#and how exactly they would be getting out out of trouble. That would have been more fun.

[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.

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double the trouble, twice the fun | b.sk c.sc

when a mistake ruins an already terrible day, there's two people ready to make it better for you

pairing: boo seungkwan x f. reader x choi seungcheol genre: crime au, smut warnings: kissing, killing, guns, uses of daddy and puppy, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie wordcount: 4.6k a/n: this was supposed to be a present for @hannieween for new years but i guess better late than never lol. happy valentines bbygirl i hope this ruins your day!

"We should get out of here," Mingyu says, standing up to grab his sniper off the ledge of the roof.

You had missed.

He packs his rifle into a hard case as you stay kneeling in shock, rough with the way he pushes it into its designated slot and clicks the case shut, slinging it over his shoulder like a backpack. "Earth to Venus, let's go," he says, bringing you out of your stupor.

You clamber to stand up, hands shaking as you gingerly set your rifle inside its case before throwing it over your shoulder like Mingyu.

You were 8 years old when you first shot a gun.

It was a foggy Sunday morning. Shaken out of your sleep, a jacket and earmuffs were shoved your way and next thing you knew, you were being driven to an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town.

Your father, a stoic bearded man with a gaze icy enough to freeze Calcifer, silently pressed a 9mm bronze pistol into your hands. It looked massive compared to the tiny thin fingers clutched around the handle. The metal was cool to the touch, a feeling you'd never forget.

The clicking of a lighter rang through the silent morning as your father lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag before breathing smoke out of his nose. He motioned his hand at something behind you and you tore your eyes away from the smoke wisping around his head.

Behind you, far on the other side of the barn, was a dummy. Or at least, that's what you supposed it was. It couldn't have been more than, say, 10 feet away. Dry hay bundled together with zip ties in the shape of what resembled a human body. A black target symbol was misshapenly drawn on a sheet of paper and tacked onto the "head."

You turn the gun over in your hand, chewing your lip. You'd never shot a gun before. What if you missed? Or worse, what if you missed and the bullet ricocheted off of one of the beams, hitting your father? The gun felt like a pound of bricks in your hand, and the thought weighed in your brain, equally as heavy.

There was a low grunt as your father shuffled to stand next to you. The lit cigarette stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled a similarly coloured bronze revolver out from his pocket, aiming the barrel at the dummy, then pulled the trigger. With a bang, a single bullet shot through the air and straight through the paper-target-hay-dummy. The dummy tipped back from the force before falling forward, standing still and upright He took another slow drag of his cigarette, smoke blowing out into the cold air.

You didn't want to let him down and, wordlessly as he may be, you knew exactly what he wanted from you at that moment.

As you tried to mirror the way he stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, he watched. Watched, the way your hands trembled to hold the gun up. Watched, how you swallowed nothing as you found your target and locked in.

Watched, as you pulled the trigger.

You're quiet on the ride back home.

Mingyu hums along to a soulful voice crooning the latest pop hit through the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to match the beat.

Reeded wetlands soon turn into highrises as the car descends back into Seoul. Brightly lit signs reflect off the car window and you stare out into the city, watching as people come in and out of bars and clubs.

Normally it'd be you behind the wheel, but you hadn't trusted yourself. Accidentally killing Mingyu in a car crash would truly be the cherry on top of today's rotten cake and, thankfully, Mingyu was more than happy to take over..

It wasn't like you to put your life in anyone's hands but your own. At least, not since your father had died.

Cops had come, knocking at your door in the wee hours of the night. He jumped off the roof of an abandoned building. Paramedics didn't get there in time. We're sorry for your loss. You'd scoffed, even at 16 you could smell the stench of foul play.

It was the nail in your coffin for how truly alone you were in this world.

Your father, dead. Your mother, never in the picture to begin with. Friends? Ha, in your fucking dreams.

Though he may have left you all alone, he didn't leave you completely empty-handed. Your father left behind exactly two things: one, the small hovel you'd called home your entire life, and two, his bronze revolver.

The flat was easy enough to get rid of. Sold under the table to some shady "realtor" who most likely didn't even pay half of what it was actually worth, but you weren't complaining. That black cash kept you afloat for a long time.

As for the revolver, you used it for what you'd hoped your father would have wanted you to.

You used it to find yourself a job.

It started with odd jobs and always with someone different—you never worked for the same man twice. The first few didn't even pay you properly but you used the cash you had to bounce around town, staying hidden in the shadows of the city. Most of the time, finding the poor sucker was half the battle, all they'd give you was a name.

It wasn't long till word got around the city of a new hitman—hitgirl—who worked so eerily similar to a man they'd known to be dead. You'd begun to make decent money, but that didn't stop you from flat-hopping. You liked your anonymity. The detachment from people around you. In a sort of backwards way, it was the most comforting part of your life.

A few years back, when you were recruited into SVT as their resident sniper, Mingyu tore through that comfort with large garden shears, hacking away with impudence only a 6'3" man could hold. Show me how to shoot. I want to become a marksman. I heard you're the best. Left on the floor were scraps of a lonely little girl. A girl who wasn't even remembered, so she couldn't be forgotten.

Dokyeom, or Smiley Dokyeom as you liked to call him, is waiting in the front hall when you two pull into the driveaway. He thinks he's being slick, but you see his round eyes peek through the window of the front door.

You don't wait for Mingyu to put the car in park, manually unlocking the door to get out, not bothering to grab your rifle from the back seat.

The front door to the house opens before you can even grab the doorknob. Dokyeom has his signature wide sunshine smile as he holds the door open for you. You stalk past him without even a glance, and you don't see the way his smile drops. As you slip into your room, you hear Mingyu, "Don't take it to heart DK, she's just—" You don't wait to hear him finish, closing the door behind you with a resounding slam.

You tear your clothes off, stumbling as your arm gets stuck taking off your shirt. Kicking the pile into a corner, you pull on an oversized sleep shirt and ungracefully fall face-first into bed.

Today has been a terrible day. An awful day. A downright atrocious day.

From the moment you awoke, nothing has gone your way.

First, you're pretty sure something was growing in the milk carton this morning. Smiley Dokyeom was supposed to have cleaned the fridge out so that he and Mingyu could do a grocery run later this week. Well, he didn't. And now, the last bowl of Cheerios was covered in fuzzy green stuff.

You had to go sans breakfast, a fantastic start to your morning.

Second, your holster suddenly broke at its seams, falling apart into two and forcing you to keep a pistol in your waistband.

Third, Mingyu and his too-long-for-anyones-good legs had tripped you going up the stairs. He'd caught you before you keeled over the edge of the stairwell and fell to your death, but the same could not be said for the pistol that slipped out of your waistband. Luckily, it didn't go off when it hit the ground.

And fourth, your magnum opus. The pièce de résistance.

You. Had. Missed.

This was a first. Never, within your memory, had you ever missed a shot on an assignment.

Best sniper in Seoul, your ass. You were pathetic. A disgrace. A blight on your team.

How the fuck could you miss. You scream into your pillow and burrow further into your blankets, rolling around till you're burrito-ed into them.

As hired hitmen, the job was rarely as simple as today's. SVT was not a particularly large organization, but you lot could handle more than one would think. Each of the 14 members had their own specialities. You were their designated lead sniper, with Mingyu as your second when you needed one. Dokyeom is an accountant by trade, taking care of any and all transactions, always keeping the money flowing into SVT, always needing to know how the job went. But don't let his sunshine smile fool you, he's got the knife work to rival that of Mr. Lecter, and has no problem utilizing it.

There are more though.

Need to break into someone's computer system? Need to find someone on an airplane manifest? Woozi, the tech god, is your man. Need someone beaten up within an inch of their life, but still keep that life? The8's got a mean right hook.

Today's job was elementary: find the two marks, kill them. Truly could not get any simpler than that.

The first shot went straight through the window, shattering it, then barely grazing the mark's shoulder. The second, into his head, right between his eyes. However, there never should have been a second—

There's a knock at the door.

You lay still in your bed, letting your breathing go even, hoping whoever it was would turn around and leave.

Rap, rap, rap. A pause. Then the door opens just enough for The8 to pop his head in.

"He's asking for you," says The8.

You groan, rubbing your hands over your face, "Tell him I'm preoccupied. Too busy planning my own funeral."

"Tell him yourself," he deadpans and then does the worst, leaves without closing the door.

You kick yourself out of your cocoon of blankets. As if today could not get any worse, you were about to get a talking-to.

Begrudgingly, you drag yourself up to the fourth floor, where there is only one door at the end of a long and winding hallway. His door.

When you go to knock, you find it's already open and you push through.

The room is empty. A tall lamp sits in the corner, casting a faint amber glow atop a velour reading chair. Near it, a massive california king sized bed, neatly made, corners drawn tight. The window behind it is open, letting a cool breeze flow through the room. A shiver rolls down your back, and the hairs on your arms stand up.

"Boo," a voice whispers, hot breath fanning across your ear.

You react instantly, swivelling around to grab at the intruder. They sidestep your reach, grabbing you by the arm and spinning you back around, keeping both your arms bent behind you.

"Oh, you are off your game today," they drawl. Boo Seungkwan. You struggle in his hold, trying to elbow your way out of it, but his grip is tight and unrelenting.

Boo Seungkwan. President. CEO. Leader. The boss man. Whatever you want to call him, he's in charge. The top dog calling all the shots.

"I am not off my game," you hiss. "It was one mistake."

A shove from behind, and you're falling to the floor, letting out an oof as you hit the ground. You scramble to sit up on your knees, pulling at the hem of your sleep shirt to cover yourself as much as possible.

"Yes, but you don't make mistakes, do you?" He says, voice mirthless.

You bow your head, giving it the smallest of shakes.

His hand is back, this time roughly gripping your chin and forcing you to look up into his eyes.

Dark, sharp eyes, mildly shaded by dark inky hair with strands of grey coming through. You drop your gaze lower to his full cheeks, and plush, full lips.

You gulp.

"Look at me when I ask you a question." Seungkwan squeezes at your jaw, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheek, then throws your face aside,

"So?" He says, not sparing you a single glance as he takes his jacket off, going to hang it in the armoire. He bites the finger of one of his gloves to pull it off, pulling the other off with his free hand. "Give me your report, pup."

You keep your eyes trained on him, watching intently as he unclasps his watch, setting it down next to the gloves. "Woozi procured information this morning that Kang Juyeon and Lee Kangin would be meeting today. He gave a location and a time. Once Mingyu and I confirmed the location, we used a nearby building to take them down from afar. On the way up, we unfortunately lost a pistol. While taking out one of the marks, I missed my first shot and released a second bullet to kill them. Both marks died on the scene and there was no evidence of us left behind.

"Except a pistol."

Your jaw clenches, "The pistol is untraceable, both by make and bullet. We have also taken extreme caution to prevent any fingerprints from being left behind."

Seungkwan nods as he unbuckles his belt, pulling it off and meticulously rolling it up before setting it inside the armoire.

"And do you feel today's assignment was successful?" He asks, unbuttoning his pants and slowly peeling them off.

Your breath hitches at the sight of his toned thighs, "N-no."

"No?" Seungkwan quirks an eyebrow at you.

"We completed our assignment today, yes." You hesitate for a moment, chewing your lip, "But, with today's mistake, I would not consider the assignment a success."

Seungkwan tilts his head, staring you down while clad in nothing but tight black boxer briefs and a fitted white crewneck. "I see."

He does not elaborate and, instead, saunters over to the bed, taking a seat at the foot.

"Come here," he commands. You make to stand up and Seungkwan shakes his head, clicking his tongue with a tsk, "Stay on your knees."

Your mouth dries up, and you nod, leaning forward onto all fours. As you crawl over to him, a cool breeze floats across your barely clothed pussy, and you pray no one else walks in, feeling unbelievably exposed.

Seungkwan leans back on his hands, his honey thighs spread apart before you, cock bulging against the black cloth of his boxer briefs.

"Get up." You start to stand. "And take those off," he says, motioning to your lower half.

You falter, "My panties?"

Seungkwan's eyes darken, "Don't make me ask twice, pup."

Your fingers hesitate with the waistband of your panties, before pulling them down and letting them drop to the floor, stepping out of them.

"Good girl," he says in a low voice. The praise goes immediately to your core, and you can feel yourself getting wet.

Seungkwan pats his thigh silently, and you don't need him to tell you to know what he wants.

You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thigh with a knee on either side. The second the cool, smooth, expanse of his skin touches your bare pussy, you shudder,

"Ride me puppy."

You start to move, bracing yourself by bringing a hand to his shoulder.

Seungkwan watches you like he's assessing you. As though he's a professor and you're grades are dependent on how well you cum on his thighs.

He flexes his thigh and your hips stutter, if only for a moment, and then continue grinding, dragging yourself back and forth along his thigh. As your pleasure builds, little gasps start to leave your mouth. Each drag brings you closer and closer to the peak and your fingers dig harder into his shoulder.

Any thoughts about today's assignment are gone as your mind clouds over. Just as you feel as though you're getting close to the edge, Seungkwan's hands come to either side of your hips, stilling your movements and holding you in place. When you try to move, his fingertips dig in, forcing your hips to stay still.

Though he makes no inclination, you know he can feel the way your pussy pulsates against his thigh and, for a moment, you wonder if you could clench against his thigh in place and bring yourself to orgasm that way.

"Don't even think about it," he says in a low growl.

A whine leaves your lips and your forehead drops to his. "Seungkwan, please," you whimper. Seungkwan lets your little breaths skate across his face before leaning up to close the distance between your lips, leaving a chaste kiss, a rare moment of softness.

"Go on," he says firmly, loosening the hold on your hips.

Slowly, you begin to gyrate. You can hear how wet you are with every roll of your hips. Seungkwan flexes his thigh muscles once more, and you let out a gasp that soon turns into a breathy moan, "Fuck, that feels good."

Again, Seungkwan stops you, hands digging into your hips. You nearly cry out in frustration, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, and your chest undulating with every breath. You understand now that this is a punishment.

There's a sound at the door, and someone hurries in, bag crashing against the doorway as they step through.

"Are you starting without me?" says a deep voice hurriedly. Choi Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol. Cocky, rowdy, hammer enthusiast, boxing enthusiast, Seungkwan's right-hand man, and menace to society.

There's a clunk as his bag hits the floor, and footsteps pad across the room till a warm body presses up against your back, boxing you in.

"I can't believe you started without me, hyung." His fingers play at the hem of your shirt, and you raise your arms so he can pull it off, tossing it aside. You're wearing nothing underneath and your bare nipples perk at the sudden exposure. "But, god do I get why."

Seungcheol cups your breasts from behind and begins playing with your nipples, pinching and rubbing them between two fingers. His hands don fingerless gloves, and the cool leather leaves a trace of goosebumps wherever they touch your skin. He leans down to suck little kisses down your neck and on your shoulders. You throw your head back against his chest, mouth parted to let out quiet whimpers.

"Gods, you sound so good for us, pup," He hums into your shoulder and the vibrations go straight to your pussy. "Why don't you go ahead and cum for us then?" You look to Seungkwan, your eyes heavily lidded in lust, waiting for the okay.

Seungkwan, who's been quiet, gives a short, barely there, nod. He reaches his hand up to cup your jaw and slips his thumb into your mouth.

It's all you need and you begin to roll your hips against Seungkwan's taut thighs, pleasure coursing through. You give his thumb a harsh suck and a moan as the wave of your orgasm comes crashing down.

Any chance of some post-nut clarity is gone as Seungkwan grabs you by the back of the neck with his free arm and rips you away from Seungcheol, rolling you over onto the bed. Your head barely touches the mattress before Seungkwan's thumb is replaced by his lips, thighs quivering as Seungkwan's clothed cock grinds into your sensitive pussy.

Seungcheol fumbles around in the background as he tries to get undressed as quickly as possible, thumping against the dresser as he struggles to pull off his last pant leg.

At the sound of something clattering to the ground, Seungkwan sucks harshly at your bottom lip. His hand finds its way down between your legs, fingers coating themselves in your arousal before pushing a digit in.

You shudder against his lips as he pushes another finger in and begins pumping them at a glorious pace.

"You'll let us do anything to you, won't you pup?" Seungkwan curls his finger inside you, deliciously hitting your g-spot and you cry out, hips rising off the bed. "Answer me," he growls.

"Oh, oh, I—yes. Anything. You can—oh—do anything."

Seungkwan seems to like this answer, as his lips curl up into a sneer. He has you writhing under him as he begins to move his fingers faster.

Your walls spasm as you squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed, cumming all over his fingers. He pumps you through your high and when you open your eyes, Seungcheol is standing next to the bed, completely naked, hard cock coated in his precum as he pumps it in languid strokes.

Your mouth starts watering at the sight. Seungkwan gives your pussy a tight slap, as if to remind you who's still in charge, and it stings deliciously.

"Come here," Seungcheol says. Seungkwan climbs off the bed without saying anything and you take his lack of argument as an okay. You roll over to crawl to Seungcheol and he bends down to capture your lips in a kiss. His hand slides into your hair, gripping it tightly and giving it a slight tug as he nips at your lower lip. He stands straight again and tips your head back the slightest bit, "Open up, pup."

You open your mouth, like the good pup you are, and Seunghceol nudges his mushroom tip against your open lips. You suck around his tip, lapping at his cockhead with little kitten licks. He holds the back of your head, slowly pushing his cock in deeper and deeper. He then starts to thrust, slow at first, then picking up speed. Your jaw aches trying to accommodate his girth.

"Shit pup, god gave you that filthy mouth just for daddy's cock, didn't he?" says Seungcheol, holding your head with both his hands and fucking faster into your mouth. You can't stop the desperate moan that comes from your throat and it's enough to send Seungcheol over his edge. He curses, holding your head still against his cock as cums into your mouth and down your throat, the excess dribbling out and making a mess down your chin.

Seungcheol's breathing is heavy as he pulls out and you stick a tongue out to lick up the cum that's escaped your mouth. He lets out another curse and swoops down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

When you separate, Seungcheol looks at you with a look that can only be described as hungry. But he doesn't act on it. He knows how far he's allowed to go today.

"She's all yours hyung," Seungcheol says over your shoulder before stepping away, and heading to go shower. You feel the bed dip behind you and you turn to see Seungkwan, shirt and boxer briefs discarded, cock hard, angry and pink.

Seungkwan makes no effort to be as gentle as Seungcheol was, roughly pushing you back onto the bed and your legs apart. He rubs the length of his cock up against your folds, letting your creamy wet ess coat him and you mewl when his head nudges your sensitive clit. Then, he lines up against your entrance and pushes in, all in one go. He hisses as your walls squeeze around him, sheathing him like a glove. Your hips swivelling to get his cock in deeper as he begins to thrust. Seungkwan lifts one of your legs, as he slams into you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," You cry with each thrust.

"You're so fucking tight," Seungkwan hisses, grunting with each thrust. A cacophony of your moans, his grunts, and the slapping of skin on skin echo through the room and you wonder if Seungcheol can hear it over the sound of his shower.

Seungkwan's hand travels up past your breasts and grips the lightest of holds on your neck, but it's enough to have you tipping into hell, your eyes rolling back over the heightened pleasure. At the feeling of your walls convulsing around his cock, Seungkwan lets go too, shuddering from his orgasm as he cums inside you.

The two of you lay there for a moment, skin to skin, as you both breathe heavily from both your orgasms. He slowly pulls out, using two fingers to scoop up his cum leaking out of you and pushes it back into your pussy. You whine at the sensation, your pussy sensitive from the overstimulation.

Seungkwan lets you lay in the sheets, your energy spent. He throws half the comforter over you and crawls off the bed. You feel yourself drift off to dreamland for just a moment before being awoken by the sound of Seungcheol coming out of the bathroom. He's only donning a towel around his hips, chest glistening with a sheen of moisture.

Seungkwan stands by bathroom the door. "Come here, pup," he commands. You swear your legs are made out of jello but you also know he doesn't like asking twice. You do your best to walk over without collapsing and Seungkwan takes you into the shower.

The shower is one of the few places Seungkwan lets a soft side out. He lets the water spray over you and starts with your hair first, lathering shampoo in it. The feeling of him massaging the shampoo into your scalp is soothing and you close your eyes for a moment.

He tucks a wet strand behind your ear, "About today's job, pup."

Your eyes fly open, "Yes?"

His gaze flits between your eyes, bringing a hand around to cup your cheek. "Get it together. Don't let it happen again." He pats you firmly on the cheek twice.

"I—yes sir."

Seungkwan is satisfied with your answer and finishes rinsing you off. Then he ushers you out, preferring to clean himself up alone and join you both in bed afterwards. You dry yourself up and wrap a fluffy black bathrobe around your naked body.

Seungcheol's already in bed, having finished changing the sheets and switching out the comforter for a new one. He flips the edge of the comforter over so you can slide in next to him. You slip your robe off, letting it fall on the floor, and get in.

Seungcheol lets you run your hand down his body, feeling that he's completely naked, and also completely hard. You know what comes next, turn over to face your back to him. Then you feel it, the press of his hard cock against the back of your ass as it finds your folds. As he rubs his cock against your entrance, he reaches an arm around to rub languid circles against your clit. You feel arousal pooling once more between your legs and you let out a gasp as Seungcheol slips his fat cock in, pushing into the hilt.

Seungcheol stops the fingers on your clit, instead bringing the arm around your waist and pressing a soft kiss against your bare shoulder.

"You did well today, pup. Go on, go to sleep now"

a/n: i hope y'all liked this :3 i feel like seungseung couple is so underrated so this is my horny love letter to that hehe. pls let me know your thoughts and feelings and what nots!!!! id love to hear any feedback u guys have! thank yoooou, daisee out~

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO CTRLALTDAISEE I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS, OR REPOSTING OF MY WORKS ON THIS OR ON OTHER WEBSITES

[cece693]

PLEASE MORE ASGARDIAN M!READER!!!

May I suggest a fic where the reader wants to bond closely to Wanda and Natasha but, is afraid because their only concept of sister relationships was Hela (reader is a little scared of Hela 😔 due to her destructive nature). Can I also add that the reader has slightly long hair (shoulder length) to braid!

Thank you for your talent and dedication!

He's Cute (Pt. 1.5)

pairing: bucky barnes x male reader tags: wanda and natasha are the best, sibling duo, getting ready for the date, hints of WandaNat/ScarletWidow, bucky being adorably smitten, yes 1.5 cause pt. 2 is the actual date :)

You fiddled nervously with the ends of your hair, pacing the length of your borrowed bedroom in the Avengers Compound for what felt like the hundredth time. Today was the day: your very first official Earth date. With none other than Bucky Barnes. Just the thought of it sent a rush of excitement (and panic) through your veins.

The problem? You had no clue how to prepare for a Midgardian date. A tunic and breeches might scream ‘medieval faire,’ and your more formal Asgardian garb would be even more intimidating. What if Bucky took one look at you and decided you were too over-the-top or—in the worst scenario—ran for the hills? Then there was your hair. Should you leave it loose? Tie it back? Attempt some elaborate braid?

What if I make a total fool of myself? you thought, tugging on your hair with a frustrated groan. You considered consulting Thor—briefly—until your imagination conjured an image of him bellowing, “Wear your finest Asgardian leathers!” and slapping you on the back so hard you’d stumble. Not exactly helpful.

You also thought about Tony or Steve, but quickly dismissed those options. Tony might tease you relentlessly, and while Steve was sweet, he was probably as clueless as you when it came to modern dating intricacies.

That left two people you admired from a (sometimes intimidated) distance: Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff. You’d seen how confident and stylish they both were—able to slip into a gown or tactical gear with equal flair. If anyone can help me blend Asgardian flair with Midgard style, you reasoned, it’s them.

Trouble was, the concept of “sisterly” assistance made your stomach twist. Your only sisterly figure had been Hela—and she was the embodiment of destructive chaos. Whenever you thought of “sisterly bonds,” images of shadowy blades and a mocking sneer intruded on your mind. Still, you had no one else to turn to, and time was running out.

It didn’t take long to find them. Wanda lounged on a couch, sipping tea and reading a worn paperback. Natasha reclined in an armchair nearby, scrolling through her phone. They exuded a relaxed warmth that made your nerves surge all over again—how did you even start this conversation?

Wanda glanced up first, her warm eyes creasing in a small smile. “Oh! (Y/N), did you need something?”

Natasha flicked her gaze over to you, phone still in hand. “You look like you’re either about to faint or confess a murder. Everything okay?”

Embarrassed, you rubbed the back of your neck. “I—I’m sorry to interrupt. I know you’re both probably busy, but I…I have a date. With Bucky,” you added softly, feeling your cheeks heat at the admission. “And I have no idea what to wear or how to do my hair, or—anything, really.”

Wanda’s eyebrows rose, and a slow grin spread across her face. “A date with Bucky? That’s adorable.”

Natasha set aside her phone, crossing her arms. “So you want a bit of a makeover?”

You cleared your throat, nerves clashing with relief. “Yes. Please. I don’t know how Earth dates usually go. I’m used to, well…armor and father-gifts, and illusions if I want to ‘dress up.’ But that’s not exactly the vibe here.”

Both women chuckled at that. Natasha stood and motioned for Wanda to follow. “Come on, let’s get you set up. And don’t worry—you’re not bothering us. We’d love to help you not show up to your date in full Asgardian regalia.”

Natasha led you to what appeared to be a converted storage room. Racks of clothing lined the walls, and a couple of tall dressers stood at one end. You caught glimpses of everything from formal evening wear to casual street clothes—no doubt a stockpile from Tony’s various shopping sprees.

“Okay,” Natasha declared, scanning the racks. “We need something comfortable but sharp. You want to catch Bucky’s eye without screaming I’m a prince from another realm.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Though, honestly, you could show up in a paper bag and he’d probably swoon.”

You felt your cheeks flame. “I—um, I just don’t want to look foolish.”

Natasha brushed aside a row of jackets. “We won’t let that happen. Trust us. Let’s see…” She paused, sizing you up. “You’ve got a good build—broad shoulders, trim waist. We should highlight that. Maybe a well-fitted shirt.”

Wanda’s gaze flicked between you and Natasha. “Oooh, yes. And if we can find a color that brings out his eyes…” She rummaged through a section of button-downs.

That left you standing there, feeling slightly awkward, as they pulled items from hangers and debated the merits of each. You shifted from foot to foot, your anxiety creeping in. This is far less terrifying than dealing with Hela, right? you told yourself. And yet, your heart hammered in your chest.

Eventually, Wanda triumphantly held up a simple, fitted gray button-down. “This might do,” she said, pressing it to your torso. “It’s not flashy, but it’ll look nice with your coloring.”

Natasha grabbed a pair of dark jeans from the next rack. “Try these on. We’ll see if they fit. If they’re too baggy, we’ve got more.”

Clutching the clothes, you ducked behind a folding screen in the corner. The chatter on the other side continued quietly:

“You think Bucky’s actually ready for a date?” Wanda whispered. “Oh, I’m sure he’s ready,” Natasha replied in the same hushed tone. “Steve says he's been looking at the clock constantly and somehow managed to trip over his own feet. He's more than ready."

Their amused banter made you smile—clearly, Bucky was as worked up about this as you were. That was comforting.

You slid into the jeans and button-down, surprised at how well everything fit. They weren’t Asgardian leathers, but the fabric was soft and flexible, hugging you just right. You stepped out self-consciously. “Well? How do I look?”

Wanda gasped softly, covering her mouth. “(Y/N), you look amazing!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, arms folded. “Yeah, that’ll do. Sleeves up—roll them a bit. Show off those forearms. Trust me.”

Blushing, you obeyed, feeling a little self-conscious and a little flattered. “You really think Bucky will like it?”

“Absolutely,” Wanda replied, beaming. “He’d have to be blind not to notice how good you look.”

Natasha pretended to examine your outfit with a critical eye, but you noticed a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. Then her gaze flicked to Wanda, and they shared a subtle look—one that made your cheeks flush a second time. You weren’t sure, but it almost seemed like there was a soft warmth passing between the two women, a private understanding that neither was voicing.

Then came the matter of your hair. It fell around your shoulders, a bit unruly from the stress of pacing your room all day. You lifted a lock, hesitating. “Normally, if this were a formal Asgardian function, I’d wear a crown braid or decorative metal clasps that sparkle with runes. But that’s probably too fancy, right?”

Wanda stepped closer, gently running her fingers through your hair in a way that felt surprisingly soothing. “Yes. Maybe we could do a simple side-braid, just enough to keep it out of your face. Or tuck it behind your ears. You have a nice jawline, so let’s show it.”

Natasha approached with a comb and some small hair ties, exchanging that same subtle smile with Wanda as they both set to work. You couldn’t help but notice the soft brush of Wanda’s hand, the way Natasha’s posture angled toward her whenever they spoke. Something about their easy familiarity and gentleness felt domestic, like they’d done this a hundred times…maybe even for each other.

“Relax,” Natasha murmured, positioning you to face a mirror. “We won’t do anything too elaborate. Just enough to keep Bucky’s eyes on you, not on how complicated your hairstyle is.”

Wanda’s lips curved into a playful smirk. “Though he’ll definitely be looking either way.”

They worked in tandem, brushing, smoothing, and expertly twisting a small section of hair into a neat side-braid. With each gentle tug, your tension melted. It felt so normal, to be fussed over by these two formidable Avengers, whose reputations alone could strike fear into entire enemy organizations. Yet here they were, braiding your hair and chatting like older sisters might.

Every so often, you caught a flicker of something more than platonic in their glances—maybe the way Wanda’s hand lingered on Natasha’s wrist when passing a hair clip, or the private smiles they exchanged. It was fleeting, but definitely there. You wondered if you were witnessing the beginnings of something deeper between them—or perhaps it had been there all along, carefully kept behind the scenes.

Finally, Wanda tucked the last strand into place, and Natasha stepped back, admiring their work. “Alright, pretty boy. Check it out.”

You moved to the mirror, heart fluttering in anticipation. The reflection that stared back looked…well, incredible. The blazer fit perfectly, highlighting your form without overpowering your frame. The rolled sleeves revealed just enough forearm to be intriguing, and the subtle side-braid left most of your hair loose but framed your face nicely.

Your mouth fell open. “I—I look…”

“Really, really handsome,” Wanda finished, placing a gentle hand on your back.

Natasha’s smile softened. “You do. And trust me, Bucky will probably forget how to speak for a minute when he sees you.”

A mixture of pride and embarrassment bloomed in your chest. “Thank you. Honestly, I feel so confident. I’ve never had that before.”

Wanda wrapped an arm around your shoulders, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Of course. You’re about to go on a date, not face a war. It should be fun.”

Natasha’s gaze turned momentarily serious. “But if he does anything to make you uncomfortable—pressures you, upsets you—” She paused, letting the threat linger, “—I will personally have words with him.”

“And by ‘words,’ she means possibly an entire display of violence,” Wanda teased, but her eyes held a protective glint.

You laughed nervously, appreciating the concern. “I—I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Bucky’s so gentle. But...thank you, just the same.”

Natasha nodded firmly. “We look out for our own. And that includes you.”

Your heart swelled at the sentiment—so this was what a supportive sisterly bond could be, untainted by destruction and usurpation. After some final adjustments (Natasha insisted on adjusting your collar just so, and Wanda fussed with a stray hair you couldn’t see), the two women gave you a double thumbs-up.

“Go knock him dead—figuratively,” Wanda teased. “This is Earth, after all.” Halfway to the front entrance, you glanced back and caught a glimpse of Wanda and Natasha standing side by side, exchanging soft smiles. Wanda murmured something, and Natasha’s cheeks tinted the faintest pink before she turned away.

Maybe I’m not the only one with a new romance on the horizon, you mused, feeling a rush of fondness for both of them.

When you finally reached the main entrance, there was Bucky—hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders tense. The moment his eyes landed on you, all that tension melted. A slow, disbelieving smile spread across his face, and you swore you saw a slight flush creep up his neck.

“Wow,” he breathed, stepping closer. “You look amazing.”

Your cheeks warmed, but this time it was with genuine confidence. “Thanks. Wanda and Nat helped.”

He nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. “Remind me to, uh…thank them later.”

You chuckled softly. “I’ll let them know.”

The two of you exchanged a few shy glances, the air charged with a thrilling sense of possibility. Bucky offered his arm in that old-fashioned way you found so endearing, and you slipped yours through it, feeling a jolt of warmth as your elbow linked with his. “You ready?” he asked, voice tinged with nervous excitement.

You smiled. “I am.”

[pandaofsecrets]

This convo got me thinking about how Ozai being a good parent and husband would actually be like (and how little that would actually change things), so here's the basics of the AU. It follows comics continuity because I think it's more impactful that way, and also because I really don't want to write two AUs for the price of one.

Okay, so first of all, how do we get here? Let's say that instead of Ozai becoming narcissistic as a coping mechanism (unlikely, but bear with me), he just kinda gives up trying to "prove his worth" and distances himself from his father and brother, distrusting them and trying to avoid their attention as much as he can.

Anyway, Azulon hears about the prophecy and wants Ozai married to Ursa, which. So much for not attracting attention. Azulon's logic here is that while he does want those strong firebenders, he doesn't want any of Roku's line to actually inherit the throne. So, marrying Ursa to his out-of-favor second son it is.

Needless to say, neither Ozai nor Ursa are exactly jazzed about the marriage. They're both essentially forced into it, and Ursa was already seeing someone, thank you very much. But they both figure that it's for the good of their country and that they can't really leave anyway, so they might as well try to make it work. Ozai works to make Ursa as comfortable as possible, and she cooperates with him as much as she can. A few months or so into the marriage, Ursa is pregnant with Zuko.

This is when Ursa notices that no one is replying to her letters. No one at all. Not Ikem, not her friends, and not even her parents. Like, she knows mail is slow, but it's been almost half a year at this point. Her parents at least should've written back by now. So, she does a little detective work, and puts together that Ozai is intercepting her letters.

Unsurprisingly, Ursa is pissed. She'd just begun to like Ozai, and he went and tore her heart into confetti. Incredibly betrayed (and also hormonal as all fuck), Ursa comes up with the very smart idea of writing a letter to Ikem in which she pretty much confesses to cheating on Ozai, reasoning that would hurt him pretty bad.

As Ursa expected, Ozai gets the letter and barges into the room, demanding to know what the hell she was thinking. "I knew it!" she goes. "I knew you've been intercepting my letters!" Ozai is like "Count yourself lucky it was me. What if it was my father? How would you have even begun to explain this to him?" He goes on to remind her that she was to give up contact with everyone outside of court, including her parents. He doesn't like his father's orders any more than she does, but he has to enforce them. He then burns the letter, telling Ursa that she can see whoever she wants, do whatever she wants, but she had better not let Zuko get caught up in any of it. Ozai makes a point to call Zuko his child, both because Ursa's letter did hurt him, and as a way to imply he cares about Zuko and Ursa doesn't.

A couple of hours later, both are feeling bad about the whole debacle. Ursa goes to see Ozai, who's in the middle of his usual "dealing with his angst by training until he straight-up collapses" routine, and they have a chat. Ozai apologizes for trying to imply she doesn't care about Zuko and for putting her in this position in the first place, and admits that he should've talked to her instead of going behind her back like that. Ursa swears she wasn't trying to get them in trouble, she was just so hurt by his actions that she wasn't thinking straight. Ozai promises her he'll find a way for her to contact and maybe even see her parents, so long as she promises to try and be less reckless. She agrees.

I'm skipping around a lot over things I haven't thought of in detail, so cut to a few years later. Zuko is around 7 and has just started his firebending lessons, Azula is around 5, and everything seems to be going pretty good. And then Azula starts firebending as well. Not only that, but she turns out to be a prodigy. Oops.

Ozai being Ozai, he immediately goes for damage control. He holds back Azula's progress under the pretext that it's going to be better for her in the long run, discourages her from attracting attention, and is generally very cagey whenever the subject of her bending is brought up. This is in sharp contrast to Azulon and to her teachers, who praise her for her talents and encourage her to develop her skills. So, naturally, Azula is really confused. If she's so great, why doesn't her father ever acknowledge it? This is made worse by the fact that Ozai can't really explain to Azula why he does things the way he does. So he just comes off as an unreasonable tyrant, which is. You know. Not at all the impression he wanted Azula to have of him. He knows what it's like to be the secondborn who is disliked by their parent, he never wanted to do that to his own child. It honestly feels like the universe is out to get him at this point.

So Azula becomes increasingly recalcitrant, and Ozai resolves to just give her space for the time being, spending more time with the one child who isn't fighting him at every turn. Seeing this as a rejection, Azula takes whatever pent-up rage she can't direct at Ozai and starts directing it at Zuko, meaning Ozai is put in a position where he has to protect one of his children from the other. Ursa tries her hardest to pick up the pieces, but that just ends with Azula writing her off as well. Azula also becomes aware of the fact that Ozai and Ursa are both pretty much powerless against Azulon, and that's where the fun begins.

It's a crappy situation all around, but it's about to get worse. Lu Ten dies and Iroh is about to return home from the Siege of Ba Sing Se, so Azulon tells Ozai that he has to give Azula to Iroh. Ozai is like, yep, there it is. There's the moment I've been dreading ever since I got married. Because due to the way this whole eugenics experiment worked, his children were never truly his. Azulon's vested interest in them meant Ozai never had any control over his own family, and Zuko and Azula were always going to be taken away from him sooner or later. But before Ozai can say anything, Azulon drops the bombshell on him. He has to kill Zuko, too. Ozai is like, fuck this. He doesn't care that Zuko was a failed experiment or whatever, that's his son. But he knows by now that his father cannot be reasoned with, so he asks Azulon to wait until Iroh comes home, buying himself time to figure out what to do. Surprisingly, Azulon agrees.

Ozai then goes to Ursa and tells her the tale of what just happened. Ursa goes, yeah, no, we can't afford to wait until Iroh comes back. Because even if they did, Zuko would still die. Ozai is like, well, there's gotta be something we can do. And that's when Ursa gets an idea. She briefly considers telling Ozai, but quickly thinks better of it. Patricide is a strong word. She knows Ozai wouldn't approve, so if she wants something done, she's gotta do it herself. Instead, she just says she knows a way, and leaves Ozai to mope.

Next morning, the palace is in chaos. Azulon just kicked the bucket, Iroh is away, and everyone is looking to Ozai for leadership. Ozai has a chat with Ursa and is like "You did this, didn't you?" Ursa is all "I don't know what you're talking about", and Ozai asks her if she really thinks he's that stupid. He then encourages her to get the heck out of Dodge, because someone is definitely going to trace this back to her and then they'll all be in big trouble, her especially. Ursa counters that she's not the same reckless woman she was 8 years ago, and that she made sure to cover all her bases this time, pinning the blame on supposed Earth Kingdom assassins. They sit in silence for a bit, and then Ozai confesses he can't believe Azulon is dead, and that he doesn't know whether to be relieved or to hate Ursa for murdering him. Ursa says that everything she's done, she's done to protect her family.

So Ozai basically becomes interim Fire Lord while waiting for Iroh to come back, and he does a pretty good job, having basically been acting Crown Prince ever since he came of age (with all of the responsibility and none of the credit, because Azulon was a dick like that). From here the AU can go any number of ways, from Iroh immediately taking over as Fire Lord, to him giving up his claim to the title, to Iroh trying to give up his claim and Ozai refusing.

I don't know if I'm ever going to actually write this AU, so I'm leaving this here, I guess? Lmk what you think.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Valentine’s Day Fic - First Preview

Have a sneak peak! Warning for minor sexting 😉

Ring ring ring

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked along the streets of Hell. Pulling it out, you saw Lucifer's adorable rubber duck icon pop up on the screen. You smiled and hit the answer button.

"Hey Luci, what's going on?" you answered cheerfully.

"Oh, you know, just waiting for my darling to return home to me," he sighed dramatically on the other side of the phone.

"Hon, it's only been an hour!" you scolded playfully. "I had to pick out something special for tomorrow, you know."

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day; one of Lucifer's favorite mortal holidays. The chocolates, the flowers, the romantic setting, everything about it excited the little devil! And of course he always treated you to a special candlelit dinner, complete with dessert and champaign. But you knew Lucifer always looked forward to the end of the night; that time he gets to worship you as the goddess he sees you as.

This year, however, you decided you wanted to spice things up a bit. Which is why you made it a point to visit the Entertainment District which housed the best collection of sex apparel in the pride ring. Lucifer insisted on giving you anything you wanted, but new lingerie wasn't all that you were looking for; some new toys were definitely needed. It took a while to convince him since you knew he didn't like being left alone for too long, but you promised him that you would be as quick as you could. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to stop him from calling you up after only a short amount of time.

"I knoooowwwww," Lucifer groaned on the other end. "But is there any way I can convince you to come home sooner?"

His proposition intrigued you, so you decided to play along. "And how would you do that, I wonder."

You swear you could almost hear him smile. "Well, my dear, since you got to go out and look for a special outfit, I thought I would try my hand at creating one just for me! Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with it! Tight in all the right places!" You heard the static-filled snap of the fabric hit his skin as he spoke.

"Wait," you paused, moving yourself up against a building. "Are you wearing it right now?" He was doing this on purpose, you knew he was. He knew how to tempt you. And picturing Lucifer in something less than decent did nothing to help keep your composure out in public. You could already feel the heat in your face begin to rise.

Lucifer chuckled lightly. "Would you like a sneak peak, love?" Before you could answer, there was a buzzing on your phone. He already had a picture queued up just to tease you. You opened the message with a gasp, fumbling your phone in your hands. The picture showed of his exposed stomach with the rest of his body covered in a lovely black. It looked as though he shot this photo from the waist up because you could make out his forked tongue that was sticking out through his sharpened teeth, smiling wickedly at the camera.

Quickly, you closed the picture hoping know one else had seen what was on your screen. "You ass, I almost dropped my phone!"

"Hey, you're the one who opened it!" he shot back. "But I can tell you like it, isn't that right?"

He was right, of course he was! How could you not! But he was getting too cocky for his own good. If he wanted to be a brat today, you had no trouble giving him exactly what he wanted. Even if it meant cutting your outing a little bit short. You were going to surprise him with his favorite chocolate candies, but perhaps you could get them after you taught him a lesson.

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," you responded in a hushed tone, trying your best not to draw the attention of others. "If you aren't handcuffed to that bed by the time I'm back, you're gonna be in for it."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Lucifer murmured, sending shivers down your spine. What a fucking tease, but God, did you love him.

“You have 14 minutes now,” was all you said before hanging up the phone as you pushed yourself away from the wall and began to walk back towards the Morningstar mansion, paying no attention to the onlookers who noticed your brisk pace as you passed them. There was someone who needed to be put in his place.

[33max]

https://x.com/catstappen33/status/1875284354223763768?s=46&t=DBuxp4Kuf46ghyZ-ZJjQyA

youve probably seen this but oh my god this is sooo td maxy after a long day,,, daniel and go already know to prep for a drop (if hasnt already) and tired maxy is always the cutest bc of how clingy and soft he gets 😭😭

(x) that video is so cute, it always makes me think of td maxy!

Perhaps this is at the last race of the season. As Daniel is not driving anymore, Max and Daniel have made a Plan™️. Max will get through the last race, fly home, and then they will spend five lovely days together where Max can drop freely anytime he wants to.

It doesn't exactly go to plan, though, because Max is exhausted. He jokes with the marketing team about it, dragging his legs and whining at the camera, because he is so ready to go home to Daniel. He’s pretty much counting down the minutes until he’s on the plane home and he can forget about all of his responsibilities.

So, it’s no surprise to Gianpiero when Max is quiet in the debrief. The race engineer watches as Max fights sleep, his eyelids fluttering closed before he snaps them back open and tries to pay attention to whoever is speaking. And then again. And again.

Gianpiero puts a protective arm around the back of Max’s chair, staring some of the engineers down until they start to wrap up the meeting.

“I’m tired, GP” Max says as everyone leaves the room. He hasn’t even tried to get up yet and his eyes are not completely focused.

“I can see that,” GP says, “You look exhausted, Bud.”

The pet name slips out. It’s the one he normally uses when Max is regressed. Max’s sleepy face and unfocused eyes just activate the part of GP’s brain that wants to take care of him.

“Don’t,” Max whines. “I’m holding on by a thread right now.”

“You’re fighting a drop?” GP asks, moving his hand from the back of Max’s chair and up to rub at his shoulder.

“Yeah, I feel like I’ve been fighting it all weekend. I’m so tired.” Max slurs, “Feels like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

“What are you waiting for?” GP asks, wondering. Max has dropped around the team before, they’ve seen him little many times, there is no reason he has to fight to hide this side of him anymore.

“We had a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yeah, a plan,” Max groans. “I’m going home to Dad- Daniel and then I have five completely free days where I can… you know.”

Yes, GP knows.

“You can still drop now,” GP tells him. “It’s not like dropping now will affect your plan for when you’re home, is it?”

Max pouts. “But I had a plan.”

“Plans change,” Gianpiero shrugs.

“You would be okay with it?” Max asks, “if I drop?”

“Of course I would,” GP tells him, seeking eye contact from his boy. He wants Max to know he means this. “You’re never any trouble, Bud.”

“Please,” Max says softly, “I can’t hold it off much longer.”

GP nods, putting a gentle hand on Max’s cheek, guiding him to make eye contact. “Let go, Max.”

And Max does. Immediately.

[gyllenhaalstuff]

Omg you’re taking requests for Loki!! Can I pls request jealous Loki / little boy pulling on little girl’s pigtails / realising he’s attracted to his partner (or all of the above)? Love your work!

Yes!! He is a bit mean in this which I’m not used to writing, hopefully it’s not too badly worded.

Frustrated

- Detective Loki

Summary: David resents you for frustrating him and disrupting his peace of mind. You confront him about it during a work session and he finally comes to terms with the problem at hand.

Warnings: David being rude, degradation, dom!David, masturbation, piv sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1516

Notes: I have a thing for office settings.

Catching feelings wasn’t something David ever thought he’d actually do. The only time he recalled ever liking someone was in grade school, but that was nothing compared to now.

Though, at the time, David didn’t know what the feeling was. He just knew it was strong. It felt like he was itching for a cigarette or never getting a break in a case. A kind of frustration that never seemed to settle.

The person responsible for this was you. And it would be a lie to say he didn’t hold resentment against you for it. But you had disrupted his world, and even more so when you began working on a case together.

One morning as David was walking from his car to the station, he saw you getting dropped off. You went around to the driver’s side and kissed the driver through the rolled-down window. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, you two were supposed to stay late at the office that night, going through suspects.

David ignored you all day. You never understood why he was so cold to you and just rounded it up to him being antisocial. But you had a feeling there was something more; sometimes he stared at your legs, your thighs, but sometimes he’d glare at you like you were a fly clinging to his windshield.

You sat down in one of the conference rooms and laid out the documents you had gathered so far. Arrest papers, search warrant findings, headshots, testimonies, and alibis.

“Did you see it’ll be snowing tomorrow?” you said, trying to initiate some sort of small talk. You couldn’t stand the silence. “I didn’t,” David mumbled back, uninterested. “I can’t wait to stay in, watch a movie, and have a cup of tea,” you continued and got a hum in response. He really didn’t like you.

“Have I done something?” you asked, obviously frustrated. David finally looked up at you, shrugged, and said, “No.” 

“Because it seems like you don’t like me,” you let out. Maybe a stupid thing to say, but this tension made you want to rip your hair out. “Sometimes you just piss me off,” David finally said something of substance. It took you aback; you weren’t one known for causing trouble exactly. “When have I been anything but nice?” You were getting fired up by this conversation.

David rubbed his eyes. He didn’t actually know how to respond; you were right about that. “I just don’t love the way you walk around in those skirts like you’re some pretty little thing worthy of attention or when you tap your nails on the desk while we’re working or when you kiss your boyfriend in the parking lot.” He almost felt out of breath, while yours had gotten caught in your throat. 

“First of all, sorry about my tapping. I’ll work on that. Second of all, that wasn’t my boyfriend; that was my sweet grandma, whom I kissed on the cheek and thanked for the drive. And lastly, I wear these skirts to look put together, not to impress anyone.” You could feel how your eyebrows furrowed as you spoke.

David smiled meanly. “Yeah, because I’m sure you hate it when our colleagues drool as you walk in, flaunting your legs.” This was meant as an insult, you understood that, but it didn’t hit you as one. “Like you don’t,” you chuckled at his hypocrisy. David brushed his fingers through his hair; a few strands fell in his face. You almost felt bad for him; this seemed to stress him out for real.

A pause. “Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice less harsh than before. “No, you’re right,” David sighed. “And you do look nice in your skirts; they just frustrate me.” You couldn’t help but widen your eyes a bit. Surely, he didn’t mean it like that. Frustrated can mean thousands of things. You crossed your legs and noticed how this meeting didn’t leave you unbothered.

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “But how is it frustrating exactly?” You couldn’t hold back; if you did, you would stay up all night wondering what he meant by it. David had never actually thought about it, and he realized then that it was because he didn’t want to know. The itching feeling wasn’t him wanting to tear you to shreds; it was him wanting to bend you over the desk. When it dawned on him, it was as if someone had upped the thermostat and turned the conference room into a sauna. He didn’t realize how long he was quiet for, but you did. His mind seemed to go elsewhere, and he unbuttoned his shirt around the neck.

This was a problem for you. Attention from older men. You unintentionally smiled. “I don’t mind,” you let him know. It was like a switch went off in him, and his nerves went out the window. “Come here then.” He scooted his chair away from the table, giving you enough space to stand in front of him. You caught on and walked up to him. It was almost humiliating how he didn’t even bother to look up at you but kept his gaze fixed on your body.

His large hands instinctively went to grope your thighs. He hummed to himself as he squeezed and massaged them. He hardened in his slacks and shifted in his chair. You stood still as he felt you up, unsure of what to do. A low, quiet moan slipped out when his hands groped your ass instead. This was getting dangerous.

David got up and ordered you to turn around. You laid your torso on the desk, your hips in the air. Your skirt flipped up, and a calloused finger ran over your panties. Your mind was spinning with dirty thoughts and all the reasons this was wrong. Thoughts that died when your panties were pulled to the side and his finger pushed down on and rubbed your clit. You accidentally grabbed onto, scrunching, one of the documents as he made his circles against you.

You heard a zipper being undone. And then short, strained breaths and the sound of skin moving against skin. “This is why I can’t stand you,” David muttered from above, “pretending to be all professional when it’s obvious you’re a fucking slut.” Your thighs clenched, and you blushed at his words. Feeling as if you had gotten caught with something.

David spat on his cock before spreading it with his hand, grunting as he twisted around his head. You felt his tip touch your entrance, and you mentally prepared for the stretch. And thank God you did.

You couldn’t help but whine as he stretched you out, only stopping once his pelvis hit your skin. He sighed in relief, feeling some of his pent-up anger running off his back. He thrust out and in again slowly, making you huff in unsatisfaction. “Like you haven’t been torturing me,” David reminded you. Reminded you that this wasn’t without reason. 

You clenched your jaw, feeling his cock drawing out of you slowly, only to do it over again. “Please,” you mumbled helplessly. “Why should I?” David responded, secretly loving this control over you. “I’ll be really good and not tempt you anymore, I promise,” you rambled; what was true or not didn’t matter, as long as it got you where you wanted.

“You better.” David slammed into you. Both pain and pleasure washed over you. His new pace was much better, faster, and greedier. His thrusts were followed by short grunts that grew louder as he went on. His nails dug into your hips, stinging your warm skin.

Your legs felt like giving out, but you held out. This was your punishment, and you weren’t going to bitch about it. You felt your orgasm approaching, getting closer with each time David let out a moan or mumbled how good you felt. Insane how he was chattier during sex than during your lunch breaks. 

You warned David, “I’m close.” He followed with a “me too.” His thrusts became more punctuated and harder as he chased both your orgasms. And when yours approached and you clamped around him, you heard a whimper from above. You could feel yourself pulsating as David stalled in you, filling you up.

David was the first to move. He tucked himself back in his pants and ran to grab a paper towel. He wiped away his cum that seeped out of you, trying to save the carpet flooring. You thought it was sweet.

You went to the bathroom afterward (very important if you don’t want a UTI). Your face was all flushed and hot. You splattered some cold water on your face to calm down.

When you got back, David had his nose in the documents. His work morale was unmatched. You sat opposite him, sorting through the now scattered papers. You figured he wasn’t going to say anything until you did. “I really needed that,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t ignore you.

“Not the only one,” he responded and even smiled at you.

[dekariosclan]

Hmmmm. 🤔 Just thinking of my perpetual singleness. How do you think Gale would act towards someone who maybe doesn't believe that he really fell in love with them? Or maybe doesn't think his feelings will last?

No pressure to answer of course!

I feel like his first reaction would be grand gestures, but then he realizes that they may come off as fake to a tav who is already having trouble trusting. It may stump him for awhile! He would have to put that genius mind to the test for this one.

Ah anon, I so wish I could tinker with the Confidence™️ stat of every Galemancer who writes in with a question or uncertainty over whether Gale would love them because of ‘insert-perfectly-normal-human-trait-that-our-shallow-modern-society-has-deemed-unworthy.’

I’d give you all 20s in Confidence, because that’s how Gale sees his beloved: a perfect 20.

Actually, no! I take that back. Gale would consider them higher than a 20. What’s the highest a DND stat can go with bonuses, etc? Because it’d be that number plus 5. Maybe plus 10.

….actually, you know what, is 99 an achievable number?

(ok you get the idea)

Here’s the thing: the feelings and uncertainty that you just described are ✨exactly✨ what Gale is feeling when he realizes Tav is in love with him.

He simply can’t believe it:

And what I truly think would happen, IF Tav were insecure about their relationship at all, is that Gale wouldn’t even have to do any grand gestures or pondering over how to convince Tav of his love—because he would already be proving it to them every single day.

He would be going out of his way to prove HE was worthy of THEIR love, because he would struggle to believe that someone as wonderful and gorgeous and amazing as Tav would love someone like him: a shamed wizard with nothing but failed relationships (both mortal and immortal) under his belt. Would Tav’s feelings for him last? Gods, he hoped so…

And if Tav hasn’t been a relationship before? If this amazing wonderful Tav is SO wonderful that any potential suitors were too foolhardy or too cowardly to scoop them up?

Well! Gale will simply need to prove his love tenfold for this beloved Tav, this incredible Tav, whom, for some unknowable reason, chose to be with him!

Anon, do you see what I mean? Tav would have no time to feel unworthy or insecure—because they’d be too busy loving and being loved by Gale 💜

———

Anon, you might also be interested in a slightly different/shorter version of this ask regarding how Gale would respond to a romanced Tav who explained that no one had ever been interested in them before.

[jumpingjoltiks]

Um hiii!! Could I request an x reader for ingo and emmet (seperately) with a reader who is autistic but like. REALLY masks? Like a level of masking where the boys don't even know that they're autistic at first, and they're VERY different when they aren't out in public/don't feel the need to mask. I love ur writing btw >_<!!!

AAAA Thank you smmm! I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed my work! <3 <3 <3

I’ve already written a little bit about the twins being autistic already, so I’m happy to get to finally write some x reader stuff to go with it!

Biiiiig mood. I've spent most of my life masking, so I think a lot of this will probably come from my own experiences. I ended up making this a few different sections instead of just one, all coming out of different ideas I had. :)

The twins with someone who is also autistic, but masks heavily

Ingo Gets It. He understands the fear and the pressure to fit in. Emmet doesn’t, but he tries his best to respect your decision (though, secretly, he wishes you’d be more yourself. Both boys love when you’re being the most authentic version of you, but Emmet really wants to see it all the time).

Being actually comfortable around them takes a while (as it would with anyone) – its hard work to decondition yourself like that, to convince yourself you’re really, genuinely safe being yourself – but the twins’ (especially Emmet’s) refusal to mask is enormously helpful in this regard. Their unabashed devotion to being exactly who they are is inspiring.

Emmet devotedly listens to your infodumping, especially if it’s something he’s also interested in. Ingo is thrilled to find someone else who will listen to him too. Late in the evening, when Ingo is cooking and you’re all three in the kitchen together, you all talk like no one has ever looked at you strangely before – open and honest and genuinely excited just to share knowledge and enjoy this moment together.

There’s a certain amount of bluntness between you three, but none of you really mind. If hurtful words are ever said, you can be sure that they weren’t really meant to be cruel. You can always talk things out. Emmet, in particular, has trouble with his straightforward attitude, and sometimes says things that come out wrong – do you as well? He knows how hard it can be to find the right way to say things.

And if you don’t feel like spending time together right now, the twins understand that too. There have been plenty of days when one or the other will come home and lock themselves in their room for a while, just to cool down. If you should come home from your job or a grocery run and need some time, they’ll handle the rest.

Decompression

Would it surprise you to know that it’s Emmet who catches on first? There’s a good reason for that! He’s had a lifetime of keeping an eye on his brother, who also used to heavily mask.

Your own tells are different then Ingo’s, to be sure, but they’re there regardless.

After a tough day, you’re taking the subway home. He notices that your posture and gait are different & your expression is stiffer. You’re clinging to your sense of self-control.

He’s got things he needs to attend to, but you’re a dear friend… your wellbeing comes first, he decides. Emmet doesn’t hesitate to fall into step next to you as you traverse through the station.

“Good afternoon! Are you doing alright?”

You know he’s not one for small talk… so what is he doing? The flash of a puzzled look crosses your face before you smile up at him. It’s humiliating, but you can’t seem to summon up words right now. This will have to do.

Emmet knows smiles. Yours is tight and strained, not at all like your usual smile. And you haven’t answered. He doesn’t like this at all. All signs are pointing to a systems crash.

“Your engine is overheated. I can tell. Do you need a place to step aside for maintenance? My office isn’t far.”

You stare at him blankly, trying to parse exactly what kind of metaphor he’s making.

But you’re too overstimulated and tired to put too much thought into it. Eventually, you sigh and nod. He leads you through the crowd with swinging arms and legs, and people part before him.

The office is an open space that is fastidiously tidy. A sofa is tucked against one wall, opposite is a set of shelves with all kinds of books and files neatly arranged. A pair of matching desks are stationed toward the back of the room. You’ve never been in here, but somehow you instinctively know that this is a safe place for you.

“I have a mini fridge. You are welcome to any of the snacks and cold waters I have. There are also noise cancelling headphones if you want. I know that Gear Station can be verrrrry noisy when overstimulated.”

You think that’s the longest stretch of words you’ve ever heard Emmet say, and you can only stare up at him wordlessly in response. You didn’t realize he had you figured out. Shame threatens to creep in, but then he smiles as he holds out a bottle of ice water to you. He smiles like he knows. There isn’t a single trace of pity or belittlement in it, only understanding.

You take the bottle of water with a small, genuine smile of your own. It’s the first one you’ve had all day.

When you sit down on the couch, Emmet takes off his coat and places it over your shoulders. It’s pretty big on you… but it’s also really heavy. You hadn’t realized it was weighted this whole time. The pressure feels nice, and you bury yourself into it. Emmet seems pleased, like he knew this would happen.

“I am going to do some paperwork at my desk. Would you like the lights off?”

You nod wordlessly and he flicks the light switch off in response. The only light in the room is the warm glow of a desk lamp, focused down onto his work station and away from you. Even the faint hum of electricity that would usually come out of a lamp like that is silent, which is an enormous relief.

The only sound for the next hour is Emmet’s pen near silently sweeping across the pages of his work. You stay quiet and buried under his coat, eyes closed and dozing somewhere between sleeping and waking. You feel safe.

After what feels like an age, you shift from under the coat and re-emerge, feeling much better. Emmet’s eyes flick up to you.

“Do you feel any better?” he asks. His voice is quiet.

“Yes.” You answer, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He cuts you off. “Do not apologize. Ingo and I have spent many afternoons doing the same. I’m just glad I was there to offer help.”

From that point on, things are… different between you and the twins. Emmet must have told his brother about what happened, because Ingo is more open around you.

You’ve been friends for a long time, but something seems to have unlocked now. The three of you quickly catch like a struck match.

Parallel Play

You spend a lot of time over at their place, and they at yours. Expect Ingo to politely ask if he or Emmet or both can come spend time with you.

This worried you at first, when you were still friends and not yet dating, but the twins don’t actually want your attention, per say. They just want to be in the same room as you while they do their own thing. Not having to “host” takes so much pressure off of you that you wonder why anyone entertains any other way.

Ingo will be reading, curled up in one of your chairs or on a couch, so still you’d think he was asleep if not for the intermittent turn of a page. Emmet is reviewing battle plans and notes, spread out across your table, one leg bouncing. Occasionally, he gets up to pace and mutter to himself, not looking at either you or his brother. You’re working on one of your hobbies in the living room. Not one of you bothers the others. It’s… peaceful. And nice, just having them unobtrusively nearby.

Do you stim? They have a cache of puzzle-y, twisty toys and clickers in a drawer. You’re more than welcome to them, or to anything else you need.

Eventually, if you’d like, you can curl up with Ingo underneath the weighted blanket he’s got spread across his lap. He’ll swing an arm around you without looking up from his book, and you listen to his heartbeat and steady breathing as you nod off.

Or Emmet might come over to you and quietly offer you a warm mug of hot chocolate. The two of you sit back-to-back in silence, sipping your drinks and working on your respective projects.

How nice it is, you think, to spend time with those who understand.

[itsnesss]

Anthony and Lawrence reader first time and getting caught by the dads

𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 | anthony larusso × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | lawrence!reader, intimacy (implicit/not overly graphic), first time, strong language, family tension and awkward situations

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You never imagined that your life would turn into a series of unfortunate events in a single night. What started as a special moment ended in the worst possible scenario: trapped, naked, and under the gaze of two of the most terrifying men in the Valley. But to understand how you got here, we have to go back a few hours.

Anthony Larusso had never been someone who caught your attention. To you, he had always been "Daniel Larusso's younger son," the kid who used to be a nuisance and who, years later, had changed. He was no longer the annoying child who got into trouble for fun; now, he was someone you shared jokes, movies, and, to your surprise, feelings with.

There was something about his awkwardness that you found charming. Even though you were the daughter of Johnny Lawrence, a man who preached "Strike first, strike hard, no mercy," you found something different in Anthony: sweetness, patience, and a contagious laugh that managed to disarm you.

It was an impulse. A moment when the two of you were alone in his room, the dim light casting soft shadows, and a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying attention to. You didn't know who made the first move, but before you could stop to think, you were already kissing him. And then, the kiss turned into something more.

"Are you sure you want this?" Anthony asked, his voice a little shaky, his dark eyes filled with nerves.

You could have backed out. You could have thought about the consequences. But at that moment, there was only one possible answer.

"Yes."

The outside world disappeared in that instant. There were no pressures, no expectations, just two people learning together, discovering what it meant to give themselves to each other with clumsiness and care. Every touch was a reminder that this was new, but also that they were exactly where they wanted to be.

There were whispers filled with laughter, inevitable blushes, and mistakes that made both of you pause and try again with nervous smiles. But in the midst of it all, there was something undeniable: love in its purest, most innocent, and real form.

When it was over, Anthony was silent for a moment, his arm around your waist as you both caught your breath.

"That was…" he started to say, but then fell silent and let out a small laugh. "I have no idea what to say."

You turned to look at him, finding in his eyes the same gleam of disbelief that you felt in your chest.

"I think it was good," you whispered with a small smile.

"I think so too."

Your fingers were still intertwined with Anthony's as you both lay there, sharing a knowing look. His breathing was steady, but his heart was still pounding beneath your cheek. You couldn't help but smile.

You never imagined this would happen today. Not here, not now. And certainly not like this.

Anthony turned slightly, watching you with a mix of tenderness and wonder. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and you couldn't resist reaching up to push it back.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a whisper, his voice still trembling.

You nodded, feeling a pleasant warmth in your chest.

"Yeah… and you?"

"Yeah," he replied with a goofy smile. "I think so."

You both laughed quietly, unable to believe what had just happened. It had been clumsy, sweet, imperfect in so many ways, but absolutely special. Something that would belong only to the two of you.

Or so you thought.

Just as you were snuggled against Anthony, your heart still racing and a sense of tranquility settling in after the whirlwind of emotions, you heard the worst combination of sounds in human history.

First, the front door opening.

Second, the unmistakable voices of Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence.

"Thanks for driving me, Johnny," Daniel said. "Amanda and Carmen are out, and I didn’t want to leave Anthony alone for too long."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Johnny replied. "The kid’s probably watching his video games or whatever he does in his free time."

Silence.

Then, the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs.

And then, Anthony's bedroom door bursting open.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Johnny shouted so loudly you thought the windows might have vibrated.

You had never moved so fast in your life. In the blink of an eye, you were desperately searching for something to cover yourself with while Anthony panicked beside you.

"Dad! I… this isn’t…!"

"Anthony?!" Daniel’s eyes were so wide they looked like they might pop out of his face. "What are you doing with her?! Oh my God! Are you two…?!"

"Oh, for the love of—" Johnny grabbed his head with both hands, his face a mix of horror and fury. "Tell me this isn’t what I think it is!"

"Dad…" you started, hoping to calm him down, but the tone of his voice told you he was in no mood to be soothed.

"Are you telling me I trained you just so you could do THIS in Larusso’s house?!"

"Why is that your problem here?!" you shouted, feeling both offended and in a situation so ridiculous that you almost wanted to laugh.

"Because it’s Larusso’s kid!" Johnny pointed at Anthony, who was still trying to wrap himself better in the sheet, looking like he wanted to disappear. "Anyone else, but not one of them!"

"Hey!" Daniel protested, snapping out of his initial shock. "As if your daughter is some kind of saint!"

"That’s not the point, LaRusso!"

"Of course, it is!"

"No, it’s not!"

Anthony buried his face in his hands and muttered, "I’m going to jump out the window…"

You sighed.

"Dad, listen, this… this wasn’t a mistake. Anthony and I… we like each other."

Johnny looked at you, his face still red with anger.

"That doesn’t make it any better!"

"You can’t stop us from seeing each other," you said, crossing your arms.

"Oh, yes, I can!"

"No, you can’t," Daniel chimed in, looking just as disturbed as Johnny. "Because that would make this even more of a problem."

Johnny glared at him.

"Are you saying I should just accept this?!"

"No!" Daniel looked at Anthony with the same level of indignation. "I’m just as disturbed as you, trust me!"

"Can we talk about this with clothes on?" Anthony asked in a barely audible voice.

Johnny and Daniel shouted at the same time, "NO!"

After half an hour of yelling, threats, and painfully awkward speeches about "responsibility," "maturity," and "impulsive decisions," you finally managed to convince your dad that this wasn’t the end of the world. Daniel, on the other hand, was still in a state of denial, muttering things like, "Amanda’s going to kill me," and "This can’t be happening. My son… my baby."

Anthony, still red with embarrassment, glanced at you after the adults finally calmed down a little.

"Well… that was horrible."

You gave him a small nudge on the arm.

"It could have been worse."

"How?"

"It could have been at my dad’s house."

He was silent for a moment before murmuring, "Yeah, you’re right. Johnny Lawrence would have killed me on the spot."

You couldn’t help but laugh.

[amrass]

A take on Micah Bell's full backstory

So this is a new kind of post to me, a big-ass fan theory of sorts, but I've always enjoyed the more out-there takes in fandom. Also I've been sitting on this for months so it's nice to get it out.

In short, I made up a full backstory for Micah from the few scraps of information that are given in game. I'll go through some of those details first, then go through my own take in four sections:

Part 1: The way of the grandfather/the legacy of Micah Bell the First Part 2: Early years/Competitive survival Part 3: Young Adulthood/O'Driscoll Boy!Micah Part 4: Later Adulthood/Evil Bounty Hunter!Micah

(Note that the 1st and 2nd part will spoil my fanfic series The Devils, but it can still be read, as it's full of juicier details.)

Canon and semi-canon details from his backstory

So we don't know a whole lot, hints only given by select dialogue and a newspaper clip. Micah is the third in line in a family of outlaws, and ran together with his father and brother Amos for a while. His father was wanted for murder all over the place, and seems like a man with dark charm ("Ain't life grand?") and a temper (nearly killing Amos). Amos, who ran away from the family tradition, wanting nothing to do with it. You can read about them on various online encyclopedias, but know that some of those are written by uh, creative fans, and AI, so there is often errors. It's irritating, but it is what it is.

An interesting bit is the interview with Micah's actor Peter Blomquist (I have tried to google but am having trouble finding it; please send link if you have it!) is the mention that Micah's father was bad, but his grandfather was worse. Tbh I think this is a bit from a backstory that was among the things that were scrapped from the final game.

So, of his grandfather we know almost nothing, except that he was wild. And that he was maybe worse than Micah III's father. But that also means that the Second was also better than the First somehow.

My take

Part 1: The way of the grandfather / the legacy of Micah Bell the First

I think the grandfather was the head of the family as long as he lived. I also think he imposed a terrible burden upon Micah Bell II (and III).

It's interesting if the Second tries to be better than the First in that when he got a woman pregnant, he tried to hide her and their two children, because he didn't want to force the Bell training upon them. But it slipped out one evening due to drink. The older forced the younger to reveal the locations of the woman and the two sons.

And so the training of the two new Bells begins, harsh and unrelenting. Shooting, robbing, killing. And more 18+ than I feel is necessary in this post, but yeah, disturbing stuff.

Micah being the one to inherit the name most likely means that he is older than Amos. But the thing is that Micah gives off serious little brother vibes to me. I dunno exactly why. Vibes, man.

So, I thought an interesting twist would be: what if the name of Micah Bell was something that had to be earned? What if they'd been given different names originally, Amos and something unknown, before the latter was the better outlaw and became the Micah Bell III we know. He is one of the fastest shots in the game, and a competition like that, begun from early age, could've given him initiative to train harder, desperate to earn the name.

I am a cruel writer. How can I make this crueler? I got it:

Their grandfather identifies quickly that one brother is weaker and easier to manipulate than the other. Not in physical strength, but in terms of familial bonds. Maybe he is less charming than Amos, and makes fewer friends, because idk he is busy eating bugs (he seems like the kind of kid who would eat bugs). Or maybe their mother, before the arrival of the men, makes the boys attend a local church school, and Amos finds love in the religion while his brother stares out the window. Not because he's evil but because he's easily bored.

So the grandfather only tells one brother of the competition about earning the name, and it's not Amos. He also says the one who loses the right to the name has to be killed by the winner because there can only be one Micah Bell for each generation, that's how it has always been done. Maybe he speaks the truth, maybe he lies, but no matter what he is efficiently cutting the bond between the two brothers.

Part 2: Early years / Competitive survival

So, that is how Micah Bell III becomes Micah Bell III, as a boy and as a youth. I'll just go back to calling him Micah to make it easier, also because calling him anything else would kind of feel like waving a death sentence in the face of a child after I wrote The Devils. Because even people who commit atrocities have been a child once.

Growing up, Micah's survival depends upon winning over his brother. This is where his idea of winning and losing comes from. It doesn't help that his father yaps on and on about a similar philosophy, but where he's all words, Micah is all acts.

Micah never finds out that Amos doesn't know about the competition. He resents him from not trying harder. For making Micah look bad, training so hard so he can kill his fool brother, lying awake at night and mentally preparing for it. But if friendships are rope, then familial bonds are chains; almost impossible to cut.

He lies awake at night and stares at Amos on the other side of the fire, missing when they curled up together back when it did not feel like sleeping next to an enemy. It eats the child up, all that training. Not much left of who he was or could be. Hey, at least he doesn't have time to eat bugs.

But maybe, if their grandfather falls ill, Micah is the one to kill him. Unable to cope with the idea of killing his brother, he shoots him in the face. And then he turns to Amos, grinning, because they're free.

Amos does not see himself as freed. He sees murder. He thinks it is only because Micah saw their grandfather as weak, when he secretly had been the strongest force in their life. Micah walks towards him, covered in their grandfather's blood (I do like a dramatic scene), and Amos turns away, throws up and tells him to stay away. Micah feels shock, then loss, then rage. Micah Bell II would probably react with pure rage, but Micah is so used to surviving things at this point, he survives that too. None of their relationships are all that salvageable from this moment, especially not after Amos runs away.

This makes me think of another HC of mine, namely that Micah is the one to kill Amos, which has its own post and arguments here. But if you add in the theory present in this post, it makes even more sense to why he'd killed Amos, finishing what he had been trained to do since he was a kid.

Part 3: Young adulthood / O'Driscoll Boy!Micah

Did you know Micah's outfits have a bunch of half-hidden, green accents them? I've seen it on his scarf, his gloves, his horse saddle ...

This is basically copy pasting a bit from a Twitter thread I made, but I just really like the idea of Micah being an ex-O'Driscoll Boy mainly due to his green scarf. It's more of a teal, but maybe it's a faded O'Driscoll green. Colm would've valued a gun like him. His ruthlessness and boot-licking, too. Especially if he was younger, lonelier and easier to sway. After his brother leaves and his father dies, he'll have no one.

And while he is a bit of a lone wolf hermit, Colm could've reminded him of his father, like Dutch probably does, but I really like the thought of Colm reminding Micah of his grandfather. He wouldn't be too unfamiliar with the gang dynamic, and find more homeliness in that than in a normal family. There's a well-known tendency among abused kids to unconsciously seek out relationships that mirror their broken families. Paradoxically, the lack of safety feels safe.

Of course, the Bell heritage is too alive within him to render him into another nameless O'Driscoll Boy, so he and Colm eventually fall out. He goes back to being a lone wolf, but maybe he's made some connections, which make gathering a troop easier, especially for bank robberies (Skinny, Cleet, Joe...). But he mostly stays alone.

During RDR2, when Colm was hanged, maybe Micah felt the green scarf catch strangely, while in camp or while out riding (or even watching the hanging happen from a dark back alley in Saint Denis). Micah reached behind to the nape of his neck, feeling as though someone had held him there, squeezed, and then let go.

Part 4: Later Adulthood / Evil bounty hunter!Micah

So I'm a total sucker for the theory of Micah being a form of a hitman that's like an evil bounty hunter. The main reason for this is the fact that Dutch's bounty poster can be found at Micah's camp outside Strawberry. But also because my first thought when we first met him in the game was "Omg, Loco from The Great Silence, my favorite evil bounty hunter villain!" They have some of the same color scheme in the winter outfit, and I think it's a reference.

Loco has the same life philosophy as Micah, as seen in this quote: "You're on the side of the law. We, we're on the side of the law of survival… survival of the fittest!" and kind of in this one (ok I'm putting it here because it's so cool, he's just burst into the hideout of his own evil bounty hunter gang) "Since when are wolves afraid of wolves?"

I like the idea of Micah is sick to death of gang life but knows enough of it from his time as an O'Driscoll to infiltrate hideouts and gangs easy, to reap bounties from the lawful people he's been robbing up to now and occasionally still do. Maybe the Van der Lindes weren't the first gang he brought down. That's fun to think about.

Also, I love it when asshole villains do the "right" thing. Partly why I love Micah's character; as an antagonist, he brings down Arthur and John, directly and indirectly.

(Ooh this is beside the point, but that's actually one of my issues with the narratives of the RDR and GTA games. They have this core of nihilism that actively hinders their stories from becoming as great as their characters, but also makes the games sell easier. Maybe another post, or maybe fandom isn't the place for critiques.)

Anyway, Micah just didn't think anyone could ever get to him, but then again he'd never met anyone like Dutch. Hell, the man even had the same dark charm like his father, enjoying similar exclamations. I think he hoped to recreate something of his old family dynamic with Dutch, who was kinder than his grandfather, father and Colm. We all know how that went. His last words was still a compliment to Dutch though. As if it was still a competition, or a game, in the end.

*walks a few steps away, twirls, shrugs, falls face first into the snow*

Here's another pic of Loco (along with the GIF in the beginning):

The end

Yeah I have not much more to say here lol. Feel free to use and expand upon this theory, or make your own by taking out of some of the foundations, could be cool to see. I'd love a shoutout, but it seems shoutouts are going out of fashion, which is sad. Put the community back into fandom! Stop it with the competition! Make friends! Lmao "be less like Micah", but yeah, I guess it stands. I see so many people worship canon like a deity. Please have more fun!!!

Anyway, thank you for reading ☺️

[anzynai]

Okay, we got lee!riddle and ler!reader... but what about lee!reader and ler!riddle? The hour of reckoning. I have a real brainrot... No pressure tho.

A Cure for Boredom

Riddle & Reader (TWST)

a/n: yes. request from forever ago. i actually did get ten likes on my post so here is my promised fic. 30 minutes late, but still. are you guys proud of me? kidding. ANYWAYSSSS ive been thinking about riddle lately cuz i love him and there was a request for it so why not do it now? he might be a bit ooc so im sorry for that but besides that, enjoy!!!

summary: you’re bored, unsure what to do, so you decide to hang out with riddle. tickling ensues.

word count: 1.3k

——

You walked around the courtyard, a bit aimless and more than a little bored. You had completed all your homework for the day in between your classes and felt like getting some fresh air, so you decided to go for a walk.

There wasn’t really much you could think of doing. Ace was at his basketball club and Deuce was studying for an upcoming test, and everyone else just seemed occupied so you didn’t bother asking. Hm.

It wasn’t until you were near the end of the courtyard, mostly secluded from everyone else when you spotted a familiar face. Riddle, who was deep in concentration, staring down at a black notebook at a picnic table. In his hand was his magic pen writing diligently on the paper.

Riddle had intimidated you at first, but the longer you were at Night Raven College, you had learned that, although a bit strict at times, he wasn’t a bad person at all. In fact, he was actually pretty fun around, and you believed yourself to be close with him.

Or at least close enough to bother him while he looked like he was studying. You came up from behind him, sliding on the bench beside him, as he turned to look at you.

“Oh, it’s you,” He said, seeming a bit startled but trying to play it off. You smiled. He must have been really concentrated.

“Hey Riddle, what are you doing?” You asked, as he gestured to his paper, your eyes following.

“I’m working on an essay for my alchemy class,” He explained.

“Is it hard?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, mind if I keep you company?” You asked, tracing your finger absentmindedly on the table.

He turns to you again, offering a gentle smile. He had always seemed so… unhappy all the time, but recently, he had become more open-minded, and you couldn’t help but feel happy for him. You liked seeing him smile.

“Why not? Your company is much more preferable to some… others,” He replied, a certain tone behind his words that you couldn’t quite understand, but you decided not to ask.

He worked on his assignment, but you would talk to him, about the weather, about your day, what Ace and Deuce had been up to. You had a feeling those two wouldn’t exactly want you telling their business to their Housewarden, but you were sure to keep quiet about anything that could get them in trouble. They were your closest friends, though, how could you not talk about them?

Suddenly, all of a sudden, there was a flutter against your ankle, ticklish, and you jolted, moving your legs up. You looked down, seeing a small cat nuzzling against the leg of the table.

“A cat? On campus?” You asked, tilting your head.

“They sometimes come onto campus. There are a few strays on Sage island, so it only makes sense that they’d sneak into here every so often.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” You leaned down, holding out your hand as the cat nudges against you. You smiled, scratching at its chin softly.

“More so, did it bite you?”

“Bite me? Why do you think that?” You said confused.

“Well, you yelled. It isn’t a small matter if a stray cat bites you. It can carry disease,” Riddle replied.

“Oh, no it didn’t bite me!” You rushed to explain, not wanting to risk worrying the other. “It must’ve accidentally grazed against my leg. It just tickled, that’s all.”

“Tickled…” Riddle said, seeming relieved, but suddenly, you felt curious.

“Are you ticklish?” You asked, your words exiting your mouth before you had the chance to think.

Riddle’s face went as red as his hair, which you didn’t know was possible, but you still found strangely endearing. “W-what kind of..?!”

“Sorry, guess you weren’t expecting that,” You laughed at his reaction. Riddle tried to clear his throat and calm himself down. “Is that a yes then?”

“It is not.”

“Really?” You replied, but a cheeky smirk appears on your face and before he had the chance to respond, you decided that the best way to answer your question was trying it out yourself. The cat, startled by your quick movements, ran away. You felt a little disappointed and guilty, but you were on a mission now.

As you pinched his sides, Riddle bit his lip, as he shook, his homework forgotten. Exactly two seconds later, Riddle was giggling and laughing, seemingly unable to know what to do with himself.

“Y-youhuhu stohohop thihihis!” He cried, embarrassed, putting his arms in front of him.

“No way, this is awesome!” You said, pure glee plain as day on your face as you grinned brightly.

If you told yourself months ago, you’d be tickling Riddle Rosehearts, you would not have believed yourself for a second. But here you were, your hands tickling his sensitive skin and him laughing and laughing as a result. You had to admit, you were feeling pretty great.

That is, until you felt fingers pinching at your sides, causing you to flinch hard. You faltered, before Riddle leaned over you, tickling you ruthlessly.

“Wahahahit! Rihihihihiddle! Stohohop!” You exclaimed, feeling your face flush as you realize you had let your guard down and forgot who you were dealing with.

Now if you told yourself months ago, Riddle Rosehearts would be tickling you, you definitely wouldn’t have believed yourself. In fact, you’d probably believe you’d die before that’d happen. It just wasn’t his style, you know? And yet again, you were proven to be very, very wrong.

“Did you think I would just let you.. tickle me?” He said, hesitating a bit and you would’ve laughed about it, but you were currently occupied in.. laughing for other reasons.

“I dohohon’t knohohow!” You cried, squirming as you fell back, trying to get away from Riddle without falling off the bench.

“Well,” Riddle said, a smug smile on his face, clearly proud of himself for catching you off-guard and turning the tables. “I’ll make you regret ever trying.”

Oh no. You were in trouble, weren’t you?

He moved his fingers to your stomach, scratching and scribbling. His movements were obviously awkward and inexperienced, but effective, nonetheless.

“Plehehehease!”

“Please? I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Riddle asked.

“Rihihihihiddle! W-why!?”

“Are you seriously asking that right now? You started this. I’m ending it, simple as that.”

He began poking at your ribs, and you let out a squeal. How embarrassing…! You squirmed, frantically, pushing away at his hands, but he was stronger than you thought he was, to your dismay.

When he started making his way to other sensitive spots on your body, you felt your laughter raise an octave, as much as you tried to stop it.

“Nohohoho, plehehhe— GAH!” You shrieked, leaning back a bit too far and falling off the bench on the grass. Riddle, obviously, stopped right away, looking down at you in concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked, as you rubbed your back, breathing deeply.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” You assured him, feeling the pain slowly go away, as you stood to sit back on the bench. Riddle didn’t try to tickle you again, something you were grateful for because you felt as though if he did, you wouldn’t last a second.

Still, a part of you felt happy that you were at least close enough to Riddle to be getting into tickle fights, of all things, with him. You couldn’t imagine him tickling someone he was only acquainted with.

“You’re evil,” You said, after finally regaining your breath. Riddle had gone back to working on his assignment after ensuring you were okay, so casually as if nothing had ever happened.

Knowing him, though, you were sure he was still thinking about it. At least a little bit.

Hearing your words, he looked at you. “Evil?”

“So evil! You totally destroyed me,” You whined. “So unfair.”

At that, Riddle let out a laugh. “Don’t start fights you can’t win. It’s not unfair at all.”

You rolled your eyes, half-heartedly. “You won this time, but who’s to say you’ll win the next time. Or the next one after that?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Riddle replied, and it took you a second to realize that he was agreeing that there would be a next time, and you resisted the urge to celebrate. Riddle went back to his work, and you.. well, you’ll be coming up with ideas to get Riddle back, in the meantime.

[walkintomymystery]

Fall Into Me

(Set after Sonic 3 - Alternate Ending)

Defeated, world-weary, and impossibly lost, Shadow allows himself to be taken back into G.U.N custody. While they decide his fate, he is housed in a secret facility hidden deep in the heart of one of the country's National Parks. Still reeling from the heartbreaks that have shaped his life, Shadow never expected to find the closest thing to a home he'd known in over fifty years.

Pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x Original Female Character

Warnings for this chapter: illness, anxiety, awkwardness lmao

//

Chapter Six

The patchwork quilt that lay on top of Kit’s bed had been made by Lisa’s grandmother sometime around the early 1980s. Baby clothes that were no longer needed, socks with holes too big to darn, and leftover fabric from other projects had all been cut into hexagons and painstakingly sewn together over many years.

Kit ran her fingertips over the ridges of corrugated corduroy and the soft velvet of what was possibly once an evening gown. Another family’s story. The tapestry of someone else’s life.

Lisa had gifted the quilt to her just a few days after she arrived at the base. “To make you feel more at home,” she’d said. Kit wasn’t sure what that meant anymore but it had been comforting at the time.

The longer she stayed here, the more The Hill was becoming a home. She hadn’t intended that to happen. It was always supposed to be temporary.

Kit wasn’t sure how long she thought all this would last, how long she’d be staying here before Lisa figured out where she came from. But that first week had drifted into another, then month into month. Before too long, a year will have passed. If she wasn’t careful, she’d forget she ever came from somewhere else at all.

Scowling at herself, Kit tugged Lisa’s grandma’s quilt over her, tucking the corner into her tightly clenched fist.

She was being ungrateful again, but she couldn’t help it. The thought crept into her mind and made a home before she even knew it was there, just as she had carved out a niche for herself at the Hill.

Kit rolled over to stare at the grey, speckled wall.

In an attempt to make the boxy little nook she’d been assigned a bit more homely, she’d torn pages from magazines and tacked them up on the walls, arranging them by colour so that they had the appearance of wallpaper or bright paint.

She’d even scanned in photos from her favourite books, scenic vistas from Glacier and other parks, so that she could feel surrounded by nature, even inside the base’s gloomy labyrinth. They did little to calm Kit now.

The humans were risking an awful lot keeping her here. If the powers that be discovered that there was yet another unchecked alien on the planet, living and working right under their noses, there would be trouble, not only for Lisa, but for the whole base, and everything they’d been working on, all the progress they’d made, would be lost.

Kit sighed and closed her eyes, trying to settle herself enough to sleep. But it had been another full day, and her mind whirred with all she’d seen and heard.

Shadow talked a lot more than she thought he might. If she was being honest, Kit didn’t think she’d ever get more than a few words out of him when they first met. But he’d asked questions, shown interest, even shared stories of his own. He wasn’t exactly friendly but it was a start. Maybe he was finally starting to accept that he was safe here, that The Hill really was a good place.

Kit rolled over onto her other side, feeling restless and agitated as she trawled through all that Shadow had said.

She tried to reconstruct every sentence, pausing, rewinding and replaying each moment of their time together, like her afternoon in the woods with The Ultimate Lifeform had been captured on video, and all she had to do was slot it into the VCR that Mike had once spent a rainy afternoon showing her how to use.

Shadow looked so stupid in his borrowed clothes. The greatest weapon in the galaxy, the most powerful being in the universe, and he needed her sweater to keep warm. She bit back a smile.

Kit had been so embarrassed to show him her scarf (she was still learning and not making much progress) but it had been worth it, just to see the look on his face. It really did match his eyes.

Kit turned onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.

She’d told him that his eyes were pretty. What a moron. They were, but that was completely beside the point. You couldn’t just go around telling people they were pretty- That they had pretty eyes.

Groaning softly, Kit dragged her hands down her face, pressing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes and rubbing the tiredness away until they were pleasantly sore.

She wasn’t sure what was worse, complimenting Shadow or yapping away at him like an excited kid. Kit was not a talkative person. She was not giddy and excited and unserious. Or maybe she was. Maybe she used to be. Maybe she didn’t used to be but she was now. Maybe Shadow brought it out in her. Kit didn’t know which possibility made her more uncomfortable.

“Idiot,” she muttered, letting the word float up into the darkness.

The veneer of strength she’d fought hard to maintain when they first met was surely all worn away now. Yammering on about trees and asking him question after question... It was a wonder Shadow hadn’t turned back and left her there.

He was probably just humouring her, or keeping her talking for his own amusement. But then, Kit thought, he’d lowered his mask too, allowing a little of the light behind his walled eyes to shine though.

Despite all the information readily available at her fingertips, all the horror stories and the scrawled notes from scientists either long dead or completely written off as lunatics, Shadow was still a mystery, one Kit was eager to unravel.

His eyes really were beautiful. He looked so stunned when she told him. Kit was sure no one had ever said anything like that to him before. And with good reason, idiot.

She groaned again, so embarrassed at herself that it was physically painful, and turned onto her front, hiding her face in her pillow.

The base was quiet tonight. Very few of the staff went home for the weekend; Kit wasn’t the only one who’d made a home at The Hill, after all.

Glacier was so far removed that if anyone did have the weekend off, they would need to leave early to give them enough time to travel home, so Lisa was a little frantic as she said her goodbyes and told Kit to take care of herself while she was away. She was probably already on a plane right now, heading for her parents’ house in Washington.

Lisa had shown Kit photos of her family a few times, her mother and father, her older sister and younger brother, their two old dogs and the house she grew up in. A perfect family, busy and loud and full of life.

Kit had stared at the photos, picking out Lisa’s bright eyes in her mother’s face and the height she inherited from her father. She and her siblings all looked similar too, tall and lithe and clever. Lisa so clearly belonged.

It made Kit’s heart ache to think about. Did she look like anyone? Did she have a family home? Sisters, brothers, parents, grandparents? Was someone, somewhere, missing her right now? She squeezed the quilt in her fist.

Kit wanted to belong so desperately, but the base wasn’t quite a home, and apart from Lisa, these humans weren’t quite a family, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that they felt like one.

Only this planet felt familiar. Kit spent most of her time feeling parsed, split like the segments of a tangerine, but this world, the trees and the grass and the flowers, the bright blue sky and the sun on her face, they made her feel part of something.

She hoped Shadow might start to feel that way too. So he didn’t trust the humans, who could blame him? The Earth held a million stories, a million adventures. There were places to go, people to meet, things to try, and all of it was completely new and exciting and ready for her. Maybe for both of them.

Those eyes. She couldn’t get them out of her head. The way they lit up every room like a crackling fireplace, burning anyone who stood too close. He seemed to be warming up to her though. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

The way Shadow talked about his own home, about the ARK, left her feeling hollow inside too. From what she’d read, Kit found it hard to believe that that floating fortress could have felt warm and safe to anyone, but he had a family too. Or he used to. The notes were unclear. Either way, Kit knew they were more similar than either of them realised.

She turned over onto her back again, still feeling restless. As much as she tried to empty her mind, new concerns and intrusive thoughts kept pushing forward, demanding her attention.

Growing frustrated now, Kit tried to control her breathing. She drew in for four seconds, held it for another four, then released the air slowly, over and over until her heart was steady and her body had unwound. But still nothing worked.

Surrendering to the inevitable, Kit dragged herself from her bed with a sigh.

She dropped down at her desk and pulled her battered notebook towards her. She’d taken it from one of the labs sometime around her second week. There were pages missing and the edges were worn, but it was her lifeline.

Every time she remembered something, it went in the book. Every time she learned something new about this world or the one she came from, any glimpse of her old self, she wrote it down before it could slip away again. That’s how it began anyway.

The first few pages were made up of disjointed, scrambled half-memories and theories, but now that Kit had made herself at home, she’d tried to turn her attention to something more practical.

After every session, she jotted down everything Lisa had said, every new bit of jargon, every fascinating scientific concept, every piece of complicated equipment mentioned, anything that would help her concentrate her powers and help them flourish.

They’d been working together since Kit first arrived at The Hill. It started off as a quid pro quo, samples in exchange for a safe place to stay, but her role quickly grew as Kit became a fixture.

Now, she and Lisa worked together. The more the scientists learnt about her, the more Kit learned about herself and where she came from. Progress for them meant she was one step closer to getting home.

Kit stopped writing mid-sentence, her mind clouded with ersatz nostalgia. She couldn’t reminisce when she had nothing to return to, but though Kit could remember very little of that first night, there were some images that were stronger than others.

Fully awake now, she pushed back through the pea soup of her mind until it almost hurt, scrabbling in the dark for feelings and heightened senses that weren’t so much out of reach but completely nonexistent.

She could remember the voices of the rangers that found her swimming around her head. They had spoken in soft, clear tones but she couldn’t recall anything that was said.

She could remember a sudden bright white light, whatever had brought her here, and a pain that had bored into her head, like a corkscrew at either side of her skull. It still ached.

Through the base’s connection with G.U.N, Lisa had read voraciously about inter-dimensional travel, and had heard rumours of visitors from other worlds stepping from one planet to another as easily as hopping in an elevator. These portals were how the - What had Shadow called them?

“Mobians,” Kit said out loud, working her mouth around every syllable, trying the word out for the first time.

In the heavy silence of her bedroom, the term seemed completely foreign. It didn’t spark a single memory, not one glimpse of familiarity. Still, she scribbled it down, then underlined it for emphasis.

These portals were how the Mobians were able to come to Earth. And they weren’t subtle, they’d been noticed, they’d been accepted, and they’d been utilised.

Lisa couldn’t see why the power that brought the others here - this fox and his friends - couldn’t be the same power that brought Kit to Earth, and was sure the bright light she remembered was the ring-powered portals they moved through.

Kit turned a page in her notebook and began to describe in fine detail everything that had transpired during her session that evening.

Her walk with Shadow had left her exhausted. Kit hadn’t intended to go exploring that day but he just looked so lonely and overwhelmed, she couldn’t help it. He’d asked for help, whether he realised it or not, and Kit was his keeper. Her assignment was to keep Shadow safe, happy, and comfortable, and she was proud of a job well done.

Still, she hadn’t been able to keep back a yawn during her session with Lisa. It tugged at the corners of her mouth until it spilled over, and she had to hide it in her elbow.

Lisa looked up from her computer.

“Tired?”

It was more of a statement than a question, but Kit nodded all the same.

“We hiked for miles today. I think Shadow’s been finding the base a little overwhelming. I think maybe it… I think it reminds him of the ARK. But he seemed happier out on the trail. Well, as happy as Shadow can seem.”

Sat atop a pristine workbench, Kit swung her legs back and forth, one then the other, as she impatiently waited for their session to begin.

Embedded in her favourite chair, Lisa tapped endlessly away at her computer, her fingers dancing over the plastic keys.

“Was he chattier today?”

In the reflection of her wide, round glasses, Kit could see strings of data racing back and forth, the endless streams of code that made up her own DNA.

“His guard is still up but he answered all my questions. He still likes to give one word answers but I guess I should be grateful for that much. He didn’t put up a fight either. Actually, I think he really enjoyed being out in the woods. He said…”

Kit stopped, thinking about the story Shadow had told her, about that iridescent bloom of phytoplankton beneath the ocean. Lost in memory, his eyes had softened, his posture more relaxed. It was perhaps the most at ease she’d ever seen him, and the closest he had come to allowing her in.

“Hm? What did he say?” Lisa asked, though she didn’t appear to be listening, her attention was still on the long streams of numbers flashing before her eyes.

What he’d shared, Kit knew that was precious. Shadow didn’t talk when he didn’t want to. He didn’t give away any part of himself easily. He might not have realised it, he might not like it if he did, but he’d entrusted her with something that belonged only to him.

Perhaps a sense of duty, perhaps a force of habit, but something beckoned for Kit to tell Lisa all she’d learnt, but for the first time, Kit found there was a pull stronger than that of her saviours.

She closed her mouth, considered her options, and said,

“Mobians. He said the others like me are called Mobians.”

“Mm, that’s interesting. Did he tell you about them?”

“Not much. I didn’t want to push too far.”

In the end, Kit ended up repeating everything Shadow had told her about these other aliens, which was admittedly very little. She didn’t even know their names, though it was fairly likely Shadow didn’t either.

It was only when Lisa began to show a spark of interest that Kit realised she might’ve made a mistake. She began to ask more and more questions, pressing Kit for information she didn’t have, and all she could do was sit there, embarrassed to have so little intel.

And worse, she’d betrayed Shadow’s trust. He hadn’t asked her to keep it a secret, surely he knew everything he told her would end up in Lisa’s ear, but had she unintentionally misled him into thinking their conversation had been private? Kit wasn’t sure, and she hated not knowing, a terrible curse since she knew so little about the world.

Finally, Lisa smiled and pushed her chair away from her desk.

“Enough about him. Let’s focus on you. Have you been practicing this week?”

“A little. It gets so tiring…”

“That’s okay, you shouldn’t force yourself. I’m glad you’re taking it steady.”

Lisa dug the headset from its box and carefully placed it over Kit’s head, humming to herself as she double-checked the wires. They ran down Kit’s spine and fitted into the side of a little machine, an unimposing white box that spat out information on reams of narrow paper.

Lisa smoothed a hand down its flank as if soothing a nervous horse and pressed her fingertips into a specific point. It chirped in response, then began to growl and hum like an old printer.

Kit used to watch this process with acute fascination but she’d been through the motions so many times, she knew every step by heart.

The computer gave a few short beeps then fell into silence again. It seemed to mean something significant because Lisa nodded to herself and wrote down a few short notes.

Kit tried to see what she was writing but couldn't make it out.

She wondered how Shadow might feel about these tests, if he ever agreed to them. Once a lab rat, always a lab rat. But now he’d tasted freedom, even if only briefly, she couldn’t imagine him settling back into the role easily, not least because he trusted Lisa and her colleagues about as far as he could throw them. Which, she thought, was probably quite far when he didn’t have the bracers on.

The harness that sat on her head was heavy and agitated her ears, but Kit tried her best to ignore it. She didn't want to aggravate the computer and affect the readings.

Shadow had made fun of them again, her ears. Every time he drew attention to them, she wanted to be annoyed, but Kit was so thrilled that she’d got him to speak, to emote, anything, that she completely forgot to be offended.

With a start, she realised that when they were out on the trail, he’d called her by her name for the very first time. She hadn’t picked up on it then, but now a sudden rush of warmth swept through her, then cooled instantly, leaving Kit with a strange prickling feeling she couldn’t name.

She tried to replicate the sound in her head. Such a short name, one syllable, three letters, but Shadow’s voice was so low and warm, he added a depth and breadth to every note until it sounded rich and complex and… Beautiful.

"Your heart rate is a little fast, are you feeling okay?"

Lisa frowned at her from behind her computer, her hand resting on top of the little machine she’d hooked Kit up to.

Now that she listened, Kit realised the soft beeping coming from it mimicked her own heartbeat. Her face burned when she realised her body had betrayed her.

Kit cleared her throat and tried to brush all thoughts of Shadow from her mind, explaining it away with an exaggerated yawn.

“Just… Tired. Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

Lisa didn’t look entirely convinced but there was work to be getting on with.

Outside her bedroom, someone passed down the corridor. Clunky and quick, the steps of a guard on their way to start their shift. It must be late, the soldiers didn’t rotate until well past midnight.

Kit looked back down at the page and saw that she’d caught herself absentmindedly swirling her pen in the air, circling and circling, just barely grazing the paper so that the ink faintly surrounded where she’d written Shadow’s name.

She huffed, annoyed with herself for getting distracted, and kept scribbling down notes.

Lisa had tapped away at her computer again then turned to look at the room.

“Okay, a little warm up to help you relax. Can you move… That file over there?

Kit followed her gaze and saw a thick arch file laying on a bench across the lab. It was stacked full of papers; someone had even had to loop a large rubber band around it to keep it closed.

As easy as swatting away a fly, Kit waved her hand and lifted the binder from the counter. With a twist of her arched index finger and thumb, it cartwheeled through the air to settle gently on a bench on the opposite side of the room.

Just a few months ago, this would have caused Kit some trouble, possibly even a headache, but with Lisa’s guidance, she didn't even have to concentrate all that hard. The familiar sensation, like warm waves washing over her skin, came with relative ease now. It felt good to have this much confidence, to have full control of her own body, her own powers.

To prove she was paying attention, Kit lifted the folder again and slotted it onto a nearby shelf, tidying it away for whichever scientist had left it out.

Kit was supposed to have these sessions with Lisa a few times a week, just to keep track of her progress and monitor her vitals. It had scared her at first, but Kit understood that she was a completely foreign entity to this world. Everything about her was new and fascinating, she couldn’t blame the scientists for being so invested.

Lisa laughed and turned back to her computer screen.

“Okay, show off. Let’s try something more your speed. But tell me if it gets too much, okay? We can stop anytime. We can always try again another day when you’re not so tired.”

Guilt had dripped like poison in Kit’s gut. If she hadn’t taken Shadow on such a long hike, she wouldn’t be so exhausted. She should know her own limits. She should be more careful.

“Okay, I’m turning the machine up now, are you ready?”

Kit subconsciously slipped her fingers around the edge of the desk and gripped it tight until her knuckles began to ache. She hated this part. But she couldn’t let Lisa down.

“I’m ready.”

Lisa gave her a reassuring smile, then turned up the dial on the side of the machine.

Instantly, a sharp bolt of electricity shot through Kit’s body in less time than it took to blink. It was gone before she could register it completely but the resonant hum of energy that pulsed through her was unsettling.

Lisa leaned forward, her hand hovering over Kit’s knee. They couldn’t touch but it was nice to be reminded that she was close by.

“You okay?”

Kit’s grip on the edge of the bench tightened, her teeth clamping together as she forced her body to get used to the sensation.

This was only the fifth or sixth time that they had worked together to amplify her powers. Lisa was sure that if she pressed a little further, they would be able to unlock abilities that Kit didn’t even know she possessed.

Since Kit could remember nothing of her life before The Hill, it didn’t feel completely beyond the realm of possibility. Lisa was right to hypothesise that what was currently merely instinctual could be stretched further. Though, when she first proposed these extra sessions, Kit didn’t think it would hurt this much.

“I’m okay,” she hissed through her teeth, and forced her eyes open.

She felt a spark in the centre of her brain and knew her eyes were aglow with the purple light that pooled around her when she summoned her power. With this much energy flooding through her, she knew she could hurt Lisa if she lost control, so Kit tensed, focusing on her breathing and trying to keep everything to the centre of her body.

Lisa pulled a stack of white cards from under her desk. They were blank on one side, while the other sides showed words, colours and shapes, like the kind used to help children learn to communicate. She shuffled them, then held up a card.

“Okay, Kit. Just relax for me. Reach out and see what I see.”

So she did, for hours.

Kit stopped writing, her head suddenly feeling heavy. She could feel her eyes beginning to glaze as she recalled how it felt to have that surge of electricity shooting through her.

She had no memory of her life before The Hill, and it was painful for a lot of reasons, but none more so than the idea that all she knew, all she had to think back on in the middle of the lonely night, was the sharp burn of Lisa’s testing and the dismissive scowl of the one person on Earth who knew what it was like to be her.

With every new card, Kit focused and guessed at what could be pictured on it. Each time, Lisa made a note but never let on if she got the answer right or not.

Kit no longer felt faint every time they tried this, but it sapped all her energy. By the time Lisa ran out of cards, she felt like she’d run a marathon.

At last, Lisa smiled to herself and turned off the machine.

"Very good."

Kit sucked in a sharp breath, filling her lungs until her chest swelled under her sweater. Through the haze left by the machine, she managed to note with some small degree of pride that she didn't have a headache like she usually did after trying to tap into this power. She was getting stronger.

"Well, everything checks out fine. You’re definitely improving, Kit,” said Lisa, confirming her thoughts.

Again, Kit couldn’t help but think of Shadow, and how wonderful he’d made her name sound. His soft, deep, rich voice, his smirk as he pushed past her to take the lead, his scarlet eyes warmed by the afternoon sunlight.

“Kit?”

She looked up. Lisa had asked her a question. Hazarding a guess, Kit agreed, and this thankfully seemed to be the right answer.

Lisa hummed a happy tune to herself as she collected the data the machine had spit out, then slipped a paperclip over the corner to keep them together. She asked if Kit wanted to take a look but she declined. She was too tired to read it all and knew she wouldn't be able to understand any of it anyway.

The next test took longer and was always much tougher on her mind and body.

Lisa started the machine up again, apologising softly when Kit grunted under the strain. She picked up her cell from the desk and sent a quick message.

Just a few moments later, Iris stepped through the door and settled at the desk across from them.

“Okay, concentrate, Kit. Just close your eyes and try to relax. Empty your mind, that’s it. Don’t fight the machine, let it do its work.”

Kit tried to do as Lisa asked but the current running through her body was like sandpaper on her bare bones. She could feel the friction of every ion as they coursed through her nervous system, opening up her mind, her senses, her entire consciousness, allowing Lisa to warp them as needed.

She could still feel it now, hours later, that charge of power. It seared her muscles, leaving her twitching and twinging after every session. Lisa had once reassured her that there couldn’t possibly be any long-lasting effects, and Kit believed her, but it didn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

“Okay, you know the drill,” Lisa said. “I’m going to keep turning up the machine. Just focus on Iris.”

Kit did as she was told. She stared hard at Lisa’s colleague, trying to see past her dark hair and glinting green earrings, the freckles across her nose and her little knowing smile. Instead, she pushed through and out the other side, quieting the world around them until the same sensation that overcame her when she used her power had reached out and enveloped Iris in her mind.

“That’s it. Relax, Kit, take your time.”

The machine began to whine as Lisa cranked up its power even further.

Kit almost bit through her tongue. Straining now, she fought to keep her concentration. She was half afraid she’d put a dent in the edge of the workbench, she was gripping it so hard, so she lifted one shaking hand and tried to channel her powers to the centre of her palm.

“Tell Iris to move her hand. That’s all you have to do, Kit. Just reach out, let your mind meld with hers. Tell Iris to move her hand, just as you’re doing now.”

Something burned in the furnace of her chest, a tiny spark but it glowed white-hot. Kit tried to pinpoint it, stoke it, let it grow into something greater, but the more she tried to tighten her fist around it, the further it slipped through her fingers.

With a sharp gasp, Kit dropped her hand. She clawed for breath, rearing back abruptly, and Lisa immediately turned the machine off.

While she scanned the data it spat out, Iris rose from her chair and wrapped her cool hands around Kit’s upper arms.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You did so good, Kit. Just catch your breath.”

Kit kept as still as possible while Iris removed the headset, frightened of incurring that awful feeling again, a pain she was sure would knock her flat if she wasn’t prepared for it.

When she was done, Lisa’s keen eyes crossed her face, studying her closely.

"You feeling okay? Be honest, Kit. We gotta make sure you’re doing alright.”

She was a lot stronger than she used to be but that didn't mean she couldn't overexert herself. There was always someone close by in case she fainted or worse, but Kit shook her head.

"I’m okay. Just winded. I’m okay, really."

It wasn’t a complete lie, she felt steady enough to talk and sit upright, but Kit barely had enough energy left to keep her body from swaying like a seasick sailor. It was difficult to keep her eyes focused for very long, and all her remaining strength was put towards not collapsing into an exhausted heap.

While Iris checked her over properly, Lisa slid the data into a thick manila folder with Kit’s name printed on the front. She went to a tall filing cabinet, selected a drawer, then slotted it between several others.

Kit kept meaning to ask where all this information had come from, but she was always too tired after her sessions to care.

In all honesty, there were some days she wished she didn’t have to go through with it all. She trusted Lisa and her colleagues with her life, but the tests had only gotten more strenuous over the past few months. What was once just a study of her abilities was now a heavy scientific scrutiny, testing her limits, breaking down barriers, and pushing her further and further every time.

But, Kit reminded herself as she put her notebook away and wrapped herself up in the warm darkness of her room, she was being ungrateful again.

If it weren’t for the rangers that found her, she wouldn't have made it through the night. If it weren’t for Lisa and her colleagues, she would never have discovered this wonderful planet and all it had to offer. She would do anything they asked, for as long as they asked. It was the least she could do. She just wished it didn’t make her sick to her stomach to think of letting them down.

She couldn’t even guess how many times Lisa had reassured her that there was absolutely no possibility of failure. They were breaking new ground every day, she said, there was no yardstick to judge their progress by. Still, the pressure grew with every unsuccessful attempt to strengthen her power. Kit didn’t want to let them down. She couldn’t let them down.

Sighing heavily to herself, Kit turned onto her side and firmly shut her eyes, as if that would ensure she slipped off to sleep faster. When that didn’t help, she tried to picture her waterfall in her mind.

She was pleased that Shadow seemed to like it there. It seemed odd to think that someone who was raised around humans had never been to Earth before. This must all be so strange for him.

Though she’d been given very little warning before his arrival, Kit thought it might be a relief to have Shadow here. But he was as close to being similar to her as Lisa was. Just another reminder that she was completely and utterly alone, despite the countless people that surrounded her in this hive-like building.

Shadow wasn’t quite Mobian, but he wasn’t human either. He lived somewhere in-between, completely unique in the universe. If she felt lonely, Kit couldn’t imagine how he must feel.

Finally, her body began to grow heavy, her breathing slowing like the soft ins and outs of the ocean.

The base was silent, the forest beyond fast asleep. The world slowed to a still, like all the flakes in a snow globe finally settling.

Kit had just begun to slip away when her ear twitched. Grimacing, she ignored it and pressed her head closer to the pillow. Then she heard it again, a sharp groan.

Kit opened her eyes.

The base was always noisy as evening fell. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have trouble falling asleep, not with the cacophony all around her. But there was always a point when the humans finally settled in for the night, and peace fell all around her at last. So she waited, lazily twisting her ear to try and catch the sound again.

When nothing came, Kit sighed and closed her eyes, grumbling under her breath.

She wasn’t going to get out of bed for a snoring soldier, or worse, two humans finding themselves with a few spare minutes and a block of unassigned quarters. Those nights were the longest; Kit often had to put her head between two pillows. But then she heard it again, a low groan, followed by a short, sharp gasp of pain.

Listening closer, Kit picked out the slow, steady heartbeats of the sleeping humans around her. Then, amongst them all, she could hear Shadow’s trembling heart. Faster, harder, smaller, it stumbled and shook out of rhythm, so discordant among all the rest that Kit was able to hone in on it in moments.

She sat up. Lisa’s quilt slid off her and slipped onto the floor but Kit hardly noticed. She listened hard, separating Shadow from the world in her mind until she could practically see the outline of him.

Kit felt her stomach drop when she realised she could hear him crying. He quieted again, and for a second she thought maybe she was mistaken. When he whimpered in pain again, Kit was out the door before she even realised what she was doing.

She raised her first to knock on his door. Now that she was closer, she could hear Shadow tossing and turning on his bunk. His strangled, agonised cries clawed in Kit’s chest. No time for courtesy.

“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered, and pushed open the door.

The room was completely dark. Kit had to narrow her eyes against the gloom to make out any recognisable shapes at all, but then she saw him, twisted at an odd angle on his bed.

“Shadow?”

Kit took a tentative step forward, allowing light from the corridor to pour into the room. She gasped when she saw him properly. Shadow’s arms and legs were bent in awkward positions that didn’t seem like they should have been possible. His back bent and his jaws hung open in a silent scream.

He twisted his head towards her, his eyes burning through the darkness. Shadow growled, his bared teeth telling her to not come any closer, but his expression contorted with agony as his body spasmed.

“Shit.”

Kit rushed to the bedside, her hands hovering over his trembling form.

“Shadow, what’s wrong? Tell me. Let me help.”

But he just groaned and turned his face away, hauling his body round to face the wall. One of his hands flew up and gripped the cold concrete, his fingertips dragging uselessly against its smooth surface.

“Shadow, please…”

Kit hesitated then tucked her fingers over his waist, pushing down so that he lay flat on his back again. If she hadn’t been so terrified, she might’ve noticed that it was the first they’d touched where they weren’t trying to hit each other.

Shadow tried to speak, probably to tell her to leave him alone, but the words caught in his constricted throat. Instead, he flung out his hand and gripped her wrist with what little strength he could muster.

Startled, Kit jumped but surprised herself when she didn’t instinctively pull out of his grip and step away. She let out a shuddering breath, ears flat to her skull, and rested her other hand over his.

“What happened? Tell me. Let me help. Please, Shadow, let me help.”

He yanked her closer so that she was bent over the bed, hovering above him. Now Kit could see that he’d sweated through his fur. His teeth were bared against the pain, twin fangs gleaming in the darkness.

“Shadow, please,” Kit squeezed his fingers, then rested her free hand on his heaving chest, right over where his heart was hammering. “Tell me what to do. What do you need?”

His eyes, wide with fear, locked with hers. The moment seemed to stretch into hours as Shadow’s frantic gaze crossed her face, determining if it was safe to trust her with this, with him.

He was panting now, his chest ragged beneath her hand, and it occurred to Kit that he was afraid, afraid of her, of what she might do to him now that he was inescapably vulnerable. The thought made her feel sick but then Shadow’s larger hand tightened around her wrist.

He couldn’t get the words out, so he raised her hand in front of his face and slipped his index finger down to tap against her bracer.

“What are you-”

Realisation hit her like a lightning bolt, crackling through her mind and down through every nerve ending.

The bracers. They were designed to cut them off from their powers. Shadow had been feeling weak and lethargic ever since they were slipped over his-

Kit pulled their entwined hands closer to her face so that she could study the gold ring that stayed snapped around Shadow’s wrist at all times.

The two around his ankles had some off with his boots, but the bands around Shadow’s wrists were impossible to remove, even after the soldiers knocked him out in the back of his transport van. Instead, they simply adapted his bracers to fit around them. The effect was unchanged, or so they thought.

They still knew very little about Shadow’s creation but Kit had trawled through Dr. Robotnik’s notes so many times, she practically knew them by heart. The rings stabilised Shadow’s powers, limiting the potential energy that surged through his body. He would burn like a furnace without them. His power was unlike anything ever seen before, and understood by so few. And they’d interfered.

Kit’s wide eyes met Shadow’s again. She knew what she had to do but it terrified her.

He squeezed her wrist hard enough to bruise, even through her bracer. Then to her shock, he opened his mouth and in a hoarse voice, he said,

“Kit… Please…”

Tears pooled in the corners of his scarlet eyes, extinguishing the flame that burned behind them.

His words dripped like ice water onto the hot panic in her chest, sizzling and evaporating on impact but ultimately cooling her resolve. She was his keeper. It was her job to keep him safe, by any means.

“Just- Just hold on. I’ll be right back.”

Kit rested his hand on his chest, trying to look more reassuring than she sounded, then turned on her heel and burst back out into the corridor.

The base was never completely dark, but as the sun set, they dimmed the fluorescent lights to follow its progression and stopped when there was just enough light to see by. To aid the inhabitants, small bulbs triggered by motion sensors were embedded along every corridor, lighting the way of anyone heading to working in the middle of the night.

Kit followed their amber eyes as she sped through the base, taking corner after corner until she finally arrived at the elevator. She jammed her thumb against the down button so hard that it stung.

The wait was agonising, and when the doors finally pinged open on the first floor of labs, Kit rushed forward so quickly, she tripped over her own feet.

She found Lisa’s lab and grabbed at the handle, yanking it so hard that it almost broke off in her hand. But it didn’t budge.

“What?”

Kit gaped at the door handle and tugged again with more precision, thinking that she just hadn’t twisted it properly in her haste. She pulled again, and again and again until the handle rattled in protest.

“No no no no no…”

Kit stood on her toes and pressed her barred fingers to the narrow window in the door, peering inside to see if there was anyone still working. The lights were all out. The labs were empty.

Bile rose up in her throat but she swallowed it down, forcing herself to stay calm.

Reason urged her to find help but there wasn’t time. Shadow could be lying dead on his bunk for all she knew. She pushed the thought away, gritting her teeth.

Kit thought all her noise might’ve alerted a soldier by now but a quick scan around found that no one was coming. In a base full of hundreds of armed guards, they chose now to give strange noises the benefit of the doubt.

Kit turned back to the door. There was one final option but it was a stupid one, one that would definitely get her in trouble.

“Fuck it.”

Kit took a few steps back then lifted both hands out in front of her. Scowling at the object in her way, she bent her fingers in towards her palms, then sharply tugged her elbows back.

The door screeched as it was wrenched off its hinges, buckling under the hazy purple glow that consumed it. Kit swept her hands to the side and the door followed, smacking into the wall opposite and leaving a huge dent.

She didn’t waste any time, she could worry about the repercussions of her actions when Shadow was alive and well.

Kit ducked under Lisa’s usual workbench and grabbed for the box where she knew the remote for their bracers was kept, then she hurried across the labs to one of the tall lockers and pulled down Shadow’s shoes. They were heavier than she expected, she almost tripped as she turned to leave the labs.

The filing cabinet in the corner caught her eye. She paused. Kit had never been in the labs alone before, she was always accompanied by Lisa or Iris or one of the other scientists. This might be her only opportunity to discover what else was in her file. But the ache to know what her adopted family really thought of her was once again drowned out by the promise she’d made to herself, to Shadow.

When Kit made it back to his room, Shadow was completely still apart from the ragged rise and fall of his ribcage. The blaze of white fur on his chest was matted with sweat and his eyes were screwed shut.

“Shadow? Shadow, I got it, I got it. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. I’m gonna help you.”

His jaw was so tight, she was worried Shadow would break his teeth, so she gently placed her hand against his cheek, hoping it would help him relax.

Shadow’s eyes shot open. Though pain had dulled their spark, they still seemed to glow in the darkness, lighting her way, drawing her in.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. I’ve got you, I promise,” she said softly, brushing her thumb against his warm cheek.

Shadow blinked back tears. He seemed so frightened, Kit didn’t know what to do, so she ran her fingers through the soft fur between his ears, massaging his head gently. She thought he might pull away, maybe even fight through the pain to growl at her to get off, but he didn’t.

Kit dropped the remote on the bed beside him, then moved down the bed. Shadow kept a watchful eye but he didn’t move to stop her.

“Stay still for me. Don’t move just- Just breathe.”

She knelt one knee on the mattress and carefully pulled off the thick woollen socks he’d taken to wearing to keep warm around the base. To her surprise, the red markings that ran like stocking seams up the side of his calves continued down to his feet. His colouring was so unusual, so precise, unlike anything found in the natural world. Kit had never seen anyone so alien, not even when she looked in the mirror.

It was a resounding reminder that his existence had been sketched out, blueprinted, meticulously designed and thought over for many years, more like a luxury car or a marble sculpture than a living breathing creature. Every cell of Shadow’s body had been cultivated, selected, and slotted together for a purpose, right down to the colour of his fur.

And yet, despite all the care and craftsmanship that had gone into his creation, nobody had stopped to think about how it would feel to be him. Without his aids to ease the strain, his body ceased to work. They gave him this Mobian form knowing full well it wouldn’t be able to contain the power that burned within him.

And now they were all gone, these scientists who liked to twist and shape nature to their own will, taking all culpability with them and leaving Shadow alone, in chronic pain and with so little understanding of his own body. It was almost too much to bear.

“Oh, Shadow… I’m so sorry…”

Biting back tears of her own, Kit slipped his heavy shoes over his feet. She jumped back when the gold bands immediately snapped into place around his ankles.

Shadow gasped for air, his whole body jolting.

Kit thought she heard a faint, almost mechanical whine as the rings warmed to life, but it was swallowed up by Shadow’s pained moans.

“Okay, just a few more seconds. Hold on, Shadow.”

She scrabbled for the remote and stared at the dial in its centre. She’d never held it before, she’d never even got close to it. She looked down at Shadow, then at her own bracers. Was she really doing this?

Shadow grabbed his head in both hands, groaning and seizing as another shockwave punched through his body, and Kit made her decision. She twisted the dial, then slammed her palm down on the red button.

The effect was immediate. His bracers whirred for a moment then fell completely silent.

Shadow sucked in a breath of air so deep, his back lifted off the bed. He sat bolt upright, his head tilted towards the sky, his jaw slack. It was like watching someone burst through the ocean surface and gulp down oxygen after coming dangerously close to drowning.

Shadow fell back onto the bunk so hard that its bolts rattled. He lay completely still, his eyes wide and unseeing, as if stunned.

Kit dropped the remote and tugged his leather gloves out from under his inhibitor rings, gently laying his hands back down at his sides when she was done. The deep red markings that ran along his forearms continued down to his middle and index fingers, the rest black as pitch. They ended in pointed black claws, much longer and sharper than her own.

A soft groan recaptured Kit’s attention. Shadow had closed his eyes now, his forehead creased as if he was concentrating on a complicated equation or was battling the mother of all migraines.

She realised she’d been holding her breath and heaved a quiet sigh, pushing away the fear that had bitten at her heels all the way down to the labs. He was alright. He was going to be alright.

Though Kit didn’t want to leave him, she went to the bathroom and brought him a cup of water and a damp flannel.

When she returned, Shadow was watching her, his head turned into the pillow so that only one of his eyes was visible, the other firmly closed. He was always so poised, to see him looking so scruffy and dolice seemed strange. It was almost cute.

Slowly and carefully, Kit slipped her hand under Shadow’s head and helped him sit up a little, her lip twitching in discomfort when his sharp quills poked her palm.

“I’ve got you. I promise, I’ve got you. Just breathe, Shadow.”

Kit helped him take a sip or two of water then gently laid his head back down against the pillow. She laid the damp flannel across forehead, hoping the cool water would help soothe his aching body.

A completely involuntary sigh slipped from Shadow’s mouth as he sank into the bed. He blinked a few times before slowly losing his grip on consciousness. By his sides, his clenched fists slowly relaxed into an open-palmed surrender.

Kit watched him, frozen with fear still. Her heart was hammering so loud, she was sure even Shadow’s neighbours must have been able to hear it. She clutched the cup of water in her hands, squeezing it so hard she almost cracked the glass.

“Okay…” She drew in a calming breath and slowly let it go again, trying to process all that had just transpired. “Okay… We’re okay… We’re okay…”

She placed the cup of water down on his nightstand and went to close the door, never once taking her eyes off Shadow. He still hadn’t moved. The only sign that he was still alive was the soft rise and fall of his chest. He looked smaller when he slept. Younger. Less like The Ultimate Lifeform, more like a lonely creature from somewhere far, far away.

Still no one came. Everyone was fast asleep.

She should find Iris. She should call Lisa. She should tell someone. But Kit knew they wouldn’t let her stay, and she couldn’t be sure they would know what to do with him anyway. It was her job to take care of Shadow, and Kit always did what her family asked of her.

She went back to her room and grabbed a few blankets and Lisa’s quilt, and settling them down on the floor beside his bed, she curled up and tried to get some sleep. She lay facing Shadow, just in case he stirred in the night or needed anything. But he didn’t make a sound.

She stayed there all night, drifting in and out of sleep, listening carefully for the soft but constant beat of Shadow’s heart.

/

When morning broke, Kit blearily went to find Iris.

She was already waiting for her at the lab, looking severely unimpressed by the state of the door. Before Kit could apologise, Iris let her know that they’d watched everything on the CCTV and that she’d called Lisa. She’d be heading back to base a day early.

The anxiety that followed rolled mercilessly through Kit’s body, making her shiver constantly and have to swallow back a sickness that couldn’t be abated.

To distract herself, she stayed in Shadow’s room and kept him company. He still hadn’t moved but Iris had done a few rudimentary tests and they were sure he was stabilising.

Kit sat with her back against Shadow’s bed, the soft in and out of his breathing a welcome break from the usual clamour of the base. His room was right at the end of the corridor, so fewer people walked by, and since everyone knew the Ultimate Lifeform was sleeping nearby, most kept their distance and their voices low.

Shadow hadn’t made any moves to make his room more personal, though that wasn’t exactly surprising. Kit gazed around at the space, noting that everything was in its place and practically untouched. It was hard to believe anyone had been living here at all.

She opened the wardrobe and found the clothes they’d found for him all hung up or folded, his shoes in a neat row on the floor. The only thing that seemed out of place was the shirt he’d slung over the CD player on his bedside table.

Kit frowned at it. She’d chosen it herself from all the junk left behind by past employees. She thought Shadow might like to listen to some music, or maybe even a late night panel show, anything to pass the time or keep him company since he wasn’t exactly the sociable type.

She hung up the shirt and switched on the radio, turning it right down so that she wouldn’t disturb Shadow, then went to sit back down by his bed and scribble in her notebook.

Kit attempted to write down all that had transpired in the last few hours, but found herself distracted by the torn look on Shadow’s face as he reached out to her. Before too long, she came back down to Earth only to realise that she’d started tracing a rough sketch of his eyes on the next page. She closed the notebook with a snap, cheeks burning.

When Lisa finally got back to the base on Sunday night, she leaned against the doorway of Shadow’s room and gazed around at the monotony of it all, before her gaze finally landed on their guest.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” she asked.

Beside her, Kit stood anxiously twisting her hands one over the other.

“Not yet. Sometimes he talks in his sleep but…”

Lisa hummed, and Kit wondered if she’d even truly heard her. She stood in silence for a moment, clearly thinking hard, and all the while Kit fidgeted and tried to keep her breathing steady.

Finally, Lisa turned and headed back out into the hall, gesturing for Kit to follow her.

“What on Earth were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry, but he-”

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? He could have killed you!”

Stunned, Kit shook her head.

“I don’t think he would ever do that, Lisa, he’s not-”

“If he hadn’t blacked out, he would have knocked you flat and broken out of here in a heartbeat, Kit. Who knows how many people could’ve gotten hurt! Not to mention all our work here! Down the drain. Gone. He doesn’t care about you or anyone. He’s a machine, Kit. A weapon. You can’t just-”

Lisa stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up to her forehead.

She was wearing a new knitted sweater. Hand-made, Kit thought. Probably a gift from her mother, the family she’d dragged her away from.

Kit balled her hands into fists and pressed them against her chest as she apologised, her head bent low.

Lisa sighed and knelt down so they were more at eye-level. She put a hand on Kit’s shoulder and pulled her into a hug that was a little too tight.

“Don’t ever do anything like that ever again, okay? You’re too valuable to lose, Kit. You mean so much to us.”

She kept talking, scolding her and lecturing her on how stupidly dangerous it was to let Shadow out of her sight, let alone to switch off his bracers, but Kit was hardly listening. Instead, her gaze had found its way back to Shadow over Lisa’s shoulder.

“What now?”

/

“Bus driver, please look for me, 'cause I couldn't bear to see what I might see. I’m really still in prison and my love she holds the key…”

Maria was dancing, always dancing. No matter how much the doctors warned her or how her grandfather worried, she couldn’t hold still for a second. She always said she spent so much time in a hospital bed, when she was feeling better, she didn’t want to waste a single second of it when there was so much fun to be had.

“A simple yellow ribbon's what I need to set me free…”

As she sang along to the record spinning in the corner of her room, she reached for Shadow’s hands, forcing him to his feet and making him twirl around with her.

Maria laughed and laughed, and Shadow couldn’t help smiling too.

“I wrote and told her, pl-”

A gunshot rang out. A bullet he should have seen smacked into Maria’s chest from somewhere over his shoulder.

Shadow opened his eyes and stared up at the pale grey ceiling. For a few moments of blissful peace, he didn’t know where he was and he didn’t care. But then the world came crashing back down around his ears, and the last awful confusing few years of his life rushed up to greet him like a blistering gale.

Shadow slowly turned his head. He had to bite back a groan as every single one of his muscles screeched like rusted metal.

The music from his dream drifted around the room. Had it stirred his memories? Or was this just life now? Exhaustion, nightmares, and loss? Except, now that he put his sluggish mind to it, he didn’t feel quite so terrible anymore.

Shadow closed his eyes as his senses slowly returned to him. Sounds were sharper, scents were heightened and his vision was clearer. He felt better than he had in weeks. If he didn’t feel like he’d been hit by an eighteen-wheeler, he’d think he was back to his usual self.

He turned his head further and saw that the shirt he’d covered the arcane machine on his bedside table was gone. Not a complicated piece of surveillance equipment, but a music player.

Humming caught his attention. Shadow’s eyes dropped to the floor where Kit was lying on her front, scribbling in a notepad while she softly sang a duet with Tony Orlando. She’d clearly made herself at home. How long had he been asleep? How long had she been sleeping beside him?

His memories slowly came back to him in bits and pieces. The agonising sickness that had followed him for days had only grown worse until he lost all control of his body. He’d spent what felt like hours seizing and twitching on his bed, whimpering pathetically until Kit finally heard him and came to his rescue.

He couldn’t recall anything that was said but Shadow remembered how her hands had gently pressed into his body, and how fearful Kit looked as she waited for the bracers to-

The world stopped revolving. Shadow spread his fingers and felt the unlimited power of the universe surge through his blood. It crackled and growled like bottled lightning, and when he sat up on his bunk, he felt the planet begin to turn again at his command.

He held up his hand and let the raw energy that was and his alone gather and pool in the centre of his palm.

Kit was beside him in seconds. To his shock, she grabbed his outstretched hand in both of her own and pulled it to her chest, as if covering it from prying eyes.

“Nonono, please don’t,” she whispered frantically, wrapping her hands tighter around his fist.

Shadow yanked his hand back, pulling Kit with it so that she almost fell into his lap. He leaned in close, eyes burning, and bared his teeth.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

It must have hurt but she didn’t let go. Even when a bolt of crimson lightning zigzagged down his arm and up hers, Kit meekly cried out but didn’t budge.

“Please, Shadow,” Her eyes darted around as if she was afraid someone might step into the room any minute. “They let me keep them switched off but I had to promise them you weren’t going to hurt anyone or try to escape.”

“What are you-”

“Please. Please just- Just don’t. I understand, I promise I understand but please don’t. I promised and they- If they think I-”

“Kit?”

She sounded so frantic, it made Shadow falter. Kit’s eyes were wide and frightened, her grip tight around his hand. He leaned back a little, trying to process what she’d said.

“I can’t let them down. I can’t let them think I lied. I don’t have anywhere else to go, Shadow, please don’t.”

“I won’t. I’m not.”

Slowly, cautiously, he relaxed his fist.

In return, Kit took her hands back, immediately pressing them flat against her chest as if to try and steady her racing heart and shaky lungs.

Shadow tried to speak but his mouth still felt dry and sore from lack of use. He couldn’t even guess at how long he’d been asleep, it felt like another fifty years had passed.

“You… You made them turn my bracers off?”

“I turned them off.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I- How?”

“I heard you crying and you looked so- I didn’t know what to do, so I tore the door off the lab and grabbed the- But you’re okay. That’s what’s important.”

“You tore the- Kit, what happened?”

“I couldn’t let you- I had to save you.”

They stared at each other, both anticipating a fight but nothing came.

Eventually Shadow looked down at his wrists and found that his bracers had ceased their incessant low buzz. He looked back up at Kit. She was still breathing heavily, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

She’d risked everything for him. This base, these people, were all she had, and she’d gone against them to save him.

Shadow let his eyes dart across her face, then down to where her hands balled up the front of her sweater. What punishment had been dealt to make her so frightened? What had she promised them to protect him?

Music still drifted from the device beside his bed, something more uptempo now, nothing he recognised.

He went to ask what the scientists had planned for him but before he could, Kit lurched forward and punched his shoulder. It didn’t hurt at all but Shadow was so surprised, he clutched the spot she’d hit.

“Wh- Hey!”

“You idiot!” Kit jabbed her forefinger against his sternum. “I knew there was something wrong. Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my job to take care of you.”

Taken-aback, Shadow rubbed at his chest. Actually, that did hurt a bit. He was still feeling a little tender. He’d rather die than let Kit know that though.

“I don’t need you t-”

“You could have died,” Kit barrelled over him. “And you got me in trouble. I worked hard to get where I am, Shadow. I won’t have you ruining everything because you were too proud to tell me you were sick. Next time, tell me when something is wrong or else, I swear-”

“What?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes, challenging her.

Kit hesitated. Her pained expression softened as her ragged chest slowed to a regular rhythm.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been mad at him for putting himself in danger. Probably the doctor, scolding him for letting Maria overexert herself when she was supposed to be resting. He felt just as terrible as he did then. Though he didn’t trust Kit, he didn’t relish upsetting her either.

“Just don’t ever do that to me again,” she said, then in a smaller voice, “Promise me.”

His lip twitched, instinctively curling back in a dismissive sneer, but Shadow clamped his teeth over it and swallowed it down. Clinging onto some semblance of his protective apathy, he nodded without meeting her gaze.

This seemed to satisfy Kit as she dropped it.

Only then did she notice that she was still leaning over him from where he’d yanked her closer. One of her hands had shot out to grab the headboard and Kit’s knees were pressed against his thigh. She sheepishly moved back and Shadow turned his face away to hide how his cheeks burned.

Kit sat on the edge of the bed, curling her fingers around the edge of the thin mattress.

She looked exhausted, and Shadow was finding it harder and harder to pretend that he didn’t care. He wondered how many nights she had spent on his floor, keeping watch over him while he slept. The vulnerability of sickness terrified him but if there was anyone he wanted looking after him, it would be Kit.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the cheery voice of someone called Casey Kasem. He announced the next song, and Shadow looked up when he actually recognised it. Another of the records that was constantly played in that little corner of the ARK that had been home.

“Who’s Maria?“

His heart flew up into his throat. Shadow whipped his head back to face Kit and found her looking down at her hands, knotted anxiously in her lap.

”You said her name. In your sleep. A few times.” Kit’s ear flicked nervously. “Is she your friend?”

Shadow turned his face away again, pretending to listen to the radio. His chest constricted till it was difficult to catch his breath.

“She’s no one,” he said quietly, and for once, Kit left him alone.

They both stared into space, letting silence well up inside the room until it pressed against the walls, making the metal and concrete creak. Neither knew quite what to say, or what to do now.

At last, Shadow turned and leaned his weary body against the wall, letting his head fall back until it rested comfortably. He closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them again.

“Thank you,” he said, quiet and unsure but no less sincere.

Kit’s large ears twitched in surprise. After a moment, she gave him the ghost of a smile and turned the radio up.

“Any time, handsome.”

//

Next Chapter

Master List

//

Tag List:

@star-maker-rain-dancer @your-arm-is-minty-fresh @anniesangel-universe @ur-non-local-weirdo @gadgettheraccoon @mxauthor @triasticalwarlock @your-nameno13 @notsogoofyjelly @starheart-blog @phoenixqueen3 @damnfeelings09 @fernstarsblog

[meatmensch]

*jenny slate voice* i had to stop reading the battle of the labyrinth cuz it made me too crazy!!

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

candace flynn is THE most teenage girl character of all time. she is at level 100 anxiety 24/7. she shows her love for her brothers by trying to get them in trouble constantly. her neck is as long as her forearm. she features on a blues album after having an allergic reaction. she has a shrine to her boyfriend in her room. she can't live without her phone. she has a panic room in the basement. she plays 20 instruments that all start with the letter B. she read all of sherlock holmes in one night. she's seen their platypus running around as a secret agent more than once, assumed she was hallucinating each time, and moved on with her life while telling no one. she likes wrestling video games. she was rutabaga princess. she has a billion people to email memes to but when she's trying to think of friends she can only think of four people and one of them is her mom. most animals hate her except monkeys. she invented grilled cheese flavored ice cream. she pretended to be irish for a week. she's autistically obsessed with her universe's version of barney. she writes marvel fanfiction. she does parkour. there's an entire archive of her voice actress screaming just in case her voice ever gave out while recording. she sees her brothers build time machines and rollercoasters every day but doesn't believe in santa. when she starts scheming the wicked witch of the west theme starts playing in the background. she was elected queen of mars. she won a "mayor for the day" essay competition. there's a random person in town who's been avoiding her to the point she doesn't know he exists. she learned how to parallel park by driving a monster truck. she thinks the plural of moose is "meese." she tracks her mom with a GPS. she doesn't know her little brother's full name. she's scared of heights, spiders, and the number seven. when her boyfriend told her he'd call "soon" she started doing complex math to try and figure out when exactly that would be. her first thought upon seeing her royal doppelganger was to go to the laundromat and fill all the dryers with cheese. she earned 50 not-girl-scout patches in one day through sheer determination. she can run fast enough to catch up to moving cars. she can sense when ground is broken in the backyard and when people are judging her. one time she got her face caught in the sink. her brothers carved her into mount rushmore. every now and again a magical zebra appears, calls her kevin, and then disappears again. she killed 99% of an alien invasion with a t-shirt cannon. in an alternate universe she's leading a regime-destroying resistance at the age of 15. she's being accidentally gaslit every day of her life.

[cateyam]

Apparently its canon that:

Dick and Jason look alike.

Dick is basically Bruce's carbon copy.

Can you imagine how many times Dick have been mistaken as Jason and Bruce? Or Jason being mistaken as Dick?

Dick, wearing a black tank top and sweats— looking exactly like Bruce, walks into the kitchen:

Damian: Morning, Father.

Dick, turns around, expecting to see Bruce behind him: ?????

——————

20 year old Dick casually picking up his 13 year old brother Jason from school:

Random teacher: Ah, Mr. Wayne. Are you here to pick Jason up?

Dick: Mr— It's me, Dick??? Dick Grayson??????

——————

Dick walking into the Manor after Bruce and Jason having an argument about something:

Bruce: Jason? You're back?

Dick in a leather jacket: He's out killing people wdym??????

——————

Dick just wanting to get some coffee, gets stopped by paparazzi, thinking he was Bruce:

Random reporter: Mr. Wayne!

Dick: STOP CONFUSING ME AS MY DAD

——————

Dick hanging out with Tim:

Random passerby whispering to their friend: That's Bruce Wayne and his son Timothy Drake!

Dick, who could hear it: ...

Tim: Calm down. Calm your tits.

——————

Jason walking into the kitchen, Bruce and Tim are there, both have been awake for 72 hours now:

Bruce: Morning Dick.

Jason: Did you just call me a dick????

Tim: But— that's your name?

Jason: My name is Jason. I'm NOT DICK.

——————

Jason and Dick getting de-aged, both wearing their Robin costumes:

Cassandra: Sooooo... which one is Dick and which one is Jason?

Bruce: I— I never realised they look so similar.

Duke: The angry and feral one must be Jason. Dick's the smiley one.

Tim: Nope. Dick's the feral. Jason's the happy. Been stalking them for years, I would know.

——————

Dick crying hysterically: Do I look old enough to be mistaken as Bruce?!?!?!?!

Bruce: *glares*

Jason: Exactly! I don't look that old to look like Dick.

Dick: FUCK YOU

——————

But of course, sometimes it's an advantage. Dick could get away with things like being Batman, getting his brothers out of trouble, etc.

While Jason could get away with being Nightwing and stuff. (ehem that time when he dressed up as Nightwing and killed people in the suit.)