I did it, the more I realized I was hurting you.

Your breath caught in your throat. His words were like a quiet storm, and every sentence felt like it was cracking something deep inside of you.

I never meant for you to feel this way. Never. And I hate myself for making you feel used. I didn’t realize how much I relied on you until I didn’t have you around anymore. I’m sorry. And I’ll never be able to make up for what I’ve done. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to apologize to you in person, but I hope you can forgive me someday. I’m sorry. Please, just know this, it was always you. It was always you I was looking at, even when I wasn’t looking.

You stopped reading for a moment, trying to breathe through the rush of emotions. The weight of his words was too much. Too much for you to absorb all at once.

I’m not good at this, I wanna page your beeper, but I have a lot of things to say so it’s probably a bad idea to do, he had written, but if you need anything—if you ever need to talk or scream at me for being an idiot—I’m here. I promise you, I’ll be here.

And then came the final lines. They were short. Simple. And yet they carried the weight of everything you hadn’t realized you’d been hoping to hear.

I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even know if I can forgive myself. But if you can, if you want to, please just know that I was trying to be better. I wanted to be better for you."

Your heart stopped for a moment, still clenching, as your hand shook around the letter. Riki, who had been quietly watching you, sighed and leaned forward slightly. "Sunghoon... he said that to me once, you know?"

You looked at Riki, trying to process the rush of feelings that were still swirling inside you.

He gave you a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and reached for the letter in your hands. "He told me about everything. The letter, the deal you two had, before the accident."

You blinked. "What do you mean?"

Riki hesitated. His eyes grew dim as he looked down at the table. "He was on his way to visit you. He was going to apologize. He had flowers for you. He had this letter too… I’m sorry."

Your stomach dropped. The words didn’t make sense. "What do you mean? Was he okay?"

Riki’s voice cracked, and he looked away, taking a shaky breath before continuing. "He didn’t make it. he didn’t survive. He was hit, they tried to save him, but it was too late."

“He was your donor."

Your entire world tilted. The room felt like it was closing in on you. The beeping in your ears grew louder, drowning out everything else. No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t have been him. Sunghoon had died. The person who had caused you so much pain, the person who had pushed you to your limits, had died... and somehow, you had his heart.

Riki stood up, his voice quiet but firm as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "I don’t know what to say, but... I know he would’ve wanted you to have it. His heart. Not in this way, he would’ve wanted you to be his dear, I think he was just too afraid to say it out loud."

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even think. The overwhelming weight of the truth, the reality that Sunghoon had been there for you in a way you never imagined tore through you. He had given you his heart, and now, in the cruelest twist of fate, it was the very thing that kept you alive.

You stared down at the letter in your hands, your fingers trembling, your vision blurred with tears you couldn’t quite hold back.

Riki’s voice was quiet as he placed the letter back in front of you. "He was trying to apologize. He was trying to make things right... and now you have his heart. I know it doesn’t make sense... but maybe, just maybe, this is how it was meant to be."

And as you sat there, still holding the letter, you realized one thing.

No matter how many apologies were written, no matter how much time passed, you would never be able to undo what had happened what you had never even understood. You had Sunghoon’s heart, but it would never be enough to fill the void he had left behind.

You just hoped that, somehow, wherever he was, Sunghoon had found the peace he never gave you while he’s still full of life.

──────────────────

In all honesty, Sunghoon had never been good at talking about his feelings. He had always preferred silence, preferred letting his actions speak for themselves, no matter how frustrating or cryptic they might have seemed to others. But that night, standing under the dim lights outside the convenience store, with Riki shoving a pack of chips into his hands like it was some kind of peace offering, he felt something heavy press against his chest.

Something that needed to be said.

Riki was already halfway through his drink, barely paying attention as he scrolled through his beeper messages. He looked up only when he noticed Sunghoon hadn’t moved in the past few minutes. "Dude, why do you look like you’re about to confess to me?"

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the usual bite wasn’t there. "Shut up."

Riki grinned, but it faded when he caught the tension in Sunghoon’s expression. "Okay, seriously. What’s up?"

There was a beat of silence. Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, staring down at the condensation gathering on his drink can.

"You remember that letter?" he asked finally, his voice quieter than usual.

Riki frowned, setting his drink down. "What letter?"

Sunghoon clenched his jaw before forcing himself to say it. "The one that was meant for you."

It took a second, but then realization hit. Riki blinked, brows furrowing as he sat up straighter. "Wait. You mean—"

"Yeah," Sunghoon cut in before he could finish the thought. "That one."

Riki was staring now, full attention locked on him, his usual carefree demeanor slipping away. "Okay… And why are we bringing this up now?"

Sunghoon swallowed, fingers tightening around his drink. He had spent so long pretending like the letter hadn’t meant anything, like it had just been an opportunity to mess with you, to keep you close. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He had kept the letter not because it was leverage, but because it had meant something to him because it had been about him, and for once, he had wanted to hold on to something that wasn’t fleeting.

"Because I should’ve told you sooner," he admitted, voice low. "It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some random crush. She actually liked you dude."

Riki didn’t say anything at first, just watching him carefully. And then, to Sunghoon’s surprise, he let out a small, quiet laugh one that held zero amusement.

"You’re an idiot," Riki muttered, shaking his head.

Sunghoon’s eyes snapped up. "What?"

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I knew."

Sunghoon stilled. "What do you mean, you knew?"

Riki exhaled through his nose. "I had a feeling. I just wasn’t sure. And besides, it never felt like she was into me like that, not after your deal with her."

Sunghoon’s fingers twitched. "Stop fucking around dude, it’s real, she liked you."

Riki gave him a dry look. "It wasn’t about me anymore, dumbass. It was about you."

Sunghoon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Riki continued, "She looked at you more than she ever looked at me. I don’t think she even realized it herself. But I saw it. I saw the way she followed you around, the way she complained but still did everything you told her to. I saw the way you looked at her too, by the way. You’re not as subtle as you think you are."

Sunghoon looked away, his grip tightening around the can. "It doesn’t matter now," he muttered. "I fucked it up. She probably hates me."

Riki didn’t deny it. He didn’t need to.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked instead.

Sunghoon let out a slow breath. "I’m going to see her. I need to fix this."

Riki studied him for a moment before nodding. "Good. You should give her everything she deserved because you are an idiot. "

And with that, Sunghoon tossed his drink in the trash, grabbed the bag of flowers and the letter from his pocket, and left, never knowing that he would never make it to you.

──────────────────

Present, 2024

"Ryoko, stop running. Your heart, my baby."

Your voice rang out through the warm summer air, but your daughter was already too far ahead, her tiny feet kicking up dust as she dashed across the grassy field.

Ryoko didn’t listen. She’s always full of life despite of her condition.

"Mama, I’m fine!" she called back, laughing breathlessly as she dodged between trees, her little white sneakers barely making a sound against the earth. "I’m super fast, see?”

You sighed, placing a hand over your chest as if that would ease the tight, familiar worry sitting in your ribcage. "That’s not the point, love. You know you have to be careful."

From beside you, Riki chuckled, reaching over to wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. "She’s fine," he murmured into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You worry too much."

You huffed, turning to glare at him, but there was no real fire behind it. "She’s six, Hun, she has my heart."

His expression softened, his grip around you tightening just a little. He knew what you meant. He always did.

"Our heart," he corrected gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "And it’s strong. Just like you."

You swallowed, nodding, but the unease never fully left your chest. Ryoko was so full of life, so free-spirited and wild, with that same stubborn spark you once had before hospitals, before surgeries, before the weight of things you couldn’t change settled into your bones.

Before him.

Before Sunghoon.

The thought crept in before you could stop it, uninvited yet lingering like a familiar ghost.

It had been years. So many years. Years filled with happiness, with love, with laughter, with Riki. Years where you had moved forward, built a life, a family.

But some nights, when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little too steadily in your chest, you would remember.

You would remember the way Sunghoon had looked at you from across the classroom. The way he had smirked at you in the hallways, so effortlessly confident. The way he had made your life miserable only for you to realize, too late, that it had been his way of keeping you close.

You would remember his letter. His words. The apology he had written but never got to say in person.

And you would wonder.

What if?

What if Sunghoon had made it to the hospital that day? What if he had never stepped onto that street? What if he had never picked up your letter in the first place? Would things have been different? Would you have loved him the way you loved Riki now? Would you have been happy?

Or would it have all ended the same way—him, gone. You, left behind.

The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves around you.

"Hey," Riki murmured, his voice pulling you back to the present. His fingers brushed against yours, anchoring you. "You’re thinking again."

You exhaled slowly, giving him a small smile. "I’m always thinking."

"Yeah, but you’re thinking about him." Riki didn’t sound upset. “I miss him too, baby. He was my bro.” Your husband chuckled, there was no jealousy, no resentment—just understanding. He had known you too long, loved you too long, to be threatened by a memory.

You lowered your gaze, squeezing his hand. "I think I always will."

Riki nodded, pulling you into him, resting his chin atop your head. "That’s okay."

A small giggle snapped you both out of the moment, and you turned just in time to see Ryoko running back toward you, her tiny hands clutching a handful of wildflowers. Her cheeks were flushed, her breath quick but steady and healthy. Alive.

"Look!" she beamed, holding out the flowers proudly. "I got these for you, Mama!"

Your heart clenched, and for a brief second, the world blurred not from sadness, not from grief, but from something softer. Something warmer.

You knelt down, brushing a strand of hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "They’re beautiful, my love. Thank you."

Ryoko giggled again before running off toward the picnic blanket, already distracted by something else, her small body glowing under the golden afternoon sun.

Riki watched her go, then turned back to you, his eyes full of something deep, something steady.

"Are you happy?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.

You met his gaze, really met it, letting the question settle between you.

Were you happy? Yes, very.

You thought of Ryoko’s laugh, of the warmth of Riki’s hand in yours, of the love that had carried you through everything, through grief, through healing, through the unfairness of it all.

And then, softly, you nodded.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I am."

Because this was your life now.

And even though the past would always be there, even though Sunghoon’s heart still beat inside of you, even though there would always be a small part of you that wondered what could have been—

You were happy, because a part of him is still alive within you.

And that was enough.

[taeyongsbicep]

Words; 1.4k, Characters; 7.8k

Warnings; Smut, vaginal fingering, pet names, praise, protection, a little rough (just a smidge), illegal street racing.

All visuals by me :)

You were only a rookie when it came to street racing. And even then, you were only good at going in straight lines. Luckily, most racers had drag races as a forte; while normally took place down a straight street.

When you first started out you just owned a shitty car you modified with a better engine, but now you had saved up for a Toyota MR2 AW11 in an electric blue colour, with silver chrome details. She was a beauty if you could say so yourself.

You were a little anxious as you pulled your car up beside the row of sports cars, you weren’t sure if it was from actual anxiety or if you were just excited. With a deep breath, and a quick sip of your water bottle, you shut off your car and got out. Swallowing thickly as you saw the amount of people, and most of them looked pretty roughed up.

There was someone who caught your attention though- a pale, black haired man with a crazily defined jaw and a beauty mark on his right cheek. If it weren’t for the tattoos littering his arms, and his solid muscles, oh and his dark red Ferrari F8 Tributo.. you’d consider him ethereal; right now he was just sexy as fuck. You bit your bottom lip, certain feelings welling up in your lower abdomen. And when he turned and his eyes made contact with yours for just a moment, you swore your heart stopped.

Jeno was used to the losers that tried to race him, none of them could handle the rush that came with drag races; a lot of them chickening out and stopping halfway instead of speeding up like him.

He was lounged on the hood of his car, smoking some random shit one of his friends gave him, it was okay. His eyes lazily drifted about the cars, landing on a gorgeous electric blue car. With the right engine and boosts, and driver- that car could beat him. But when he looked and saw the anxious looking girl leaning against it, he knew she didn’t stand a chance.

Except he was wrong. Because as you and him lined up side by side, you had a look of confidence on your face. You had an idea, a cheeky one, but still. Normally the loser handed over money to the winner, but you were going to ask him for something a little more… intimate.

The stoned teenager counting down missed a few numbers, skipping from 7 to 3 because his brain was mush from whatever the hell he did. So when his arms and hands moved out of the way, both you and Jeno were a little startled. Although Jeno quickly regained his bearings and sped off. You gripped your black leather steering wheel and stomped down on the gas, accelerating up in speed as fast as you could without blowing your car up.

It was close, super duper close. Must’ve been 5 seconds off, but you won. Jeno hit his head on his steering wheel, causing the car to let out a loud honk that made you flinch. He glanced at you, annoyed at first but then sent you an awkward smile once he realize you were looking back at him. He still looked upset that you won though, and rightfully so, he hadn’t lost in a very long time.

He didn’t approach you for a while after to pay you. It seemed like he went on a drive to clear his head for whatever reason, but you stuck around to watch some more sessions. When he did come back though, he strutted right over to you. Standing in front of you standing a good few feet taller, his buff arms crossed over his chest. “How much you want.? I’m not going over 200.” Was it bad that his voice made you feel things?

Suddenly the confidence you had earlier was gone, and it felt like you were going to melt under his gaze. “So?” He prompted. He was clearly impatient, but he did sport a small smirk on his lips. Maybe he thought your reaction was amusing.

“I uh.. well- I was hoping for a.. different kind of payment-“ You choked out. He chuckled,

“What is it?” You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth,

“Er, sex..?” He choked on his spit, shocked that that even came out of your mouth before he grinned.

“That’s what you really want, sweetheart?” You nodded and he grabbed your arm, opening up his car and shoving you into the back. He slammed the door before getting into the drivers seat and starting the engine. “That I can do, but not in front of all these fucking perverts.”

He quickly got between your legs, spreading them as far as they could go in the small space. “You sure about this?” He asked. You nodded. “Use your words, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything without your audible consent.”

“Yes. I- Please, I really want this..”

At your words, he pulled down your jeans along with your panties. “Fuck.” He hissed, “So fucking wet for me, sweetheart.” He was quick with it, his large hand pressing against your vaginal opening, his fingers rubbing at your clit. The sound that left your lips was so absolutely lewd, like something you’d hear in a porno. He loved it. Your body shook slightly, it would be so pathetic if you orgasmed from just the clit stimulation, but you totally did.

“So fucking beautiful. You cum like a damn Goddess.” But he didnt stop, instead he moved his pointer into your hole. “Mmm, but you’re not that tight. You get fucked often, baby girl.?” He raised his eyebrow at you, but you weren’t paying attention to his expressions. Only the feeling, the delicious feeling of him adding a second finger and then a third. Going knuckle deep, letting them stay there for a moment before pulling out and thrusting back in. Keeping a fast and rough pace as he moved his body so his chest was pressed against yours.

He started suckling and licking at your neck, biting down gently first and then harder at the sound of your whines. “Such pretty noises.”

This surely looked pathetic from an outside view. You could hardly think straight and he hadn’t even put his dick in yet.

He seemed to have noticed, a smug smile forming onto his face. “Aw, you already dumb from just my fingers?” He moved from your neck to your cheek, his fingers pulling out as he kissed your cheek in a way that seemed almost too loving for a guy you barely knew. His hand that was covered in your slick moved to his jeans, undoing the zipper and pulling out his cock with a sigh. You didn’t look down, but you knew he was big.

“Look so pretty right now.” He grunted, rubbing his already coated hand against his length. “Gorgeous thing.” He hissed. He moved off of you for just a moment before reaching into the front console of his car, pulling out a condom and ripping it open with his teeth. Sliding it onto his already dripping cock.

He gave you a look, gripping your chin so you’d look at him. “You really want this, sweetheart?”

“Please-“ You whined out so desperately. He was quick to sink into you, pausing for a moment. You weren’t super tight so it wasn’t that uncomfortable for you, but he checked just in case before thrusting in and out.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small area of the car. His hips slamming against yours everytime he’d push back in, illiciting a loud moan from you and a groan from him. “God, I haven’t been laid in so long.” He grunted. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.” If your brain wasn’t already mush, it was now. His praises felt so good, and they just amplified what you were feeling.

You clenched around him and he moaned. “Fuck, sweetheart. Clenching down on me so fucking hard.”

You must’ve finished at least 2 times already when he finally bottomed out. Some of his discharge spilling out of the condom around his base. He panted for a moment before pulling out, slipping the condom off and tying it before tossing it aside. “You alright, hm?” He asked in a low tone, his hand cupping your cheek. “Such a good fucking girl.” He hummed, leaning down and giving you a soft kiss on the lips. He moved you so that he was laying down underneath you now. You whined from the movement and he just shushed you.

“Get some rest, baby.. I’m right here.”

He definitely was not letting you go.

[catharinawrites]

Ride or Die

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1K

Summary: Your a law student who's been overlooked by her dad and wants to make a change to her life. It just so happened that there is this bar with a very good looking owner who seems to be impressed by your defense skills.

a/n : English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes please tell me!

Chapter 1 / intro : ''Damn, I think I am in love''

The sound of raring engines filled the night air as Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers pulled into the lot of his bar. The Howling wolf. The neon sign flickers slightly, casting a blue glow over the polished chrome of his Harley. He swung of the bike; boots crunching against the gravel and took a deep breath. This place was his sanctuary, built with his own hands after leaving behind the chaos of his past. 

Alongside him stood Steve Rogers. His best friend and right-hand man when it comes to business. Tonight was a busy night. The bar was thriving, alive with chatter, the scent of whiskey, and the steady beat of classic rock playing from the jukebox. Together they went inside and took a seat at their usual table, waving over a waitress to order their regular drinks. 

At the bar you sat, along with your friends. Nursing a glass of whiskey while listening to your friends gossiping about who knows what. You looked around and caught the eye of a redhead. She winked at you, and you smiled back when you felt someone tug at you’re arm. The tug came from Eloise your best friend, you and her came to this bar for the first time with some friends from school.

‘’ Y/n I need to go to the toilet, you going to come to?’’ She asked while smiling. 

‘’Yeah, sure’’ you said while grabbing her hand and leading the way through the busy bar. 

You wove though the crowd, your friend in tow, heading for the restroom. The place was packed, a mix of locals, bikers and the occasional troublemakers. You had only been there for a few hours, but you already understood that this place was full of energy. 

Just as you passed a particularly rowdy group of men, a rough hand grabbed your ass. The touch was firm, possessive and entirely unwelcome. 

Before you even had time to think, you whirled around and grabbed the man’s wrist in a punishing grip, twisting it just enough to make him wince. 

‘’Try that again’ you said, your voice low and edged with anger, ‘’and I’ll break your damn arm’’

The man, a burly guy reeking of booze, sneered but didn’t dare pull away. His buddies laughed uneasily, sensing the shift in power.

Bucky and Steve saw everything from where they were sitting. Bucky’s grip on the glass he was holding was tight, blue eyes locked onto you like a hawk watching its prey. He had seen plenty of fights, but there was something about the way you handled yourself that made his chest tighten. You didn’t look to anyone else for help, you handled your own business without a flicker of doubt. 

‘’Let go’’ the man gritted out, his confidence faltering under your unwavering stare. 

You shoved his arm away and took a step closer, you expression unreadable ‘’that’s what I thought’’

With that you turned around and continued towards the restroom, Eloise following along and whispering ‘’Damn girl, remind me to never mess with you’’

Across the bar Bucky let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had seen plenty of people come and go through The Howling Wolf, but you? You were something else.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bucky leaned against the bar he was standing at, talking to Nat. He watched as you returned from the restroom. You moved with purpose, shoulder squared, eyes scanning the room as if you wear assessing any threats. He recognized that look. He’d seen it in the mirror too many times. 

Nat followed his gaze and smirked ‘’you’re interested’’. 

‘’Not in the way you think’’ Bucky mutters, setting his glass down. ‘’She handled herself well, that’s rare around here.’’ 

‘’She’s new in town, came in with a few friends’’ Nat pointed out. ‘’And she got a fire to her, I like it.’’ 

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. ‘’Yeah. That makes two of us’’ 

You had just reached the bar where you were seated when Sam, who was making drinks behind the bar leaned in with a grin. ‘’So, do you make a habit of threatening to break a man’s arm or was that a one-time show?’’ 

You rolled your eyes while smiling at him ‘’Only when they deserve it’’ 

Sam whistled ‘’Damn. I think I’m in love’’

Nat smacked him on the back of his head with a towel, earning a laugh from Sam and you. Bucky just kept watching you, feeling something, he hasn’t felt in a long time and shouldn’t be feeling. Without a word he pushed himself of the bar and walked away without sparing you a glance. 

You and your friends stayed a little longer until you finally went to pay your tab, Nat was already smirking while you walked over and asked for your tab. 

‘’It’s already been covered sweets’’ she said casually while cleaning the bar top. 

You frowned. ‘’By who?”

She jerked her head towards the back of the club where Bucky was watching you and Nat talk, you locked eyes with him, and he threw you a wink before looking away. 

Your stomach twisted at the idea of him doing you a favor, you didn’t like owning people. Especially people like him - strong, silent and unreadable. 

Still, you weren’t about to argue in front of an audience, so you grabbed your jacket and left with your friends. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the past threatened to creep in back in. 

Growing up it was only you and your dad. He thought you everything you knew. And gave you everything you needed. But growing up in a house where your dad was rarely around, always away on some business deal while you stayed at home studying and being bored out of your mind wasn’t what you wanted. 

You were studying to become a lawyer and had been dreaming of taking over your dad’s firm one day. Now that you were in your last year of your study, you had some more free time and wanted to make yourself useful. If only your dad would allow you to. 

Every time you had asked to help him or shadow him on a workday so that you could learn more about his firm and make the transition easier when you take over, he declined or pushed you away. Leading to you sitting at home bored out of your mind, but maybe you could change that….

Next chapter: Chapter 2: ''This is a bad idea''

[impala-dreamer]

In The Arms of Sleep

A Supernatural Story

~ Death has been hunting him, turning every moment into a painful dream of blood and pain. His only hope for a moment's rest lies in her arms...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,985 Words

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death and show level blood, Allusions to sex. Set right before the series finale. | Originally Published to Patreon 9/11/2023

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He probably should have called first.

Probably should have at least texted.

It was too late now though.

She’d just have to deal with it.

The highway stretched out before him, undulating and twisting like so many tentacles of some viscous midnight monster. Black and unforgiving; poised to devour him should he jerk the wheel in the wrong way at the wrong moment.

Suddenly, the thought of a crash crossed his mind and he couldn’t break away from it. How many miles had he driven in his life? How many times had he transverse the country, weaving back and forth across the yellow lines; crossing state borders without a second thought. Impossible to count. And yet- he’d been in so few accidents that it was almost comical. It was statistically impossible that he hadn’t careened off a cliff in New England and plummeted into the icy waters of the Atlantic, or been mesmerized by a heat mirage outside of Phoenix and missed a turn, crashing into the rocks, his last moments spent hearing the sickening crunch of metal and bone.

For a moment, he saw himself, half alive and wheezing, chest punctured by the wreck of the steering wheel; both legs broken, face shredded and bleeding as he crawled from a mess of black steel. The Impala crumpled, smoke billowing from beneath the hood while fluids mixed on the blacktop below. He clawed at the dirt, nails breaking painfully as he struggled to pull himself from the rubble. Each movement sent white-hot pain through his body, but he kept going, desperate to save himself as flames licked at the upholstery, turning the slick, shining chrome to blazing orange.

Shaking himself, Dean cleared the vision from his mind and shifted in his seat. The soft leather cradled him perfectly and he sank into it a bit, letting himself relax even as he tightened his grip on the wheel.

Things like that had been happening more and more. Nightmares were common in his life, but bloody daydreams were a new phenomenon. They often came out of nowhere too, making it almost impossible to stay calm and on task. One moment, he was playing on his phone or fixing dinner, and the next, he was watching as bullets tore through his chest, blood erupting from the punctures in slow motion cascades of crimson. More often, it was some monster attack, something easy that he could handle on his own that caught him. He’d turn a corner in a farmhouse and be ripped apart by massive talons, feasted upon by wolves, drained by an earth-covered vampire.

Every moment now, he saw his death. Every breath he took sent images of the end into his mind. He was plagued by the sights, haunted by the feeling, exhausted and helpless. Despite his best efforts at drinking the scenes away, the whiskey only made things worse. He’d tried talking about it, but it sounded insane. Tried writing them down, but he wasn’t good with words, couldn’t get the emotions right, couldn’t describe the anxiety. Hell, he’d even tried meditating, but that only proved to make the thoughts more vivid and devastating.

He needed something that he couldn’t find back at home.

Needed something he knew would soothe him, even if only for one night.

He needed Y/N.

So, he drove. Miles and miles, wheels spinning so fast that human eyes couldn’t see the treds turning, gripping, biting at the roads. So fast that it felt as if the car would leave the blacktop and float on the wind, fly him right to her front door.

He wasn’t so lucky.

He drove through the day and deep into the night, stopping only for gas in Oklahoma and then to take a piss a few hours later. Landscapes changed outside the windows, trees growing tall and full; the earth deepening from deep yellow to rich green. The world outside passed by, but he couldn’t see it. All he could see was blood.

A little after two in the morning, he reached her street. The little blue house was set back a bit from the road, tall bushes fencing in a modest lawn. She’d inherited the property when her parents were killed; the same time she’d met Dean.

He’d saved her life that night, and many more times, she’d done the same for him. Whether she knew it or not, she was always on his mind.

Dean slowly slid into the empty space in front of her house and cut the engine. He switched off the headlights and peered up at the front left window. Her light was off; the house dark and quiet.

He should have called first.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes for a moment and considered leaving. He could drive back straight away and be home before Sam got to worrying or Miracle missed him too much and chewed up his slippers. He fingered the ignition key, running his thumb across the dull ridges, ready to jam it back into its place.

He took a breath and a muzzle flare ignited in his head; the silenced gun taking him down with a shot perfectly executed right between his eyes. He jumped and willed the vision to dissipate, but it refused, growing brighter as his soul darkened.

A light flipped on in the window above and Dean’s heart jolted out of rhythm.

He made it to the front door just as she pulled it open and green eyes flooded with tears.

“Dean?”

Her voice was like a balm to his aching soul and he slumped forward into her outstretched arms.

“I heard the car,” she whispered, chin digging into the crook of his neck. “I thought I was dreaming.”

Dean clasped his arms around her back and held on, refusing despite the cold night air that swirled around them, to let her go and follow her inside. He needed a moment. Needed to lay his troubles down before crossing the threshold.

“Not dreaming,” he answered in a sigh. “But I may be.”

She smiled and placed a hand on the back of his neck, holding him to her. “You OK?”

He laughed bitterly, body shaking against her. “Not even a little.”

Y/N pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. The green was darker than she remembered, his soul burdened with so much pain that the color was fading, growing deeper than the evergreens that lined the back of her property. She lay her hand softly against his cheek and his eyes fluttered shut. He leaned into the touch, desperate for any human connection, desperate for her. He took a choppy breath and set his jaw tight. She felt the muscles flex beneath her palm, and she pressed her fingertips into the side of his face, giving him something real to feel.

“Hey…”

Her voice was calm and sweet, hiding the worry in her heart. Dean’s lashes lifted and he looked down into her eyes. She smiled.

“You’re gonna be OK.”

He wanted to believe it, needed to put his faith in her words, but blood was dripping from the deep, imagined gashes in his mind, puddling at his feet, flooding the concrete steps.

Subtly, he shook his head. “I dunno about that.” He tried to smile, to sprinkle in a bit of Winchester charm, but he had none left. He closed his eyes again and once more, the sight of his flayed body floated by, and he shivered.

Y/N’s fingers tensed, her middle finger pushing lightly against his temple. “Dean…”

He opened his heart, but not his eyes. “Y/N, please-”  His voice cracked around her name; pathetic and spent.

Y/N’s hand slid from his cheek to his hand, closing around it and pulling him along as she turned.

They didn’t speak. The only sound in the darkness was the door closing behind them and his boots hitting the old hardwood floor. The white pine planks were thin and long, stretching out down a hallway that barely seemed familiar to him. She had painted since last he’d been there, but it was too dark to see the shade of green she’d chosen.

Y/N held his hand and walked straight down the hallway and to the left. If memory served him, it was her bedroom- a small rectangular room with a big antique brass bed pushed into the corner and hand painted art on the walls. She flipped the light switch and a dim lamp by the bed turned on. It did little to illuminate the room, but it was enough to guide them across the thick carpet.

She stopped by the side of the bed and turned to him.

“Boots off,” she said firmly.

Dean’s forehead creased in question. “Huh?”

She sighed and nodded to his feet. “You’re not getting into my bed with those filthy boots on.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. He wanted nothing more than to slide into her arms, but something was blocking his movements. A strange tightness grew in his chest, spreading outward like clinging ivy. His throat closed, his breathing quickened. Tears welled, but he refused to let them fall.

Slowly, Y/N lifted her hands to slide the canvas jacket from his shoulders. “Relax,” she whispered, tugging the fabric off his thick arms. Carefully, she folded it in half and laid it on the corner of her bed. The army green popped against the pale rose comforter and Dean set his gaze upon the contrast, desperate to hold onto it and push the phantom blood aside.

He let her pull off his flannel; open his belt. When she reached for the hem of his gray tee, his hands shot around her wrists.

He shook his head. “Y/N…”

She smiled softly. “Let me.”

His grip released and she lifted the cotton up over his head. He sighed deeply as the sweaty shirt caressed his cheeks and he emerged with half a smile.

The room was cool. A vent in the floor to his right pushed a light breeze into the air and it chilled his exposed skin. It felt good.

Y/N tried not to linger too long over his naked chest, tried to ignore his soft belly, the dip that lay across his broad shoulders. Unconsciously, she lifted her hand to cover the ink on his chest, the same design he’d insisted she get tattooed on her hip. They were connected in that strange way, and sometimes she wondered if he could feel her tracing the arms of the pentagram on her own skin late at night.

Dean stared down at her, awed by her gentleness, her shadowy beauty. The lamplight danced on her cheeks, cut out the lines of her lips; highlighted the fringe of lashes over her eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her and looked up, meeting his gaze. He shivered as her fingers slipped down his chest, sucked in a breath as her nails bit lightly into the tender flesh of his hips, exhaled slowly when she tugged his zipper down.

As his jeans sank to his ankles, Y/N turned away and lifted the thin nightshirt from her body, leaving her naked but for a pair of lilac panties. She didn’t look back as she slid into bed and tucked herself in the corner by the wall. When she was in place, she rolled over and lifted her arms, calling Dean to her side.

He kicked his boots off, let the denim rest beside them. He kept his boxers on and gracefully climbed in beside her.

His head sank into the pillow and her scent flooded his senses. The cushion was cool and comforting, the blanket heavy in a delicious way that made his body finally relax. Y/N tucked him in and then cuddled closer, pressing her flesh against his.

Dean could feel her firm breasts against his side, the soft curve of her waist, the heft of her hips. He bathed in her heat and rolled towards her, ready to unburden his soul. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat but no words would form.

He struggled.

She smiled.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him, scooting up a bit on the bed. “I’ve got you.” She shifted quickly and Dean fell against her chest, cradled in her arms.

He pressed his ear to her heart and closed his eyes. Every beat pulsed through him and he breathed slowly with her, letting the tears finally come.

The harder he cried, the tighter she held him. She ran her hands through his hair, rubbed at his shoulders, kissed the top of his head, again and again reassuring him that he was safe with her, cared for, and loved.

Dean slid his arm around her waist and held on, feeling more like a whimpering child than a man. Forty years hung on him like lead, threatening to twist his bones and break his spirit.

He cried it all out as Y/N held him. Every hunt gone wrong, every death and resurrection. He cried for his parents, he cried for Sam. He cried for every soul he’d tortured in Hell, every life on Earth he’d failed to save. He cried for Charlie and for Eileen; for Kevin and Crowley. He cried for Lisa, cried for Ben. He cried for his youth, his wins and losses. He cried for Cas.

Y/N absorbed every tear, soothed every sob. She rocked him gently as his body shook, traced circles in his back to give him something else to focus on. She never let her grip waiver, never let a second go by without touching him in some way.

Night lifted slowly and the sun poked at the curtains. The windows glowed with pink and golden light and Dean stirred.

He lifted his head from Y/N’s arm and blinked into the growing light. She was fast asleep, chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Half circles darkened the flesh beneath her eyes and her hair was a mess, but she was nothing short of beautiful in his eyes.

Dean breathed easy for the first time in a long while. He felt lighter. When he closed his eyes, he saw the empty darkness of his eyelids and nothing more. No death, no blood, no hiding dangers. He smiled.

Daring to wake her, he slid his fingers lightly across her forehead and tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Y/N pulled in a heavy breath and her eyes fluttered open. She saw his face and smiled.

His eyes were brighter, his cheeks pink and warm.

“Mornin’,” he whispered, leaning closer to her lips.

“Good morning.” She licked her lips and looked down at his. Plump and wet, they pushed out a bit, reaching for hers. “You seem better…”

He smiled. “Thanks to you.”

She bit her lip, tugging the corner of her mouth between her teeth. Shyly, she looked up into his eyes and knew that, if only for a little while, he would be alright.

His kiss was heavy and needy, tongue pressing between her lips before she was prepared. She gasped into him, slid beneath him when he tugged her closer.

His weight was crushing and devastatingly arousing and Y/N spread her legs, wrapping herself around his waist. She could feel that he was as ready as she was, and reached down between them to pull her panties aside.

Dean propped up on his aching arms and gazed down at her. She was everything in that moment- lover, friend, nurse, savior. He licked at her lips again and closed his eyes, breathing every drop of her in. He held his breath, memorizing her taste, her scent, her warmth, and tucking it away for later.

He’d always need her.

Always love her.

They showered together; unwilling to part.

They held hands over slightly burned pancakes and chewy bacon.

They lingered in the doorway, clutched in each other’s arms.

“You sure you can’t stay?” she asked, refusing to let go.

Dean kissed the top of her head and gave her arms a squeeze. “I have to get back.”

“Places to go, people to save, right?” She laughed sadly and pulled back, giving him a faint smile. “I missed you, you know.”

He sighed and looked down for a moment, feeling the weight of everything pushing down on him again. Guilt rattled in his brain and he chewed his lip, rubbed her hand between both of his.

“I’m sorry-” His voice was deep and heavy.

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m just… I always miss you, Dean.”

He smiled. “I miss you too,” he confessed. “A lot.”

Y/N grabbed his hands and swung them playfully at their sides. “So… maybe don’t stay away too long next time, huh?”

“I won’t.” Dean dragged her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles on each hand. “I promise.”

One last kiss goodbye, one last press of her body against his.

The road home was just as long but a little bit easier. He carried the feel of her home with him, kept her face in the back of his mind. She was like a soldier in his head, forever poised and ready to defend him, to cast away the visions that plagued his daydreams, to set his heart right when his faith began to dissipate. An angel there to keep him safe and guard his nights, a gentle love to make everything alright.

Death would come for him soon enough, but for now, he drove the highways and unpaved backroads home with a new sense of hope. He could watch the trees fly by, enjoy the changing horizon and let the light seep into his soul.

He felt better.

He felt strangely OK.

He was glad he hadn’t called.

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