#I wonder if he would be quiet if he heard that

[promptedwordsmith]

I love your headcannons so I gotta put an ask in here. As we all know, MC can act a bit childish and is quick to push touch/affection away.

It makes me think of the quote, "If you touch me without violence, you'll be the first". Would love a writing about it.

Aw thank you! I hope this is what you meant <3

Caleb

The first time Caleb touched you, you flinched.

It was barely anything—a fleeting brush of his fingers against yours as he handed you something, an innocent, meaningless gesture—but your entire body stiffened, your breath hitched, and before you even realized it, you had yanked your hand back.

The warmth of his skin lingered, and you hated it.

Caleb noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp violet eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t say anything. Not then.

But he never stopped touching you.

Not in a way that was forceful or overwhelming. Never in a way that felt like he was trying to push you past your boundaries. But it was there—the careful way his shoulder would bump into yours when you walked side by side, the way he’d place his hand on your lower back as he guided you through a crowd, the way his fingers would brush against your wrist when he passed you something.

Each time, your reaction was the same. A flinch. A step back. A refusal.

At first, he gave you space. He didn’t push, didn’t question. Caleb wasn’t the type to force someone into anything they weren’t ready for. But he wasn’t blind either. He saw the way your guard never dropped, the way your muscles tensed at even the gentlest touch.

And then, one night, he finally asked.

You were both standing outside, the city lights stretching far into the distance, stars barely visible beyond the haze. It was quiet between you, peaceful, until he broke it with a simple question.

“Why do you hate being touched?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into fists, your heart hammering against your ribs. You wanted to ignore him, wanted to pretend you hadn’t heard, but Caleb wasn’t the kind of person who let things slide.

When you didn’t answer, he turned to face you fully, his voice steady but softer than usual. “It’s not just me, is it?” His eyes searched yours. “You don’t let anyone touch you.”

You swallowed hard.

And then you said it. The words that had been sitting on your tongue for years, unspoken, buried beneath layers of defense and survival.

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The weight of those words crushed the space between you.

Caleb didn’t react right away. He didn’t wince, didn’t gasp, didn’t give you that pitying look you dreaded seeing. Instead, he just stood there, his violet gaze locked onto yours, taking in everything you weren’t saying.

You braced yourself for rejection, for discomfort, for him to leave—but he didn’t.

Instead, after a long pause, he let out a slow breath and said, “…Then I guess I’ll have to be first.”

Your stomach twisted. “Caleb—”

“I won’t push you.” His voice was firm but patient. “I won’t touch you until you let me.”

That should’ve been the end of it. It should’ve been the part where you turned away and let him go, where he accepted your boundaries and never tried again.

But the problem was Caleb never stopped caring about you.

And worse? You had let yourself care about him too.

Caleb never tried to force his way into your space, never laid a hand on you without permission. But he stayed.

He stayed through the silence, through the bad days, through the moments when you wanted to push everyone away but couldn’t bring yourself to do it with him.

He made himself a constant.

And that was dangerous.

Because the longer he stayed, the more you caught yourself wanting to reach for him.

The more you caught yourself watching his hands—the same hands that had held weapons, that had taken lives, that had commanded entire fleets—and wondering how they would feel if they touched you gently.

The more you caught yourself leaning in just a little when he stood beside you, like some part of you was trying to unlearn a lifetime of flinching.

You weren’t used to it.

You weren’t used to someone treating you like you were something precious instead of something hardened. You weren’t used to someone looking at you like you were worth waiting for.

And it scared you.

Because if you let yourself have this, if you let him in—what then?

It happened one night when you weren’t thinking.

You had both been caught in a battle, pushed to your limits, and despite everything—despite all the odds—you had both made it out alive.

Caleb was covered in cuts and bruises, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, but the moment he saw you stumble, he reached for you instinctively—just like he always did.

And this time, for the first time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands found your arms, steadying you, grounding you. You felt his warmth, his strength—and you let him hold you.

It was so small. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Just his hands on your arms, steady and reassuring. But to you, it felt like something shattered.

Caleb stilled, his grip light, as if he half-expected you to come to your senses and shove him away. His eyes searched yours, cautious, waiting.

But you didn’t move.

For the first time, you let yourself be touched without bracing for pain.

Without expecting violence.

Without fear.

And the look Caleb gave you in that moment—soft, careful, like he knew exactly how much this meant even if you hadn’t said a word—was enough to make something inside you break.

You swallowed hard, pulse racing.

“You’re the first.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, barely a whisper, but Caleb heard them.

He exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing the edge of your sleeve in the gentlest motion imaginable.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m never the last.”

And you believed him.

For the first time in your life, you actually believed someone.

Because Caleb had never broken a promise to you before.

And deep down, you knew he never would.

Rafayel

Rafayel had always been affectionate—too affectionate, if you were being honest. It wasn’t just the teasing smirks or the casual way he draped himself over you like a cat seeking warmth. It was the way his hands would linger, the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way he spoke your name like it was something precious.

But you weren’t used to it.

So, when he leaned in too close, when his fingers brushed against yours absentmindedly, when his warmth wrapped around you in unspoken promises of safety, you pushed him away. Not roughly, not cruelly, but firm enough to make the message clear.

He didn’t take offense, at least not outwardly. Rafayel always bounced back with a lopsided grin, a lazy roll of his shoulders, as if to say, Fine, I’ll wait. But there was something in his eyes—something quieter, something more knowing.

And you hated that.

Because deep down, you knew what he saw.

He saw the way you flinched, even when his touch was gentle. He saw the way your shoulders tensed whenever he got too close, the way you shrank away from affection like it was a foreign language you never learned to speak.

Most people didn’t notice. Most people assumed you were just distant, that maybe you simply weren’t the affectionate type.

Rafayel knew better.

And that made him dangerous.

It started one evening, after one of his exhibitions. The gallery had emptied out, the patrons long gone, and yet he lingered, still basking in the afterglow of another successful night. You had stayed behind too, for reasons you weren’t entirely sure of. Maybe because he had asked. Maybe because it was easier than saying no to him.

He had pulled you into the back room where his latest painting was covered with a cloth. With a dramatic flourish, he yanked it away, revealing the canvas beneath.

It was you.

Not a perfect replica, not a stiff, lifeless portrait. It was you in motion, caught mid-laugh, the golden glow of light flickering behind you as if you were something divine.

It took your breath away.

You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You painted this?”

“No, it painted itself.” Rafayel smirked, stepping closer. “Of course I painted it.”

You didn’t have words. You didn’t know how to process something so raw, so intimate. It was one thing for someone to look at you, but it was another thing entirely for someone to see you. And Rafayel had always seen you.

That was the problem.

“I—” The words stuck to your throat. You weren’t good at this. At accepting things. At being loved without conditions, without expectations.

And then, just like always, Rafayel reached for you.

His fingers, long and paint-stained, brushed against your wrist—light, hesitant, careful. No force, no demand, just warmth.

And just like always, you flinched.

You stepped back so fast you almost knocked over the easel. “Don’t.” The word escaped before you could stop it, sharp and unsteady.

Rafayel’s hand froze midair before he slowly pulled it back. His expression didn’t falter, but there was something—something—in his eyes. He tilted his head, studying you with that same knowing look that had always unsettled you.

“Why?” His voice was soft. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just curious.

Your throat tightened. You wanted to tell him to drop it. You wanted him to go back to making jokes, to fill the silence with something light, something meaningless.

But he didn’t.

Because Rafayel never let things go.

You swallowed. “Because… if you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words hung between you, heavy and raw.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Rafayel exhaled, slow and careful, as if he were afraid of shattering you. “Oh.”

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apologize, didn’t pity you. He just stood there, watching you with those piercing blue-pink eyes of his, like he was unraveling all the pieces of you you’d kept hidden for so long.

It made you want to run.

And maybe he saw that too, because he took a step back. Gave you space.

“Okay,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Okay?”

He nodded. “I won’t touch you. Not unless you want me to.”

The simplicity of it made something inside you ache.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

For the first time in your life, someone didn’t demand. Someone didn’t take.

Someone just waited.

Days passed, and true to his word, Rafayel never touched you. He still leaned into your space, still gave you that infuriatingly charming grin, but his hands never reached for you again. Not once.

And you hated that you noticed.

You noticed the absence of his touch. You noticed the way his fingers twitched when he was excited, the way his hands curled into fists like he had to remind himself not to reach for you. You noticed how much you wanted him to.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

And one night, when he was sitting beside you, lazily sketching something while you both watched the waves crash against the shore, you made the first move.

It was small. Barely anything.

Just your pinky brushing against his.

But Rafayel noticed.

His breath hitched, and his gaze flickered to you, cautious, questioning.

You didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt electric, buzzing with something unspoken, something fragile.

Then Rafayel, ever patient, ever waiting, turned his hand palm-up beneath yours.

An invitation.

Not a demand.

You hesitated, your heart pounding, before slowly—so slowly—you let your fingers slip into his.

Warmth. Solid, steady warmth.

No violence.

No pain.

Just him.

Rafayel said nothing, didn’t make a big deal of it. He just held your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had been waiting lifetimes for it.

And maybe, just maybe, you had been waiting too.

Sylus

The first time Sylus touched you, you flinched.

It was subtle—just a stiffening of your shoulders, a flicker of tension in your stance. But for someone as dangerously observant as Sylus, it was enough. His fingers had barely brushed your wrist—light, almost teasing—as he leaned in to whisper something low in your ear.

And yet, you recoiled.

He didn’t comment on it then, only let a smirk curl at the corner of his lips as if he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Of course, he had.

Sylus never missed anything.

Sylus was nothing if not patient.

He had seen resistance before. He had encountered people who feared him, people who worshipped him, people who wanted something from him. But you?

You were different.

You didn’t fear him—you feared being touched.

And that… was fascinating.

So, he tested it.

Little things, at first. A hand at the small of your back as he guided you through a door. A knuckle brushing over your cheek under the excuse of tucking away a stray strand of hair. A moment where he let his fingers graze yours when he passed you something.

Every time, your body tensed—just slightly—but you didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

You always let it happen for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if waiting for something.

And that was when he knew.

You weren’t just unused to affection.

You were waiting for it to turn into something else.

Something harsher. Something cruel.

Something violent.

And that realization—that truth about you—made his blood burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

The night it finally broke, Sylus hadn’t meant to push too far.

It had been a long evening, tension thrumming beneath the surface between you both like an electric current. You had been irritatingly stubborn during negotiations, as always, challenging him, testing him, making him bite back a smirk as you stood your ground.

But the moment that lingered with him was after, when the night had settled and you had found yourself alone in his office.

He approached you like he always did—without hesitation.

This time, he touched your face, his thumb grazing over your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion. It wasn’t just teasing.

It wasn’t just a test.

It was real.

And you panicked.

You slapped his hand away, hard. The sound cracked through the air, sharp and startling, but Sylus didn’t react. He barely blinked, only watching as you took a step back, breath uneven, eyes wild.

His fingers flexed once before he let them drop to his side.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, quietly—

"If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first."

It wasn’t said with anger. It wasn’t a warning or a threat.

It was just… the truth.

And Sylus, for once in his life, didn’t have a response.

Something Unspoken

After that, he changed tactics.

He didn’t stop touching you entirely—no, never that. But he let you decide.

He let you approach him.

He gave you space but stayed close enough that you could always reach him if you wanted to.

And, for a while, you didn’t.

But then—

One night, after an exhausting mission, you sat beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his. You didn’t move away.

Another time, when exhaustion weighed on you, you let him take your wrist to check your pulse, your fingers trembling slightly—but not from fear.

And then, the night that changed everything—

You let him touch your face again.

This time, when his hand cradled your cheek, you leaned into it.

Not much. Just a fraction. Just enough that he could feel the shift.

Just enough for him to know.

And that was all the permission he needed.

Slowly, deliberately, his thumb traced the curve of your jaw, his voice low when he finally spoke:

"I would never hurt you."

Your breath hitched.

He felt it.

He didn’t ask why it was so hard for you to believe him. He didn’t ask who had left you expecting pain from every touch, from every lingering moment.

He only let his hand remain where it was, grounding, steady—yours, if you wanted it.

And finally, you did.

You didn’t say anything that night. You didn’t have to.

But after that, something changed.

Sylus, perceptive as always, noticed immediately.

The way your body no longer tensed at his presence. The way you lingered just a little closer when you stood beside him. The way your fingers, hesitant at first, brushed against the sleeve of his coat as if testing a boundary you weren’t sure you were allowed to cross.

And the way, eventually, you did.

It happened late one evening, when the city outside was silent, the only sounds in the room the distant hum of a record player spinning on low and the soft shuffle of papers on his desk.

You had been sitting across from him, absentmindedly twirling a pen between your fingers when, out of nowhere—you reached for him.

Your hand, small but steady, settled against his.

No hesitation. No flinching. No fear.

Sylus, always composed, almost stopped breathing.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he.

But his fingers curled over yours, slow, deliberate—a silent promise.

A promise that, for the first time in your life, someone’s touch wouldn’t bring pain.

And that was enough.

For now.

Xavier

The first time Xavier reached for you, you flinched.

It was instinct, sharp and immediate. His fingers had barely brushed your sleeve before you jerked away, stepping out of reach so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, tilting his head as if trying to decipher something unsaid.

You weren’t looking at him, though. You were staring at your own hands, fingers curled into fists at your sides, knuckles tight. Get it together.

"You okay?" His voice was light, easy, like he hadn’t just watched you recoil from his touch as if it burned.

You forced yourself to nod. "Yeah. Just—" You hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "You shouldn’t do that."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze with something colder than you really felt. "Touch me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before his expression shifted back to something more familiar—a smirk, teasing but careful. "Alright," he said, as if it didn’t matter. "No touching."

Except it did matter. Because Xavier wasn’t someone who kept his hands to himself—not in an intrusive way, but in a way that made him feel real. He was the kind of person who nudged you with his elbow when he made a joke, who ruffled your hair just to annoy you, who tugged at your sleeve when he wanted your attention.

But he listened.

For the next few weeks, he was careful. He kept his distance, kept his hands in his pockets, kept a respectable space between the two of you even when it was just the two of you on a mission, walking side by side.

And for some reason, it made your chest ache.

You wanted him close.

You just didn’t know how to let him be.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. If anything, that was the problem.

Xavier had wormed his way into your life in a way no one else had before. He was constant—too constant, maybe. There was no hesitation in the way he cared, no moment of doubt in his affection. He liked you, so he showed it. He wanted to be around you, so he was. There was no second-guessing, no caution.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

Because affection had always come with conditions. Because touches had always been accompanied by something sharp—by expectation, by control, by violence.

So the idea of Xavier touching you with nothing but warmth?

It scared you more than any fight ever had.

"You ever gonna tell me why?"

You blinked up from where you sat at the edge of a rooftop, staring out at the cityscape below. Xavier was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.

"Why what?"

"Why you don’t like me touching you." His voice wasn’t accusing, wasn’t pushing—it was just curious.

You swallowed. "I just don’t."

Xavier hummed, as if considering that. "You sure about that?"

You tensed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged, stepping forward—not close, but closer. "I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes."

Your heart skipped. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupted, voice softer now. "Like you want me to reach for you, but you don’t know if you should let me."

You exhaled sharply. "It’s not that simple."

"Then explain it to me."

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your sleeves, gripping tightly. You should have expected this—Xavier wasn’t the type to let things go so easily. He was patient, sure, but he wasn’t blind. He noticed things, noticed you.

And now, he was waiting.

You stared at your hands. "If you touch me without violence," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "you’ll be the first."

Silence.

For a moment, you thought he might not have heard you. But then, after a long pause, Xavier let out a quiet breath.

"That’s a damn shame," he said. His voice was soft, but not pitying. "Because you deserve better than that."

You didn’t look at him. "Maybe."

"You do," he said, firmer this time. "And I want to prove it to you."

Your breath hitched. "Xavier—"

"I won’t touch you until you want me to," he promised. "But when you do?" His gaze was steady, unwavering. "I’ll make sure you never have to doubt it."

It took time.

Xavier kept his promise. He didn’t touch you—not even accidentally. He was careful, patient in a way that made your chest ache. But he never pulled away emotionally. He was still there, still unwavering, still him.

And slowly, slowly, you started to realize something.

You wanted to close that distance.

You wanted him.

It started small—lingering closer when you walked together, sitting next to him instead of across the room, letting your shoulders brush just slightly before pulling away. And Xavier noticed. He always did.

But he didn’t push.

He let you take your time, let you move at your own pace.

Until one night, after a mission, when you were exhausted and sore and tired of your own fear, you turned to him and—hesitantly, carefully—reached for his hand.

His fingers twitched in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. He let you take his hand in yours, let you squeeze it lightly before letting go just as quickly.

You expected him to say something—maybe tease you, maybe push for more. But he didn’t. He just smiled, warm and real.

"Was that so bad?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Shut up."

Xavier chuckled, but there was something softer in his gaze. "Alright. No teasing. Not today, anyway."

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. "I hate you."

He grinned. "You love me."

You paused.

Then, quietly, you admitted, "Yeah."

Xavier stilled. His smile faltered—just for a second—before it softened into something genuine. Something real.

"Good," he murmured.

And for the first time, when he reached for you, you didn’t pull away.

Zayne

Zayne had always been patient. It was in his nature, woven into the fabric of his being just as much as his steady hands and level-headed presence. As a surgeon, patience was a necessity—an unwavering calm in the face of pressure, a stillness when chaos reigned.

But this was different.

This was you.

You, with your guarded eyes and the walls you built around yourself so high that even he, with all his skill, couldn’t navigate them easily. He had known from the start that you were different—not because you were difficult, not because you weren’t capable of love, but because the world had been cruel to you in ways it hadn’t been to him.

And still, he wanted you.

It started slow. The quiet companionship, the moments where neither of you needed to speak but simply existed together. A shared cup of tea in the morning. The warmth of his coat draped over your shoulders on a cold night. He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give, and yet…

Even he had limits to his patience.

Zayne had always been affectionate. Not in a way that was overwhelming, nor in grand declarations. No, his love was in the small things—in the way his fingers would brush against yours when passing you something, in the way his voice would soften when speaking your name, in the way he would lean in, close enough that you could feel his warmth but never quite touching.

And so, when he reached for you one evening—just a simple touch, the lightest brush of his fingertips against your wrist—he hadn’t expected you to recoil the way you did.

You flinched, your entire body going rigid, as if his touch had burned you.

Zayne froze. His hazel-green eyes flickered with something unreadable before he slowly withdrew his hand, watching you carefully. He wasn’t offended, nor was he hurt, but there was something in his expression that made your stomach twist.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice quieter than you intended.

His brows furrowed slightly. “I—”

“If you touch me without violence, you’ll be the first.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, raw and sharp. The room felt heavier in their wake, like the air had been sucked from it.

Zayne didn’t speak for a moment. He simply looked at you, studying you in that careful way he always did—like he was dissecting a puzzle, trying to understand without breaking it further.

You hated the silence. Hated the way it stretched between you like an open wound.

Then, finally, he exhaled softly.

“I see.”

And just like that, he shifted back, putting a comfortable distance between you. Not out of rejection, not out of frustration, but because he understood. He always understood.

You expected him to ask. To pry. To demand to know what had led you to this—why you had flinched, why you had spoken those words with such bitterness. But he didn’t.

He simply nodded, accepting it as fact, and changed the subject.

It should have been a relief.

It wasn’t.

Because Zayne, for all his patience and for all his understanding, was not one to simply forget.

Days passed. Then weeks.

Zayne hadn’t touched you since.

Not in the way he used to. No fleeting brushes of his fingertips, no teasing nudges, no quiet, lingering moments where his warmth bled into yours. It was as if he had drawn a line in the sand and refused to cross it.

You told yourself it was for the best.

So why did it feel so much worse?

You had never needed touch. Never craved it, never longed for it. But now, in the absence of it, you felt its loss like a phantom pain. You missed it.

You missed him.

And so, when you found yourself standing outside his apartment one evening, your fingers curled into fists at your sides, you knew you had to do something.

The door opened before you could even knock.

Zayne blinked at you, surprised but not displeased. He stepped aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

You hesitated.

And then, taking a deep breath, you walked past him, into the familiar warmth of his home.

He didn’t ask why you were there.

He simply poured you tea, as he always did, and waited.

You stared at the cup in your hands, fingers tightening around the ceramic.

“I don’t…” You hesitated. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet patience. “Stop what?”

You swallowed. “Touching me.”

For the first time in a long while, he seemed genuinely surprised. Not in a dramatic way—Zayne was never dramatic—but in the way his fingers stilled against his cup, in the way his gaze softened ever so slightly.

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

“I did.” Your throat felt tight. “I do. But I also… I don’t know.” You exhaled sharply. “I just… don’t want you to stop trying.”

Something in his expression shifted.

He set his cup down carefully before looking at you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. Not with judgment, not with pity—just understanding.

“I never stopped,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched.

“I just adjusted,” he continued. “To what you needed.”

And you realized, with startling clarity, that he had been touching you. Just not in the way you had expected.

It was in the way he always made you tea, the way he listened so intently, the way he never pushed, never pried, but always made sure you knew he was there.

He had been touching you in the only way you would allow.

And now? Now, you wanted more.

Tentatively, hesitantly, you reached out.

Your fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and you felt him still beneath your touch.

It was light. Barely there. But it was enough.

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t push for more.

He simply let you choose.

And, for the first time in your life, you did.

You let yourself be touched—gently, without violence, without fear.

Zayne, patient as ever, simply held still and let you set the pace.

And maybe, just maybe, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid.

[kirbmey]

period cramps with caleb !

💌: sfw, not proofread

it was late in the afternoon when you felt that unmistakable poke in your lower belly, making you yelp as you frowned; period was coming sooner than expected.

standing up with a low sigh leaving your lips you took lazy steps towards caleb’s office, unhappy with the decision of disturbing him even if he was busy.

he already told you many times before since you moved with him that he was more than happy to see you and help with whatever you needed, not minding leaving the paperwork behind for a minute.

“caleb?” you softly call out after knocking on the door, opening it slowly when you heard a faint ‘come in’.

once inside you saw his broad figure typing something away on the keyboard, long fingers working on the keycaps while his arms where decorated with rolled sleeves, showing the metal and vains traveling along his pale skin.

the room was dimly lighted, the setting sunlight illuminating the place with orangey colors, his desk filled with pictures of you two together, or you by yourself; even the little drawings you gifted him from time to time.

you were his little angel and he treasured everything you gave him, even the smallest knickknacks.

sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder what his subordinates would think if they saw how devoted he was to you. caleb always looked so intimidating with his uniform on, his stoic demeanor and clear instructions, but to you he was just a little puppy who wanted to give you nothing but the best.

“what’s wrong, sweets? you need anything?” he immediately asked when he gazed at your smaller frame standing in front of the big tall doors, gesturing you to step closer to him with his metallic hand after turning the monitor off, giving you all of his attention.

your steps towards your lover were quiet, your head hung low in an shy manner. once you were standing in front of him with both your hands fidgeting with the hem of your dress you felt his meaty one hold them, bringing one of them to his mouth, brushing your knuckles with his lips while looking at you from above.

his other hand found its way to you lower back, coaxing you to sit on his lap. once you obliged he noticed the discomfort drawn in your precious features, caressing your cheeks and pampering kisses all over your face, questioning what was the matter again.

“I just got really bad period cramps, that’s all.” you muttered in a whisper, gaining an adorable pout from him. caleb’s warm hand instinctively went down to your lower belly, caressing it in slow circles trying to ease the pain for you.

“want me to get you pads, meds, something sweet? I’ll go to the store to—” you interrupt his rumbling by giving a peck to his juicy lips, giggling at his wide open eyes as a reaction to the bold move. “I don’t need anything, just wanna spend some time with you and cuddle, is that okay?”

he chuckled with rosy cheeks, nodding as he held you tightly between his arms and stood up, making sure everything was turned off before taking you both back to the big couch.

everything turned quiet from there, he left you in the living room searching for a romcom to watch together as he made popcorn and brought ice cream, too. next to some medicines for your occasional pains, of course. caleb also drew the curtains since the sun completely settled and the moon decorated the starry sky, turning on the warm and dim light.

you nuzzled against his chest once you two were cuddled under the fluffy blanket, getting you hips caressed lovingly and your temple kissed from time to time, responding with little imaginary drawings on his chest and your shorter arms hugging him completely.

it didn’t take you long to fall asleep mid movie; he knew that would happen, as always. he just let it be, finishing it by himself and then turning off the television, getting in a more comfortable posture to sleep with you while he brushed your hair with his fingers, a dumb smile decorating his face.

by the morning there were no pains and you woke up to a snoring puppy, feeling happiness take over your being.

💌: I needed to write soft things with caleb without the whole big brother trope cuz sometimes I just wanna act normal yk :<

[mattybsgroupie]

— talking matt through his first orgasm over the phone

★ requested by anon ★

“matt? are you there?” you asked when you noticed matt had suddenly gotten quiet, his hums and nods no longer being heard. “uh, yes yes i’m listening” he mumbled, but his voice sounded further away, as if he had placed his phone somewhere else. you could hear him shuffling around the sheets, his breath getting heavier as he expected you to continue talking.

“what are you doing?” you said in a low tone, hearing matt coughing. “n-nothing, i’m just— i’m getting ready to sleep, that’s all” matt answered, lowering his head against the pillow, trying to get more comfortable as he placed the phone on his own chest. you knew exactly what he was doing — but you needed to hear it from him. “are you touching yourself, matt?” you ask and he suddenly chokes, coughing in discomfort.

“answer. me.” you demand. he never heard you like that before, your voice still soft while spitting mean words. this only made his cock twitch inside his fist, a muffled moan coming from his parted lips. “you’re a naughty, naughty boy”

“‘m sorry!” matt managed to speak, raising his forearm and putting it across his face in a way to hide his lewd expression. he covered his eyes, thinking it was your hand wrapped around his cock, lazily stroking it. “i-i… i need you to keep talking, please”

“give me one good fucking reason, matt. one reason why i should keep talking while you jerk that tiny cock of yours” you hear a loud whine coming from the speaker, as if he was about to cry. you couldn’t help but chuckle at his desperation, wondering how flushed his cheeks would look. you knew he was dripping sweat, his long, slender fingers probably rubbing his slit as he pumped his length — and you were the only thing on his mind. “because” matt started, taking a deep breath. “because i never… never did this before”

“phone sex?” you ask, and he whines again. he was so frustrated. “no!” matt mumbled, a pout forming on his lips. “n-never… came”. you got startled at his confession, adjusting your position in bed, a smirk unwittingly forming on your lips. “you’ve never had an orgasm baby? is that what you’re telling me?”

you can’t see it, but matt nods. “call me that again, please” he pleads, small whimpers coming from the back of his throat. he wanted to be your baby. “aw, is that why you’re so whiny, baby? my little virgin boy never came? not even inside his pants?”

“h-have” he continues. you can now clearly hear the sound of his wetness taking over, the pre-cum oozing from his tip making his cock slippery. “but only… in dreams” matt confesses, causing you to smile at his innocence. “and then you wake up all sticky, baby?”

matt hums through the speaker, his whimpers turning into moans as he approached his high. “do you feel that thing on your tummy sweetie? that’s when you know you’re close” you instruct him, and matt instantly answers. “c-close” he says, not sure when to stop.

“so let it all out yeah?” you coo, feeling your own heat getting harder to ignore, the wetness from your pussy leaving a spot on your panties. “cum for me” was all you needed to say to hear matt’s cries, a loud groan taking over your earphones as he orgasmed for the first time. spams took over his body and his phone suddenly fell, his screen hitting against the wooden floor. you patiently waited as he recovered, chuckling when he got his phone back. “felt good?” you asked, knowing he was smiling on the other side. “you definitely gotta teach me more things”.

[astrxq]

Borrowed Time

modern!cregan stark x reader

words: 17.4k

notes: this was requested!!

You were in the middle of highlighting your history notes when Sara dropped into the seat across from you, that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. Before you could even ask what she wanted, Jace appeared beside her, wearing an equally suspicious grin.

"No," you said immediately, returning to your notes. "Whatever it is, no."

"You haven't even heard what we're going to say," Jace protested, pulling out a chair and settling in. The library was quiet around you, afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

"I don't need to hear it. That look on both your faces means trouble," you said, capping your highlighter. "Last time you had that look, we ended up getting kicked out of that coffee shop on Fifth."

"That was one time," Sara waved her hand dismissively. "And the barista was totally overreacting. How were we supposed to know the chairs weren't meant to be stacked?"

"They were clearly not meant to be stacked, Sara."

"Ancient history," Jace cut in, leaning forward. "This is actually about your academic future. We're putting together a study group for Martinez's class."

You paused, eyeing them both suspiciously. "Political Science?"

"The very same," Sara nodded, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. "The one you were ranting about last week at dinner. What was it you said? Something about how the theories were, and I quote, 'slowly sucking your soul out through your eyeballs'?"

"I was being dramatic," you muttered, though you couldn't quite meet her eyes. The truth was, you'd been struggling more than you wanted to admit.

"Were you though?" Jace reached over and picked up your textbook, flipping through the rainbow of highlighted pages. "Because this looks like a cry for help. What does pink even mean?"

You snatched the book back. "Pink is for... important things."

"Everything is highlighted pink!"

"Everything is important!"

Sara tried to suppress her laugh but failed. "This is exactly why you need our study group. We've got a solid plan – twice a week, two hours max. We can share notes, discuss the readings..."

"Who else is in it?" you asked, trying to sound casual even as suspicion crept in. They were being far too enthusiastic about this.

The look Sara and Jace exchanged was quick, but you caught it. Years of friendship had taught you to recognize their silent conversations.

Sara said carefully, suddenly very interested in straightening her sleeve. "Me, Jace... and my brother."

Your stomach did an odd little flip. Cregan. Of course it would be Cregan. Sara's half-brother, Jace's best friend, and quite possibly the most intimidating person you'd ever met – not because he was mean or hostile, but because he seemed to exist in a completely different orbit than yours despite sharing the same friend group. You'd seen him plenty of times over the past year, usually deep in animated conversation with Jace or quietly sitting while the rest of you chatted. He'd never been anything but polite, but there was always this careful distance, as if he was deliberately keeping you at arm's length.

"Your brother," you repeated slowly. "The one who never speaks to me?"

"He speaks to you!" Sara protested.

"'Excuse me' and ‘can i borrow a pen’ don't count as speaking to me, Sara."

"He's just... quiet," Jace jumped in. "You know how he is. But he's got the highest grade in the class. Like, by a lot. And he actually takes good notes, unlike some people." He pointedly looked at his own notebook, which appeared to be covered in what might have been either class notes or an elaborate doodle of a dragon. It was hard to tell.

You bit your lip, considering. The idea of spending extended time with someone who seemed to find you completely uninteresting wasn't exactly appealing, but you really did need help with the course. And maybe, you thought, it wouldn't be so bad with Sara and Jace there as buffers.

"Fine," you sighed, already wondering if you'd regret this. "But if it gets weird–"

"It won't!" Sara bounced up from her chair, beaming. "First session's tomorrow at four. We'll be in study room C. It's going to be great!"

"Super great!" Jace agreed, gathering his things. "Life-changing, even. You'll thank us later."

As they walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that they looked far too pleased with themselves.

The next afternoon, you arrived at study room C a few minutes early, half-expecting Jace and Sara to already be there, goofing off or laying out some kind of elaborate prank. But when you pushed the door open, the only person inside was Cregan.  

He looked up from his notebook, brows lifting slightly in surprise before settling back into his usual neutral expression. He was seated at the far end of the table, his laptop open, a few books stacked neatly beside him. Unlike Jace’s chaotic scrawl or Sara’s color-coded monstrosity of a planner, his notes were meticulously organized – paragraphs written in a clean, even script, highlighted sparingly.  

You hesitated in the doorway. “Am I early?”  

Cregan shook his head. “They’re late.”  

That sounded about right. You stepped inside, setting your bag down as you tried to ignore the awkward weight of silence stretching between you. Cregan didn’t offer any small talk, just went back to his notes, flipping a page with practiced ease.  

You exhaled slowly, pulling out your own notebook and flipping it open. A moment passed. Then another. The silence became unbearable.  

“So,” you said, glancing at him. “You actually volunteered for this?”  

Cregan’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile there and gone before you could fully register it. “Not exactly.”  

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Let me guess. Sara roped you into it?”  

“She has a way of convincing people.”  

“That’s one way to put it,” you muttered, twirling your pen between your fingers. “She didn’t tell me you were basically carrying the class, though.”  

“I wouldn’t say that.”  

“She would. And Jace. Apparently, your notes are legendary.”  

He glanced at you then, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. “I just write things down.”  

“Unlike Jace.”  

That actually earned you a short laugh – low and warm, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. Something in your chest tightened at it.  

The door banged open before you could process that feeling, and Sara and Jace tumbled in, both out of breath.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Sara panted, dropping into a chair. “There was a situation.”  

“Jace knocked over a whole display in the library cafe,” she continued as Jace groaned, dropping his head onto the table. “It was tragic.”  

“I maintain it was too close to the counter,” he mumbled into the wood.  

You caught Cregan watching his sister and best friend with what looked like fond exasperation, and for a moment, you envied how easy they all were with each other. How naturally they fit together. You'd known Jace since freshman year, and through him, Sara, but Cregan had always felt like someone just out of reach – present but never quite part of your circle.

"Right," Sara said, finally catching her breath. "Where were we? Political theory? The reading responses due next week?"

"The Weber analysis," Cregan supplied quietly, and you noticed how his voice changed when he spoke to them – looser, more familiar. It shouldn't have bothered you, but something about it sat heavy in your stomach.

"Oh right, Weber," Jace lifted his head from the table, suddenly animated. "The guy with all the bureaucracy stuff."

"That's... one way to put it," Cregan said, and you could hear the hint of amusement in his voice. He turned to a specific page in his notebook, and you watched as he easily fell into conversation with Jace about the reading, their words flowing back and forth with the ease of years of friendship.

You tried to focus on your own notes, but your attention kept drifting to the way Cregan's entire demeanor had shifted. Gone was the careful restraint from earlier – now his hands moved as he spoke, emphasizing points about social stratification and authority structures. His voice carried more inflection, and occasionally he'd even smile at Jace's terrible political theory puns.

"Hey," Sara's voice was soft beside you, making you jump slightly. You hadn't even noticed her move closer. "You okay? You're kind of staring at your blank page pretty intensely."

"What? Oh, yeah," you quickly scribbled down the date, just to look busy. "Just trying to keep up."

Sara hummed thoughtfully, her eyes darting between you and her brother. "You know," she said, keeping her voice low, "he's not actually as intimidating as he seems."

"I don't find him intimidating," you protested, perhaps a bit too quickly.

"Right," she drawled, clearly unconvinced. "That's why you've barely said two words to him in the past year."

"That's not true," you started, but she cut you off with a knowing look.

"It's okay. He's not great at... people. Well, new people," she amended, glancing at her brother who was now rolling his eyes at something Jace had said. "Just give it time."

Before you could respond, Cregan's voice cut through your whispered conversation: "If we're actually going to study, we should probably start with the main concepts."

You looked up to find him watching you and Sara, his expression unreadable once again. The warmth from his conversation with Jace had vanished, replaced by that familiar distance that made you feel like you were somehow intruding, even though you'd been invited to be there.

"Right," you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "The main concepts. Of course."

As he began outlining Weber's theory of social action, you couldn't help but wonder if Sara was right about giving it time. Because right now, it felt like no amount of time would bridge whatever carefully maintained distance Cregan seemed determined to keep between you.

About halfway through the session, Jace let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back in his chair. "I can't focus. The lights in here are way too bright."

Sara snorted. "The lights are fine, you big baby."

"No, they're definitely giving me a headache," Jace insisted, throwing an arm over his eyes. "We should do this somewhere else next time. Like, I don't know..." He paused for effect. "My place?"

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean the apartment that looked like a tornado hit it last time I was there?"

"It's not that bad!"

"Jace, there was a pizza box being used as a mousepad."

A low chuckle came from across the table, and you looked over to find Cregan trying to hide his amusement behind his hand. The sound made your stomach do that weird flip again.

"See?" Jace gestured wildly. "Even Cregan agrees we should move locations. It's his apartment too, and he's much neater than me."

"That's not exactly difficult," Cregan murmured, earning another laugh from you.

"Fine, gang up on me," Jace pouted. "But seriously, these lights are killing me."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Maybe if you actually looked at your notes instead of your phone..."

As they bickered, Cregan turned his attention back to the material at hand. "So, Weber's concept of social action..." He glanced at your notes and paused, taking in the rainbow explosion of highlights and the scattered notes in the margins.

Heat crept up your neck. "I know it's a mess," you said quickly. "I just... highlight things that seem important."

"Everything seems important?" There was no judgment in his voice, just that slight hint of amusement you were starting to recognize.

"Better safe than sorry?" you offered weakly.

He nodded thoughtfully, then slid his notebook slightly closer to you. "Here," he said quietly. "This might help structure it better." His neat handwriting laid out the concepts in clear, logical progression, with key points underlined rather than highlighted.

You leaned in slightly to read, suddenly very aware of how close you were to him. His handwriting was even nicer up close, you noticed, and he'd drawn small diagrams in the margins to illustrate some of the more complex ideas.

"So the rationalization of social action," he began explaining, his voice taking on that teaching tone that made him sound impossibly smart, "can be broken down into these four types..."

You tried to focus on what he was saying, you really did. But there was something about the way he spoke, confident and clear, occasionally gesturing to emphasize a point, that made it hard to concentrate. A strand of dark hair fell across his forehead as he leaned forward to point something out, and you found yourself fighting the urge to brush it back.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, looking up at you suddenly.

"Oh! Um, yes," you stammered, hoping your face wasn't as red as it felt. "The, uh, the four types of social action. Traditional, affective, value-rational, and..." you trailed off, momentarily distracted by how his eyes seemed to catch the light.

"Instrumental-rational," he finished, his lips quirking slightly. Was he amused by your confusion? "We can go over it again if you need."

"No, no, I got it," you said quickly, even as Jace muttered something about the lights still being too bright. "Just... processing."

Cregan nodded, but you could have sworn there was something softer in his expression now, something less distant than before. But before you could be sure, he was already turning the page, moving on to the next concept, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Sara and Jace exchanging one of their looks – the kind that made you feel like you were missing something obvious. Sara's lips were curved in a knowing smile, while Jace waggled his eyebrows in what he probably thought was a subtle manner.

You furrowed your brows at them, a silent question, but they just smiled back innocently. Too innocently. Sara even had the audacity to wink at you before pretending to be extremely interested in her phone.

"So these social institutions," Cregan continued, completely oblivious to the silent conversation happening across the table, "they form the foundation of Weber's bureaucratic theory." His finger traced under a perfectly written line of text, and you couldn't help but notice how even his bullet points were symmetrical. Who even wrote bullet points that neatly?

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to feel intimidated by how effortlessly he explained complex theories that had taken you hours to barely grasp. He didn't even need to refer to the textbook – everything just seemed to flow from his mind to his lips with perfect clarity. It was almost unfair, really, how someone could be so... academically put together.

"The key thing to remember," he was saying, tapping his pen against a small diagram he'd drawn, "is how these systems of authority interconnect." His voice had that quiet confidence that came from truly understanding something, not just memorizing it.

You nodded, trying to focus on the actual words and not on how his hand moved across the page, or how he'd occasionally glance up to make sure you were following along. The worst part was that he probably thought you were struggling with the material – which you were, but not entirely for the reasons he might assume.

"Makes perfect sense," you heard yourself say, even though your mind had wandered to wondering if he color-coded his closet as meticulously as he organized his notes.

Sara cleared her throat loudly, making you jump slightly. When you looked up, she and Jace were wearing matching grins that made you want to throw your highlighter at them. Whatever they were thinking, whatever they thought they were seeing, you didn't want to hear it.

Cregan glanced between the three of you, a slight crease appearing between his brows. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was going on, but he just turned back to his notes, that familiar distance settling over him again like a shield.

You bit the inside of your cheek harder, telling yourself it didn't matter. You were here to study, not to analyze why your friends were acting weird, or why Cregan's handwriting was unreasonably perfect, or why you suddenly cared so much about either of those things.

***

The next day found you sitting on Jace and Cregan's surprisingly clean couch (at least this part of the apartment), waiting for Sara and Jace who were now twenty minutes late. You'd texted them both twice, receiving only a vague "on our way!" from Sara and a string of random emojis from Jace that made absolutely no sense.

Cregan sat in the armchair across from you, repeatedly adjusting the stack of books on the coffee table between you. First, he aligned them perfectly with the table's edge. Then he shifted them slightly to the left. Then back to center. You watched as he cleared his throat for what must have been the fifth time in as many minutes.

When you glanced up at him, he offered a quick, almost shy smile before looking away again. It was strange seeing him in his own space – he seemed both more relaxed and somehow more nervous, his usual composed demeanor slightly cracked.

The silence stretched on, not exactly uncomfortable but definitely not comfortable enough to ignore. You watched as he picked up his notebook, then put it down, then picked it up again.

"So," you finally said, desperate to break the quiet, "this is definitely cleaner than I expected."

His lips twitched. "I may have... tidied up a bit."

"A bit?"

"Jace's room is still a disaster," he admitted, and this time his smile stayed longer. "I drew the line at going in there. For my own safety."

You laughed, remembering the pizza-box mousepad. "Probably wise. I'm pretty sure I saw something move under his laundry pile last time."

"That was last week's sandwich," he said with such perfect deadpan delivery that it took you a moment to realize he was joking. When you did, you couldn't help but laugh again, and something in his posture seemed to relax slightly.

"Please tell me you're joking," you said, though you weren't entirely sure you wanted to know.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"You know what? No. No, I don't." You shook your head, still smiling. "How do you live with him? I mean, you're so..." you gestured vaguely at his perfectly organized notes.

"Neurotic?" he supplied, but there was amusement in his voice.

"I was going to say organized, but..." you teased, surprised by how easy it suddenly felt to talk to him.

He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up slightly in a way that was unfairly endearing. "It works, somehow. He's..." Cregan paused, considering his words. "He balances things out. Keeps me from getting too..."

"Neurotic?" you offered, throwing his word back at him.

That earned you another one of those rare laughs, the kind that seemed to surprise even him. "Exactly."

Your phone buzzed then, another text from Sara: Sorry!! Got held up at the library. Start without us? 

You looked up to find Cregan checking his own phone, his expression shifting into something you couldn't quite read. "Let me guess," you said. "They're 'on their way'?"

"Apparently there's a 'situation' at the library," he replied, making air quotes with his fingers.

"Of course there is." You slumped back against the couch. "They're not coming, are they?"

"Probably not," he admitted, and was it your imagination, or did he look almost... pleased about that?

"Wait," you said, frowning at your textbook, where the words had started to blur together after an hour of reading. "What's this part about instrumental rationality? I keep getting it mixed up with the other types." You chewed on your pencil, a nervous habit you'd never managed to break.

Cregan shifted closer on the couch – you'd both migrated there to share the coffee table space – and leaned in to look at where you were pointing. Your knees brushed, and neither of you moved away. The warmth of the contact made it harder to focus on the words in front of you.

"That's the one about achieving specific goals," he explained, his voice softer now that he was closer. "It's about choosing the most efficient means to an end. Like..." He paused, thinking. "Like when someone chooses their actions based purely on what will get them the best outcome."

You nodded, still worrying the pencil between your teeth. "So if I'm studying just to get a good grade rather than because I want to learn..."

"Exactly," he said, and you noticed his eyes flick down to your mouth before quickly returning to the textbook. "Or choosing a major based on job prospects rather than personal interest."

"God, you're really smart," you blurted out before you could stop yourself, immediately feeling heat rush to your face. "Like, really, really smart. How do you just... know all this stuff? It's like you don't even need to study, it's all just there in your head."

A flush crept up his neck, and he ducked his head slightly, messing with the corner of his notebook. "I just... read a lot," he said, running a hand through his hair in what you were starting to recognize as a nervous gesture. "You're probably smarter than me."

You let out a surprised laugh. "That's literally the biggest lie you've ever told, and we both know it." You gestured at your highlight-covered notes, which looked like a rainbow had exploded across them. "I'm pretty sure my brain looks like this on the inside. Just... chaos and color-coding."

"That's not–" he started, then seemed to catch himself. His expression grew serious. "Different people learn differently. It doesn't make you any less intelligent. Besides," his lips quirked up slightly, "your way seems more interesting than mine."

"Oh yeah?" you challenged, trying to ignore how his knee was still pressed against yours. "What's so interesting about my highlight explosion method?"

He actually smiled then, reaching over to tap one of your particularly colorful pages. "Well, for one thing, I'm genuinely curious about your highlighting system. Pink for important things, you said?"

"Don't make fun of my system," you groaned, but you were smiling too.

"I'm not," he insisted, and his voice had that warm undertone that you'd only heard him use with Jace and Sara before. "I'm serious. At least your notes have personality. Mine are just..."

"Perfect?" you supplied.

He huffed a laugh. "Boring."

"Are you kidding? Your notes are like... they're like art. Look at these diagrams!" You pointed to one of his careful illustrations. "Meanwhile, my attempts at drawing charts look like they were done by a drunk toddler."

"I like your charts," he said quietly, and something in his tone made you look up at him. He was closer than you'd realized, still leaning in to look at your notes. "They're... creative."

You were suddenly very aware of how little space there was between you, how his shoulder was almost brushing yours, how his knee was still pressed against yours. "Creative is a nice way of saying messy," you managed to say.

"No, I mean it. Look–" He started to say something else, but the sound of keys jingling at the door cut him off.

There was a scraping sound, followed by a quiet curse from what sounded like Jace, then more jingling. The key seemed to miss the lock at least three times before the door finally swung open.

"–telling you, they're probably just–" Sara's whispered voice drifted in, cutting off abruptly as she and Jace entered the apartment. They both stood in the doorway, staring at you and Cregan on the couch with your books spread out between you.

Sara's expression shifted from anticipation to something like disappointment, while Jace's eyebrows shot up comically high. "Have you two actually been studying this whole time?" Jace asked, sounding almost accusatory.

You and Cregan exchanged a confused look. "Why wouldn't we be?" you both asked simultaneously, then glanced at each other in surprise.

"No reason!" Sara said quickly, too quickly. "We just thought... I mean, we were gone so long, and you were alone, and..."

"That we'd what?" you prompted, narrowing your eyes at them. "Start a paper airplane competition with our notes?"

"Nothing!" Sara jumped in. "Nothing at all. Just... surprised by all the... studying."

"I mean, that paper plane competition would have been more interesting than Weber," Jace muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from Sara.

You noticed Cregan shifting slightly beside you, putting a bit more space between your knees, and immediately missed the warmth. "We're in a study group," he said flatly, but there was a tension in his voice that hadn't been there before. "What else would we be doing?"

Sara and Jace exchanged another one of their looks – the kind that made you want to throw your thoroughly chewed pencil at them. "Right," Sara said, dragging out the word. "The study group. Anyway! What did we miss?"

"Weber's theory of rationalization," you said, trying to ignore the knowing smirks they were both wearing. "Which you'd know if you'd actually been at the library like you said."

"We were!" Jace protested, but his guilty expression said otherwise. "There was a whole... thing. With books. And... shelves. Very serious library emergency."

"Very convincing," Cregan muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. You bit back a smile, catching his eye for a moment before quickly looking away.

"Well," Sara declared, dropping into an armchair with far too much enthusiasm, "we're here now. So, instrumental rationality? Anyone? Bueller?"

You groaned, slumping back against the couch. "We literally just went over that."

"Perfect timing then," Jace grinned, sprawling across the other chair. "You can explain it to us. Since you two have been studying so diligently and all."

"Unlike some people," Cregan added dryly, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at Jace's offended expression.

"I've been studying!" Jace protested. "Just... you know, in my own way."

"Is that what you call sleeping with your textbook under your pillow?" Cregan asked, and this time you couldn't hold back your laugh.

As you launched into an explanation of Weber's theories, stumbling only slightly over the terms, you couldn't help but notice how Cregan had angled himself slightly toward you, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he added clarifying points to your explanation. And if Sara and Jace kept exchanging those irritating knowing looks, well, you decided to ignore them.

Even if you had a sneaking suspicion they might be right about... whatever it was they thought they were seeing.

The study session had stretched into hours, and despite the caffeine you'd consumed, your brain had begun to feel like mush. The terms Sara was repeating, again and again, had started to blur together, an endless loop of rationality and theory that felt more like noise than knowledge. You let your eyes drift shut for a moment, only to open them again when Jace shifted beside you, his legs still sprawled lazily across your lap.

He was mindlessly tracing patterns on the edge of his notebook, his gaze elsewhere, his usual energy faded into something more comfortable. His quiet presence was oddly soothing, though you weren’t sure if it was the weight of his legs or the fact that everything about him seemed to take on a hazy calm in this late hour. You rubbed your temples, trying to clear the fog.

Cregan, who had been quietly following the discussion, had noticed the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your attention drifted. He shifted in his seat across from you, catching your tired gaze.

“How about we take a break?” he suggested, his voice steady but with a hint of warmth you didn’t expect. “Maybe... get some food? Clear our heads a bit?”

Sara perked up at the mention of food, but Jace, still lounging with his legs across your lap, groaned dramatically. “Food sounds like a good idea,” he agreed, though the way he shifted only slightly suggested he wasn’t keen on moving.

“You’re so lazy,” Sara teased him, but it was clear she was ready to indulge.

Cregan shot you an amused look as he leaned forward, hands on his knees. “I’ll order, if you guys want.”

Your stomach had been protesting the lack of proper meals for hours, the idea of food suddenly making your body feel much more alive. "Honestly, I’m starving," you admitted, leaning back into the couch and letting Jace’s legs settle heavier over yours, the comfortable weight of them anchoring you.

Cregan had already moved toward the phone, his tall form cutting through the space between the couch and the table with purposeful strides. 

He’d barely looked at the screen when he muttered about getting “a little bit of everything”, a casual declaration that spoke volumes about his no-nonsense approach to food. You couldn’t help but appreciate the simplicity of it all; he’d just order it all. No one would be left hungry.

You had almost forgotten about Jace, whose legs were still comfortably sprawled across your lap. But now, as he shifted and poked at your side, you found his eyes focused on you, bright with mischief.

“Hey,” he said, the playful note in his voice unmistakable. “Can you come with me to get a glass of water?”

You blinked at him, incredulous. “The kitchen’s, like, five feet away,” you replied, gesturing toward the open space across the room. "You're a big boy. You can go on your own."

“I could really use your help."

You groaned, the weariness in your bones making it hard to argue. “You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, but already, you were pushing yourself off the couch, your hand lightly brushing against his legs as you stood. Jace’s grin widened as you walked toward the kitchen, clearly pleased with himself for getting you to move.

Behind you, Sara was still mumbling terms under her breath, her brother’s voice fading into the background as he handled the phone call. The steady murmur of the conversation didn’t even register in your mind; your focus was solely on Jace, who was trailing behind you with a slow, exaggerated shuffle.

As you entered the kitchen, you turned to face him, expecting him to move toward the cabinet or the tap for a glass. But instead, he simply stood there, looking around aimlessly, as if the very task of getting water had suddenly become an unsolvable puzzle.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Well? What’s the holdup?”

He glanced back at you, his expression one of mock innocence.

"So..." Jace dragged out the word, leaning against the counter with exaggerated casualness. "You and Cregan..."

"Were studying," you finished flatly, already knowing where this was going. "Like we're supposed to be doing."

"Right, right. Just studying." He wiggled his eyebrows. "For two whole hours. Alone. And you didn't think about doing... anything else?"

Heat crept up your neck. "Jace!"

"What?" He held up his hands defensively, but his grin remained firmly in place. "I'm just saying, two people, empty apartment, plenty of time..."

"To study Weber's theories of social organization," you cut in, though you could feel your face burning. "Which is exactly what we did."

"Boring," he sang under his breath, then dodged the dish towel you threw at him. "Come on, you can't tell me you weren't even a little tempted to, I don't know, actually talk to him? About something other than dead sociologists?"

You busied yourself getting a glass from the cabinet, even though Jace still hadn't asked for water. "Why would I? He barely tolerates me as it is."

"What?" Jace's playful demeanor shifted into genuine confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," you sighed, setting the glass down maybe a bit too forcefully. "This is literally the most he's ever spoken to me, and it's only because Sara forced him into this study group thing. He probably thinks I'm an idiot with my rainbow notes and constant questions."

Jace stared at you for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh my god, you're actually serious."

"Keep your voice down!" you hissed, glancing toward the living room where you could still hear Cregan on the phone with the takeout place.

"Sorry, sorry," Jace wheezed, not looking sorry at all. "It's just... you think he finds you uninteresting? You?"

"Have you not noticed how he barely speaks to me? How he's always perfectly polite but never actually..." you waved your hands vaguely, "engages? Meanwhile, he talks to you and Sara like it's the easiest thing in the world."

"Because we've known him forever," Jace said, like it was obvious. "Trust me, he was way worse with us at first. It took me months to get more than three words out of him when we first met."

"That's different," you insisted, though something uncertain flickered in your chest. "You're his best friend, and Sara's his sister."

"And you're..." Jace trailed off, that irritating knowing look back on his face.

"His unwilling study partner," you finished. "Who he's stuck with because you and Sara keep abandoning us."

"Speaking of which," he grinned, "notice how he hasn't complained about that? Not even once?"

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again. Come to think of it, Cregan hadn't seemed particularly bothered by Sara and Jace's constant absences. If anything, he'd been... well, you weren't sure what he'd been, but 'annoyed' definitely wasn't it.

"That doesn't mean anything," you said finally, but your voice lacked conviction.

"Sure it doesn't." Jace pushed off from the counter, that insufferable grin still in place. "Just like it doesn't mean anything that he keeps looking over here right now, probably wondering what we're talking about."

"He is not–" you started to say, but when you glanced toward the living room, you caught Cregan quickly looking away, his phone call apparently finished. Something fluttered in your stomach.

"Told you," Jace sang quietly. Then his voice dropped lower, more serious. "Look, I know Cregan. He's... he's testing the waters. Always has been, with you."

You frowned, fidgeting with the empty glass. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what's funny?" Jace leaned in conspiratorially, a small smile playing at his lips. "The first time you came over to hang out with me and Sara, like what, two years go? He came home, saw you sitting on the couch, and later told Sara you were really pretty." He paused, watching your reaction. "Never mentioned it again, of course. Classic Cregan. But I bet he still thinks so."

Your face felt like it was on fire. "You're making that up."

"Am I?" Jace raised an eyebrow. "Sara was so excited about it, she called me immediately. But then he just... clammed up. Wouldn't talk about you at all. Which, by the way, is exactly what he does when he's trying really hard not to show interest in something."

"That's..." you struggled to find words, your mind stuck on the idea that Cregan had ever thought about you that way. "That was years ago. He's barely spoken to me since then."

"Yeah, because he's an idiot who overthinks everything," Jace rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if he actually found you uninteresting, he definitely wouldn't have cleaned the entire apartment just because you were coming over to study."

You opened your mouth to argue, then closed it again as you remembered how suspiciously tidy the living room had been. "He said he just tidied up a bit."

"A bit?" Jace snorted. "He stress-cleaned for like two hours this morning. I found him organizing the spice rack alphabetically. We don't even cook!"

From the living room, you heard Cregan's voice: "Food's on the way. Everything okay in there?"

"Fine!" you called back, your voice higher than usual. "Just... getting Jace his water."

"Right," Jace muttered, smirking. "Just... think about it, okay? And maybe cut him some slack."

You grabbed the glass you'd taken out, filled it quickly, trying to process everything Jace had just told you. When you handed it to him back in the living room, he just smirked and set it aside without taking a single sip.

As you settled back onto the couch, you couldn't help but glance at Cregan. He was looking down at his phone, but there was a slight flush to his cheeks that hadn't been there before. You wondered if he'd heard any of your conversation, if he had any idea that Jace had just upended everything you thought you knew about how he saw you.

When he looked up and caught your eye, offering that small, almost shy smile, you felt your heart skip. Maybe Jace was right. Maybe you'd been reading this all wrong.

Halfway through your dinner, the room had settled into a comfortable sprawl. Shoes had been kicked off long ago, the air warm with the scent of food and the quiet hum of the television as Jace scrolled through endless movie options. Sara was curled up on the oversized bean bag Jace had dragged out from his (not so dirty) room, cross-legged and picking at her food between halfhearted comments about his choices. 

You had swapped your stiff button-up for one of Jace’s shirts, soft and worn, draping over your frame as you lounged against the armrest of the couch, knees pulled up. Jace sat on the floor beside you, absentmindedly leaning into the space near your legs as he continued his aimless search.

"How about The Matrix?" Jace called out from his spot on the floor, scrolling endlessly through Netflix as he had been for the past ten minutes.

"No," Cregan replied without looking up from his food.

"Lord of the Rings?"

"We're not starting a three-hour movie at this time of night."

"Fine. Ocean's Eleven?"

"No."

You pushed your noodles around with your chopsticks, barely registering their back-and-forth. Your mind was stuck in a loop, replaying your conversation with Jace in the kitchen. The food in your stomach felt heavy, but you weren't sure if it was from eating too quickly or from the weight of this new information that you had no idea what to do with.

He'd found you pretty. Two years ago, maybe, but still. Cregan Stark, who always seemed so perfectly put together, so distant, had actually noticed you before you'd even properly met. And what were you supposed to do with that knowledge? It's not like you could just bring it up casually over takeout. 'Hey, heard you thought I was pretty ages ago, still think so?'

You snuck a glance at him from the corner of your eye. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his takeout container balanced carefully on his knee as he systematically shot down every one of Jace's movie suggestions. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up to his elbows, and you noticed how his forearms tensed slightly every time he reached for his drink. It really didn't help that he was unfairly attractive, all quiet intensity and careful movements.

"Indiana Jones?" Jace's voice cut through your thoughts.

"No."

"You're impossible," Jace groaned.

Sara caught your eye from across the room and smiled knowingly, making you wonder just how obvious your staring had been. What were they playing at, really? 

You'd lost count of how many times you'd asked Sara if her brother actually liked you – as a person, as a friend, as anything. "Of course he likes you!" she'd always insist. "He's just quiet at first!" But you'd never quite believed her, not when he seemed so much more animated with everyone else.

But now... now Jace had thrown everything into question. If what he said was true, if Cregan really had been interested enough to comment on you that first time... The thought made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with the food.

"Inception?" Jace tried again.

"Jace."

"What? It's perfect! It's about complex theories and stuff. Very educational."

You caught yourself smiling at their bickering, only to look up and find Cregan watching you with that same unreadable expression. He quickly looked back to his food. 

You felt heat creeping up your neck. What did they expect you to do? Make the first move? You barely knew him, really knew him, beyond his perfect notes and quiet presence. 

"Fast and Furious?" Jace's voice broke through your thoughts again.

"I'm going to throw something at you," Cregan warned, but there was no real heat in his voice.

You bit back a smile, trying to focus on your food instead of the way Cregan's shoulder brushed against your leg when he reached for the soy sauce. Friends, you told yourself firmly. If anything was going to change, it would have to start there. But as you watched him hide another smile behind his hand at Jace's increasingly ridiculous movie suggestions, you couldn't help but wonder if that would be enough.

What had Jace expected you to do with that information? He found you pretty. The words echoed in your mind, each repetition adding weight. What were you supposed to do with that? Did Jace and Sara want you to do something with it? Ask Cregan out? Were they trying to set you up? Or was the plan simply to get you to talk to him more, be friends, maybe?

It made sense, right? Friends first. You weren’t exactly convinced when Sara told you time and again that Cregan was just quiet at first. But now, after talking to Jace, the whole thing felt confusing. Were you reading into things? Maybe it was easier to believe Cregan just didn’t like you at all during these past two years, rather than accept that he hadn’t been comfortable enough to show it.

He was so attractive. Very attractive. There was no denying it. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. His quiet confidence, the way he carried himself… It made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn't quite explain.

You saw him shift on the couch, making himself more comfortable. He set down his now-empty takeout container and leaned back, looking like he had no interest in eating anymore. 

Still, he kept rejecting every single one of Jace’s movie suggestions, each one more absurd than the last. Sara, sensing the impasse, jumped in with her usual exasperated tone, urging them to just pick something already.

You caught Cregan’s profile as he reclined, one hand casually brushing his hair back, and the heat to your face increased. Your knees were drawn up to your chest, hoping they’d hide the way your cheeks had flushed. Your gaze flickered between the two of them, trying not to be too obvious as you studied him. 

He didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it.

***

The next few days passed in a blur of highlighted notes and carefully maintained distance. Where there had been moments of warmth during that first evening in Cregan's apartment, now there was only polite efficiency. He'd explain concepts clearly when asked, his voice steady and professional, but gone were the small smiles, the quiet jokes, the moments where he seemed to let his guard down.

You tried to match his businesslike approach, taking careful notes and keeping your questions relevant and concise. But the silence between explanations felt heavy, loaded with things unsaid. You couldn't help but wonder if you'd imagined the connection from before, if Jace had been wrong about everything.

"So," Sara announced one afternoon, dropping into her usual seat at the library with suspicious enthusiasm. "I've been thinking."

"Dangerous," you muttered, not looking up from your notes.

"About our study strategy," she continued, ignoring your comment. "I think we should try something new."

That made you look up. Cregan, who had been quietly reviewing his own notes across the table, paused too, his pen hovering over the page.

"What kind of something?" you asked warily.

"Well," Sara drew out the word, exchanging a quick glance with Jace. "I was thinking we might be more effective if we split into pairs. You know, for more focused discussion."

You felt your stomach drop. "Pairs?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, trying and failing to look casual. "Like, maybe Jace and I could work on the historical context stuff, and you two could focus on the theoretical frameworks?"

"That... doesn't make any sense," you said slowly. "You're better at theory than Jace is."

"Hey!" Jace protested, then paused. "No, wait, that's fair."

"It's not about who's better at what," Sara insisted. "It's about... different learning styles. Fresh perspectives. Right, Cregan?"

Cregan looked up from his notes, his expression carefully neutral. "If you think it would help," he said evenly, and something in your chest tightened at his apparent indifference.

"Great!" Sara beamed, already gathering her things. "Then it's settled. Jace and I will go to the coffee shop downstairs, and you two can stay here."

"Wait, now?" you asked, but they were already standing.

"No time like the present!" Jace grinned, shouldering his bag. "Have fun with..." he gestured vaguely at the textbooks, "all that."

They were gone before you could protest further, leaving you alone with Cregan and the uncomfortable silence that seemed to follow you lately. You stared at your notes, the highlighted words blurring together as you tried to think of something to say.

"We don't have to do this," Cregan said quietly, making you look up. "If you'd rather study alone–"

"No!" you said quickly, then winced at how eager it sounded. "I mean, no, it's fine. Unless you'd rather..."

"It's fine," he echoed, but you couldn't read his expression.

The silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft sound of pages turning and pens scratching against paper. You tried to focus on your reading, but your mind kept drifting to that evening in his apartment, to Jace's words in the kitchen. Had you really misread everything so badly?

"That diagram," Cregan's voice startled you out of your thoughts. "It's wrong."

You looked down at the messy chart you'd been attempting to draw. "Oh. Right. Sorry, I'm a bit..." you trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

He hesitated, then shifted his chair closer, not quite touching but near enough that you could smell his cologne. "Here," he said softly, reaching for your pen. "May I?"

You nodded, trying to ignore how your heart sped up as his fingers brushed yours when he took the pen. He began redrawing the diagram, his lines neat and precise where yours had been chaotic.

"The relationship between these concepts," he explained, his voice low and close to your ear, "it's more circular than linear. See?"

You nodded again, though you were having trouble focusing on the diagram when he was this close, when you could see the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he looked down at the page.

"Does that make sense?" he asked, glancing at you, and for a moment, you caught something in his expression – uncertainty, maybe, or something else you couldn't quite name.

"Yeah," you managed, even as your mind raced with questions that had nothing to do with social theory. "Thanks."

He nodded, starting to pull back, but then he paused. "I'm not..." he began, then stopped, frowning slightly. "I'm not very good at this."

"The diagram looks pretty good to me," you said, trying for lightness.

"Not that," he said quietly, still frowning at the page. "This. Studying with... people."

"Oh." You weren't sure what to say to that. "You seem pretty good at it to me. Very... efficient."

He made a sound that might have been a laugh, but it held no humor. "Efficient," he repeated, like the word tasted bitter. "Right."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he was already pulling away, the careful distance settling back into place like a wall between you. You watched as he returned to his own notes, his posture rigid, and wondered if you'd ever figure out how to bridge that gap.

Or if he even wanted you to try.

The afternoon light shifted through the library windows, casting long shadows across your textbooks. You'd been staring at the same paragraph for what felt like hours, the words swimming before your eyes. Cregan hadn't spoken since his attempt at fixing your diagram, and the silence was starting to feel suffocating.

"Maybe we should take a break," you suggested finally, your voice sounding too loud in the quiet space.

Cregan looked up, seeming almost startled, as if he'd forgotten you were there. "Oh. Yes, if you want."

You stretched, trying to work out the stiffness in your shoulders. "I think my brain is officially full. If I try to memorize one more theory, it might actually explode."

Something flickered across his face – amusement, maybe? – before it disappeared behind his usual mask of neutrality.

The next week, you arrived at the library to find a coffee cup waiting at your usual spot. Steam curled from the lid, and when you picked it up, the scent of vanilla and caramel made your stomach flutter.

"Is this…” you started, looking up to find Cregan already seated, seemingly absorbed in his textbook.

"You always order the same thing," he said without looking up, but you caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

You took a sip – perfect. Just the right amount of sweetness, exactly how you liked it. "You noticed?"

He shrugged, but there was a faint pink tinge to his ears. "It's not complicated."

But it was, wasn't it? It was complicated in all the ways that mattered – in the way he must have arrived early to get it, in the way he'd paid attention to your order all those times at the coffee shop, in the way this small gesture made your heart skip.

It became a routine after that. Every session, a coffee would be waiting, and every time you'd try not to read too much into it. But you couldn't help noticing how he'd glance at you when you took that first sip, as if checking to make sure it was right.

The silences changed too. Where they'd once been heavy with uncertainty, they grew comfortable, like a shared secret. You found yourself testing the waters, making quiet comments just to see if you could coax out one of his rare smiles.

"Weber probably needed a coffee this strong to write all this," you muttered one afternoon, earning a soft huff of amusement from across the table.

"Two sugars might have improved his view on bureaucracy," he replied, so deadpan that it took you a moment to realize he was joking back.

Weeks passed, and you fell into an easy rhythm. You learned to read the subtle shifts in his expression – the slight furrow between his brows when he was deep in thought, the way his eyes would soften when you finally understood a difficult concept.

He started anticipating your questions, sliding his perfectly organized notes toward you before you could even ask. Sometimes his fingers would brush yours in the exchange, and you'd both pretend not to notice the lingering warmth.

"Here," he'd say quietly, already pointing to the relevant section. "This connects to what you were asking about earlier."

You found yourself watching him between assignments, studying the way he'd absently run a hand through his hair when concentrating, how he'd tap his pen against his notebook in a specific rhythm when working through a complex idea. The way his shoulders would relax, just slightly, when you settled into your seat beside him.

One afternoon, you caught him watching you back. He didn't look away immediately like he used to, instead holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Something warm unfurled in your chest at the sight.

"What?" you asked softly, not wanting to break whatever spell had fallen over the moment.

"Nothing," he said, but his voice had that gentle quality it got sometimes, the one that made you want to lean in closer. "Just... thinking."

"About Weber?" you teased, trying to ignore how your pulse quickened when his lips curved into a small smile.

"Not exactly."

He didn't elaborate, turning back to his notes, but something had shifted. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. You found yourself hyperaware of every movement – the way his arm would brush yours when he reached for his coffee, how his knee would sometimes rest against yours under the table.

You started bringing him coffee too, placing it beside his notebook without comment. The first time you did, he stared at it for a long moment before looking up at you with an expression that made your breath catch.

"Black, two sugars," you said, echoing his words from weeks ago. "You always order the same thing."

His smile then was different – softer, more open than you'd ever seen. "Thank you," he said quietly, and you knew he meant for more than just the coffee.

The routine of studying together became something you looked forward to, not just for the help with coursework but for these small moments of connection. The way he'd lean in close to explain a concept, his voice low and just for you. How he'd sometimes forget himself and laugh at your terrible jokes, the sound warming you from the inside out.

And if you spent more time watching the way his hands moved across the page than actually reading, well... that was just part of the learning process, right?

The evening air had turned cool by the time you both packed up your things. The library had emptied out, leaving just the quiet murmur of the city outside to fill the space. You rubbed your eyes, stifling a yawn as you pushed your textbooks into your bag. The long study session had worn you out more than you'd expected, but you'd also made real progress. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so focused.

Cregan had gathered his things too, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you with that quiet intensity you had grown used to over the past weeks. Without a word, he slid his jacket from the back of his chair and held it out toward you.

"You look cold," he muttered, his voice low and a little rough, like he wasn't used to saying things like that. "Just for a bit. You can give it back tomorrow."

You glanced up at him, momentarily taken aback by the offer. But the warmth of the jacket, its familiar scent of pine and something crisp, was inviting. You hadn't realized how much the chill had crept into the air until now.

"Thanks," you said quietly, slipping your arms into the sleeves. The soft fabric immediately enveloped you, and you couldn’t help but notice how it smelled like him – comforting and calming, but also... a little more than that. 

The walk back to your place was peaceful. The streets were mostly empty, the glow from the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. The night felt still, like the world had paused just for you two.

"How are you feeling about everything?" Cregan asked, his voice breaking the silence as you walked side by side. There was no urgency in his tone, just a quiet curiosity, like he genuinely wanted to know.

You considered the question for a moment, taking in the city around you. It wasn’t just the study sessions that had shifted over the past few weeks, it was the way things felt between you both. The casual touches. The quiet moments. The way he noticed things about you before you even said anything.

"It's... been good," you said finally, your voice softer than usual. "Better than I expected."

He nodded, his eyes on the ground ahead. "I’m glad."

For a while, there was only the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet night. You tried not to focus too much on the fact that his jacket felt like a shield around you, or how it made your chest feel fuller with every step.

Then, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, Cregan glanced at you again. His gaze lingered just a moment too long, before he quickly looked away, but not before you saw the faint flush creeping up his neck.

"You're not–" he started, then trailed off, shaking his head slightly like he'd lost the thread of his thought.

"Not what?" you prompted, a playful edge to your voice, hoping to keep things light.

He hesitated again, but then spoke, his voice quieter now. "Not… sick of me yet?"

You stopped in your tracks for a moment, staring up at him. But before you could respond, he let out a soft chuckle, clearly trying to brush it off. "Never mind. That sounded dumb."

"No," you said quickly, stepping a little closer to him. "No, it didn’t."

He stopped walking too, his eyes catching yours. There was a moment, just a fleeting second, where you both stood there, in the middle of the empty street, feeling the weight of something unspoken between you.

"I don't think I could get sick of you," you added softly, your words surprising both of you.

He gave you a small, surprised smile, his lips barely curling upward, but there was warmth in his expression, something that had been absent the first time you'd met him. "Good to know.”

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, tugging his jacket closer around you. The night air had grown cooler, but that wasn't the only reason you felt a slight shiver run through you.

Cregan ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. "It's just... you're different with them. With Jace and Sara." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "More yourself, I guess. More... open."

"Oh." You let out a soft laugh, though it came out a bit shakier than intended. "That's because they're easy to talk to. You're..." You trailed off, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing.

"I'm what?" His voice was quiet, curious.

You took a deep breath, watching your shoes scuff against the pavement. "Intimidating," you admitted finally. "You're so... I mean, you understand everything instantly in class, and your notes are always perfect, and sometimes I feel like I'm just..." You gestured vaguely with one hand. "Fumbling around in the dark while you've got it all figured out."

He was quiet for so long that you had to look up at him. When you did, you found him staring at you with an expression you couldn't quite read – something between surprise and... was that amusement?

"You think I'm intimidating?" He let out a low laugh, the sound warming the cool night air. "That's... that's actually kind of funny."

"Why is that funny?"

"Because I've spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to talk to you without sounding like an idiot." He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile playing at his lips. "You're always so quick with words, always know exactly what to say to make everyone laugh. And I'm..."

"Brilliant?" you offered, then immediately felt your cheeks warm.

His eyes snapped to yours, that hint of pink returning to his ears. "I'm really not," he said softly. "I just... study a lot. It's easier than..." He gestured between you two. "This."

"This?"

"Talking. Being... normal." He let out a breath that might have been another laugh. "Ask Jace, I'm terrible at it. Why do you think he does most of the talking when we're together?"

You couldn't help but smile at that. "I always thought you just preferred talking to him."

"I prefer..." he started, then stopped himself, looking away. "It's not that. I just... don't always know what to say. Especially around..." His voice got quieter. "Around you."

The admission hung in the air between you, making your heart beat a little faster. You were suddenly very aware of how alone you were on the street, how the streetlights cast soft shadows across his face, how his jacket still wrapped around you felt like a embrace.

"Well," you said, trying to keep your voice light despite the flutter in your stomach, "you seem to be doing okay right now."

He looked back at you, and this time his smile was different – slower, warmer. "Yeah," he said softly. "I guess I am."

You walked in comfortable silence for a few more steps before you couldn't help adding, "Though I still think you're brilliant. Even if you try to deny it."

He ducked his head, but not before you caught his smile widening. "And I still think you're easier to talk to than you realize."

"I don't know about that," you said, laughing softly. "The other day I tried to tell my neighbor her new haircut looked nice and somehow ended up in a twenty-minute conversation about her cat's dietary restrictions."

Cregan's quiet laugh made your chest feel warm. "How does that even happen?"

"I wish I knew. One minute I was complimenting her bangs, the next I knew everything about Mr. Whiskers' gluten sensitivity." You shook your head, remembering the increasingly awkward interaction. "I still can't look her in the eye."

His shoulder brushed against yours as he walked, and you realized you'd gradually drifted closer together. The street was wide enough for several people to walk side by side, yet here you were, barely inches apart. You thought about moving over, giving him more space, but then his pinky finger grazed your hand, and the thought evaporated.

"At least you talk to your neighbors," he said, his voice softer now. "I've lived in my apartment for eight months, and I still don't know their names. The lady next door just calls me 'dear' and leaves cookies at my doorstep sometimes."

"Free cookies sound nice," you said, very aware of how his hand kept brushing against yours with each step.

"They are. Though I'm slightly worried she thinks I'm not eating enough. The notes she leaves keep getting more concerned." His lips twitched. "Last week she wrote 'growing boys need their strength' on the container. I'm twenty-two."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet street. "That's adorable. She's adopted you."

"Yeah, well..." He ran his free hand through his hair, but you caught his smile. "Sara says I give off 'needs to be taken care of' energy."

"Do you?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you felt your cheeks warm.

He glanced at you then, and something in his expression made your breath catch. "I don't know. Do I?"

Your fingers brushed again, and this time, neither of you pulled away immediately. The contact was feather-light, barely there, but it sent tingles up your arm. You were about to respond when you realized you'd reached your building.

"This is me," you said reluctantly, stopping at the bottom of the steps. The porch light cast a warm glow around you both, and you couldn't help but notice how it caught in his eyes, making them look softer than usual.

"Right," he said, but didn't move away. His pinky was still barely touching yours, and you wondered if he could feel how your pulse had picked up. "I should..."

"Yeah," you agreed, though neither of you moved.

The night felt suspended around you, like time had slowed down just for this moment. A car passed in the distance, its headlights briefly illuminating his face, and you caught something in his expression that made your heart skip – a warmth, a hesitation, maybe even a hint of regret that the walk was over.

***

Days melted into weeks, and slowly, piece by piece, you began collecting little truths about Cregan Stark.

You learned that he always showed up exactly seven minutes early to everything – not five, not ten, but seven. When you teased him about it, he'd muttered something about traffic patterns and optimal timing that made you hide your smile behind your coffee cup.

You discovered that when he was deep in thought, he'd tap his fingers against the table in a specific rhythm – index, middle, ring, pause, repeat. Sometimes you'd catch yourself counting the beats, wondering what was running through his mind.

The way his jaw would clench slightly when he was stressed but trying not to show it. How he'd roll his shoulders back when he was tired, a gesture so subtle you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't spent so many hours sitting beside him. The soft exhale he'd make when he finally solved a problem that had been bothering him.

There were other things too – things that made your heart do odd little flips in your chest. Like how he'd lean in close when explaining something, his voice dropping to almost a whisper even though you were the only ones there. His fingers would brush against yours as he pointed something out, lingering just a moment too long to be accidental. In those moments, time seemed to slow down, and you'd find yourself holding your breath, wondering if he could feel the electricity crackling between you.

You learned that he had a dry sense of humor that came out in unexpected moments. That he could deliver the most ridiculous puns with a completely straight face, only the slight crinkle around his eyes giving him away. That he'd fight a smile when you caught on, but his eyes would dance with amusement.

Some days, you'd catch him watching you when he thought you weren't looking. His gaze would be soft, contemplative, making your skin tingle with awareness. But every time you'd look up, he'd quickly turn away, that familiar pink tinge creeping up his ears.

You noticed how his whole demeanor would shift when you walked in, subtle but unmistakable – his shoulders would relax, his expression would soften, and sometimes, if you were lucky, you'd catch the ghost of a smile playing at his lips before he could hide it.

There were moments when he'd get so caught up in explaining something he was passionate about, his usual reserve would fall away completely. His hands would move animatedly, his eyes would light up, and you'd find yourself more fascinated by his enthusiasm than whatever he was actually talking about.

And sometimes, in quiet moments when the library was nearly empty and the evening light was turning golden, he'd look at you in a way that made your breath catch. Like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, or maybe something he wanted to memorize. In those moments, the thought would creep in, unbidden but persistent – maybe, just maybe, he felt this too. This growing warmth, this magnetic pull, this feeling that had been building between you like a slow-burning flame.

But then he'd look away, or someone would walk by, or reality would intrude in some other way, and you'd tell yourself you were reading too much into things. That you were seeing what you wanted to see in those lingering touches and soft glances.

Still, you couldn't help but notice how he'd position himself slightly closer to you each day, how his hand would find excuses to brush against yours, how his voice would take on that gentle quality that seemed reserved just for you. And in those moments, hope would flutter in your chest, persistent and warm, refusing to be ignored.

You gathered these observations like precious stones, collecting them carefully, turning them over in your mind when you were alone. Each one was a piece of him, freely given but carefully treasured. And if sometimes you caught yourself daydreaming about what it might mean – well, that was just another secret to keep, tucked away with all the others.

"Wait, wait–" you said through barely contained laughter, "you actually convinced Jace that pigeons were government spies?"

Cregan's eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to maintain his serious expression. "He spent three weeks avoiding eye contact with every pigeon he saw. Sara finally had to tell him the truth because he kept diving into bushes whenever they flew overhead."

You buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. The library's quiet atmosphere was long forgotten, your books pushed aside in favor of sharing stories. "That's terrible. You're terrible."

"He deserved it," Cregan said, but his voice was warm with affection. "He'd just spent a month convincing me that my phone was automatically translating everything into English and I was actually speaking fluent Portuguese without realizing it."

"How did he even–"

"Don't ask. It involved a very elaborate setup with his cousin who actually speaks Portuguese." He shook his head, but his smile was fond. "Jace can be... creative when he commits to something."

You propped your chin on your hand, studying him. These moments had become more frequent lately – times when his guard would drop completely, and you'd get to see the playful side of him that most people missed. "You three must have had an interesting childhood."

"Interesting is one word for it." His expression softened with nostalgia. "Sara used to organize these elaborate treasure hunts around the house. She'd spend hours making these ridiculous clues, and then get mad when Jace and I solved them too quickly." He paused, then added quietly, "It helped, you know. When I first moved in with Dad and Sara's mom. Made it feel less..."

"Overwhelming?" you offered gently when he trailed off.

He nodded, absently fiddling with his pen. "Yeah. They just... included me. No questions asked. Even when I was this awkward kid who barely talked and spent most of his time reading in corners."

"Some things never change," you teased, nudging his foot under the table.

His answering smile was warm enough to make your heart skip. "I talk more now."

"True. Now you use whole sentences instead of just grunting."

"I never grunted," he protested, but his eyes were dancing with amusement.

"Oh really? What about that first week when I asked to borrow your notes? Pretty sure all I got was 'hmph' and a nod."

He had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "That wasn't... I was just..."

"Just what?"

"Nervous," he admitted quietly, meeting your eyes. "You make me nervous sometimes."

The confession hung in the air between you, making your pulse quicken. Before you could respond, a notification chimed on your phone – Sara asking if you wanted to grab dinner later.

"Oh," you said, glancing at the time. "We've been here for four hours."

"Really?" Cregan looked genuinely surprised, like he hadn't noticed the time slipping away. "It doesn't feel that long."

"Time flies when you're sharing embarrassing stories about Jace," you said lightly, trying to ease back from the moment of vulnerability.

He laughed softly, but his eyes stayed on you, warm and intent. "Yeah," he agreed. "Must be that."

As you both started gathering your things, you couldn't help but marvel at how different these sessions felt now. The awkward silences had been replaced by comfortable conversation, shy glances had given way to shared jokes and easy laughter. Somehow, without you really noticing, Cregan Stark had become more than just your study partner or Sara's quiet brother.

He'd become your friend.

And if sometimes, in moments like earlier when he'd admitted to being nervous around you, you felt something flutter in your chest that felt bigger than friendship – well, that was probably just your imagination.

Probably.

***

When you arrived at Cregan's apartment that afternoon, your bag heavy with books, you found him already standing in the doorway with an oddly hopeful expression.

"Before you take those out," he said, nodding at your bag, "I was thinking..." He paused, running a hand through his hair in that way that always meant he was nervous about something. "Maybe we could watch a film instead? Just... take a break?"

The suggestion surprised you – Cregan suggesting something other than studying was rare enough to make you wonder if you'd heard him correctly. But there was something almost vulnerable in the way he was looking at you, like he half-expected you to say no.

"Yeah," you said, trying not to sound too eager. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

The relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. His apartment was exactly what you'd expected – minimalist but comfortable, with books arranged neatly on shelves and a few framed photographs on the walls. The familiar scent of pine and something crisp – the same scent from his jacket that night – filled the space.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the couch while he moved to the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?"

You settled onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Whatever you're having is fine."

He returned with two mugs of tea, setting them carefully on the coffee table. When he sat down beside you, he was close enough that your knees almost touched. The couch wasn't small – there was plenty of room for him to sit further away – but he didn't, and neither of you mentioned it.

"So," you said, wrapping your hands around the warm mug, "what are we watching?"

He reached for the remote, and you noticed how his other hand rested on the couch between you, his pinky just barely touching your knee. "I thought maybe..." He scrolled through options on the screen, but you caught how his eyes kept darting to you, gauging your reaction. "There's this old film I think you'd like."

You turned to face him, your shoulder pressing against the back of the couch. "Cregan Stark, are you about to make me watch an art house film?"

His lips twitched. "Maybe." Then, more quietly, "Is that okay?"

"Depends. Are you going to explain all the metaphors to me?" You were teasing, but your breath caught when he leaned in slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

"Only if you want me to," he murmured, reaching for the remote. His arm brushed against yours as he settled back, and you noticed he didn't move it away.

The film started playing, but you found yourself more aware of how close he was sitting, how your shoulders pressed together, how his fingers occasionally brushed against your knee when he gestured while explaining something about the cinematography.

Halfway through, you shifted position, and somehow ended up with your head resting against his shoulder. You felt him tense for a moment, then slowly relax, his cheek coming to rest against your hair.

"This okay?" you whispered, not wanting to break the moment.

His response was to tentatively wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you slightly closer. He grunted softly, a noncommittal sound that made you smile against his shoulder.

"Oh, are we back to the grunt-only communication?" you teased quietly, feeling his chest shake with silent laughter. "And here I thought we'd made such progress."

He made another grunt, this one clearly exaggerated, and you could hear the smile in it. Your own lips curved upward – you'd learned to read his different sounds over the past weeks, could tell the difference between his annoyed grunts and his amused ones. This one was definitely amused, with maybe a touch of nervousness underneath.

"Very articulate," you whispered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable against him. "Truly, your way with words continues to astound me."

His fingers twitched against your shoulder, and when he spoke, his voice was low and a bit rough. "Didn't want to say the wrong thing."

Something warm bloomed in your chest at his admission. "Since when do you say the wrong thing?"

He was quiet for a moment, his thumb absently tracing circles on your shoulder. "Around you? More often than you'd think."

You wanted to look up at him then, but you were afraid moving might break whatever spell had fallen over you both. Instead, you stayed where you were, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, steady but just a little faster than normal.

On screen, the film continued playing, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention anymore.

"I find that hard to believe," you murmured, finally gathering the courage to tilt your head up to look at him. "You always seem to know exactly what to say."

When your eyes met his, your breath caught in your throat. He was already looking down at you, his expression soft and open in a way you'd never seen before. The blue light from the TV played across his features, making his eyes look darker than usual.

"That's because," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, "I spend about ten minutes planning every sentence before I say it to you."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at that. "Ten whole minutes? No wonder you're so quiet."

"Wouldn't want to mess it up." His eyes flickered down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again. The arm around your shoulders tightened slightly, drawing you impossibly closer.

"And what about now?" you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. "How long did you spend planning that one?"

He swallowed hard, and you watched the movement of his throat. "I didn't," he admitted. 

You shifted slightly, turning more fully towards him. His other hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. The touch sent shivers down your spine.

"Cregan," you breathed, not even sure what you were going to say next.

He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. But you didn't want to pull away – you found yourself moving closer, your eyes starting to flutter closed, his breath mixing with yours.

The space between you and Cregan grew smaller. His fingers, warm and steady, traced the curve of your cheek, while his other hand settled at the small of your back, holding you in place as if afraid you might slip away.

Your own hand had found its way to his thigh, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. You could feel the tension in him – the way his muscles tensed under your touch, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when your fingertips pressed just a little firmer.

His nose brushed yours, the barest whisper of contact, and your lips parted on instinct, a quiet, breathless anticipation settling between you.

You could feel his hesitation, the last remnants of restraint flickering in his gaze. One more inch and–

The front door swung open with a loud thud.

You flinched, and Cregan jerked back as if burned, his grip on your waist loosening. The spell shattered in an instant.

From the hallway, Jace’s voice rang out, casual and utterly oblivious to the moment he had just ruined.

"Honey, I'm home!” he sang, “You would not believe the day I've had – oh.”

Jace stood in the doorway, keys dangling from his hand, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well," he drawled, looking between you two with obvious delight. "What do we have here?"

"We're watching a film," Cregan said quickly, his voice slightly hoarse. You noticed his ears had turned that telltale pink again.

"Uh-huh," Jace nodded, not even trying to hide his smirk. "And how's the film?"

You realized with a start that neither of you had any idea what was happening on screen. You'd completely lost track of the plot about the same time Cregan's arm had wrapped around you.

"It's..." you started.

"Very artistic," Cregan finished lamely.

Jace's grin widened. "I'm sure it is." He kicked off his shoes and headed toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, "Don't let me interrupt your... artistic appreciation."

You caught Cregan's eye and had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at his mortified expression. The moment from before was broken, but something else had taken its place – a warm, giddy feeling that made it hard to stop smiling.

"So," you whispered, once Jace was safely in the kitchen. "Ten minutes to plan your next sentence?"

Cregan groaned quietly, letting his head fall back against the couch, but you could see him fighting a smile. "Might need twenty for this one."

Jace's not-so-subtle shuffling in the kitchen made the moment feel both ridiculous and charged. Cregan's arm was still draped around you, though now it felt more awkward than intimate.

"So," you said softly, trying to break the tension, "want to pretend we were actually watching the movie?"

He let out a quiet laugh. "I don't even know what we were watching."

You glanced at the screen. Some black and white scene was playing, characters moving in what seemed like slow motion. "Art house film," you whispered dramatically. "Very deep. Very meaningful."

"Very confusing," Cregan added, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

***

The café was bustling with the usual weekend crowd when you arrived, slightly out of breath from rushing. You spotted your friends immediately – Sara's laugh carrying over the general chatter, Jace gesturing animatedly about something. But as you approached, you noticed there were only four chairs at their small table, and they'd already claimed two of them.

The remaining two seats were snug together on the opposite side, and your stomach did a little flip when you saw Cregan already there, looking up at you with that quiet intensity you'd grown familiar with.

"You made it!" Sara beamed, but there was something suspiciously innocent about her expression. "We saved you a spot."

You hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the chair next to Cregan. The table was small enough that your elbows brushed as you settled in, and you caught a hint of that now-familiar pine scent. Without looking at you, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of your chair. The gesture was casual, almost absent-minded, but it made your pulse quicken.

"I already ordered your usual," he said quietly, just for you to hear.

"Thanks," you managed, trying to ignore how Sara and Jace exchanged knowing looks across the table.

Jace was mid-rant about Luke's latest culinary disaster. "I'm telling you, there are jars of fermenting liquid everywhere. Mom thinks he's going through some kind of wellness phase, but I'm pretty sure he's just trying to turn the kitchen into a science experiment."

Sara snorted into her latte. "Isn't that how all of Luke's phases start? Remember when he decided he was going to learn woodworking?"

"Three broken chairs and one very questionable coffee table later," Jace laughed.

You felt Cregan shift beside you, and his knee pressed a little more firmly against yours. You weren't sure if it was intentional or not, but you didn't move away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, your shoulder just barely touching his.

"What about you?" Sara turned to you. "Any wild family stories?"

Before you could answer, Cregan's hand brushed against yours under the table. A light touch, almost accidental, but definitely deliberate. You saw the corner of his mouth twitch – he was listening, waiting for your response, but that small gesture said something else entirely.

"Nothing quite as exciting as kombucha brewing," you managed, hyper-aware of how close he was sitting. "Though my aunt did go through a phase of making her own cheese. Let's just say it didn't end well."

Jace burst out laughing. "Homemade cheese? That's a new one."

"Trust me," you said, "some experiments are best left to professionals."

Cregan's hand was still close to yours. His pinky finger had somehow found its way to rest against the side of your hand, a point of contact that seemed to send electricity through your entire body. You wondered if the others could see how close you were sitting, how every movement seemed charged with something unspoken.

"More coffee?" he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear.

You turned to look at him, catching his eye. There was something in his gaze – a warmth, a softness that made your breath catch. "Please," you whispered back.

Sara was still talking, Jace still gesturing, but in that moment, the rest of the café seemed to fade away. Just you, Cregan, and that small space between your hands that felt like it was holding entire universes.

His fingers brushed yours again. This time, you were certain it was definitely not an accident.

"Remember that time Professor Martinez spent fifteen minutes talking about his cat?" Jace was saying, but you were distracted by the way Cregan's fingers drummed a quiet pattern on the table, just inches from your hand.

"Mm-hmm," you responded, though you weren't entirely sure what you were agreeing to.

You reached for your coffee at the same time Cregan moved to adjust his sleeve, and your fingers collided. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with caffeine. When you glanced up at him, his ears had that telltale pink tinge, but he didn't move away.

The café had grown cooler as the evening approached – someone must have opened a window – and you found yourself unconsciously leaning into the warmth of his presence beside you. His jacket still hung behind you, and occasionally you'd catch its scent, mixing with the coffee aroma in a way that made you feel slightly dizzy.

"Cold?" he asked softly, noticing your slight shiver.

Before you could respond, he was already reaching back, adjusting his jacket so it covered your shoulders better. His fingers brushed against your back for just a moment, and you had to remind yourself to breathe normally.

"Thanks," you whispered, and he nodded, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

Across the table, Sara was telling a story about her dance partner's disastrous attempt at a lift, but you were lost in the way the evening light from the window played across Cregan's profile, how his lips curved slightly when something amused him, the comfortable weight of his jacket around your shoulders.

You told yourself it was nothing. That the way your heart raced when his hand accidentally brushed yours again was just caffeine, that the warmth in your chest when he leaned closer to murmur a quiet comment about Jace's dramatic retelling of events was just the coffee. That the way he seemed to angle his body toward yours, creating a bubble that felt separate from the bustling café around you, was just coincidence.

It had to be nothing.

But then why did it feel like everything?

As the afternoon wore on, the café slowly emptied, the hum of conversation fading into the clatter of dishes and the quiet shuffle of the barista wiping down the counter. The golden light of the setting sun streamed through the large windows, painting long shadows across the worn wooden tables. Jace was the first to leave, pushing back his chair with a knowing smirk that made you want to kick him under the table. His gaze flickered between you and Cregan, his amusement clear as he slung his jacket over one shoulder. 

"Have fun," he said lightly, though his tone held an edge of teasing that made your face warm. 

Sara followed shortly after, grabbing her bag in a rush. She leaned in for a quick hug, her lips brushing your ear as she whispered, "Text me later," in a way that sounded suspiciously like a warning. Then, with a grin thrown over her shoulder, she was gone, the bells above the door jingling in her wake. 

And then there were two.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The café felt quieter, more intimate now, the air thick with something unspoken. Cregan's fingers tapped idly against the edge of his coffee cup, his sharp eyes fixed on you in that way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of the moment settling between you, the tension coiling tight like a bowstring.

You cleared your throat, forcing a casual tone. "About your jacket," you started, knowing full well you were playing a game. "I think I accidentally kept it from the other night. It's still at my apartment."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, and you knew he wasn’t buying your innocent act. The truth was, you had definitely not forgotten his jacket. You had draped it around your shoulders before leaving, only to end up deciding not to bring it. 

"Did you?" he asked, his voice low, amused. 

You nodded, far too innocently. "Mhmm. Want to come get it?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, his lips tilting in the faintest ghost of a smile. "Might as well."

The walk back to your apartment felt shorter than it should have, the minutes slipping away as your steps fell into an easy rhythm. That now-familiar tension hung between you, humming beneath the surface, stretching with every unspoken thought. Your hands brushed – once, then again. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. The street lights flickered overhead, casting a warm glow onto the pavement, and in the quiet, you could feel his gaze on you, steady and unreadable. Watching. Waiting.

Anticipating.

"Sorry about the elevator," you said, pressing the stairwell door open. "It's been broken for weeks. Management promises they're fixing it, but..." You gestured uselessly.

Cregan just nodded, following you into the stairwell. The space was narrow, forcing you to climb single file at first, but he quickly moved to walk beside you, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours on the tight turns.

The first flight of stairs passed in comfortable silence. By the second floor, you were both slightly out of breath.

"Remind me why we're taking the stairs?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Character building," you quipped, stealing a glance at him. "Also, excellent cardiovascular exercise."

His laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. "Is that what this is?"

You were acutely aware of how close he was. On the narrow staircase, your arms kept brushing, his hand sometimes grazing the small of your back as you navigated the turns. The proximity felt charged, electric.

"Almost there," you said, trying to sound casual. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure if it was from the stairs or from him.

The third-floor landing approached, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. Something hung in the air between you – anticipation, possibility, a breath held just a moment too long.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him. He hesitated for the briefest moment, then followed, his footsteps slow, measured. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the distant sounds of the street outside.

Inside, the space felt smaller somehow, the air charged with something electric. The scent of vanilla and old books filled the room, mingling with the lingering traces of his cologne still clinging to the jacket draped over the back of your couch. A single lamp cast a golden glow across the walls, softening the edges of the moment, but not the weight of it.

You turned, glancing up at him. “Make yourself at home,” you said, your voice steady, though your pulse wasn’t.

Cregan’s gaze flickered over the room before settling on you. 

You reached into your closet and pulled out the perfectly folded jacket, holding it out to him with what you hoped was an innocent expression. "Here you go."

Cregan took it, something flickering in his eyes – a mix of surprise and... was that disappointment? He glanced toward the door, clearly preparing to leave, and you could almost see the moment he was about to say goodbye.

"Actually," you said quickly, "my TV's been acting up. Would you mind taking a look?"

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. It was the kind of smile that made your breath catch – part amusement, part something warmer. "Really?"

"Totally broken," you insisted, trying to look serious. "Completely non-functional."

"Completely?" Now he was definitely laughing, soft and low. "And here I thought we came up here just for the jacket."

You shrugged, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "Multi-purpose trip."

He followed you to the living room, still wearing that knowing smile. The TV sat quietly in the corner, looking suspiciously functional. But Cregan didn't call you out. Instead, he set the jacket down and moved toward the electronics, his fingers already reaching for the remote.

"Let me take a look," he said, his voice rich with barely contained amusement.

You bit back a smile. Busted – but not really.

Cregan crouched down in front of the TV, running his fingers along the back panel as he checked the cables. He moved with easy confidence, his broad shoulders flexing slightly under his shirt as he pulled one of the wires free. 

“One of these might’ve come loose,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. 

Before you could respond, he jerked his hand back slightly. A thin, red line beaded along his fingertip, stark against his skin. He barely reacted, just exhaling through his nose as he brought his hand up and – without hesitation – dragged his tongue over the small cut, as if it were nothing more than a papercut. 

You, however, were already pushing off of the couch. “Oh my god, Cregan–” 

He glanced up at you, brow raised. “It’s fine,” he said simply, his voice steady, like he hadn’t just sliced himself open on a rogue wire. “It’ll heal.” 

“It’s bleeding.” 

“Barely.” 

“That’s not the point,” you huffed, already moving toward the kitchen. “Stay there, I have bandages.” 

Cregan let out a quiet chuckle as you rummaged through a drawer, muttering something about stubborn men and their refusal to take basic medical care seriously. By the time you returned with a bandaid, he was still kneeling by the TV, watching you with open amusement. 

“Hold out your hand,” you demanded. 

“Is this really necessary?” 

“Do not test me right now, Stark.” 

His smirk deepened, but he obeyed, extending his hand toward you. His palm was warm, his fingers rough from years of use – evidence of someone who worked with his hands, who fought, who lived. You swallowed, focusing on carefully peeling the bandaid open before smoothing it over the cut. 

“There,” you said, pressing down gently. “Now you won’t die of infection.” 

Cregan flexed his fingers experimentally, shaking his head. “Didn’t realize a tiny scratch was life-threatening.” 

You shot him a look. “Mock me all you want, but you’ll thank me when your finger doesn’t fall off.” 

He laughed, low and easy, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long. And suddenly, the bandaid didn’t feel like the most important thing anymore.

From the bathroom, Cregan heard you call out, your voice taking on that slightly high-pitched tone he'd come to recognize as your embarrassed voice.

"Uh... so. The remote doesn't work because the battery is dead," you announced, sounding like you were hoping the floor might swallow you whole.

He emerged, drying his hands, to find you sitting on the couch looking like you'd been caught in an elaborate lie. Which, technically, you had been. The remote dangled from your hand, and you were avoiding direct eye contact.

"Shocking," he said drily, that hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Who could have seen that coming?"

"Shut up," you mumbled, but there was no real heat in it.

He stepped closer, taking the remote from your hand. "Batteries?" 

You pointed to a drawer, still not looking directly at him. "Top one."

His laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. Cregan pulled open the drawer, retrieving a pair of fresh batteries with an ease that made you suspect he was enjoying this a little too much. He popped the old ones out and slid the new ones in, his movements unhurried, deliberate. When he handed the remote back to you, his fingers brushed against yours – just for a second, just long enough to send a flicker of warmth up your arm.

“Moment of truth,” he murmured, stepping back with an amused tilt of his head.

You aimed the remote at the TV, pressing the power button. The screen blinked to life instantly, the room filling with the soft glow of the home screen. You let out a quiet sigh, shoulders dropping in defeat.

Cregan crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “So, to recap: you invited me up here for a jacket you had no intention of giving back, faked a TV malfunction, and then made me bleed – all in the span of fifteen minutes.”

You huffed, tossing the remote onto the cushion beside you. “You make it sound so calculated.”

He smirked. “Wasn’t it?”

You opened your mouth, ready to deny it, but the look on his face – the teasing glint in his eyes, the slight lift of his brow – made it clear he wasn’t buying whatever excuse you were about to throw at him.

Instead, you crossed your arms and leaned back. “Fine. Maybe I just wanted you to stay a little longer.”

The smirk faded, just slightly. His gaze flickered over your face, his amusement softening into something quieter, something warmer.

“You could’ve just asked,” he said.

Your breath caught.

Then, as if sensing the weight of his own words, he straightened, rolling his shoulders like he could shake it off. 

You tried to ignore the sudden heat that rose in your cheeks, still pretending that the whole situation – your really embarrassing scheme to get him to stay – was perfectly normal.  

You shook your head, pushed the thoughts aside as you rose from the couch and walked toward him. His gaze followed you, amusement danced in his eyes as you stopped in front of him. Without thinking, your eyes flickered to his finger – still wrapped in the bright pink Hello Kitty bandaid you slapped on him earlier. The absurdity of it all hit you again, and for a moment, you felt the urge to cover your face.  

But Cregan didn't let it slide. "You know," he drawled, holding up his hand, the bandaid on full display, "I felt the care and attention here, but–” He lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitched, “Hello Kitty?"  

You rolled your eyes but approached him anyway. You focused on his finger, ignored the growing warmth that spread through you as you reached out, your fingers brushed his skin as you took his hand in yours. “They were the only ones at the store,” you muttered, glancing at him briefly, expecting him to laugh it off.  

He just stared at you, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Mm-hmm. I was sure they were,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with skepticism. “Couldn’t find any grown-up band-aids, huh?”  

You snorted and held his finger a little more gently, glanced up at him now, met his gaze with a faint, nervous smile. “They were cute. I thought you might like them.”  

He tilted his head, studied you with an intensity that made it hard to keep your thoughts from scattering. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper, and the playful teasing was gone, replaced with something... different.  

You felt his hip brush against yours, a subtle, accidental touch that sent a spark of awareness through you. The proximity was sudden, sharp. You leaned back against the counter, the cool surface grounded you as your pulse began to race in a way you couldn’t quite control. Your focus remained on his finger, but his proximity – the weight of his gaze on you – felt heavier than anything you’d ever known.  

His eyes flickered down to your mouth, just for a split second, before returning to your eyes, and it felt like the world narrowed to just the two of you. Your hand, still holding his, trembled slightly. You tried to tell yourself it was just the oddness of the moment, the intimacy of the small gesture, but deep down you knew there was more to it than that. His fingers, warm and strong, rested in your hand, his thumb brushed over your knuckles in that unconscious way he did, and it took everything in you not to close the space between you.  

The silence stretched between you, charged with everything unsaid. His fingers were still tangled with yours, warm and steady despite the slight tremor you felt in your own hand. When you finally looked up, the intensity in his eyes made your breath catch.

"I should probably go," he whispered, but he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to lean closer, his free hand coming to rest on the counter beside you.

"Probably," you agreed, but your other hand had somehow found its way to his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to slow down. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, fast and strong. His eyes dropped to your lips again, lingering this time.

"Tell me to go," he murmured, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin.

Instead, you lifted your chin slightly, closing the last bit of distance between you. His lips met yours softly at first, hesitant, questioning. Then your hand slid up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, and something in him seemed to break.

He pressed closer, deepening the kiss as his hand moved from the counter to your waist, pulling you against him. Your back hit the counter, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the feeling of him – the way he tasted like coffee and something sweeter, how his thumb traced circles on your hip, how he kissed you like he'd been thinking about it for weeks.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark, intense, filled with something that made your heart race even faster.

"I've wanted to do that," he said roughly, "for forever."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Is that why you were so quiet?"

He smiled against your lips. "Partly." Then he was kissing you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world to learn the taste of you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, unable to stop smiling. "You know Sara and Jace are going to be insufferable about this."

"Mmm," Cregan hummed against your lips. "They'll never let us hear the end of it." His fingers traced along your jaw, gentle and exploratory. "Sara's been dropping hints for weeks."

"Weeks?" You raised an eyebrow. "Try months."

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. Then his mouth found yours again, and this time the kiss was different – long, slow, and dizzyingly passionate. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was anything this man wasn't exceptionally good at.

When you pulled back, you toyed with the few hair strands that had fallen onto his face. He still hadn’t stepped back, still held you like he wasn’t quite ready for the night to end. And maybe you weren’t either.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of it settled between you, the knowledge that this – whatever this was – had changed something, shifted it into something new, something neither of you could brush aside with an easy joke.

Cregan’s fingers brushed up your arm, slow and deliberate, his gaze flickering over your face like he was debating something.

Then, quieter this time, more serious: “Should I stay?”

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t just about tonight. You could hear it in the way he asked, in the way his fingers curled slightly at your waist.

You swallowed, your voice softer now. “Would you, if I asked?”

His grip tightened, just slightly, just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Yeah,” he admitted, “I would.”

You exhaled, your fingers tracing absentmindedly along his collarbone. He was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the warmth there, the hesitation.

Then you smiled, small and knowing. “Good.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. But he still stayed.

taglist: @smurfelle @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 @lustrz-anna @lovelyteenagebeard @misshale21 @cecestea @n4tsha @inspirationquxxn @rin588 @anoravx @bbubbllejisoo @vividxpages @bucksplum @earth4angels @mattnott @princess-of-the-fandoms @shabnam2005 @nsr-15 @reeseelise @teasweeter @ginarely-blog @bpcr3yes @creganstarkk @st6rmbrn @marg141205 @shesneverreallythere @mother-homunculus @ohhdearmargot

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

teach me? // Quinn Hughes

a drunk conversation leaves your best friend wondering.

AN: based off this anon, this is the first of a few ideas i have for this topic so enjoy part one!🫶🏻

WC: 1.1k

CW: smut, quinn talks you through it, fem masturbating, a little bit of possessive quinn.

Quinn knows he should leave, he knows he shouldn't break your trust and listen but his feet won't move. He can hear your giggles, not a sign of discomfort in the conversation. A drastic difference from anytime you've been around the guys when these topics are brought up.

“y/n! Are you telling me you’ve never gotten off?!” There was another laugh, he couldn't tell who. Too focused on your answer. How could no one treat you right? No one’s found pleasure between your thighs? Tragedy for them, he thought to himself.

“Oh my god, no. I have gotten off, just not manually? If that makes sense. Like, no one else. No hands, nothing but the handy dandy vibrator.”

He needed to leave, his mind wandering and he knew all the guys would just chirp at him if he walked back with a hard on.

Everyone started to slowly make their way to bed, calling it a night yourself around 1:30. Your room right across from Quinn’s. You knew he was already locked away, trying your best to stay quiet while you were in and out of the bathroom that shared a wall.

Finally settling in your bed and grabbing your phone, seeing a text from Quinn. Come here, please. Followed with another text, Don't knock, just come in.

“Hi Q.” He was quick to pat his bed, “I need to ask you something, and you can tell me no or to fuck off and I wont ever bring it up again. I just, I need to ask.” You nodded at the man, who's now pacing. “I’m telling on myself and I'm sorry in advance. I was walking by when you and the girls were chatting and somethings been stuck in my head since and it makes me feel so bad because you absolutely don't deserve that kind of shit treatment. Oh god, I'm rambling. Anyways, no one ever made you cum? I can show you, oh my god I need to shut up.”

Your face was flushed, your nerves were setting in. Did Quinn just offer to get me off?

As if he could read my mind, “I don’t have to do it! I can just tell you what to do. Like you get yourself off and I just kind of lead the way.”

“You wanna teach me how to make myself cum?” Your voice was small, he was sure if he wasn’t staring at you he wouldn’t have heard. He nodded.

“Yeah, okay. Teach me, Quinny.”

That dumb conversation led you here. On his bed, pj shorts on the floor, legs spread and Quinn watching you from his desk chair.

You were both giggly about it. The nerves settled, it seemed a little funny, silly even. But he's your best friend. Who cares? All bad thoughts went away the second your legs spread and the man's eyes went a little wide, pupils blown as he watched your hand roam down your body.

“Fuck. You’re pretty.” He whispered to himself.

This wasn't sexy, well it wasn't meant to be, at least to your brain.

“Uh, like this?" you asked, a little embarrassed. "Fuck, this is stupid."

You were against his pillows, unable to fully look at Quinn who was still at his desk, starry eyes watching you intently.

Your hand was down the front of your body, shaky fingers searching for something you shared you'd never been able to achieve on your own.

Quinn adjusted himself, his growing cock pressed against the fabric of his shorts. Forever wishing he put on boxers before you came to his room.

He didn't know the rules when it came to getting yourself off in front of your best friend. So he kept it a little light, laughed breathily and asked, "Are you even touching your clit?”

His words ran through you, a simple question truly but it was bordering on the dirty talk you desperately craved to come from his mouth.

You squirmed, shrugging, but he was watching your hand move, content with seeing your fingers moving through your folds.

"I think so?" you claimed. "I don't know. It's just, it's too wet to feel anything really."

Quinn felt his breath get stuck in his throat.

You finally looked up at his face and watched his cheeks burn, wondering if he'd move closer if you asked him to.

You dont know what fell out of your mouth, your brain is just on autopilot. Quinn’s now at the edge of his bed. Hands holding your ankle, rubbing softly.

"No, I know. fuck, um-" Quinn swallowed, shifting again. "Move in circles, be a bit softer. Fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, you'll feel it."

So you did, two fingers exploring slowly, up and down between your folds, moving a little higher until you reached the spot he was just picking on you for, the pads of your middle and pointer touching a little bump that made your breath hitch.

“There you go, just like that.” He spoke.

You laughed to yourself, feeling stupid, and floaty, searching for that high. You crinkled your nose, as you did slow circles, soft and shy.

"Oh," you mumbled, mouth parting slightly. Still watching Quinn. He pressed his lips together, eyes flickering from your hand to your face.

"Yeah? Does that feel good?"

"Uh huh, feels good."

You thought you heard him let out a groan.

"Will I come?" you asked, still feeling small. "If I keep doing this?"

You were squirming again, moaning softly, chasing your high. He was watching you, open mouthed.

He was too far gone to try and hide it anymore, when he dragged his palm over himself, you moaned, eyes following his movements.

"Yeah, fuck. just keep doing that. Do what feels good, okay?" voice hoarse and wrecked, "you're doing so good, baby."

The praise made your hips lift from the bed a little, fingers moving down a little further, confidence building as Quinn kept rubbing over his cock, "Holy shit, that's fucking hot. You gonna show me how tight you are?" he croaked.

"Uh huh", head tipped back into the pillows. you wanted him to keep talking. You just didn't know how to ask him.

Your foot slipped, bumping into Quinn’s arm and he caught your ankle, wide palm wrapping around as he held you, making you shiver. "Oh, there you go," he murmured. "That's it, baby. Fuck, you're so good. Gonna have to stretch you out more if you ever want me in there, baby. Fuck. Can't believe you're gonna let me watch you cum. Gonna be a good girl and show me how bad you want it? Won't ever need anyone else after this. Just me and you."

[frequentlybald]

Pink Rabbit | Lads Caleb/Reader

Credits to @Silverelitist on X for the cute picture

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You didn’t exactly know what to expect when you invited Caleb to work out with you at the gym. He looked different from before after all, the lean athletic build that had kept bullies at bay had grown…bigger. Toned abdomen gave way to sculpted abs that you had somehow noticed under the fabric of his clothes because how could you not? Legs muscular and thick under the fabric of his black denim jeans, his back was big enough to dwarf you and when he moved you swore you could see the muscles flexing there, begging to be touched. But what always left you flushed and hopelessly distracted were his arms. 

Had he always had such nice arms and you never noticed?

There as he completed his last set of pushups before switching to do them one handed like the complete and utter show off he was, those delicious fibers beneath his skin constricted to pull mesmerizing striations across flesh, a pattern for your eyes to feast on as you trailed your gaze up that oh so thick vein on the side of his arm. You wiped the sweat from your brow, panting softly as you stubbornly kicked up the settings of the treadmill you were finishing up your cardio training for. 

You needed a distraction, and fast. 

Caleb grunted left arm straining with his weight and yet he stayed effortlessly smooth, bobbing up and down from your peripherals as you tried desperately to focus on the sound of the tv speakers. 

Didn’t gyms usually play loud music that you could hear over your headphones? Why was this one so quiet?

Save for the soft sounds of a few patrons talking and the clinking of weight machines it felt like all you could hear was the droning of the tv news station doing nothing to cover the sounds that Caleb was making. You risked a glance black, face flushed when in between reports of increased wanderers you heard another strained groan. 

Fuck he was so vocal. You don’t remember that from when you had to share a P.E. field. 

Caleb switched sides, veins swollen and prominent on his left arm as he tucked it neatly behind his back, he was already back to work, pressing his chest nearly to the floor in steady, slow, bends of his elbow. 

You wondered if he was using his evol a little just to flaunt, seemed likely given how often he used his evol to tease you. 

He paused, another low groan slipping past his lips, his face rosy from the strain as he held himself in a plank to catch his breath. This was usually when you would make some teasing remark about him needing to do more cardio if he was out of breath, but you found yourself at a loss of words when he glanced up at you, catching you staring at him in that skin tight compression tank that the Caleb you knew would have never picked out. He had always worn hoodies for you to steal off him and even underneath there would be a t shirt at least, now it seemed that the Colonel’s wardrobe was majority sleeveless. 

Fuck he really was a show off, and he was smirking at you while you were still staring at how his biceps were bulging. “Enjoying the show pipsqueak?” That look that always said he was flirting with danger reappeared in eyes, you didn’t know what the danger was but at this point it was going to be you because you were already on mile six and felt like you had a nuclear amount of energy to burn. 

Stupid fucking Caleb and his stupid fucking muscles. 

You kept jogging, shoes thumping on the worn rubber tracks beneath you. “If you didn’t want spectators you shouldn’t have decided to do your pushups right infront of the treadmills.” You couldn’t help the indignation creeping into your tone, you hated feeling embarrassed and Caleb specialized in delivering nothing but that. He kept his head tilted up, looking at you with a raised eyebrow that you knew meant that whatever you had said had amused him. 

“C’mon I know you like to watch.” He winked and sat back on his heels, tilting his head back to take a sip of his metal Fleet water bottle you had covered in stickers. You sucked your teeth and glanced away to check the monitor display of the treadmill. You had just finished off your seventh mile and were more than a little...heated. Hitting the stop button on the machine, you slowed to a halt and reached for your towel to wipe the sweat cooling on your skin under the chilly ac vents. 

Caleb really was an ass sometimes.

The towel was just out of reach, dangling in the air against all laws of gravity. You reached for it, helplessly, letting out a meager sore legged hop that left you about three inches still too short. “Caleb!” You turned to face him, flushed face already scrunched in a displeasured pout. He was still leaning back on his legs, looking entirely too amused for your liking. You let out another whine, reaching again just for the towel to still be out of reach. “Because of your stunts I’m using the shower first.” You all but spat out, of course it did nothing to get Caleb to drop the towel and finally end his relentless teasing. 

Caleb’s amusement was unchanged, a smug grin slipping over his lips as his right brow quirked up again. “You know I don’t mind a little cold shower.” Of course he doesn’t, he’s a psychopath who takes cold showers during winter just to press his cold hands onto the warm skin of your back as soon as he’s dressed. 

You huff, deciding with finality that the towel is not worth it and you can just grab another from the rack by the lockers before you head back home to your apartment. You had been meaning to do a little cleaning because god knows despite his apartment in Skyhaven being a spotless, desolate, wasteland, he had a habit of leaving his sour candy wrappers all over your living room. “Whatever, keep the damn towel.” You muttered before darting away to grab your things from the lockers. 

______________________________________________________________

The walk back to your apartment was brisk, and like you had warned, you were the first to use the shower. You were busy lathering soap into your hair, doing your best to keep your thoughts as clean as your body was getting, but it was pointless. The sound of Caleb’s groans kept filling your ears until your eyes were blurring, echoing in your head like a dirty lullaby. 

A song you just can’t get rid of. 

It’s probably what he wanted, he was a tease by nature. Sure he flirted, showed off, but it didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything when he had practically begged for you to move in with him moments after reuniting and it didn't mean a thing when he  reluctantly agreed to settle on visits. But even that was growing more infrequent, you were busy as most hunters were, you had cancelled on visit plans a few more times than you liked to admit. But whether or not it was the distance, Caleb has been more forward recently. 

Maybe behind all that teasing there was a genuine interest there, but why would you fuck up a decade long friendship trying to figure that out, he was practically your brother. 

Was he though? You had been ogling him like he was on display at the gym. 

You rinsed away soap suds from your hair, smoothing water away from your face as you debated whether or not anything was there at all. It could be a fluke, a byproduct of suddenly losing one of the most important people in your life and then gaining them back just as quickly. Maybe the naive you from your childhood that was convinced Caleb would be the man you marry, the man who takes all your first, died with Caleb that day at grandma’s house. You had grown up a little without him, met new people, other men.

You didn’t need him. Even if he still wanted you to. 

Of course all of that changed when you padded out into the hall, glancing off handedly as you barely towel dried your hair to see him scrolling on his phone on the couch, still dressed in sweaty gym clothes with the shirt noticeably missing. Those shorts were short, hiking up his muscular thighs to scrunch right where thigh met hip, bare chest on display without a care in the world. 

You reminded yourself as you felt your face heating, you had seen Caleb plenty of times without a shirt. But you were still suddenly full of need, thighs pressing together as you plopped down on the other side of the couch. 

“Did'ya enjoy your shower pipsqueak?” Caleb hadn’t looked up from his phone yet and you already wanted to roll your eyes at the nickname

Pipsqueak, like you were some little kid, still the little girl he would hide the snacks out of reach for. No, that wasn't you. You weren’t a pipsqueak anymore, you were a woman and maybe, just maybe, you did need this new version of Caleb, even if it wasn’t exactly for the same purposes as the old version. Your lips parted, and you were about to deliver an enlightening rebuttal when Caleb interjected. 

“You didn’t dry your hair properly.” His phone was discarded beside him and for a moment your thoughts faltered as you wondered what exactly he had been so engrossed in looking at on there he hadn’t noticed your hair being wet when you sat down. Caleb tutted, like he was scolding a wayward child and you already felt yourself cooling off, the neediness that was between your thighs dulling until it was a low ache that only spiked up when your eyes left Caleb’s for longer than three seconds. 

Letting out a soft sigh you gave him an exasperated look. “Gonna dry it for me?” But Caleb already was pulling the towel from around your shoulders where it was protecting your oversized sleep shirt from being stained by falling water droplets. 

He leaned forward as he ruffled your hair with Terry cloth, that playful smirk on his lips as he let out a huff of mock offense. “M’ that predictable am I?” You simply rolled your eyes hoping that your silence was punishment enough as he swiped the towel against the back of your neck to dry off the water dripping under your t shirt collar. He was gentle, like always, taking all the time in the world just to do a simple act of service for you. While you feigned annoyance he knew you liked it anyways. 

“Do ya’ usually train so hard at the gym?” He asked softly. You hadn’t even noticed how your eyes had fluttered closed under his ministrations but when you opened them you met his gaze. 

“Mmm…Usually not quite so hard but Pumpkin Magus has been giving me a run for my money recently.” It was a flimsy excuse, Pumpkin Magus barely lasted a second on the other side of your gun, not like it stopped him from popping back up to wreak havoc. No, you had really been working so hard in the gym to stop you from thinking about what it would feel like to have your child hood best friend wrap those big arms around your waist as he was fucking up into you. Your face flushed and Caleb, who was always observant when it came to you, got that look again in his eye. The one that told you it was time to look up the cost of funeral arrangements. Just incase. 

The hand that had been drying your hair with the towel, feathered down your jaw with the faintest ghost of touches. It made your skin prickle with goose bumps and your brows lift questioningly. “Pumpkin Magus huh? Ain’t that kinda small fry for a big bad hunter like you?” His voice was low, hands resuming the task of drying your hair. “Still keep the blow dryer under the sink short stack?’ 

You nodded, watching as his headed back to the steamy bathroom, bare back filling your gaze as Caleb dug in the the sink cabinet before pulling out a blow dryer you haven’t used since you moved into your own place. You chewed your lip, debating the merits of arguing when the loud sound of the blow dryer running would surely keep Caleb quiet at least. He settled back on the couch, holding open outspread arms, the blow dryer plugged into the wall and resting on the coffee table. You stared at his outstretched arms before reluctantly settling against his chest as loud whirring filled the room. 

Caleb was touchy, one hand holding the blow dryer while the other switched between parting your hair to get between the layers and resting on your thigh, massaging muscles you hadn’t even realized were sore. Of course Caleb's hand on your inner thigh and a soft complaint against your ear for you to look down so he could dry the back of your head properly meant the only thing you could really stare at besides yourself was Caleb’s hand. 

At least they felt somewhat familiar, calloused from sports teams and weightlifting, big and warm, and…vascular. He had the kind of hands that were catalogued in one of those Reddit fetish pages. Blessedly long fingers with perfectly oblong nails trimmed short and always kept clean. Maybe you should have worn those new pajama pants you ordered online instead of old sleep shorts that barely covered anything when you sat down because your breath audibly hitched when Caleb’s thumb started to stroke lazy circles on the sensitive flesh just before he really hit the danger zone.  

Fuck. what was happening?

Caleb is just being touchy, like always. 

You repeat it to yourself over and over, like a mantra on loop instead of the sound of him groaning when his arms started to shake during pushups. 

You were the one who was being weird. 

But this whole situation was absurd wasn't it? Your childhood best friend blew up in front of your eyes, literally, and somehow miraculously survived without telling a single soul who was left to care about him.

Namely you. 

Suddenly arousal faded into that bitter hurt that always accompanied anger. You preferred it this way, it made actual sense. It wasn't some fleeting vision of Caleb bending you over the counter, Caleb using his evol to keep you pinned to the bed while he ate you out just cause he liked it. 

Fuck would he like it?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the blow dryer shutting off, a sudden heavy muteness filling into your apartment. You shifted in Caleb’s lap, silently pleading for him to say something…Anything. He stayed uncharacteristically silent, eyes trained on your face. Tilting your head back, you looked up at him.

He was looking at you with pure adoration, like you were something so precious he was grateful you existed at all. 

You nervously lifted a hand to your face, cheeks flushing as you realized just how close you were. “Thanks.” You chirped the word out, cheeks puffing out as you debated whether or not he would let you slide out of his lap without a cheeky comment. 

Caleb just chuckled softly, hand coming up to ruffle the hair he had just worked so hard to dry off. “Mhmm, Ya’ know I’ll always take care of you pipsqueak.” He sounded like the Caleb you remembered, the Caleb you could depend on, and now you felt like you never really knew him at all. Still, it wasn't something you wanted to bring up, you wanted to enjoy your vacation days for just a little while longer before everything blew up. Caleb would be hurt, you would feel bad for hurting him because somewhere in whoever he is now, he’s still your Caleb. He’s still the little boy who took care of you when you scraped your knee, who always bought two of everything just because of you.

You feigned annoyance, although a fair amount of it was genuine. “Quit calling me pipsqueak, I’m not a little kid anymore.” Caleb’s head tilted to the side, right brow twitching upwards and you knew you were in for it. 

His hands slid off where they were resting on the couch cushions, creeping past your lower back before wrapping around your waist to roughly tug you to his chest. His chin rested in between your neck and shoulder and you could already feel your pulse racing. “That’s not true, you’ll always be my baby.” His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck as he spoke, voice a low deep rumble with just enough of a teasing lilt at the end that it didn’t exactly sound flirtatious but made you feel like it was. He buried his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply before speaking again, voice muffled by your skin. “The little baby I always gotta take care of ‘cause you need me.” 

Was he…Nuzzling you?

With a flushed face and a quick excuse you were already attempting to escape his grip but he flexed his biceps and you were squeezed in. “Obviously I did fine without you.” You reply with as much snark as you can muster. You’re thankful he can’t see your face right now although with the feeling of weightlessness growing you guessed that was about to change.

He’s using his fucking evol to spin you around so you’re straddling his lap to face him. Your face is lit up red like the apple stickers decorating his water bottle by the couch on the floor. It’s all you can bear to look at when gravity finally returns and you’re plopped right where he wants you. 

On his lap, having to look at him. 

But you look anything but happy about the new seating arrangement. Lips pulled in a frown you only ever get when he’s the one who riled you up. But Caleb looks like how he always does.

In control. 

“What? M’ I not taking good care of my sweet girl?” His lips were already curled into that grin he used when he was trying to butter you up. 

His sweet girl? When did he say shit like that? When did he call you anything other than some variation of pipsqueak? 

At least he wasn't calling you pipsqueak. 

You shifted again in his lap, growing fidgety. This conversation was quickly moving into deeper waters with how hard your heart was pounding and how red your face bloomed.

The problem was Caleb was persistent. 

You had to get rid of him to give yourself time to cool off. You made a show of sniffing the air, nostrils flaring as you scrunched up your face in mock revulsion. “Caleb…You smell, and you’re all sweaty from the gym. Go shower.” Caleb didn’t move, he just stared at you, eyes strangely intense in a way that made you feel pinned to the spot. 

He wasn't even using his evol.

After a silent moment of the two of you just staring at each other, Caleb acquiesced, sliding you off his lap and back onto the couch with his hands on your thighs even though he could have just used his evol to move you without lifting a finger. “M’kay boss, whatever you say.” 

You huffed. That didn’t sound like he was admitting defeat like usual. But still, you watched his back as he retreated to the bathroom and started the shower. 

He called you fucking sweet girl and baby all on the day you start really noticing him as something other than your childhood friend Caleb. And it all feels like a trap somehow. Like he’s trying to dangle sweets in front of your face again. 

You could be persistent too.

______________________________________________________________

Your apartment was always cozy at night, a far cry from Caleb’s back in Skyhaven. Since Caleb was staying for a whole week the two of you settled into a routine. Caleb cooked dinner in his pjs, you joined him to eat while watching plane disaster videos because one thing you had in common was morbid curiosity. Eventually it would switch into deep dives about streamers with crazy enough allegations to make the both of you side eye each other. And then you would head to your bed in your room and leave Caleb to sleep on the couch. 

Although, when you walked out of your bedroom, eager for dinner, slippers scuffing softly against your apartment floors, you paused at the end of the hall looking out on the open concept living room and kitchen. Caleb was cooking in just boxers now. 

Your face flushed, just when you had finally decided you could finally be normal around him he has to show off again. 

Caleb was such an asshat it was unbelievable. 

And now your emotions were warring between the classic ‘LHL What is it?’ Scenario. Love, Hate, or Lust? You couldn’t make sense when it felt like all three. Taking a deep breath until you felt the heat on your cheeks dissipate you waltzed into the kitchen as casually as you could muster. Filling a glass of water up in the sink. “You really made yourself comfortable huh?” It sounded like a gripe, but Caleb’s back was still turned to you and you were appreciatively glancing over at his muscles between large gulps of tap water. 

Maybe he’s been feeding you aphrodisiacs? 

You mulled the thought over in your head, briefly, before focusing in on Caleb who was certainly speaking to you. “Hey, you listening in or are you gonna keep staring at me like I’m a martian?” His brow twitched up, a smirk tugging his lips into that soft m shaped line you couldn’t tear your eyes away from. 

“Start over, I’ve gotten so used to you staying at my place you’re like background noise now.” You tilted your head to the side, fighting to keep your eyes above his collar bones. 

Caleb lets out a long sigh, shaking his head like he expected this of you. 

His sweet girl.

And suddenly you were blushing again, just at the memory of those words falling from his lips. You felt like a puppy, begging for just a few more words of praise at his feet. 

You hated it. 

“Well I was saying I really have to do laundry. I didn’t pack much.” You ignore his statement, finding it awfully suspicious why Caleb of all people wouldn’t do laundry before he’s completely run out of clothes. Maybe this new side of him was more forgetful. 

You purse your lips. “Feel free to use the machine, I think I have some of your old shirts in the closet.” Caleb nodded, barking out what sounded like an order to watch the stir fry while he looked. You obliged him if only to satiate your growing appetite. You could barely tell if it was for food anymore.

Fuck what was he doing to you?

He came back 10 minutes later, hair rustled, one arm tucked behind his back, and a shirt he used to wear a lot in high school draped over his frame. It had a few stains, mostly from you spilling your morning coffee on the front because you always wore it to bed. For a minute he looked like the old Caleb you knew, but wasnt that just deja vu by now? “Found somethin’ cool in your closet.” His voice a teasing rumble as he broke you out of your nostalgia. 

You shrugged thinking it was probably a photo album or maybe a keepsake you kept from the salvage of grandma’s home. But the look on Caleb’s face made you pause as you scooped cooked stir fry onto two ceramic plates. “What?” 

He had the kind of shit eating grin that made you start to break into a nervous sweat. While looming over you Caleb pulled out your vibrator from behind his back. The hot pink rabbit toy you kept tucked away in a dust bag in your closet for the nights where your job really did keep you up. “Didn’t think you were such a naughty girl keeping stuff like this around where anybody could find it.” You immediately reached for it, face flushing a deeper shade of red as he held it high above his head. 

Why did he have this incessant need to watch you struggle?

You struggled between feeling mortified, flustered, turned on by the fact that he didn’t care that what he was holding had been inside you, that he even wanted to tease you about it in the first place. 

“You’re such a bully Caleb!” You reached up again and Caleb finally dropped his hand just enough to let you grab it from him. You cradled the silicone toy, brows knitted together as you shot him an accusing glare. “It wasn't where just anyone could have found it. It was in a dust bag and you snooped just to embarrass me!” 

Caleb leaned against the island countertop, head tilting to the side and brow raised. “Thought I told you that you could ask for my help with anythin’.” 

You had to grip the counter to stop yourself from going weak in the knees, your voice nearly coming out a hushed squeak before you swallowed down the knot in your throat to finally speak. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Caleb’s arm flexed when he tightened his knuckles around the edge of the countertop, your eyes instinctively darted down to watch the muscles dance below his skin, tightening up just to relax again. He let out an amused chuckle that sounded filthy to your ears, but you couldn’t tell if it was your mind playing tricks on you. “Could use these hands you seem to like so much. Or is it the arms you’re always starin’ at?” 

Your head went blank, eyes wide, darting between his knuckles, white from how hard he was gripping the counter, to his arms where inches upon inches of muscle built up to the stretch of his shoulder, than his face, with his eyes so dark it felt like they were burning into you. Your face was hot, your mind hazy, and your jaw was undoubtedly hanging open. 

“You’re gonna catch flies like that baby” He chastised, hand coming up to nudge your jaw closed with the second knuckle of his index finger. You closed it, still staring at him wide eyed. You didn’t know what you were feeling, you just knew it felt warm and tingly and shot right between your thighs. Caleb dragged his hand down your jaw to your throat, stepping closer until he had you shuttered against him in the bend of the countertops. He tilted your face up and stroked at the skin of your cheek, face leaning down until he was inches away from you. 

“Caleb.” His name slipped out more like a broken whimper than the warning tone you had tried to exude. His thumb rubbing softly at your face while his fingers cradled the back of your head like you might collapse at any moment. 

Your legs did feel like jello. 

Caleb hummed, the sound saccharine sweet like he ran it through honey. “What is it sweetheart?” Your hand, still clutching the pink silicone of the vibrator, pressed against the countertop behind you. 

You wanted to put your hands on him, you wanted to feel those muscles in his arm shift as he worked you over and over until you were mewling and fucked drunk. “Can I touch you?” The vibrator forgotten about on the countertop as your hands tentatively reached up to his shoulders. 

He snorted, a little incredulousness slipping into his tone as he brought his other hand against your hip, squeezing the flesh there playfully. “‘Course you can sweet girl, you never asked before.” 

Before was different, before was when he was your childhood best friend, the Caleb that wasn't exactly so bold, the Caleb that was like your brother. You shifted your gaze down to your slippers. “It’s just different now is all.” You breath hitched when he pressed a soft kiss against your jaw, your hands finally definitively resting on his broad shoulders. “You’re calling me stuff other than pipsqueak and trying to get in my pants.” 

Caleb let out a dark chuckle, his face resting against your neck as he pressed soft kisses against the skin there that left you breathless and aching. “Is it working?” Another painfully sweet nibble against sensitive flesh that made you squirm. Now that hand that was at your hip was sliding up to squeeze your waist, kneading the tense muscles of your side. 

You nodded, it definitely was working. 

Caleb hummed, low and satisfied. His eyes were so dark they nearly looked black. “Wonder what would feel better? My hand or that toy of yours.” Another nip against your skin, right above your pulse. 

Your breath hitched, his arms had you caged in against the kitchen cabinets and all you could do was pout up at him with a rosy face. “Is this more of your teasing?” You weren’t in the mood for new games, and Caleb loved to play. 

He pressed himself forward and you realized at once that Caleb wasn't playing, there hard against your stomach was all the proof you needed. You slid a hand down from his shoulder, nearly in disbelief when it brushed against the front of his boxers. The length of him twitched below your fingers and you moved to withdraw your touch but Caleb’s hand shot out to grip your wrist. “Curious aren’t ya?” His face was colored pink, up to the tips of his ears, eyes heavy lidded in an expression you had never seen before. “Ya don’t have to be curious about everything.” 

Caleb released your wrist, stepping back to run a hand through his hair. He glanced away, seemingly thinking for a moment before turning back to you. “Think I’m done playing games now.” And suddenly he was using his evol to pull you forward into his arms, strong and securely wrapped around your waist to lift you up. 

“Caleb!” You squirmed in his hold but he just squeezed tighter, hands warm against the back of your bare thighs. You couldn’t deny the way he always made you feel helpless, it didn’t matter how many wanderers you took down all own your own, in Caleb’s arms it was pointless to struggle. 

If you didn’t love him so much you might have had the sense to be afraid. 

He carried you to your bedroom, lips pulled into a signature smirk. “Don’t tell me you aren’t going to accept responsibility for your actions now that things are getting serious.” Your back fell against the mattress, Caleb’s hands were already sliding down your thighs tugging the waistband of your shorts. You reached out to stop him, trying to make sense of everything when your mind was so hazy.

Were you embarrassed or aroused? 

It was all mixing together, making your heart pound against your rib cage until it felt like the beat of the drum. Caleb tilted his head curiously, breath warm against your neck as your hand closed around his wrist. “Aren’t there lines you don’t cross?” You asked breathlessly, eyes wide. 

Caleb chuckled, the sound made your swimming mind suddenly hyper focused on him propped up with a strong arm above you. “Aren’t lines meant to be crossed and rules made to be broken?” He pressed a kiss against the exposed skin of your collar and you nearly shivered. 

Why did everything only ever feel right when he was touching you?

You released your grip on his wrist, relaxing into the mattress. Caleb made sense, him touching you made sense. Even as he dragged your shorts down over your hips, until all you had left were the flimsy damp cotton of your panties and the rumpled oversized fabric of your sleep shirt. 

Caleb leaned back with a dark grin, canines sparkling in dim warm light made his smile seem more like the toothy maw of a wolf than the face of your best friend. 

He wanted to eat you alive.

Lips on yours, harsh and aggressive. Teeth sinking into the soft delicate skin of your lower lip until you were moaning against him. Your hands came up to tug on his hair but he just used his evol to pin them back on the bed on either side of your head. “C’mon sweet girl, only I get to touch.” 

You couldn’t help the whiny noise that slipped past kiss swollen lips. He wasn't being fair and he loved to use his evol against you. “I thought rules were meant to be broken?” You taunted back, not missing the way Caleb’s eyes crinkled in the corners. 

He pressed another kiss against your lips, this one softer, the kind that made you so weak in the knees that if you hadn’t been laying down you might have collapsed. “Mhmm…I think rules are fine if I’m the one makin’ them, haven’t you learned that by now?” Caleb’s fingers teased the edge of your underwear waistband, slipping past the elastic to press a teasing caress against the heated flesh of your sensitive clit. 

You sucked in a sharp inhale of air. His calloused finger pad rolling tight circles until you felt the warm drip of your drooling cunt against the bottom of your ass. You were fucking leaking in your panties like you were in heat. Begging for more than just the little touches Caleb was giving you. 

You met his gaze, trained on you like it always was, ears pink and lips parted to let the soft breaths of air, he was huffing out, brush against your cheek. “Caleb please…more.” 

Caleb hummed, tilting his head like he didn’t know what you possibly meant. “More? More what baby?” He knew exactly what you wanted more of but he loved seeing you admit the one thing he craved more than anything. 

That you needed him. 

And Caleb was always willing to let you struggle for it, maybe that was half the enjoyment for him aside from seeing your cute face scrunch up the way it was now. 

You moaned again when the calloused pad of his finger brushed up your hood in a way that made your thighs clench together. Caleb pushed your thighs apart, one hand on your left knee and the other still barely touching you under your panties. “Please…Touch me more.” You whined out, back arching up. 

Caleb withdrew his touch, but his evol kept you pinned down to the bed. “I dunno…You gonna admit that you still need me?” Your brows furrowed, a flush creeping up your cheeks as you met his self satisfied expression with a needy glare. 

You huffed, eager to knock him down a peg. “You’re such a dummy Caleb.” Still, you felt desperate for more. With your lips pressed into a pout you reluctantly gave him what he wanted. “I…I need you Caleb. Please will you really touch me now?” 

That smirk he had faded into something more akin to affection and then your panties were being dragged off. “Yeah? You need me that badly huh?” Caleb was tugging off his shirt, thick arms suddenly free for you to ogle and washboard abs catching the light just right enough to make your breath hitch despite having seen him shirtless countless times. 

Caleb released his evol from your wrists if only to drag you back against his chest after he sat and leaned against the headboard. You didn’t mind the change in position, your back pressed snuggly against his warm pecs. His fingers crept up your shirt to play with your breasts his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Okay pretty girl, okay. I’ll take care of you just like how I always do.” 

One hand kneading your chest, the other between your folds toying at your entrance while his thumb rubbed lazily against your clit. You rolled your hips against his touch, nails digging into the muscled flesh of his strong thighs. A cacophony of pleasured mewls spilling from your lips while Caleb licked and sucked bruises against your neck. He hummed, deep and low, when his mouth unlatched from the hickey on your pulse.

They were going to be hard to explain at work when your vacation finally ended. 

“Look at you pretty baby, all needy for me. Makes it feel like we’re the only people in the world.” He sighed against your bruised flesh, fingers hooking up to finally push into your sopping cunt. Your head fell back against his shoulder at the sensation of him pushing two thick knuckles inside you, eyes barely staying open just to watch the muscles flex in his arms as he curled his fingers against that spongy part of your pussy that made you see stars. 

“Don’t tease Caleb.” You mumbled out in-between breathy moans. He just pressed a kiss against your shoulder and curled his fingers deeper. 

Caleb scissored his fingers, stretching your pussy before curling back upwards to hit your sweet spot, thumb still rubbing on your clit without ever breaking pace. 

Fuck…he must have done this before if he was so damn good at it. 

You were already so close, barely fifteen minutes in and your thighs were trembling, slick soaking the bed sheets beneath the two of you. He kept you caged against him, teeth nipping at the lobe of your ear as he whispered filthy praise just for you. “That’s it pretty girl.” His cock throbbed against your back and you could feel the wet spot growing on his boxers. “Fuck your pussy keeps sucking my fingers in…Don’t tell me you get this way for that toy of yours?” You shook your head and Caleb laughed, his other hand pinching a nipple between his index finger and thumb. “C’mon baby, can’t you say it?” He was teasing you again, but it all felt so much worse when his fingers were buried inside you and you were wet enough to fill an aquarium. “Tell me how much better I am than that pink rabbit otherwise I’m not gonna let you cum princess. And wouldn’t that be a real shame?” 

You thought you might cry at the thought, but Caleb seemed all too eager to punish as he was to reward and you knew better than to test his patience when you were just so close to the release you needed. Your hips rolled in short needy bursts, lips parting open to let out that soft sweet sound Caleb loved so much, you were going to set aside your pride for once if only for a moment of utter bliss you were sure Caleb would bring you to. “It’s better! Ah…hng! Fuck you’re so much better.” 

Caleb seemed satisfied at that, his touch on your clit speeding until that knot low in your gut was about to unravel. “You oughta throw the thing away, I want to be the only one who sees you like this, the only one who makes you cum.” You moaned out an unintelligible word but it just turned into Caleb’s name, over and over, just like the way he kept bullying your over sensitive cunt. “You wanna cum pretty girl?” Your nails were biting into the skin of his arm where you gripped the flexing muscles as his fingers worked you over. 

“Please, please Caleb!” You could feel him smiling against your neck, fingers prodding over and over at your sweet spot until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Good girl, go ahead and soak my fingers. Cum for me baby.” He sounded breathless, eyes glazed and trained on your fluttering cunt, watching the way your folds parted lewdly just for his fingers. The way your unabashed need made them glisten in the low light. 

Eyes rolled back and mouth parted open in a cry that certainly disturbed your neighbors, your orgasm had your thighs clenching together until Caleb used his evol to pin your legs down. His fingers still working you through it with squelches that were loud enough to contest the sound of your fucked out moans. 

You were trembling against him, chest heaving as you finally came down from your high. Blinking up to see him already looking down at you, eyes soft violet even under the warm lamplight. “Wasn't that just the prettiest sight.” He mumbled out, lips curled in that satisfied grin he had when he offered sour candy he knew you would deny so he could hog the whole bag to himself. You were still panting, eyes bleary as you looked up at him while he withdrew his fingers from your clutching cunt. 

He peppered kisses against your cheek before bringing a finger to his lips to suck the slick clean, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a soft moan. “Geez you’re sweet as hell even down there aren’t ya?” Another kiss against your flushing neck and then his other finger still slick with you was being pressed against your lips. “C’mon sweet tooth, try it.” His tone didn’t have much room for argument so you parted your lips obediently to suck his fingers clean. You didn’t mind it, it’s not like you haven’t had dirty thoughts of him making you gag around his knuckles before. But still, the taste of yourself on his digits was new.

His cock twitched insistently against your lower back and you realized he still hasn't let you touch him. You wanted to make him feel as good as you did.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and you took the opportunity to turn in the bed to face him, bringing your hands up to his flushed cheeks to press eager kisses against his mouth. "I wanna touch you Caleb...Please."

He stared at you for a moment, his pupils blown to near black, before ruffling your hair playfully. "Nah not yet baby, M'not done with you." You were baffled, what did he mean by not done with you?

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by sudden weightlessness, the bed pressing against your back and Caleb above you. "Caleb! Quit using your evol to toss me around!"

He chuckled, kissing your neck, stopping at the collar of your rumpled sleep shirt and yanked it off using his gravity manipulation. Suddenly you felt bare, nipples pebbling in the cool air as Caleb kissed across the skin of your breasts. "Thats funny, when you were a kid you loved when I picked you up like that." A nip at your nipple made your breath hitch. "Wanted me to keep taking you higher." He pressed a kiss at your sternum. "And higher." Another kiss but lower, against the warm pulse on your stomach. "And higher." He nipped at the pudge below your navel. You whined but he shushed you and propped your thighs over his broad muscular shoulders. "Until you went to outer space."

He was kissing a new place entirely, one that was leaving you breathless. "C-Caleb!"

He hummed but the sound reverberated against your mound, making you forget why you were protesting in the first place. He sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive plump bud. Your folds were swollen, still soaked with slick from your first orgasm, and you could already feel another one creeping up.

Your hands reached to dig into Caleb's hair but he used his evol to pin your wrists to the bed without even looking up. Strong arms flexed as his hands kept your thighs pried apart.

At least he was playing into your fantasies.

He pulled away from your clit to lap between puffy folds, moaning at the taste. You were already putty in his hands, thighs trembling, eyes so glazed, and lips parted to let out breathy moans.

Caleb was as talented in life as he was in dreams. You should have suspected as such, he was good at everything he did.

His mouth latched onto your clit again, tongue lashing against the bud until that knot tightened. He pushed two fingers in, curving them up as his mouth worked you over the final push.

You couldn't take it anymore.

Back arching as you came undone against his face, his fingers pumping in a steady rhythm as he lapped at your clit with the broad flat of his tongue.

It was all too much.

Your vision came back slowly, white fading back into color as Caleb pushed himself up, chin glistening with the juices from your release.

He looked debauched, like a stranger, and then he gave you that reassuring smile that made your pounding heart stop for a moment.

He was still your Caleb even after all of this.

He pressed a kiss against your stomach, glancing up at your face before releasing his evol. "You okay? Ya look a little...breathless up there." He was teasing you after giving you the best orgasm of your life.

Classic Caleb.

You rolled your eyes at his antics but nodded, stretching slowly as you regained sensation in your buzzing limbs. "Mhmm...What about you?"

You still haven't touched him yet much to your dismay.

He tilted his head curiously, eyes dark in the dim lighting. "Don't worry about me baby, there's time for all that later." He kissed your forehead, pressing another just above your brow. "Gotta make sure you have another reason to come visit me in Skyhaven next time."

He rolled onto his side, pulling you against his chest so that he was spooning you. You could feel the press of his tented boxers against your ass but you didn't comment on it.

He could torture himself all he wanted, he was your pink rabbit for the night after all.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

[heliosunny]

Hello! I was curious what your take on the Amphoreus men’s reactions would be to a sick or even injured reader? I had bad nausea and a migraine today, bedridden and all, (but I’m better now!) and I fear if I was their darling they’d think I’m pregnant or something dumb like that 😂

Wishing you a lovely day! Thank you for sharing your writings ❤️

I'm sick atm so Imma answer this. Glad to hear u got better.

When you're sick

🌿 Anaxa

At first, he's simply observing. He doesn't react strongly, but his mind is already working to figure out what’s wrong.

(Watching you struggle to sit up, his eyes gleaming with amusement at first.)

Anaxa: “How fascinating. Your skin is warmer than usual, your pupils slightly dilated… Could it be a poison? Did someone poison you? Or perhaps a parasite? I do wonder.”

Anaxa is unsettlingly calm as he begins testing different treatments on you (you poor thing). You say it’s just a cold? He doesn’t believe you.

(You groan, insisting it’s just a cold. He hums, unconvinced, swirling a dark liquid in a glass.)

Anaxa: “Drink this. It may cure you, or at the very least, give me something new to analyze.”

(He scares you, but he only wants the best for you. Such hypocrite.)

Pregnancy thought? Unlikely. He’s too logical for that, he's looking for tangible symptoms. However, if he does think it, it’s because he wants to study the changes in your body up close.

(You woke up just to see his hand already inspecting your stomach.)

Anaxa: “We managed to put a baby in here huh. Don't you move, I'll take very good care of you.”

(You pushed him away soon after and refused to drink or eat anything from him.)

🐶 Phainon

His smile starts to fade when he heard the news. You have a minor fever?

(He barges into the room)

Phainon: “You're going to die? Don't leave me! I can't bear the thought of living all alone...”

(Lays you in bed dramatically like you’re on your deathbed.)

If you say it’s just a cold, he’ll be offended and insist that you need “proper royal treatment.”

(He tucked you in so tight you can't even move.)

Phainon: “I always know that you're not as strong as me, but I didn't expect you to be sick. I will feed you, every day, don't worry.”

Pregnancy thought? that’s not possible… unless…

(You tell him to calm down, but he ignores you, crouching beside your bed with a look of pure anguish.)

Phainon: “What if it’s something deadly? What if *gasp you’re with child?!? Whose? Mine?”

(You choke on your own saliva at his ridiculous assumption.)

Phainon: “Stay right here, I’ll summon someone immediately!”

(He rushes out before you can protest. You are doomed.)

🦁Mydei

At first, he just watches you suspiciously. When he realizes it’s real, he softens… a little.

He doesn’t fuss, but he becomes overbearing in a quiet way. He forces you to rest, doesn’t let you lift a single finger.

(Arms crossed, standing near the door, eyes narrowed as he watches you weakly sip your drink.)

Mydei: “If you’re too weak to hold a cup properly, you shouldn’t be holding it at all.”

(You glare at him, muttering that you can take care of yourself.)

Mydei: “Clearly.” (Sarcastic. He takes the cup from your hands and forces you to lie down.) “Rest.”

If you get worse, he just picks you up and hauls you off to a doctor, no questions asked.

He’ll be stubbornly glued to your side until you’re better.

Pregnancy thought? The possibility crosses his mind, but he immediately throws it out because he would’ve known if anything like that was possible.

When you're injured

🌿 Anaxa

He is completely unfazed. Even if you’re bleeding out, he will only act calm and professional while getting out his medical tools.

(Kneeling beside you, observing the wound with a calm, almost clinical expression.)

Anaxa: “Hm. A deep cut. The bleeding is slowing, but the damage is substantial.”

You swear he’s a doctor with how efficiently he patches you up—but he makes little effort to comfort you. Rather, he finds it interesting to mess with you.

(You wince as he prods at the wound. He doesn’t even warn you.)

Anaxa: “I expected better. Letting yourself get hurt like this… Have you always been so careless?”

(You glare at him.)

Anaxa: “Oh, don’t look at me like that. This is your own fault, after all. Still, if I find out someone else dares hurt you... nevermind.”

🐶Phainon

Trying to hold back his anger, won't let it shows in front of you. You can only see his good side.

(His entire body is tense as he kneels beside you, gripping his sword so hard his knuckles turn white.)

Phainon: “Who did this?”

(You try to downplay it, but his eyes still burning with fury.)

Once he’s calmed down, he scoops you up and takes you to the best healer available.

He’s genuinely shaken up by it and might get overly protective afterward. Even minor scrapes will have him wrapping you up in bandages like a mummy.

Phainon: “And once you’re healed, you are never leaving my sight again. I won’t allow it.”

🦁Mydei

He’s surprisingly calm when he sees you’re injured, but it’s the eerie kind of calm. He’s not saying much, but the rage is there.

He doesn’t panic, he assesses your wound like a warrior, checking the severity before deciding what to do.

(He crouches beside you, examining the wound with an eerily quiet intensity.)

Mydei: “You’re bleeding.”

(You bite back a sarcastic remark. He rips off a piece of his sleeve, pressing it against the wound with firm but careful hands.)

Mydei: “Does it hurt?”

(You hesitate. He looks at you, his sharp gaze unyielding.)

Mydei: “Good. Remember it.”

Two priorities:

Getting you treated.

Finding whoever did this and destroying them.

No more fights. No more risks. You are staying where he can see you.

(He finishes bandaging the wound, then stands, offering you his hand.)

Mydei: “Come. You’re not walking alone.”

[cuntyji]

hello i'm sad because i reread angel's ( @deathofacupid ) smau this is the [cover of the] song that ib'd this post <3

there used to be humming in the household when you were around.

not a song, not even a tune most of the time—just the idle, thoughtless hum of someone who belonged there. it was in the mornings when you brewed tea, steam curling into the air, the scent of sugar and warmth lingering even after the cup was drained. it was at night, barely a whisper against the silence, like a sound you didn’t even realize you were making.

sukuna used to grumble about it, used to throw a lazy glare your way from where he lounged, arms crossed. fucking annoying. he’d say it like it was just a fact. like it was the weather, or the color of the sky.

you would hum a little louder after that. just enough to taunt, to challenge, to let him know you heard him but didn’t care. then you’d soften again, slipping back into your own little world, as if your very presence resonated through sound.

but now there was nothing.

no hum in the mornings. no hum as you poured tea, because there was no second cup anymore. no hum in the evenings, in the quiet spaces that used to be filled by something so small, so insignificant—until it was gone.

he noticed the silence before he noticed the absence. the sheets were colder than they should have been, but that was only a delayed realization. the space beside him in bed was empty, but his first thought had been about the quiet. it was too still, too hollow.

he caught himself waiting, once. waiting for the moment you’d step into the room, waiting for the sound of you. a hum, a breath, anything.

it didn’t come. it wouldn’t.

sukuna scoffed at himself, at the foolishness of it all. as if he cared. as if it mattered.

but the silence remained. the kind that sat heavy in the air, the kind that followed him through the house, curling around his thoughts like an unwanted presence. a ghost of something that should be here but wasn’t.

his jaw clenched. his fingers curled into his palm. pathetic.

someone else would be hearing your humming now.

someone else would wake up to the sound of you existing in that small, quiet way—your voice pressed into the spaces between thoughts, filling them without even trying.

someone else.

sukuna exhaled through his nose, sharp and short, like he could chase the thought away.

he picked up his tea, but it was too bitter.

you still hummed. not in front of anyone—not in front of another.

it had been his privilege, whether he knew it or not. whether he deserved it or not.

now, the sound belonged only to the empty spaces around you, slipping through the cracks of a world that no longer held him beside you. you hummed when no one was around, when silence pressed too heavy against your ribs, when it felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to something that once was.

you had never been superstitious, never believed in things like fate or unseen forces that carried whispers across distances. but sometimes, when the sky stretched wide and endless above you, you’d tilt your head, hum soft and slow, and wonder—could the wind carry it to him?

what a foolish thought. the wind did not know you. did not owe you anything. but it didn’t stop you from trying.

“pathetic.” sukuna’s voice had always curled around that word like he enjoyed the weight of it, letting it roll off his tongue with something between amusement and contempt. you could almost hear it now, spoken into the empty air, sharp as ever.

he’d hate this—knowing that, even now, your voice still reached for him in ways he never reached for you.

but you had always been foolish, hadn’t you? humming under your breath like it meant something. like it ever could.

so you kept humming, just a little softer this time, as if it made any difference at all.

[crescentofthegods]

LILACS AND VIOLETS!

pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!fem!reader

summary: “the other night. when you… held me,” he began, his eye leaving the floor so it could meet your gaze, building up the courage to speak. “could you hold me again? please?”

word count: 1,697

warnings: FLUFF, nottt proof read in the slightest, physical touch, cuddling, aemond is a vulnerable cutie patootie, might be slightly ooc but idgaf, etc etc

author's note: listen, i just want cuddles from aemond. also this is lowkey really bad i just wanted to write aemond fluff fr....

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

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THE FIRST RAYS OF THE SUN crept in through the curtains of your bedchamber as you stirred awake, your eyes fluttering open—and, the first thing you could feel, was your tall, lithe husband, unconscious on top of your body. His head was tucked away against your neck, soft breaths escaping him, his arms wrapped tightly around your body like he was a snake scoping out its prey, legs tangled like vines strangling a tree branch; you would’ve giggled, but you wouldn’t want to wake him. Even though his eyepatch was wedged uncomfortably against your skin, you did not mind in the slightest. His natural scent wafted up your nose—dragon scales and pine wood, as well as his favourite rosemary oil he often applied to his hair during the late hours of the night. A few songbirds sat on the edge of your balcony, chirping and chattering away as you relaxed against your bed, your fingers gently scratching Aemond’s scalp.

            He was a curious character, Aemond. Your husband, yes… But, he was still not accustomed to this whole union. It was arranged, of course, by his grandsire and your parents, allying your House to the Royal Family. A few moons into the marriage, and you both still did not share quarters—However, at times, the Prince would feel comfortable enough to visit you just before you fell asleep.

            Last night was one of those times.

            A soft knock against the oak of your bedroom door startled you from your book, a quiet sigh leaving your lips since you were already comfortable under the furs of your bed. It was late, the time equating to the Hour of the Eel. You wondered who it could be? Most likely a handmaiden; everyone in the castle would be asleep by now…

            “Come in!” you called out, your drowsiness evident in your tone. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up more properly in your bed to maintain ‘proper Princess etiquette’.

            Whatever that meant.

            To your astoundment, the person standing at the entrance of your chamber was not your handmaiden, but, in fact, your husband—Prince Aemond. In his nightclothes, his eyepatch on, no hair tie keeping his hair back, like he had just left his rooms in a hurry to get to you. 

            Aemond was a peculiar, little thing. Peculiar in the sense that he was not at all what you had expected him to be. You heard the whispers, how the loss of his eye turned him into some cold, horrible man who was sharp with his tongue and even sharper with his sword. When your father informed you of your impending betrothal with the Targaryen Prince, you did not know what to expect. Would you live the same life as your mother? Forced to birth babies and live in your husband’s ignorance for the rest of your days? You’d honestly rather jump off the nearest cliff—

            But then, you met him for the first time.

            He was quiet, a man of few words. Respectful, kept his hands to himself. Well-groomed; half of his long, silver locks were always tied back. There was also the eyepatch, made of leather, which remained clasped around his left eye. Rumours always uttered that the Prince hadn’t taken it off since that dreaded night at Driftmark. You, his lady wife, hadn’t even seen what was under it, not even now.

            Though, his remaining purple eye was already quite the beauty—the initial colour was truly violet, but if you looked close enough, swirls of lilacs, your favourite flowers, blended in so bewitchingly. It was intense, piercing. You liked it, the way he stared at you when he thought you didn’t notice.

            Purple flowers were your favourite since they were synonymous to a sort of hope. Renewal and everlasting. You liked to think the Gods spoke to you through blossoms and cherubs. Like the Gods were reassuring you, saying—“Look! He’s not bad at all, your husband.”

            Aemond was handsome, too. You weren’t the only one who thought so. During the courting period of your betrothal, many young noblewomen would giggle and whisper to themselves whenever you walked through the gardens with Aemond—his words were sharp, his sword sharper, but his actual appearance was probably the sharpest out of everything. The Gods of Old Valyria must’ve taken their time with him, carefully sculpting the contours of his nose, his jawline, his cheekbones, pairing them with an even more contoured body. He trained every morning with Ser Criston Cole, his mother’s sworn protector, and it clearly paid off.

            “Husband…?” Your gentle voice broke the silence, your eyebrows crinkling, conveying your surprise at the sight of him at your door. You both talked often, but things were still… very new.

            The Prince seemed to be surprised with himself, showing up in your chamber like this. He had been abed, though his thoughts were being particularly perturbing in the cold atmosphere of his room.

            Your chamber was the opposite. Warm. You were warm.

            “Wife,” he greeted, his voice even quieter than yours. He had shut the door behind him, now unsure of what to do. He glanced at you, his eye landing on the book in your lap before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Apologies, are you… are you busy?”

            “Not really,” you replied, a small smile finding your lips as you closed your novel, placing it on your bedside table. “I was on the verge of falling asleep, if I’m being honest.”

            “Ah,” Aemond nodded, his posture stiff, his arms by his sides. He looked like he was refraining himself from doing something—you wondered what he was thinking, and you wondered why he was here. The candle by your bed was flickering, like it was pushing you to talk to him—bring him closer.

            “…Are you alright?” You asked, your eyebrows now creased with concern; perhaps he had a bad dream? You were the only one who he could converse with about them. Aemond didn’t know why he was so open with you. It could be because you were his wife, and it was basically your job to listen. Your duty.

            And yet, Aemond knew there was more to it. To you.

            “I… would not want to bother you,” he finally responded, lowering his eye to the wooden floors of the Keep. Softened eyes found your expression as your gaze lingered on your husband’s form; he resembled a little boy, his younger, reserved self. You never knew that version of him, but his inner child shone through a lot of the time when it was just the two of you.

            “You could never, Aemond,” you reassured, your hands resting in your lap as you nibbled your bottom lip. “What is the matter?” Confliction overwhelmed his countenance, his silver eyebrows knitting together as he struggled to speak—all you could think about was how… adorable he looked.

            “The other night. When you… held me,” he began, his eye leaving the floor so it could meet your gaze, building up the courage to speak. You did not interrupt, letting him take his time. A quality, patience, he was glad his wondrous wife had—Aemond felt as if everyone around him never had any time for him these days. His mother, his sister… His brother, too. Though, Aemond didn’t seek Aegon’s company often.

            Daeron was a growing man, away in Oldtown; his priorities were elsewhere. Which was why Aemond was grateful for your presence—it might be selfish to think, but he was glad that, at the moment, your only theoretical priority was… him.

            “Yes?” you prompted him to continue.

            “Could you hold me again? Please?” Aemond’s voice was growing more docile by the minute—not out of embarrassment, but out of shyness. He wasn’t used to this, asking for what he wanted. He would rather die than demand something from you; you were his wife, not a property he owned.

            Silence washed over the room, your expression only holding an understanding smile—you said nothing. You only leaned towards your candle, blowing the flame out, Aemond watching it die as you got under your many furs, getting comfortable—

            And then, Aemond approached.

            You never realised how intricate the patterns of your ceiling were; Maegor Targaryen seemed to have an eye for detail if you disregard his whole… character. The sun was slowly rising and your husband, astonishingly, still hadn’t risen. In fact, you were glad he was sound asleep—he worked like a machine most days, never considering rest for even a second.

            Thinking too soon, you eventually felt Aemond shift against your body, his face burying further into the crook of your neck, grumbling quietly at the sight of the sun trying to disturb his slumber. Your usual, soft smile tickled your lips, holding back a chuckle as you took a peek at him, his arms grasping you like a vice—he was warm all over. It was a pleasant feeling.

            You couldn’t help but tease him.

            “Are you not planning on going to the courtyard this morning?” you asked, your voice encased with a playful tone as you heard him hum against your hot flesh; his lips brushed over your pulse point, purposely or accidentally you did not know. Either way, the action authored an acute flush colouring your cheeks, the most tremendous shade of red.

            “Mmm… you’ll have to give me a moment,” he mumbled, a delicate laugh eluding from your soul—you made no move to remove your hands since he quite enjoyed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.

            You enjoyed mornings like this. Mornings like this where your husband didn’t feel pressured to build up a wall just to keep you away. Mornings like this where you could just hold him and have him hold you. Mornings like this where you could just be husband and wife—

            Not Prince and Princess of House Targaryen.

            In the corner of your bedchamber, the lilacs you had been growing bloomed beautifully in the glass vase your good sister Helaena gifted you on the morning of your wedding. A shrew of violets blended in naturally with your lilac, though you do not remember planting them there.

            Perhaps the Gods have spoken to you once more. Renewal and everlasting.

[justnatoka]

Crisis

Sinclair brothers x GN! Reader (Bo centric)

A/n: This is by no means an original idea, it has been done many times before, but I eat this shit up every time.

Word count: 2.8k

Warning: canon typical violence, attempted sexual assault, Bo actually has feelings, reader has a panic attack

When a group of strangers unexpectedly show up in Ambrose in the middle of the night, it suddenly becomes your turn to fight for your lives – and each other.

When you awoke, the first thing you registered was the darkness. Blinking slowly a few times, eyelids heavy from sleep, you took in the quiet living room around you. Shrouded in shadows, the only sound being the occasional soft creaks of the old house settling. It was still the middle of the night, probably many hours remaining until dawn. You sat up groggily, the motion causing a dull ache to spread in your neck. A groan left your lips, and you brought up a hand to try and massage the sore muscle as best as you could. You gave up quickly, making a mental note to ask Vinny for some help with it in the morning. You dragged your legs from the blanket with a tired huff, the wood floor pleasantly cool under you bare feet. It took your foggy brain a few moments to remember why exactly you thought it was a good idea to fall asleep on the couch.

Your argument with Bo started to come back to you in hazy pictures. He was already grumpy when he left for the auto shop this morning, and it seemed his mood only soured as the day progressed. When he arrived back in the evening he was in a particularly foul temper. It didn’t take long for him to start snapping at you and Vincent over every little thing. You talked back, some words were exchanged, and in typical Bo fashion he said some things in the heat of the moment that he otherwise wouldn’t have. That’s how you ended up on the couch, feeling too angry to go and sleep next to him.

It was a reoccurring routine: Bo taking his anger out on everyone around him, you getting frustrated with him in return and punishing him by sleeping in a separate room. Most of the time you found comfort in Vincent’s bed, and on rare occasions, when you were especially upset, you even trekked out to Lester’s little cabin in the woods to spend the night. Bo always found you the next morning, apologizing for being an ass.

Lester couldn’t believe his eyes when he first witnessed it. It was the morning after your first late night visit to his cabin. A knock came from the door, and there stood Bo, head hanging in shame, ears red from embarrassment as he said sorry. He didn’t let his big brother live it down for days, not until Bo threatened him with a whooping.

He had a hard time with it, admitting that he was wrong and saying sorry, just being emotionally vulnerable in general. It was something he had to learn, and you were extremely proud of him for reaching this point. It didn’t mean that you wouldn’t get upset with him when he did the same shit again.

You felt like a headache was coming on as you remembered the argument. You desperately needed a glass of cold water. Dragging your body from the couch, you slowly shuffled towards the kitchen, faintly wondering in the back of your mind about what might have woken you up at such an hour.

You were halfway there when you heard it. A buzzing sound broke the silence of the dark house. It was jarring, the noise cutting through the peaceful stillness, causing your heartrate to skip a beat. Looking back towards the living room, you noticed your phone on the coffee table, vibrating with an incoming call. No one knew that number, no one but the Sinclair brothers that is.

As your sluggish brain was trying to make sense of why one of them would call you in the middle of the night – especially since two of them were sleeping upstairs –, another sound came to your attention. Voices, multiple, just outside the front door.

“I’m telling you, this place is a fucking ghost town.”

“No way, you saw the look on that dude’s face. He clearly didn’t want us sniffing around. Bet he’s found some hidden treasure buried around here, and wants to keep it all to himself.”

“He should buy some soap from the money while he’s at it. Guy smelled like a wet possum.”

A round of crude laughter followed, your stomach churning at the sound. You were wide awake now, your brain working a mile a minute. They were talking about Lester, right? Is he okay? Did they do something to him? Why are they here? What do they want? The gravity of the situation started to sink in heavily. There was a group of unexpected visitors in Ambrose, in the middle of the night, with who knows what intentions. You barely had time to accept the reality when the handle started turning, and then the door was already open.

Five men stood in the doorway, illuminated from behind only by the moonlight as the lights were switched off all around town. You stared at them with wide eyes, body frozen in place, halfway to the kitchen, right in front of them. You could barely make out any feature on them, but as they shifted slightly, more of the pale natural light from outside streaming in, they had a pretty good view of you. They certainly saw enough, if the change in the air around them was anything to go by. You felt rather then saw their eyes raking down your body, suddenly feeling utterly exposed in your underwear and Vincent’s baggy T-shirt.

A low whistle broke your shocked stupor, and a chill ran down your spine.

“Talk about hidden treasure. If I had such a pretty little thing, I would want to keep them all to myself too. It would be a shame if someone broke them, ain’t it, boys?”

The implication sent terror through your body, breathes coming out in shallow gasps.

“Don’t look so terrified, sweetheart, we won’t hurt you. Much.”

The moment the first one of them stepped inside the door, your body suddenly unlocked from the frozen shock you were stuck in, and you bolted towards the kitchen. You heard their thudding footsteps behind you, your fingers almost reaching the handle of the knife drawer when you felt arms wrapping around your waist, hoisting you in the air. You kicked and clawed as they dragged you back into the living room, roughly dropping you onto the couch. You felt hands on you, all over you, grabbing your arms and legs, tugging at your clothes and your hair, and all the while that crude laughter echoed in your brain. Somewhere during the struggle to keep them away from you, you found your voice and let out a scream. It was a sound you’ve heard before, the scream of someone fighting for their life, but you never thought you were capable of making it. It was jarring to hear it ripple from your own throat.

A second later doors were ripped open above you, and heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs. You barely caught a glimpse of Bo, baseball bat in hand before he was on them, swinging at the head of the guy nearest him. It made impact with a sickening crack, and his body crumpled to the floor. Now the other four had their full attention on him. Angered by the attack on their friend, they descended upon Bo, and even though he put up a good fight, a particularly hard punch to the jaw sent him to the floor. They started kicking him, shouting obscenities at him.

It all happened so fast, you barely had time to register what you were doing before you were running towards them with a vase in hand. You picked it up without even thinking, and threw it at the head of a guy who just got hold of the baseball bat Bo had dropped and was getting ready to swing it down on him. He stumbled, but remained standing, small rivulets of blood now running down his face as he turned around and locked eyes with you. A cold dread settled in your stomach as he took a step towards you, bat still in hand, cussing up a storm about backward living freaks. He raised the bat high, his eyes full of murderous rage, and you thought this is it, he was going to bash your head in.

Just before he was about to swing down on you his body went rigid, eyes rolling back as he slumped to the floor, one of Vincent’s knives sticking out of the back of his head. You had no idea when he arrived, but he was already heading towards the guys still on Bo, knife in hand. The fight was already tilting in your favor, but then an ear-splitting shot rang out, and one of the remaining three dropped to the floor with a gaping hole in his chest. You spun your head around, seeing Lester in the front door that was left gaping open, looking disheveled and out of breath, as if he was running, shotgun in hand. Stunned by the sound of the gun going off in such a closed space, the other two intruders stood no chance, Bo and Vincent regaining their composure first and quickly ending them.

In the next few seconds, the only sound in the big silent house was heavy breathing, all of you in a daze from what just transpired. That was the moment your legs finally gave out and you sank to the floor. Your ears were ringing, and you quickly realized that the strange noise you were hearing was your own quick, shallow breathing. Adrenaline was still rushing through your veins, panic gripping your lungs, making it hard to suck oxygen into your body. You had no idea when the trembling started, fingers digging into your sides as you wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking violently. You let out a little shriek when you felt hands on you, fear still clouding your brain, screaming at you to get away from them. They quickly flinched away, and there was a slight commotion before someone spoke up.

“Ssh, sweet pea, you’re alrigh’. ‘S just me, it‘s Lester,” a gentle voice said right next to you. “You’re gonna be alrigh’, just breathe with me,” he persisted, and you heard as he took in a deep breath and slowly let it out, repeating the motion again and again. Following his instructions, you felt your breathing come back to a normal rhythm bit by bit, your head becoming clearer.

When you could finally get enough air into your lungs, you took in your surroundings. Lester was sitting next to you on the floor, his mouth quirking into a small smile as he saw you coming down from your panic. Vincent was kneeling on your other side, hands outreached toward you, his fingers twitching anxiously, wanting to comfort you but also not wanting to send you into another episode. When you gathered enough strength, you sneaked one of your hands towards him, and as he wrapped his fingers around it, enveloping it in his much bigger hand, he let out a deep sigh.

Your adrenaline slowly started to die down, and with it the reality of the situation and what else could have happened finally sat in. Your eyes were quickly filling with tears, and as the first sob broke up from your throat, you were enveloped by warmth. This time you didn’t flinch away as Vincent pulled you into his chest, shielding you from the grizzly sight of the bodies littered around the living room, and you cried into his chest, your sobs rattling your shaken form. You looked so small and broken in that moment, it gripped their hearts in a vice that they couldn’t shake.

Through the haze of your tears you faintly registered angry footsteps as Bo grabbed the guy with Vincent’s knife still sticking out of his head and started dragging his body out the door. A single shot rang out, startling you, but the two younger Sinclair brothers were quick to reassure you. Then Bo stomped back in, dropping Lester’s shotgun beside him on the floor.

“I-I tried to call yall, tried to warn ya,” Lester started shakily. “Buncha assholes got lost on the back roads. When I tried to turn them around they called me names and slashed my tires. Didn’t want them to catch ya by surprise, but I couldn’t stop ‘em.” His voice wavered as he turned back to you. “’M so sorry, sweet pea. ’M sorry I couldn’t reach ya sooner.”

When your cries quietened down to sniffles, you forced your throat to speak.

“It’s not your fault, Lester, you did everything you could,” you reassured him as best as you could, and he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple in appreciation, his hand rubbing soothing circles against the back of your head.

A scoff made you all turn your heads to Bo. He was standing over the remaining bodies, staring them down, his body wrung tight with tension, his fists shaking by his side. He was looking at them with such hatred that you’ve never seen on him before. If you were honest, he frightened you a bit.

“Bo?” you called hesitantly.

He whipped his head around, and you flinched at the intensity of his stare. Noticing your reaction, the muscles in his jaw tightened, but his gaze softened a tad bit. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite place, and it took you a few moments to realize what it was. Guilt.

Reading the room, Lester motioned with his head to Vincent. They grabbed the remaining bodies and dragged them out of the house. After they came back for a second round, they closed the front door behind them, setting to work disposing of them. It left you with just Bo, who refused to look at you now, the silence between you deafening and charged.

You stood on shaky legs and shuffled over to him, laying a gentle hand on his arm. He almost wrenched it from your grasp before he caught himself. With a heavy sigh he deflated in front of your eyes, all tension leaving his body. All that remained was the slight trembling of his hands. You sneaked your hand in his, folding your fingers together, and this finally made him look at you.

He looked so utterly broken, you almost broke down crying. You were sure of it now, the guilt written on his face clear as day. Yes, he has apologized to you before after arguments, and he was sincere, but you’ve never seen him like this.

You swallowed thickly before you said aloud the first and only thing that was on your mind.

“Bo, this is not your fault.”

His face twisted a bit, a sign that he was fighting with his emotions in his head.

“Look at you,” his voice strained as his eyes ran over the exposed skin of your body, red bruises and scratches marring your skin from your struggle earlier. “God, sweetheart, look at you,” he sighed, and his pain was palpable as he continued. “You should have been by my side. You should have been sleeping next to me.” He almost spit out his next words. “But because I was so fucking stupid and angry before, you were all alone down here. If you were next to me this wouldn’t have happened.”

His admission stunned you. Taking his face into your hands, you gently ran your fingers over his own bruises, the one along his jaw already showing signs of swelling. His eyes fluttered closed, and even though he was upset, he still leaned into your touch. He looked so much worse than you probably did, taking the brunt of the beating. He got these bruise while defending you, and he still kicked himself for not doing more.

You made him look into your eyes, and even though your voice was soft, the slight tremble in it made it obvious how emotional you were.

“You don’t know that,” you stated. “Even if I was with you, they still would have showed up, and we still would have had to deal with them. I could have gotten hurt either way. So there’s no point in blaming yourself. What’s done is done. So let’s focus on what to do next.”

You could tell he was still not convinced, but he decided not to argue with you. So you did the first thing that came to your mind: you opened your arms, inviting him into a hug. If it was any other time, he would have rolled his eyes, calling you needy, before accepting your affection. Now he just pulled you in, his arms around you rigid at first, but quickly melting into your embrace. You clung to him, just like he clung to you, both of you seeking stability and comfort in the other.

Outside the living room window Lester and Vincent shared a silent look before they finally got to work. They knew Bo would be back to his old self eventually, but maybe, just maybe, this was the push he needed to really let you in. As they were busy dealing with the consequences of the night’s events, all three brothers made a promise to themselves. A promise that something like tonight would never happen again.

[slippinmickeys]

Funfetti

Love this series

Quonochontaug family vacation and finding a puppy

The call of a gull, the low rumble of surf, the screen door whacking into weathered shaker siding. It felt like 1973 all over again. If he looked in the loft, Mulder was half-convinced he’d find Samantha up there, twirling her braid in her fingers and reading Charlotte Sometimes. 

“William!” Scully hollered from the deck, hand hovering over her brow to block the glare. “You need sunscreen!”

From closer to the roar of the waves, Mulder heard their son shout something back, and Scully wandered back into the cottage, a sour look on her face. 

Mulder sidled up to her and pulled her in for a low body hug, leaning forward to collect a kiss. 

“He’ll be fine for a little while without it,” he said. 

“He has my complexion,” she replied. “He won’t.”

“Let him get a few ya-yas out first,” Mulder said. “He’s excited. That’ll dim. He’ll be complaining that he’s bored in less than an hour.”

“He’ll be red as a lobster in less than an hour.”

“Then he’ll have something else to complain about,” he murmured into her lips, collecting another kiss and lingering for a moment before Scully pushed him off of her. 

“Go,” she said, shooing him away. “We have a lot to unpack.”

A week in Quonochontaug with a newly minted ten year old, the start of summer break. Scully actually agreed to five days off the clock, a record as far as Mulder knew, though he’d have to clamshell her laptop onto her fingers a few times to get her off her email. Then he’d have to hide her charging cord. 

They’d broken the drive in two, the meaty chunk having been the day before with an overnight in New York City–William’s first time. A long day in the car capped off with an early dinner at the Palm and the Lion King on Broadway. Mulder had shown William how to tie a Windsor knot, and when he thought back to the moment, his throat closed up a little. 

“I’ll get the groceries from the car,” he volunteered and ducked out the back door to the car port which was surrounded by overgrown hydrangea and woodsy, unproductive lilac. Out on the road behind the house, the mailbox listed tiredly, the faded stickers with the family name missing the R. 

It had been years since he’d been here, not since William was little. He paid a local vacation home management company to turn on the water and drive by every few weeks. There were still sheets to pull off of furniture and it needed a serious airing out. There were shadows lurking in corners. And memories. And a bullet hole in the old wood paneling. 

A scattering of small stones pulled away Mulder’s attention and Will came bounding up to him from around the side of the house. 

“Dad!” he said, out of breath. “Look what I found!” 

The boy held up the carapace of a small horseshoe crab, his face full of wonder and delight. 

“Nice,” Mulder said. “Though don’t bring it in the house, it’ll stink the place up.”

“More than it already smells?” William joked and tossed the dead creature into the bushes. The house had a closed up redolence of mildew and stale air. 

“You have no idea.” Mulder popped the trunk of their car and pulled out a couple of fully loaded grocery bags, handing them over to his son. “Take these and put them in the kitchen, would you? And then I want you to go around and open all the windows. We’ll get this place aired out.”

William reached forward and took the bags without complaint. “Can I sleep in the loft?”

Mulder thought of his sister, of over-warm July nights bunked up with her because she was afraid of the sound of fireworks. 

“Sure, bud,” he said, his voice a little quiet. 

***

Scully at the sink, a billowing plume of steam over the carmine cap of her hair as she dumped a pot of spaghetti into a colander. Beyond her, in the kitchen window, sat a dusty bowl full of sea glass. Mementos were hiding in every corner of the house. 

“Should we eat outside?” Scully asked. 

Mulder had tongs in one hand and an ancient ratty oven mitt in the other, pulling a cookie sheet of garlic bread out of the tired old oven. The smell that wafted up and over him was heavenly. 

“I didn’t get a chance to clean the bird shit off the picnic table yet,” he frowned. 

“Inside it is,” Scully said, upending the dripping colander into a bubbling pot of marinara. “Will!” She called out. “I need you to set the table!”

Mulder ended up helping, the muscle memory of childhood reminding him what cabinet plates were in, which drawer held the serving spoons. The ice tray wasn’t frozen yet, so they sipped tepid water out of olive green glasses, and Mulder opened a bottle of Chianti, fortifying himself with its acidic dryness, warmth spreading through his stomach. 

Around a mouthful of spaghetti, Will piped up hopefully. “Can we go kayaking tomorrow?” 

“Sure,” Mulder said airly. They’d have to rent some. Maybe an ocean kayak they could keep for the week. 

“It might rain,” Scully cautioned. 

The light went out of Will’s eyes. 

“We’ll go rent one anyway,” Mulder said, giving Scully a look. She apologized with her eyes. “Even if it rains,” Mulder went on, looking at the boy. “That way you can go as soon as the weather clears.”

William perked up at this, and took a massive bite of garlic bread. 

“Slow down, William,” Scully said, then turned to Mulder. “Do they rent them at Quonnie Pond? I can’t remember.” 

Mulder shook his head. “There’s a place in Charlestown that delivers. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”

***

With the sunrise came the rain. 

Will stood in front of the sliding door morosely, complaining of boredom. 

Scully was curled up on the couch with a paperback and Mulder was so shocked by the sight that he was suddenly and quite determinedly of a mind not to let anything mess it up. Particularly tween ennui. 

“Grab your coat,” he said to his son.

“What for?” 

“We’re going into town. You and me.”

Will looked at him suspiciously. 

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder said, pulling on his own rain slicker and tossing his son’s to him. “Shopping. A tee shirt to prove you were on vacation. Ice cream. I don’t know. Maybe we’ll buy fudge. Come on.”

Scully gave them a Toodleloo wave without looking up from her book. 

As he and Will climbed into the car, he noticed the gutters were full and overflowing next to the house. He’d have to find a ladder and some work gloves. 

The idea of a second house, of a summer home, seemed romantic from the outside, but the logistics of owning two homes–even if his father’s estate paid the taxes on this one–were a colossal headache. And they rarely visited. But he couldn’t bring himself to give it up. It was a place that his sister had been happy. 

“Dad?” William said, his voice tinged in concern. 

Mulder gave him a reassuring smile and cranked the engine.

***

They were running out of shops and the rain was coming down harder, a gloomy June mist that brought with it a particular chill. Mulder had just bought a whale-shaped wooden cribbage board that William was less than enthusiastic about learning how to use. He dropped his change in a ceramic March of Dimes receptacle when the shopgirl gave him a friendly smile. 

“That’ll come in handy,” she said kindly. “There’s a chance it’ll rain all week.”

Out of the corner of his eye Mulder watched William wilt. 

The girl noticed. “Or not!” She backtracked as Mulder took his son by the shoulder and led him out of the shop. “Twenty percent chance of sun tomorrow!”

Will flipped up his hood as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Couldn’t we just play Uno?” he said glumly. 

“You’ll get sick of Uno,” Mulder told him. “And your mother tends to get persnickety about Mattel’s rule that you can’t play a Draw Two on a Draw Two.”

“It’s a dumb rule.”

“I agree.” 

They were crossing an alleyway on their way back to the car when William pulled up short and turned to peer into the murk. 

Mulder stopped a step and a half later and turned curiously to his son. 

“Everything all right?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“Will?”

William glanced briefly at his father and then back down the alley.

“Greyskull,” the boy said, distracted. 

Mulder instinctively reached to his hip for his weapon, but his belt loop was empty—he’d left his sidearm in a lockbox at the house. He wrapped the plastic bag tightly around his recent purchase and slid it into his back pocket. 

“What is it?” he asked, placing a protective hand on William’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know,” the boy said. “There’s something down there.”

“Something dangerous?” If there were, he thought, Scully would kill him.

“I don’t think so,” William said, then took a hesitant step into the alley. 

Mulder, not knowing the right course of action, decided to let the boy follow his instincts. 

After a few timid steps, Will began walking with more confidence, eventually stopping in front of a large black dumpster. Mulder waited warily at his elbow. 

“There’s something in there,” his son finally said, looking up at Mulder for guidance. 

After years on the job, Mulder’s first instinct was ‘dead body,’ followed by several other morbid guesses, each one more distasteful than the last. Without his son staring at him with baleful, please-fix-it eyes, he might otherwise have walked away and let someone else handle it. 

Mulder sighed and hesitantly lifted the lid, peering reluctantly into the fusty gloaming. A moment later, something in the darkness moved and Mulder jumped back, the dumpster lid slamming closed with a crack.

William’s eyes went round as saucers. “What? What is it?!” 

When nothing happened, Mulder, chagrined and more than a little embarrassed, licked his lips and stepped forward again.

“I don’t…” he started. “I don’t know.”

He girded himself, and lifted the lid again. This time he noticed—on top of several slimy black garbage bags and days worth of unidentified refuse—a damp cardboard box slumped against the dumpster’s nearest wall. And inside the box, movement.

Mulder swiped a hand forward trying to hook a finger on the edge of the box to pull it closer, but couldn’t quite get a purchase on it. He sighed, stepping away from the dumpster, his hand still holding up the lid. 

His eyes swept their surroundings. 

“Hey Will,” he said. “Grab me that plastic milk crate over there,” he pointed. “I need something to stand on.”

Will skipped over eagerly and came back with the crate, happy to have a job. 

Mulder set the crate upside down in front of the dumpster and scrambled on top of it. 

Movement again from the box, this time accompanied by a low, animal sound. 

Christ, if this was some batshit rabid raccoon, Scully would have his hide. Nevertheless, the added height made it far easier to reach into the mephitic brume of the dumpster, and he was able to grab a corner of the box and heft it up and over the side, depositing it onto the wet asphalt at Will’s feet. 

As he stepped down off of the crate, the boy was already bent over the box, peering inside. Before Mulder could bark some kind of parental warning, William was looking back up at him, his face showing a mix of surprise and delight. 

Mulder leaned over for a look himself. 

Inside the disintegrating box sat a curled-up shivering mass of damp off-white fur. Sorrowful eyes looked up at him, pleading and miserable. 

A puppy. Some kind of lab mix by the look of it. 

William reached into the box and the creature wriggled under his hand, its tail beginning to thump wetly against the cardboard. 

“Can we keep him?” Will asked with a kind of dulled hysteria to his voice, and Mulder instantly knew he had just unwittingly come upon one of life’s great reckonings. 

“No,” he said levelly, putting his hands on his hips and staring down at the conundrum in front of him. 

The puppy, after a couple of gentle pets from William, was already up on its back legs, its sharp little puppy-claws rapidly rendering the side of the box that contained it into pulp in its reckless enthusiasm to connect with its savior. The boy picked up the wriggling mass and instantly got a face full of enthusiastic kisses. 

Will turned a dolorous eye toward his father. 

“We can’t leave him here, Dad.” 

Mulder looked around helplessly, his options quickly winnowing down into his only real choice. 

He sighed again, looking down at boy and puppy. 

“Shit,” he muttered into the fetid air.

*** 

“Absolutely not!” said Scully somewhat shrilly when William walked into the door carrying the dog. They were not twenty feet into the house. 

William threw a look at his father. They had talked about this in the car, betting what Dana Scully’s reaction would be. 

“Your mom is going to kill us,” Mulder had said. 

“No,” William rebutted from the backseat, the puppy on his lap. “She’s going to kill you.”

If Scully’s eyes were any indication, the boy had been right. 

“Mom!” William pleaded. 

“Scully,” Mulder hoped to at least be able to explain the situation before his wife lost her shit completely. 

“Mulder, what the hell-”

Mulder turned to Will, who seemed reluctant to put the dog down, lest his mother march over and fling the poor animal into the wilds. 

“Why don’t you take him outside, Will. See if he’ll do his business.” 

If the dog peed on the floor, or god forbid, took a dump, the level of escalation Scully would take the situation was heretofore untested, as far as Mulder was concerned. And he’d seen her stand up to Congress. 

The second William was out the door, Scully whirled on him. 

“Mulder-”

He held up a hand. “Scully.”

“Mulder!”

“Dana!” she barked sharply.

At that, she pulled up short and closed her mouth. 

“Firstly, he already knows we’re not keeping it,” Mulder said, watching as her shoulders lowered from up around her ears. 

Mulder exhaled so he could speak more calmly. 

“We found him in a dumpster,” he said, trying to drum up some sympathy for the poor creature. “Someone had thrown him out like trash.” 

Scully’s eyes softened. “Why did you bring him here, though? Will’s going to get attached, Mulder. It’s going to be Mr. Bubbles all over again.”

Mulder thought briefly of their week as goldfish owners. 

“We would have gone right to the shelter, but it’s Sunday. It’s closed. We’ll take him over in the morning.”

Scully sighed. Lowered herself onto the couch. “What were you guys doing in a dumpster?”

“We weren’t,” Mulder said. “We were only walking by the alley.”

“Did you hear it or something?” 

Mulder shook his head, moved to sit next to her. “Greyskull,” he said. 

Scully turned to look at him. 

“He knew something was wrong. Could sense it somehow,” Mulder went on. 

Scully looked a little dazed. Mulder knew what she was thinking. William was a kind, empathetic kid. If he could sense the suffering of animals, people, bad situations, the world was going to be a very hard place for him to navigate. To live in. 

“I’m going to make some calls,” Mulder said. “Loop the Gunmen in, too. See if we can find someone to help him learn how to…I don’t know. Shield himself, somehow.”

Scully nodded, leaned back on the couch. “One day at a time,” she said, repeating a necessary family mantra.

Mulder thumped back into the cushions, himself. “Yes.”

“We can’t let him give the dog a name, Mulder,” Scully said after a minute. “Remember when he named those two lobsters we brought home for a Valentine’s Day dinner?”

“Horace and Petey.”

“He cried for an hour and swore off shellfish.”

Mulder remembered. “More Horace and Petey for us,” he said. “They were delicious.”

Just then, the door burst in on a gust of cool air. William trundled in happily, the dog at his heels.

“He pooped and peed!” he reported happily. 

“Nice work, pup,” Mulder said, smiling. 

“Oh,” said William, reaching down to scratch the puppy behind an ear. “His name is Krypto.”

Mulder could feel Scully’s gaze boring into the side of his head. 

***

The rain hadn’t stopped all day, and by evening, it had gotten downright chilly. 

Mulder threw another log on the fire, hoping the flue wasn’t blocked by leaves or a bird’s nest. Next to the fireplace, leaning against the couch, Scully sat on the floor, Krypto curled up against her leg, his little block of a head resting on her thigh. She was staring into the flames, absently running her fingers through the soft fur of the puppy’s ear. 

Near the door were plastic bags of various dog accoutrements; a small bag of puppy chow, a leash and a collar with the tags still on. Just in case. 

William had begged to let the dog sleep with him that night, but Scully had put a stop to the thought immediately, telling William that the dog was likely to need to get up and be let outside in the night and that she would oversee the process. He needed his sleep if he was going to kayak the next day. The boy didn’t like it, but he saw the sense in doing exactly as his mother said in their current situation. He’d gone to bed without a complaint or a plea for ten more minutes.

Mulder poked at the fire until it was burning to his satisfaction, and, confident the chimney was drawing properly, he lowered himself to Scully’s other side, draping an arm around her shoulders. 

“What time does the shelter open?” Scully asked, leaning her head back to rest against Mulder’s arm. 

“Nine, I think.”

“Hmm.”

Next to her, the puppy woke, stretched his legs out and yawned with a soft doggy sound. His sleepy eyes rove up until they connected with Scully’s, and his tail began to thump softly into the floor. 

“Another man unable to resist the exquisite Scully charm,” Mulder commented softly. 

Scully huffed a soft laugh and ran her hand over the length of the puppy, earning her a more vigorously wagging tail. 

“Krypto,” she said, shaking her head. 

The puppy wiggled more firmly into her side. 

“Superboy,” sighed Mulder.

Scully reached over with her other hand and squeezed his leg. 

“We talked about getting him a dog, don’t you remember?” Mulder asked. 

“When he was begging for a sibling,” Scully clarified. “And six years old.”

“Your argument was that he wasn't old enough for the responsibility.”

Scully rolled her head to look at him. 

“I’m not advocating anything here, Scully,” he said. “I’m just saying.”

Scully was silent for several minutes, and the dog eventually sat up. One second of eye contact with the woman before him and he climbed into her lap and licked her face twice. 

Scully reached forward, held the puppy’s face in two hands, gazing into his sweet brown eyes. 

“We’re not going to the shelter in the morning, are we?” Mulder asked softly. 

His wife sighed, still holding the dog’s downy white head. 

“God damn it,” she said. 

[4lexnilsen]

“yeah,”   he sighs in defiance,  figuring he can’t now backtrack and deny what they both heard just because he’s growing more and more embarrassed.   “because your make-up’s all messed up.   i wanted to fix that.”   that’s no excuse,  though.   no valid reason to compare her to a murderous clown.   “i know.”   he’s tempted to repeat that he’s sorry,  tell her that he’s crossed the line with the pulling and tugging and rubbing mascara off her skin,  but the words die on his tongue.   a combination of pride and guilt causing him to remain silent,  lips pursed together as he adjusts the rearview mirror.   “helena,  i think we should just…”   he trails off,  sighing but not disagreeing.   he hesitates,  but ends up putting the car in drive.   there’s a part of him that wants to protect her from what they might find at harry’s.   though,  at the end of the day,  it’s not for him to decide.   if it was sarah,  he would probably like to see what’s really going on with his own eyes,  too.   “and what if we find him with someone?”   he asks,  thinking they should have a plan or be prepared for the worst,  pressing on the gas pedal and getting the car back on the streets of chicago.   

“i didn’t know you could do that.   what kind of app is that anyway?”   he wonders,  flipping the blinker on and turning right,  following the instructions on the screen.   has she been spying on her boyfriend this whole time?   it’s a little weird,  he thinks,  but shows just how big helena’s trust issues are.   the traffic’s mostly non-existent at this time and harry seems to be only ten minutes away from the lounge,  so the trip’s a fairly short one.   if he could focus on little things,  he’d be in awe of how smoothly this car drives,  how much power’s under the hood,  how neat the seats are.   “are you comfy?   ‘cause it’s a little awkward for me,  just saying…”   he grumbles,  trying to relieve some of the tension,  but knowing he’s failing —   it’s an impossible task.   “we can’t just barge in,  alright?   we need a plan.”   he insists as the car’s tires crunch softly over the snow-covered pavement when they pull up to the curb in front of a narrow,  brick townhouse on a quiet avenue.   the street lamps cast a faint,  golden glow on the sidewalk,  making the falling snowflakes shimmer like scattered diamonds.   the wind is sharp,  whipping against the windows,  but inside the car,  it’s still warm.   he shuts the engine,  but keeps his left arm loosely wrapped around helena’s waist,  keeping her in place for a second longer.   “how do you know which floor he’s on?   are we just going to go door to door and ask about him?”

"you called me pennywise's sister?" recalling with confused-disgust, he's been having a field day calling her names all night. psychotic, cry baby, ugly. "rubbing my face until it hurt, pulling my jacket and arm aren't off limits of being aggressive." dismissively rolling her big brown eyes at his weird display of repercussion all the sudden, he switches up so much she has a bad case of whiplash. maybe because a tiny bit of sense was just now knocked into him at the realization he doesn't make sense by saying he doesn't want her teeth knocked out but pointing out that blabbing to harry could endanger her– if harry was that type of man. he's many things, but she doesn't think he'd throw his fists at her. keyword: think. there's no one she fully trusts. "oh, no. what do you mean take me home? we're going to harry." glancing over her shoulder at him in disbelief, arched brows lifting, like he shouldn't guess anything less. does he know how persistent she is? does he have any idea she'd NEVER let things like this just go? he clearly has no idea who he's dealing with.

then eyes dart back to the iphone in her hand, the screen unlocking with face i.d and her thumb scrolls home pages until she clicks on the family360 app she linked with harry's phone. this is what she meant she can find harry. harry doesn't know women are a lot more smarter than block headed men like him. at least, this woman is. it circles for a few moments before the address pops up, causing her watery eyes to pop alert, elated it WORKED. shifting hands with her phone, her right one lifts to pull up gps on the car's middle screen, finger tapping in the address her memory recites from the screen on her iphone before it programs. "go. follow the gps."

[aspivampi]

- Rocks need protection too -

Bobby and Hoppy huddled closer to eachother. Both of them winced in pain when they made physical contact , all those bruises made cuddling difficult. A comforting , low voice rumbled around them.

-We are getting closer. Hold on tight. - the giant , who carried them , sighed.

-I'm sorry , Doey. I just... - Hoppy whimpered , nearly shedding tears. - I think I wanted to prove myself.

-Hoppy , hush. It's alright. - Doey responded , a sence of urgency present in his voice. - Let's get you both back into proper shape.

He dropped them off at the Medic's tent and quickly made his way back. The generator had been acting up lately , maybe he should check up on it just for good measure. The mechanical hum rang in his non-existant ears , it all sounded nice and proper. No creaking , no banging on the inside. Nothing.

-Alright. - Doey sighed , very relieved.

If somebody in the Safe Haven asked him , he would have lied , but lately he had been having nightmares. Plenty of them.

They plagued his head.

Now every time he heard a BANG or a CREAK from the machine , on which their safety pretty much relied , he worried. They were just noises standard for the generator but , to be honest , Doey was kind of paranoid.

What if the generator failed when all of them were asleep ?

What then ?

Doey walked around the Safe Haven for a bit more time. He tried his best not to make others anxious , they had enough worries already , but it was difficult.

-... Not smart enough ... NOT GOOD ENOUGH. - the doughy hulk growled under his breath.

His steps became heftier and more stumbly. He was tired , so tired.

Finally , Doey sat down on the ground with a dull THUD.

His eyelids drooped and he stifled a yawn. The thought of sleep crossed his mind but he quickly forgot about it and reprimended himself internally.

-No... no! Watch the others.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours passed slowly. It was late in the night. Doey tried to keep himself awake by pinching himself whenever he even thought of sleeping. It was far from pleasant but it worked. As he nodded , nearly napping , suddenly he heard something.

Something like quiet , little steps.

TAP TAP TAP

Soft , tiny steps became louder. Just as Doey was getting up to investigate , the mysterious toy rounded the corner. What turned out to be mysterious toys came into Doey's view.

-Hello? Is anyone there? - a shaky voice stuttered.

-Heh. No wonder you are a chicken and not a lion. You are such a scaredy cat. - a different voice giggled.

-Nah. That would be Catnap. - the last of the voices hummed. - Let's just go back to ...

-What are you guys doing out of bed? - Doey stood up , towering over the unexpected guests.

The little toys turned out to be Kickin Chicken , Hoppy Hopscotch and Bubba Bubbaphant. The last one looked not very pleased to be awake at such an ungodly hour. Chicken and Hoppy propably dragged him out of bed and it was deffinitely NOT because they were too scared to go by themselves.

-Doey? Wha- - Hoppy cocked an eyebrow in surprise when she took a look at the Doughman.

-What are you doing here? - Bubba scratched his trunk. - Aren't you tired? Shouldn't you be asleep?

-Shouldn't you ?! - Doey furrowed his almost undetectable eyebrows.

Quickly he realized , that he was raising his voice.

--AHEM- - Doey cleared his throat. - Come on. Back to bed with you.

The Doughman stumbled forward. Bubba found himself taken aback by Doey's unsteadyness. As the hulk of colourful dough reached the main area of the Safe Haven , he realized that pretty much every single toy was wide awake.

-Huh ? What are you guys doing up ? - Doey asked , confused by the sight of so many eyes staring at him.

-We couldn't fall asleep without you here. - one Critter spoke up.

-We got scared. - the second followed up.

Doey frowned. He felt as if it was his fault , that his friends couldn't get the sleep they needed. The generator was fine. Why did he leave them ?!

Bobby Bearhug and Craftycorn took notice of their friend's disterss. Soon tears began to fill his little , beady eyes.

-Oh no. - Bobby's ears drooped with worry. - Craftycorn , could you , please , go and get the others ?

-Y- yes - Craftycorn replied with a sence of urgency and took off.

Meanwhile Bobby stayed with Doey and lovingly held his hand. It was almost funny , how huge it was compared to her paw.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

-ALRIGHT ! - Kickin Chicken stood up on one of the boxes in the main area of the Safe Haven. - Who made Doey upset ?!

-Chicken , it's not an assembly , just a normal chat. - Craftycorn squeaked.

-Get down from that box ,you dum-dum ! - Hoppy Hopscotch yelled out , sounding almost like a heckler at a comedy club.

Kickin Chicken reluctantly got down and went to sit by Hoppy , who gave him an affectionate noogie.

Bobby turned to Doey , who just sat in silence and stared at the floor.

...

-Doey , what is going on with you ? - Kickin asked out of the blue.

-Chicken ! - Picky Piggy scolded him.

-What?

-Please ... Stop fighting. - Doey groaned softly and went quiet again.

Bobby Bearhug took the opportunity and snuggled up to the upset caretaker. She only managed to reach up to his lower belly.

-Do you just want to go to sleep ? Maybe you are sad because you are tired. - the red bear asked,

-I don't know if I even want to sleep. I just don't know. - Doey rubbed his eyes. - Maybe let's just call off the meeting. You guys need to sleep. I'll stay up for just one more minute.

-No , Doey. We are going to sleep here with you. - Bubba declared.

-Yeah. So you will feel safe. - mentioned Craftycorn. - Please , Doey.

Doey hung his head. He looked directly at Bobby , who was still clinging to his stomach , and she gave him that sweet , caring look. The bear rubbed her fluffy cheeks on Doey's belly , just to comfort him at least a little bit.

It was nice but as she did that , she felt Doey's dough quiver.

A stream of muffled giggles escaped Doey's mouth.

-Hey , Bobby. Do that again. - Bubba said curiously.

Bobby proceeded to nuzzle her nose into Doey's belly , which still quivered a little from the last laugh.

And it happened again.

-Hehehe HeHeHe ! Mh-h-h-hf !

-And what was that ? - Bubba pretended to be shocked. - We simply must investigate.

He playfully swatted at Hoppy's floppy ear.

-Hoppy , go for his legs. - the blue elephant chuckled.

-You got it! - Hoppy quickly grabbed Doey by the leg.

Hoppy's fingers dug into the sole of her caretaker's foot and the reaction came with lightning speed.

-N-nohohoho ! Hohohold uhuHAHAP !

-We will not hold up. - Kickin Chicken smiled mischeviously , because he got an "awful" idea. - Hey , Hoppy !

-Yes ? What is it , you chicken ? - the green rabbit poked her head up.

-I bet I am better at tickling than you ! - Kickin claimed.

-Oh , in your dreams , Feather-Butt ! - Hoppy cracked her knuckles and wiggled her fingers. - You wanna put yourself to the test ?

Doey was not sure , what was happening but he wasn't hating it. Not exactly.

-On your mark. - Bubba pretended to be holding a flag in his nubby hand. - And ... GO !

Kickin Chicken decided not to wait for his rival and got straight to work. One could say he had an advantage because of his soft feathers.

Could Doey say ? No , because he was busy sputtering out giggles.

-Gahaha-hihihihihi ! Hohohold *SQUEAK* ohohon ! Ahahahahahaha !

-Hey , Bobby , would you give me a hand here ? - Hoppy called out to her friend.

-Sure ! - Bobby giggled cheerfully.

-Not fair ! I want help out here too in that case ! - Kickin pouted before turning his head in DogDay's direction. - Doggy , get in here !

-Yes ! - DogDay jumped at the sound of his name being called.

Ooh boy. Doey was in for a ride.

DogDay scrambled to join his friends and help them. He climbed onto Doey's back , which wasn't easy but doable , and nestled himself near his neck. He wasted no time and started poking and scribbling his fluffy fingers around Doey's long neck.

-*SNORT* Hihihihihi ! You-hoho-HAHA ! Gahahahays ! *SQUEAK*

-Oh ! We got snorting now. See , Picky ? You ain't the only one. - Hoppy teased , sticking her tongue out to Piggy.

-Hey ! - Picky replied , scrunching her nose. - That's it ! I'm joining in !

To Doey's dismay , Picky managed to find a completely new tickle spot on him. And he thought , that he already had too many. Picky Piggy poked around Doey's hands , his fingers curled up and twitched at the delicate touch.

Bingo !

-KYAHAHAHAHAHA ! NOHOHOHOHOHO ! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE ! *SNORT* *HICCUP* *HICCUP* AHAHAHAHA! HIHIHIHIHI !

Doey's laughter started to quiet down to breathless giggles and hiccups , which lasted for quite a chunk of time. The Smiling Critters , satisfied with the fun they had , got off Doey.

-Boy! That was fun. But who out of the two of us is the winner ? - Hoppy smiled as she stretched.

-I don't know ... - Kickin Chicken scratched his neck. - No ! I know ! Let's ask Doey !

-Hey Do ... ? - Hoppy turned around.

-Shh ! - Bobby Bearhug silenced both Kickin and Hoppy. - Quiet down. Look.

The bear pointed at Doey with her paw. The poor fella got so tired out from all the playtime , he fell asleep right then and there on the floor.

Out of respect for their caretaker's well-being , everybody left the room. Doey deffinitely needed that sleep.

Sweet dreams , Doey.

THE END

[uracutieraka]

My kind of woman

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You're makin' me crazy

Really drivin' me mad

That's alright with me

It's really no fuss

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Monoma Neito x f!reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Synopsis; Monoma Neito absolutely hates class one a, with a burning passion. What happens when class a gets a new transfer student that matches his energy almost exactly?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Joint training days always had Monoma giddy in anticipation. Mulling over the different insults he was going to use on them today in his head. He's already spewing off taunts as he walks up on to the platform. Teasing the other class about how they were surely going to lose today.

A few of the one a students begin engaging in his banter, egging him on. He begins to say one insult he's been holding on to since the last training day. His eyes dart out to the side and he's glad to see Kendo is across the platform talking to Momo.

But before he can go to say anything he feels a flick to the side of his forehead.

"I might be new but you can't talk to my class that way asshole."

For a moment he thinks he might be hearing wrong. A new student?

His eyes dart over to you, a witty reply already loaded on his tongue, ready to shoot off when he sees whoever is to blame for interrupting him but the words seem to fall short when his eyes lock on you.

You are the most beautiful thing he thinks he's ever seen. Then your words register.

His eyebrow raises as he grists his teeth in frustration. Class one a just stays getting ahead don't they? Stealing all the spotlight and now this? Getting a hottie transfer student in the middle of the year? Yeah, to say he was pissed off would be an understatement.

"Oh? And who are you?" He now throws a sleazy grin your way.

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms.

"Y/n L/n. Don't forget it." A smirk tugs across your mouth, that he notices is shiny and gloss covered, he wonders what flavor it might be. Would it taste like cherries? Strawberries? Or maybe it didn't taste like anything in particular.

For the first time in his like, Monoma Neito has nothing to say. Well almost nothing.

"How could I forget a name a pretty as that?" He mentally pats himself on the back when he sees you blush and your body freeze, it wasn't long, within half a second you had the same smug look.

But it was long enough for him to feel himself buzzing inside, the kind of buzz he gets when he's successfully wound someone up.

He wants to keep this high going, but words keep seeming to fail him.

"Y/n!" You both look to your left to see who's calling you name and you're greeted with with warm sight of Mina waving you over, wanting you to join their group. He frowns slightly as you nod back and turn to him.

"Well, Monoma, I guess I'll just have to talk to you later." A sly wink and you saunter off towards your friends. How did you know his name?

"Wow, Neito, I think that's the first time I've ever seen you that quiet."

The voice sends a cold chill down his spine. Breaking his train of thought.

"Oh. Kendo, when did you get over here?" An awkward smile crosses his face but she just chortles and walks away. His eyes trail back over to you, curiosity filling them.

You chatter with your friends, happily laughing among yourselves. The same since of jealousy washes over him and he turns around to his classmates.

"Oh we so have to beat them today."

They lost, and Monoma made sure that everyone knew it was only because you played unfair. In his defense you did.

By some stroke of luck his group was paired conveniently with yours. He could feel his heartbeat quicken at the idea of talking to you again.

He might have been known to have a sharp tongue but you were an unknown to most, and it seemed he had finally met his match.

He was fast, but you were faster. Dodging his attack, while making quips at his constant failure to catch you.

"I heard that I was supposed to watch out for you, but I'm honestly starting to think my classmates were just pulling my leg."

oh? You had just made his blood pressure spike. His eye is twitching at this point.

"Your quirk would be amazing to see in action," You stand a few feet in front of him, hand on your hip as the other taps at your chin. "If only you could actually catch me." Now you shoot him a smirk, and another wink.

He tries to run towards you but he's so wrapped up in watching you and trying to find the right words to say back to you, and you're too quick. Hurling insults and attacks at him left and right.

He finally think he has a one up on you, he had used Mina's power to try and slide around behind you, you're even faster to turn around and press a kiss to his cheek before jumping away.

He didn't have enough time to register or activate his quirk as your group swiftly took him down, rendering him immobile and securing your win.

You watch him get dragged away by his red-haired friend, and you wonder if maybe she was more than just his friend. It's a silly thought but it's nagging at the back of your head for the rest of the day.

You're quick to exit your classroom, rushing off down the hall to the other one. You just have to know if the cute boy from class one b has a girlfriend.

You spot him walking and you go to say something to him but the girl from earlier walks out of the classroom and smiles at him before they start talking and walking away.

I guess that answers your question.

The next week goes by and you can't help but stare every time you see him, specifically at lunch, when he's sat at the table directly across from you and your friends.

"Y/n?" Kirishima says.

"Oh!," You snap your eyes back over to your table. "Sorry, kind of zoned out..."

Mina snaps up a knowing eyebrow before talking.

"Yeah on Monoma from the other class." The other students at the table now look at you expectantly, waiting for your rebuttal.

You roll your eyes and scoot before picking your tray up with a 'definitely not' walking away to dump your tray, unaware of the way blue eyes are watching your every move, and have been for the past week.

Finally after two weeks pass and you come to the end of your first full month at UA, your friends have had enough of watching you longingly stare at the annoying boy from their sister class.

Mina told Kirishima who then told Bakugo, but he didn't care and told him to stop wasting his time, so then Kirishima told Denki who told Sero and then Sero told Jirou, who told Yaoyorozu, who finally relayed the news to Kendo.

See the thing about Momo that you didn't know, was she was a freak for romance. She literally squealed when she found out you had a crush on the boy from the other class.

Thus, Momo set her grand plan into action.

It was your fifth week at your new school when Ochaco comes up you, Denki following her.

"Why is he with you?," Your face contorts in disgust and confusion and Denki gives you a confused and hurt scowl at your sudden animosity towards him but you only giggle and turn back to your brunette friend. "So what's up?"

She laughs before inviting you to study with her and a few other friends, but you’re quick to notice the way her and Kaminari exchange a quick look at each other.

“What are you two planning?” They stumble over their words but Sero saves them by swinging his arms around their shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

“These idiots are just embarrassed because they realized nobodies invited you to a group study session yet, right guys?”

“Right!” They both say.

You sigh and continue doodling in your notebook before looking back up to them, palm lazily supporting your head.

“Fine.” You’re still unsure of what they were up to but you knew it was something devious.

Monoma has the same reaction as you did. Sending TetsuTestsu a weary glance as Kendo tells him its important to study and keep his grades good. He sighs, deciding this battle is not one he wants to fight, especially with her.

“Whatever, but I swear if you guys are up to something…”

“We’re not!” She reassures her friend.

He knows shes lying, but he plays dumb. Curious as to what they were planning.

Mina and the other girls in your class are sitting in your dorm. Tsu is digging through a few boxes that you have left to unpack out of curiosity.

“Wear something cute!” Ochaco says.

“Why? We’re just going to study at the cafe in the school?” You ask.

Mina rolls her eyes at you. “Uhm because what if we run into cute boys or something?”

Your eyes dart around the room.

“Then why are you guys dressed normally?”

Jirou then scoffs and waves her hand around.

“Uhm, because we’ve already seen the guys at UA, so obviously you gotta make a good first impression.”

You give her a blank stare.

“That makes zero sense.”

She pouts and you turn around, still digging through your closet for something cute to wear.

“What about a summer dress? It is getting hot outside.” Tsu says.

You hum and pull out a few you have hung in the back corner of your closet.

“Good idea, but now the real test, which one?”

20 minutes and trying on each dress at least three times later you land on one. It’s simple and light pink. Perfect. Casual and cute!

Mina does your makeup for you because you said you felt too lazy to do it, and riding on that you convince Ochaco to help do your hair.

After 2 hours you are finally done getting ready. Looking over at your clock the time read 12:16 p.m.

“Shoot! We’re late!” Tsu says.

“Late?”

“Yeah we’re meeting up with some of the guys remember?”

You hum, but you’re still unsure of what the true motives are behind this random study session.

The girls walk with you to the school, and right on past the cafeteria.

“Uhm guys? Arent we supposed to meet them in there?” You say, fighting the girls who are pulling on your arms to keep you moving.

“Code red!” Mina yells and all of the sudden Ochaco has you floating in the air while Tsu has you wrapped up with her tongue. You fight desperately to break from there hold, to no avail. Eventually you give up and allow them to do whatever, accepting your fate.

Eventually you reach a study room that you didnt know existed. Tsu flings you in and Ochaco releases her hold.

You fall to the floor and groan in pain.

“Sorry!” She says and closes the door.

You run and try to turn the handle, sighing and allowing your head to rest on the door.

“They got you too?”

You jump and turn around at the sudden voice.

“Monoma! Oh god you scared me,” you chuckle a bit before looking back up at him. “Do you know whats going on?”

He sighs and shakes his head no.

“I wish I did.”

You frown and go to call Mina, who seems to be the ring leader of this whole plan.

You dig around in your bag and groan loudly when you realize that you either left it, or one of them snatched it.

You sit at a table and put your hand in your arms in defeat.

Monoma sits across from you and puffs his cheeks out while tapping on the table awkwardly.

After a moment you look up at him and let a huff of air blow a loose strand of hair from your face, head falling into the palm of your hand.

"So, uhm, why do you think they trapped us in here?"

He hums and shrugs.

"No clue."

You roll your eyes and get up, looking for another way out of the room. He watches as you move around the room, noticing the way you're dressed up, then starts thinking about his friends forced him to look nice even though they had only planned on studying. He thought it was weird when Tetsutetsu was shoving jeans and a nice sweater in his face.

Its as if something clicked in him at the idea of both yours and his friends randomly doing all of this. Heat creeps up his neck and he clears his throat in an attempt to stop it but fails when you turn around to look at him instead.

"What?" Annoyance laces your tone and he slightly shy away for a moment before feeling irritated at you.

"I was just clearing my throat, damn." He spews back, scoffing slightly and filing his arms over his chest.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips, sneering at him.

"Okay, well are you going to help me figure you how to get out of here or what?"

"There's no other exits. We'll just have to wait until someone lets us out."

Your hands cover your face as a frustrated groan sounds from you. Dropping your hands you look at him for a moment. His blond hair looks surprisingly maintained for a teenage boy. You think for a moment before sitting down across from him.

"So, uhm, where's your girlfriend?" Your voice is slightly shaky and he notices. You watch as his face contorts into confusion at the question.

"Girlfriend?"

"Yeah the one with the ponytail." You say, confusion also all over your face.

He laughs for a moment and then looks back at you.

"Kendo is not my girlfriend."

Your face flushes in embarrassment.

"Oh." You say back quietly.

He chuckles before shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.

"Though I'm sure she wishes she was, who wouldn't?"

"Well, do you like her? You guys always seem awfully close."

He raises an eyebrow at you and a smirk sits on his lips.

"Why do you care so much? Ya' like me or something?" Though he comes across as cocky, his heart is nearly beating out of his chest at the idea.

You now feel heat completely envelope your face at his question, you roll your eyes and look away.

"You wish." Though your words are confident he doesn't miss the way your voice falters at the end.

"What if I do?"

You now quickly look back at him, eyes wide at the statement. Was he being for real or just teasing you?

"Whatever you're just saying that to get a reaction out of me." You cross your arms and watch his movements closely. His brows slightly furrow together at your words and for a moment you feel bad.

"What if I'm not though?"

"You don't even know me."

"I want to."

You hum in thought, wondering if he was being for real or just being a teenage boy.

“Well, what do you want to know? We got time to kill.”

You can see a smile cross his face but it’s quickly replaced with the same smug grin he always seems to have.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

You scoff playfully and rest your chin in your hand.

“You gotta be more specific.”

He sits back and strokes his chin in thought, humming loudly, only slightly glancing your way when a small giggle leaves your lips at his dramatics. Finally he looks back to you, eyes narrowed and the same shit eating grin on his face.

"So, you think I'm cute?"

You can feel the pang of annoyance in your eyebrow. Is this guys serious? You grit your teeth before scoffing, though you can feel the butterflies swarm your stomach at the current situation you're in.

"What if I do?" You quip back. This time you watch as his face grows red. Your eyes carefully scan over his every movement, watching as his adam's apple bobs down and back up slowly.

You slightly relish in the fact he's so nervous at a few simple words, but it's short lived as his cocky smile comes back.

"Well, I guess I'd have to say I think the same about you." He might have a cocky look, but you don't miss the way his face is flushed and his voice slightly shakes.

You both stare at each other for a moment, but you allow another shit-eating smirk to sit on your face.

"Well, Monoma, then I'll tell you the truth," You lean backwards until your back hits the chair, hands gripping the edge of the table. "I do think you're cute, yeah."

He shoots backwards and stand up quickly, you slightly jump at his reaction.

He laughs, and it reminds you of those corny villains out of hero movies.

"Finally! I have a one up on class one a!" He continues rambling on about how he 'won' and he's totally bagging the hottie ew girl before any of the other guys. You roll your eyes but the giggle that escapes your lips gives away you're true feelings.

He stops what he's doing to look back down at you. His eyes are wide when he looks back down at you.

"Wait do you think our friends planned this on purpose?" You hum back at his question, signifying you think they did.

He drops back into his seat and you nearly get whiplash at his change in emotions.

"Man, they suck, but also, I'm grateful they do."

You dryly chuckle at him, going to respond, but before you do the door swings open. Aizawa and All Might stand in the doorway.

"What are you two doing in here?" All Might asks.

You shrug and look back over to the blond boy.

"Ask your other students.," You grab your bag and start walking out, before you do you turn around to look at Monoma. "You coming?"

He jumps out of his seat and grabs his bag as well, hurrying over to you.

"Obviously!"

You just roll your eyes and walk through the doorway, turning to thank the teachers for letting you out. Monoma does the same and walks over to where you're standing in the hall waiting for him.

"So, wanna go get some Soba?" He nods quickly at you and slightly nudges you with his shoulder.

You beam up at him and nudge him back.

"Oh, by the way, you're totally paying." You skip off a head of him and he stares at you, jaw slack. He finally checks back in and chases after you, saying it's not fair to invite someone to lunch then make them pay. You just laugh as you keep running off, laugh echoing through the nearly empty hallways.

"That's an odd pairing, don't you think Aizawa?" All Might asks the long haired teacher next to him.

"No, definitely not." He replies, shouting the door and walking back towards the teachers lounge, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

playlist

[kaixfoxwood]

"So, you basically had daddy issues before it was cool." His own adoptive father became the subject of the problems with parental guidance. Richard never took charge leading by proper example, instead showering his children with screaming matches in a rage that would implode the entire household if one little thing triggered him. He detested the man and his mother wasn't the shining role model either. "I was thinking dropping to my knees along the lines more of fun, but I'll happily kiss your shoes if that pleased you better." Copying others became a skill Kai adopted as an act of survival. Anybody he would come into contact with became a game of feeding from the energy of others and matching it on an extreme level. He completely transformed his personality around the fixation until he couldn't see who he was clearly anymore. It was Richard's anger, then it was Wrath's, and now even Kai understood wrapping himself in the First Son's orbit may lead down an uncertain path. "I'm sorry, did you say she was a tree? What in the actual-" Kai decided against the exclamative, focusing his attention instead on their connected hands, wondering what Nikolai thought as his fingers explored his damaged palms. "Explains a lot about your fascination with the woods. Now I'm worried I met your mom and didn't know it." The witch grimaced uncomfortably and banished the thought as he cleared his throat. "So, I learned your parents are either a god or a nymph tree and you share blood with them both. I've heard crazier things." Kai mumbled, growing somewhat quiet. "Thank you for telling me, Nik. Honesty's a good start or so I've heard."

"Not to get a big head, but I'm pretty sure I was one of the first ones outside the Princes to have issues with their fathers." Calling Cronus 'father' was a stretch, but he was half of his DNA– it would have been an insult to the god if Nikolai hadn't treated him as such. Even if the man had always chosen his job over his son. It was what he always knew, the way of the gods– an absentee father but always watched to ensure the timelines stayed together. He held no true ill-will towards Cronus as much as one would think. "You can still do that, I wouldn't say no, as long as it's not because of my parentage– that's too old-school for my tastes." As Nikolai had no sight outside his abilities, he relied heavily on his other senses. With touch being one of the stronger ones for the seer, Nik couldn't help the smile on his face when the time-witch had done much what he does and trailed his hands along his arms until the witch reached his hands; knowing it was from watching him and copying his mannerism. "Ah, that's actually a little more difficult to explain than my father as a god, actually," the seer shrugged, gripping Kai's hands, moving his fingers against the witch's, and feeling what he didn't get the chance to before. Every digit was calloused from years upon years of fighting. "She's both alive and not. My mother was a nymph, a forest nymph to be exact, and once her mortal body could no longer carry her conscience, she became one with the forest. She's actually a... tree now. It's easier to explain who my father is than who my mother is."

[ionceatearoach]

Beneath the Oak Tree

Izuku x reader

Synopsis. After school one day, Izuku Midoriya invites Y/n to walk with him, leading them to a secluded spot beneath an old oak tree. In the peaceful solitude, Izuku unexpectedly confesses his feelings for her, revealing that he admires her kindness and strength. Surprised but touched, Y/n admits she feels the same way, and the two share a heartfelt moment as they step into a new chapter of their relationship.

It was a bright afternoon at Aldera Junior High, the air filled with the scent of autumn leaves. The school bell had just rung, signaling the end of the school day. As usual, Y/n gathered her things slowly, not in any particular rush. She was a creature of habit, someone who didn’t mind taking her time. Her mind always wandered, so it was hard to rush. As she stood to leave the classroom, she glanced around, her eyes landing on Izuku, who was packing his bag with a concentrated frown on his face.

Izuku Midoriya, always so earnest, always thinking about heroes, even if he didn’t have a quirk. Y/n admired him from afar, not just because of his dedication to becoming a hero, but because of his heart. He was kind, thoughtful, and despite all the teasing he endured from the other kids for not having a quirk, he always stood tall. Or at least, that’s how he tried to appear.

Today, for some reason, Y/n’s heart felt particularly fluttery around him. Maybe it was the way the sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow over everything. Maybe it was the way his messy green hair seemed to shimmer in the light, just like how his eyes seemed to brighten whenever he spoke about something he loved, like heroes.

She hesitated, standing in the doorway for a moment. Would it be too forward to speak to him? To ask how his day had gone? Or maybe just to wish him a good afternoon? Her hands fidgeted nervously as she clutched the strap of her bag.

Before she could make up her mind, she heard his voice.

“H-hey, Y/n!” Izuku’s voice called, a little too loud, and he flushed in embarrassment, raising his hands in a nervous gesture. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh! Hi, Izuku! What’s up?” She smiled shyly, trying to calm the sudden rush of warmth flooding her cheeks. Her heart always did that whenever Izuku spoke to her directly.

“Uh, I was thinking—well, I usually head to the park after school to… you know, practice a bit, but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to walk with me?” Izuku’s voice grew quieter as he spoke, and he avoided her gaze, looking at the floor instead. It was clear he wasn’t used to asking for something like this, but there was a kind of determination in his words.

Y/n blinked, a bit taken aback by his invitation. “Oh… you want me to walk with you?” Her voice was soft, unsure if she had heard him right.

Izuku nodded, his eyes flicking up to meet hers for just a second before looking away again. “Y-yeah. I mean, if you don’t mind! I just thought it’d be nice to, you know, have someone to talk to.” He scratched the back of his head nervously, as if unsure whether or not he’d just said something embarrassing.

Y/n’s heart swelled a little at the thought. He wanted to spend time with her? Just the two of them? She smiled, trying to keep her nerves in check. “Sure, I’d love to.”

The two of them walked side by side in comfortable silence at first, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the hallway. There was something so calm about being with Izuku, the way he moved with such genuine care and thoughtfulness. The walk to the park felt like it passed by in an instant, and before she knew it, they had arrived at a quiet, secluded spot under an old oak tree. The leaves were beginning to turn golden, the branches swaying gently in the breeze.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Izuku said as they stopped, his hands nervously adjusting the straps of his backpack. He looked at her with a sheepish smile. “It’s not often I get to hang out with anyone. I’m usually always thinking about hero stuff.”

Y/n giggled softly, feeling the warmth of the moment. “It’s no problem, Izuku. I like hearing about what you’re passionate about. You talk about heroes with so much excitement.”

Izuku smiled faintly, looking away for a moment. “Yeah… I guess I get a little carried away sometimes.” He then shifted his gaze back to her, his eyes suddenly a little more intense, as if he had something he really needed to say.

“Y/n, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while,” Izuku started, his voice low and earnest. The sudden seriousness in his tone made Y/n look at him in surprise.

“Oh? What is it?” she asked, her voice soft and curious. She suddenly felt a slight nervousness in her chest, not sure what was coming next.

Izuku took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “Well, I… I’ve been thinking a lot about how I feel, and I don’t want to keep this to myself anymore. Y/n, I really admire you. I’ve always noticed how kind you are to everyone, even when you don’t have to be. You’re always looking out for others, even when you don’t say much. And… I’ve always thought that was amazing. You’ve got a strength that I could never explain.”

Y/n’s heart thudded in her chest. She had no idea where this was going, but the sincerity in his words made her cheeks flush.

Izuku paused for a moment, his green eyes now meeting hers, full of quiet determination. “I… I’ve realized something. I think I might like you, Y/n. More than just a friend, I mean.” His voice was soft but clear, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his words. He swallowed, his face slightly red as he looked down, suddenly shy again. “I’ve been so nervous about telling you this, and I know I’m probably not the most confident person, but… I had to say it.”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. She felt as though the world around them had come to a standstill. This..this was something she had never expected, but now that it was here, she couldn’t help but feel a rush of emotions. The way he was looking at her, his vulnerable honesty, made her heart race.

For a moment, all she could do was blink, trying to process what had just happened. “Izuku…” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Izuku looked down, his shoulders slumping slightly as if afraid she might turn him down. But when she finally spoke again, her voice was soft, yet filled with warmth. “I-I like you too, Izuku.”

Izuku’s eyes shot up in surprise, and for a moment, he looked as though he hadn’t quite understood what she had said. Then, as the words sunk in, a smile slowly spread across his face, his green eyes lighting up with the same joy and hope she had always admired.

“I really do,” she added, feeling her own cheeks grow warm. She couldn’t believe she had just admitted it out loud, but the truth felt right. “I think you’re amazing, Izuku. And I-I admire you more than you know."

Izuku stood there for a moment, staring at her, his face a deep shade of red. Then, without thinking, he blurted out, “W-would you like to, um, maybe hang out more sometime? Just the two of us?”

Y/n laughed softly, her heart light. “I’d like that.”

And as the autumn breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak tree, both of them stood there, their hearts fluttering in the shared quiet joy of the moment. It wasn’t a grand confession, nor a grand gesture, but to them, it was everything.

A/N. Helloooooooo!!!! Ladies, gentlemen, gentle ladies, I’ve finally made something. It took me a couple of days to actually get it right but I did it and with the help of a friend with my punctuation along the way. Thank you for the support on my last post it means a lot, I’ll try to make and upload more, kind you I’m more into fluff but if you want any other content I’ll try my best to make it.