#says no most of the time and never asks me. like i don't know what else i can do. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafayelxsylusho · 1 day ago

Text

How do the LADS men fu¢k the jealousy out of you.

Xavier/Rafayel

Already working on Caleb/Zayne/Sylus

TW: SMUT SMUT AND MORE SMUT.

Xavier 🌟🌟

The training session had been grueling, as all of all of your sessions tended to be. You pushed the new recruits hard, demanding perfection in every drill and exercise. They needed to be in peak form to face the horrors that awaited them out there in the No-Hunt Zones, battling the vicious creatures known as Wanderers.

The training session had wrapped up, and Xavier was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel, his chest heaving slightly from exertion. That's when you noticed the gaggle of giggling girls from his team hovering nearby, all batting their eyelashes at him and whispering to each other.

Typical. You could practically see the hearts floating above their heads as they fawned over their fearless leader. It was always the same - his reputation as the most successful Hunter in Linkon City tended to have that effect on people. Especially the young, impressionable rookie girls fresh out of training.

As you watched the scene unfold, a flicker of annoyance flashed across your face. The way they kept asking question after question, giggling at every word that fell from Xavier's lips, was starting to get on your nerves.

Don't they have anything better to do than hang around him like a pack of lovestruck puppies? you thought to yourself, feeling a twinge of possessiveness. This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed such a display, but it was no less grating.

Shaking your head, you decided to head to the locker room and get cleaned up after the long day of training. As you walked away, you couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation:

"...did you really kill 70,000 Wanderers all by yourself?" a blonde girl gushed.

"And with a sword, no less! I can't believe you wield it with such skill and precision," another chimed in.

You turned on the shower, letting the hot water cascade over your body as you tried to wash away the irritation. But even as you stood there, the image of them hanging off Xavier kept flashing through your mind.

Little did you know, the seeds of jealousy planted by their behavior would only grow more tangled and thorny as the day went on.

As you stepped out of the shower and started dressing you overheard two of the girls from Xavier's team. They were huddled together, whispering and giggling, clearly gossiping about their beloved leader. You froze, not wanting them to know you were within earshot, as they continued their hushed conversation.

"I swear, I've seen him around the headquarters a bunch of times, but he's never mentioned anyone special," the first girl said, her voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and envy. "Maybe he's just too focused on hunting to settle down with anyone."

"I don't know, Sarah. A guy like that? I bet he has girls throwing themselves at him all the time," the second girl, whose name you didn't catch, speculated. "Did you see the way some of the new recruits were fawning over him today? I'm surprised he can even walk with all that ego inflating!"

Just then, the second girl's eyes widened. "Oh my god, what if... what if he's actually gay? That would explain why he's never been spotted with anyone."

Sarah scoffed. "No way. I've seen the way he looks at y/n. Trust me, he's into girls... and I don't think he's the type to hide it if he was seeing someone."

"Well, if he's not taken, then maybe one of us should make a move. I mean, he's just so... captivating. Those piercing blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, that amazing body..." She sighed dreamily.

Her friend nodded eagerly, a similar starstruck look on her face. "I know, right? And he's so brave and skilled too. He's like, the total package."

Sarah giggled conspiratorially. "So what do you say, Lisa? Should we have a little competition to see who can get his attention first? Loser buys the winner dinner at that fancy new restaurant downtown?"

Lisa licked her lips, a determined glint in her eye. "You're on, Sarah. But I warn you - I play to win. That hottie is mine!"

You slam the door of your locker hard enough to make the metal clang and rattle. The room fell silent for a moment before the whispers restarted, more subdued this time.

As you exited the locker room, you couldn't shake the feeling that their stupid gossip had only added to the growing uneasiness you felt about Xavier's apparent single status.

Why hasn't he mentioned me? Does he not want people to know about us? Or is he just so used to women throwing themselves at him that he doesn't think he needs to bother? you wondered, your mind racing with increasingly paranoid thoughts

As you stepped out of the locker room, you were greeted by the sight of Xavier leaning casually against the wall across the hall, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked up as you approached, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face.

"Hey there," he greeted you, pushing off from the wall and falling into step beside you as you made your way out of the Hunters Association headquarters. "I was starting to think you might have snuck out the back way to avoid me." He chuckled, playfully nudging your shoulder with his own.

As you walked together, you couldn't shake the lingering irritation from overhearing the other girls' conversation in the locker room. You knew it was silly to be jealous, but you couldn't help feeling a flare of possessiveness at the thought of anyone else trying to stake a claim on Xavier.

As the two of you walked hand in hand towards your apartment building, you decided to bring up the elephant in the room. Glancing up at Xavier, you asked him about his thoughts on the day's training session with his team.

"How was the training with your team today? How did it go?" you inquired, genuinely interested in his take on the day's events.

Xavier was quiet for a moment, considering his response. "It went well, actually. There were a couple of new girls who really stood out, to be honest. They were strong, quick learners, and seemed to have a real knack for the techniques I was teaching."

"Do you think they have a real shot at making it as Hunters?" you asked, genuinely curious what Xavier thought of their potential.

He was silent for a long moment, considering his next words carefully. "Hard to say. They have the physical capability, but being a successful Hunter takes so much more than just brawn. It requires heart, determination, and a deep commitment to protecting others. We'll see how they hold up under pressure in the long run."

Without really thinking about it, you let go of his hand, feeling the need to put some distance between the two of you.

"I think I'm going to sleep early tonight," you announced abruptly, hoping to cut the conversation short before your jealousy got the better of you. "I'm feeling really tired after today."

Xavier looked down at you, a flicker of concern in his blue eyes as he sensed the sudden shift in your mood. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze your shoulder. "You've been quiet since we left the headquarters. Did something happen that I should know about?"

He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Look, I know today was a long day, but I was thinking... what if we stopped by that little hotpot place on our way home? We could share a meal and unwind a bit before calling it a night. My treat, of course."

Xavier smiled at you, hoping to coax a similar smile out of you in return. "Unless you'd rather just head home and collapse into bed. I completely understand if you're too tired to go out tonight." He kept his tone light and casual, not wanting to pressure you into anything, but secretly hoping you would agree to spend a little more time with him before the night was over.

As the jealous thoughts swirled in your mind, you felt your grip on your temper slipping away. Without really considering the harshness of your words, you blurted out your next sentence, your voice dripping with an unintended bitterness.

"No, but I think Sarah or Lisa would be more than happy to go with you instead," you snapped, immediately regretting the sharpness of your tone. As soon as the words left your lips, you wanted to take them back, but it was too late.

Xavier's eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, and he stopped walking abruptly, forcing you to halt alongside him. He looked down at you, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his handsome face as he tried to process your jealous accusation.

"What are you talking about, y/n?" he asked slowly, his brow furrowing with concern. "Sarah and Lisa are on my team, yes, but that doesn't mean I have any intention of asking them out. Why would you even say something like that?"

Xavier stared at you, taken aback by your sudden outburst of jealousy. He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off abruptly.

"Forget it, okay? Just... just forget I said anything," you muttered, feeling your cheeks flush with anger and embarrassment. You couldn't believe you had let your jealousy get the best of you like that.

Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off down the sidewalk, leaving Xavier standing there looking bewildered. You knew you were being irrational, but you couldn't seem to control the green-eyed monster raging inside you.

As you neared your apartment building, you hesitated, part of you wanting to go back and apologize to Xavier, and another part of you stubbornly insisting that he should be the one to come after you, to reassure you that you were the only one he wanted.

Maybe I should just go inside and cool off, you thought to yourself, knowing that you were still too worked up to have a rational conversation at the moment. I'll apologize properly later, when I'm not so angry and jealous anymore.

As you fumbled with the key, your hands still shaking slightly from the lingering anger and emotion, you finally managed to unlock the door to your apartment. Stepping inside, you quickly turned to lock the door behind you, wanting nothing more than the solitude and safety of your private sanctuary.

But as your hand reached for the lock, you suddenly felt a presence behind you. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, a gasp escaping your lips.

There, standing just a few feet inside the darkened apartment, was none other than Xavier. For a moment, you simply stared at him in shock, your eyes wide and your heart pounding in your chest. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was a fierce mix of relief and guilt.

Before you could even formulate an apology, Xavier began walking towards you with a determined stride. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of emotions - hurt, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite place. He stopped just a breath away from you, his tall frame looming over your own.

"Is that what you're going to do, y/n?" he asked, his voice low and intense. "You're going to act like a brat and accuse me of being interested in other girls, only to run off and try to slam the door in my face?"

Xavier shook his head slowly, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I thought we were past this kind of jealousy and insecurity. I've never given you any reason to doubt me or question where my loyalties lie."

Xavier's grip tightened in your hair as he pulled you flush against his firm chest, his other hand coming up to grip your hip possessively. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his intense, smoldering gaze.

"Do you need a reminder of what you mean to me?" he growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

His lips crashed against yours in a searing, dominating kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. He kissed you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you thoroughly, leaving no doubt as to his intentions.

When he finally pulled back, you were both left panting and flushed, your bodies pressed so tightly together that you could feel the rapid thumping of his heartbeat against your own.

"Only a fool would ever look at anyone else when they have you," Xavier rasped, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. "You're all I see, y/n. You're all I want."

He stepped even closer, if that was possible, until you were pinned helplessly between his hard, muscular body and the wall behind you.

"I had other plans for tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Like holding you close, feeding you a nice dinner, and then slowly, gently making love to you all night long until we both collapsed from exhaustion."

Xavier's hand slid from your hip to grip your ass, squeezing the supple flesh possessively as he ground his hardening cock against your belly. "But it seems like you need a different kind of reminder first."

His other hand released your hair to grip your jaw, tilting your head to the side to expose the column of your throat. "So I'm going to fuck the jealousy out of you," he growled, his teeth grazing your pulse point. "I'm going to fuck you so hard and so thoroughly that the only thought in your pretty little head will be my name."

Xavier's lips latched onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as his hands roamed greedily over your curves. "And then, once I've erased every trace of doubt from your mind, I'm going to fuck you all over again, until you're drowning in pleasure and completely overwhelmed by the knowledge that I belong to you."

He nipped sharply at your earlobe before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Does that sound good, baby? Or do you need more convincing?" Xavier purred, his voice a sinful promise of all the deliciously wicked things he intended to do to your willing body.

Xavier silenced your attempted apology with another searing kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth and leaving you breathless. When he finally pulled back, his eyes flashed with a dark, hungry intensity.

"Apology not accepted," he growled, his voice rough with desire and a hint of anger. "You wanted to be a brat, so now you're going to be treated like one."

His hands made quick work of your clothes, practically tearing them from your body in his haste to bare your flesh to his greedy gaze. Buttons popped and fabric ripped, the sound of destruction filling the air as Xavier laid waste to your wardrobe.

In a matter of moments, you stood before him, naked and vulnerable, your skin flushed and tingling from his rough touches. Xavier drank in the sight of you, his eyes burning with a fierce, possessive hunger.

"Look at you," he rasped, his large hands skimming over your curves. "Feel how hard you make me, baby?" Xavier panted against your lips, his hips rolling in a slow, filthy grind. "You're going to take care of that later, with your cunt. But first..."

His fingers plunged deep inside your fluttering channel, pumping in and out of your tight heat with a punishing rhythm.

Xavier paused, his fingers still buried deep inside your clenching heat as he gazed at you with an intense, searching look. His brow furrowed as he studied your flushed and panting face, his thumb circling your clit with maddeningly light touches.

"Tell me what got you so jealous baby," he demanded, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. "I want to hear you say it out loud. I want to know exactly what made you doubt me, doubt us, like this."

His other hand slid up your side, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching and tugging at the sensitive peak until it stiffened into a hard, aching point.

“Ngh-Xav—” The whimpers just won’t stop spilling from your lips, his gaze drilling into your eyes and falling straight to your drenching cunt. “I- fuck-”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice a dark, commanding rumble.

"Talk to me like a big girl, y/n," he growled, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "Use your words, baby.

His fingers pumped faster inside your dripping cunt, his palm grinding against your clit with each thrust. The obscene sound of your arousal filled the room as Xavier fingered you hard and fast, determined to wring an answer from your lips.

"Sarah and Lisa they were saying.....ah fuckkk!" You try to tell him about what you heard but his fingers are still deep inside you hitting the perfect spot.

"Sarah and Lisa?" he repeated, a sharp edge to his voice. "You're jealous because of them? Because of my teammates?"

He withdrew his fingers from your clenching heat abruptly, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, he spun you around and bent you over the arm of the couch, your bare ass and dripping pussy on full display.

Xavier delivered a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing through the room. "Let me make one thing crystal fucking clear," he snarled, rubbing the reddening flesh. "I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Them."

Another smack landed on your other cheek, harder than the first. "The only reason they were even talking to me was because we were discussing strategy and team dynamics. Nothing more, nothing less."

He gripped your hips punishingly, yanking you back against the thick ridge of his cock. "You're the only one I want, y/n. The only one I crave. The only one I fucking love." To punctuate his words, Xavier thrust his hips forward, grinding his clothed erection against your soaked folds.

Xavier knelt down behind you, his strong hands gripping your thighs and pushing your legs apart. He forced your knees to bend, opening you wide and exposing your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.

"Keep these legs spread for me, baby," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire."I want to see this pretty pussy as I eat it."

With that, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring your tangy essence with a low moan. He licked and suckled at your folds, his skilled mouth reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess in record time.

He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the swollen bud with expert precision. Two fingers plunged deep into your clenching channel, pumping in and out of your soaked heat.

"Mmm, sweet girl making such a mess" Xavier purred, his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He spat directly onto your dripping, glistening folds, watching as fresh waves of your arousal gushed out to coat his chin and drip down onto the couch below. Without hesitation, he leaned in and began to lap at the slickness, sucking and slurping up every drop of your essence.

"Your taste is intoxicating," he groaned, his tongue delving deeper to plunder your fluttering channel. "I could spend hours feasting on this pretty pussy and never get enough."

Xavier's hands slid higher, gripping the globes of your ass and kneading the pliant flesh. He spread you wider, opening you fully to his relentless onslaught as he ate you like a man possessed.

"Please, don't stop," you whimper, your hips bucking needily against his face as you desperately seek more of that blissful friction.

Xavier pulled back, his lips glistening with your arousal as he fixed you with a stern, disapproving glare. He released your thighs, allowing them to close with a soft, intimate sound, then you feel him gripping your hips and pulling you to straddle his lap.

"No," he said firmly, his voice a low, commanding growl. "Good girls get everything they want. Brats like you don't get to cum when they need it."

He punctuated his words with a sharp smack to your ass, the stinging pain sending a jolt through your body. Xavier rubbed the reddening flesh soothingly.

"Since you seem determined to act like a spoiled brat, I think it's only fitting that you be treated as one," he said, a wicked glint in his eye. "You can sit here and squirm on my lap, feeling my hard cock through my pants, until I decide you've learned your lesson."

Xavier's other hand slid up your spine, wrapping around the nape of your neck. He tilted your head to the side, exposing the slender column of your throat to his hungry mouth. He licked and nipped at the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing your pulse point.

He rocked his hips upwards, grinding his rigid length against your aching, empty sex. The thin fabric of his pants created a maddening barrier between you, allowing you to feel the shape and size of him but denying you the sweet friction you craved.

"Be a good brat and sit still," Xavier ordered, his voice a low, dominant rumble. "We have all night long for me to teach you the consequences of jealousy and insecurity."

Xavier's fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his thick, hard cock from his pants. The moment his length sprang out, he gripped your hips and lifted you slightly, allowing his shaft to slap against your dripping, swollen clit a couple times in quick succession.

"Feel that, baby?" he whispered, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

He pinched your nipple hard, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers as he continued his torturous teasing. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, stoking the fire in your core.

His cockhead pushing against your entrance before sliding back up to bump against your clit. He set a maddeningly slow, teasing rhythm, denying you the deep penetration you desperately craved.

"Please..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his lap as you tried to chase more of that glorious friction. "Please, Xavier...I need...I need..."

"Need what, sweetgirl?" he purred, a wicked glint in his eye as he watched you squirm. "Tell me what you need. Use your words, brat."

His hand slid from your breast to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he spread your leg further to the side. This new position allowed him to grind the thick ridge of his cock directly against your dripping slit, the head catching on your entrance with each torturous thrust.

"Tell me how badly you want it," Xavier growled, his voice a dark, sinful rumble. "Tell me what it would feel like to have my big, hard cock stretching out your tight little cunt. Filling you up so deep and so fucking full..."

He punctuated his words with a sharp, sudden thrust, his cockhead popping inside your entrance before quickly pulling back out. The brief, fleeting sensation of fullness only served to heighten your desperate arousal and frustration.

Xavier's eyes darkened with lust as he watched your eyes flutter shut, your head lolling back in ecstasy with each maddeningly slow thrust. The needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips only fueled his own desire, his cock throbbing and leaking against your soaked folds.

"That's it, baby," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "Let me hear how much you want it. Let me hear how badly you need my cock."

He gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs wider as he ground his hips against yours with ruthless precision. Each pass of his cockhead over your aching clit sent electric shocks of pleasure zipping up your spine, your back arching as you chased the sensation.

"Please, Xavier..." you whimpered, your voice breaking on a desperate moan. "Please fuck me. I need your cock so badly. I need you to fill me up and fuck me hard and don't stop until I'm screaming your name..."

"Since you asked so nicely, baby..." he growled against your lips, his voice rough and heavy with desire. "I suppose I can give you what you need."

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he lifted you up with a grunt of effort. He positioned your dripping, aching sex directly over his throbbing, engorged cock, the swollen head nudging against your entrance with a teasing promise of the pleasure to come.

With that, he surged upwards, driving his thick, pulsing shaft deep into your tight, clenching heat. Your body stretched deliciously around his girth as he hilts inside you, his heavy balls coming to rest against your ass with a lewd slap.

"FUCK!" you both screamed in unison as your bodies joined, your voices echoing off the walls.

Xavier gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided your movements. "That's it, baby. Ride me just like that," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Use these sexy legs and fuck yourself on my cock until you make yourself cum."

He leaned forward, capturing your nipple between his teeth. He bit down just hard enough to make you gasp, sending a jolt of pained pleasure straight to your core. At the same time, one of his hands slid around to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks and tilting your hips to take him even deeper.

"That's it. Fuck...I can feel you getting closer," he groaned, his hot breath washing over your breast. "Your cunt is squeezing me so fucking tight."

Xavier's grip tightened on your hips as he watched your core slide up and down his shaft, your velvet walls clenching and fluttering around him with each upward glide. The exquisite sensation of your silken heat gripping his cock so tightly sent a surge of primal lust crashing through his veins, his balls drawing up tight against his body as his own release approached.

"That's it, baby. Fuck...keep squeezing my cock just like that," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rumble.

The words “C-cumming-” are barely starting words out of your mouth before it crashes into you headfirst. You arch your spine into the perfect semi-circle as your orgasm crashed over you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your fingers clawing at his skin as you clung to him for dear life, your cries of ecstasy filling the room.

"Fuck....fuck..fu...!" Xavier roared, his voice echoing off the walls as your velvet walls clamped down on his cock like a vice. The sensation of your cunt spasming and fluttering around his shaft pushed him over the edge, his own release slamming into him.

He slammed his hips upwards one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside your quivering heat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum painted your insides, coating your walls with his seed as he emptied himself inside you with a guttural groan.

Xavier's body shuddered and jerked as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense climax, holding your trembling form tightly against his chest. He peppered your neck and shoulder with soft kisses, his hands roaming over your curves possessively as he slowly came down from the high of his release.

Xavier tangled his fingers in your hair, gripping the silky strands gently as he tilted your head back to look up at him. His blue eyes searched yours intensely, the emotion and sincerity in their depths making your heart flutter in your chest.

He brushed a tender kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a long moment. "I meant what I said before. I love you more than anything in this world or any other. You're my everything, my reason for living."

"Believe me, my love," he murmured, his voice a low, fervent whisper. "No one can ever take your place in my heart. It belongs to you, completely and utterly, now and forever."

Rafayel 🐡

Rafayel was already awake, his mind too restless to sleep any longer. He sat on the balcony of the resort hotel, watching the sun begin to peek over the horizon. The desert landscape seemed to glow in the early morning light, the sand dunes casting long shadows across the barren expanse.

He heard the sound of your footsteps approaching and turned to see you emerge from the bedroom, your hair still tousled with sleep. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he took in your appearance, remembering the feel of your body pressed against his as you slept.

Rising from the balcony chair, he crossed the distance between you and took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. His eyes met yours, a flicker of mischief dancing in their purple-pink depths.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. "I have to run some errands at the art gallery today. Would you come with me? I promise it won't take long."

He knew he was being selfish, asking you to accompany him. But the thought of spending even a moment away from you was unbearable, especially in a place like this that felt so foreign and oppressive to him. He needed your presence, your calming influence, to ground him.

"Fine, but you have to invite me some dinner after" you say rubbing the sleep off your eyes.

Rafayel leaned back and laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and gratitude. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice warm with a newfound lightness. "I know a little place not far from here, a local gem hidden away in the back alleys of the city. They serve the most divine seafood, as fresh as if it was caught that very day."

An hour later, you emerged from the bedroom dressed for the day ahead. Rafayel had already finished getting ready, looking devastatingly handsome in a crisp linen shirt the color of a summer sky and tailored trousers that hugged his lean frame. He leaned against the wall opposite the bedroom door, his arms crossed over his chest and a playful smirk on his lips as he watched you approach.

"Well, don't you look good enough to eat," he purred, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few quick strides. His hands came up to rest on your hips, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head down to steal a heated kiss. He lingered for a long moment, savoring the taste of your lips and the feeling of your body pressed against his.

As you ate breakfast, Rafayel couldn't keep his eyes off of you. He watched as you bit into a piece of fruit, your lips parting and your tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of juice. He felt a surge of desire rush through him, his body responding to the simple, intimate gesture with a fervor that surprised even him.

He reached across the table and took your hand in his own, squeezing your fingers gently as he leaned in closer to you. "I'm so glad you agreed to come with me today," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I don't think I could have faced that place alone."

As you guys arrived at the gallery, a sense of unease began to creep over Rafayel. He had been looking forward to seeing Thomas and discuss some important business matters they had to attend to. However, as you stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned space, Rafayel's brow furrowed in confusion.

As you turned a corner, Rafayel spotted a note taped to the wall, the paper fluttering slightly in the breeze from the AC vent. He released your hand and stepped forward, plucking the note from the wall and unfolding it with a sense of growing trepidation.

The note was from Thomas, the handwriting hurried and slightly illegible.

Thomas wrote that something urgent had come up, a family emergency that required his immediate attention. He apologized for not being there and promised to make it up to Rafayel soon. However, he also mentioned that there was a package waiting for Rafayel in his office, something important that he needed to deal with right away.

"Well, I suppose you'll just have to play the role of my assistant for the day," he murmured " And i can't leave without my important...package"

" I wouldn't call myself a package"

Rafayel's head snapped towards the source of the voice, his body tensing up as he recognized the redhead girl emerging from the office. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like irritation and unease flashing across his face before it settled into a blank, guarded expression.

Releasing you from his embrace, Rafayel took a step back, putting a bit of distance between your bodies. He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as he regarded the girl warily.

It was clear he knew her, though from the look on his face, not particularly well or fondly. There was a history there, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air between them. Rafayel's posture was defensive, his body language radiating a subtle warning.

The girl smirked, her green eyes glinting with a smug satisfaction as she took in the scene before her - Rafayel's guarded stance, your confusion, the charged atmosphere. She was enjoying the clear discomfort radiating off of Rafayel, reveling in catching him off guard.

"Rafayel," she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I've been waiting for you. I do hope I won't be kept waiting much longer"

Rafayel's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he met her gaze head on. "Celine," he acknowledged coolly, his voice tight. "I apologize for the delay. I had some...unexpected business to attend to first."

He glanced back at you, a silent apology and promise in his eyes before turning his attention back to Celine. "What brings you here? I thought we had an arrangement..."

Celine's lips curled into a sharp, wicked smile at Rafayel's words, a glint of triumph in her green eyes. She took a step closer to him, invading his personal space as she gazed up at him with a challenging smirk.

"Oh, I remember our arrangement perfectly, darling, but I'm afraid things have...changed. I need to discuss some new terms with you. In private"

She jerked her head towards the office, a clear gesture for him to follow her. There was a commanding edge to her voice, a tone that brooked no argument or refusal.

Rafayel's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he glared down at Celine. It was clear he was not pleased with this development, the interruption to his plans and the demand for a private audience. He glanced back at you, a flicker of apology and frustration in his eyes.

"I apologize, cutie," he said softly, his voice tight. "I won't be long. Wait for me here? "

He didn't wait for your response before turning on his heel and striding towards the office, Celine falling into step beside him. As they disappeared through the door, Rafayel cast one last lingering look your way, a silent promise that he would explain everything once he was free of this unexpected obligation.

Left alone in the gallery, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over you like a shroud. Who was this woman, and what hold did she have over Rafayel? And more importantly, what secrets were they hiding from you?

An hour had passed since Rafayel had disappeared into the office with Celine, each minute feeling like an eternity as you waited anxiously in the gallery. The once vibrant space now felt cold and sterile, the art on the walls losing their luster as worry gnawed at you.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, you made your way towards the office, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached the closed door. You raised your hand, knuckles poised to rap against the wood, when you heard the muffled sound of raised voices from within.

Rafayel's voice, low and angry, cut through the silence. "I can't believe you're doing this, Celine. I thought we had an understanding."

Celine's voice, sharp and mocking, followed. "Circumstances change, darling. And you're hardly in a position to refuse me anything."

You froze, your hand hovering inches from the door as you strained to hear more. But the voices fell silent, a tense, heavy quiet descending upon the office.

With a deep breath, you knocked firmly on the door, your nerves on edge. "Rafayel? It's me. I'm going to step out for a bit, maybe do some shopping. I'll call you when I'm done, alright?"

As you approached the office door, ready to knock once more, Celine emerged from within. She stepped out, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she paused, looking you up and down with a critical, almost disdainful eye.

Celine's gaze lingered on you for a long moment, a smirk playing at the corners of her painted lips. She lifted a hand, pretending to wipe at the corner of her mouth with a dainty finger, a mocking gesture that sent a chill down your spine.

She tsked softly, shaking her head as she stepped closer to you. There was a wicked glint in her green eyes, a cruel amusement that made your skin crawl.

"Look who it is. Rafayel's little pet, come to check on her master?"

Celine circled you like a shark, her heels clicking an ominous rhythm on the floor. She leaned in closer, her perfume washing over you, the scent cloying and overwhelming.

"I must say, darling, she purred, her breath hot against your ear. You don't look like you have what it takes to keep a man like Rafayel satisfied. I do hope you're not feeling...inadequate?"

She threw her head back and laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the gallery. The cruelty in her eyes was unmistakable, the malice behind her words impossible to ignore.

Celine smirked at your stunned silence, your obvious discomfort clearly amusing her. She took a step back, smoothing down her tailored suit jacket with a self-satisfied air.

"Well, this has been...enlightening," she commented, a mocking lilt to her voice. She glanced down at her manicured nails, picking at a nonexistent speck of lint.

"But I must go and clean myself up. All this...business can be so messy, don't you think?"

With a final, cruel smile thrown your way, Celine turned on her heel and sauntered off, disappearing down the hallway towards the restrooms, leaving you standing there, your mind reeling.

With a sense of trepidation and growing unease, you pushed open the office door, the hinges creaking softly as it swung inward. As you stepped inside, your gaze fell upon Rafayel, seated behind the large mahogany desk that dominated the room.

He looked up as you entered, his purple-pink eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness in his expression, a tension in his shoulders that spoke of the difficult conversation he had just endured. The room was filled with a heavy, charged silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and secrets.

"Don't let her get to you. Celine is...a complicated part of my past. But you don't need to worry about her.

"Is she now?" You ask, " well since she thinks I'm not good enough to keep you satisfied I think I know what kind of relationship you had"

Rafayel's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and hurt at your accusation. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense, almost accusing stare. The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the space.

He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he seemed to struggle with how to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and tight, tinged with a bitterness you had never heard before.

"You think you know, but you have no idea," he bit out, his words sharp and cutting. "Celine and I...we had a business arrangement. Nothing more.

He paused, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge your reaction. There was a vulnerability in his gaze, a raw honesty that made your heart ache.

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he studied your jealous expression. His eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more intense.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" he murmured, a teasing lilt to his voice even as his gaze remained serious. "you think I can't see it written all over your face, my love?"

He stood slowly, rising to his feet and rounding the desk until he stood before you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

As you turned to leave, unable to bear the tension and uncertainty any longer, Rafayel's hand shot out and caught your wrist in a firm grip. He pulled you back towards him, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity.

"Where do you think you're going, cutie?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Before you could respond, he had already crossed the room and closed the office door with a sharp click.

"I don't think I'm done with you just yet. We need to talk about this little...outburst of jealousy"

He stepped closer, backing you up until your back hit the door. His hands came up to grip your hips, pulling your body flush against his as he gazed down at you with a mix of amusement and something else, something darker and more primal.

"Tell me, y/n", he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Do you really think so little of me? Of us? I thought you knew me better than that... But it seems I was wrong."

Rafayel's hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he lifted you effortlessly. He carried you towards the desk, sweeping aside the clutter of papers and art supplies before setting you down on the polished wood surface.

He stepped between your parted legs, his hands coming to rest on your knees as he leaned in close, his face mere inches from yours. The desk creaked softly beneath your combined weight, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the office.

His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on the sensitive skin just below the hem of your skirt. He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the pulse jumping in his throat as he stared you down.

"I won't have you doubting me, doubting us", he said softly, but there was a steely undercurrent to his words. "Now, pretty...what makes you think you know the true nature of my relationship with Celine? What makes you think you know anything at all about the man you claim to love?"

As you began to stammer out an explanation, Rafayel silenced you by suddenly reaching between your thighs. His fingers deftly pushed your skirt up and out of the way, and in one sharp, aggressive motion, he ripped your panties clean off, the flimsy fabric tearing like tissue paper in his grasp.

You gasped, your body jolting at the sudden, intimate contact and the brutal destruction of your undergarment. Rafayel's eyes flashed with a wild, almost feral light as he watched your reaction, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Shhhhh", he hushed you, his fingers already delving beneath the tattered remains of your panties to stroke along your most sensitive flesh. "No more words out of your pretty mouth, my love. No more words at all."

He pushed your thighs further apart, making room for himself as he stepped even closer, the hard, muscular length of his body pressing against yours. His hand cupped your sex possessively, his thumb finding your clit and circling the tender bud with a maddening, teasing pressure.

Rafayel's hands gripped your ankles, pushing your feet up and outwards until your knees bent and your legs fell open, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. Your skirt, now bunched up around your waist, left you bare and vulnerable, the tattered remnants of your ruined panties dangling off one ankle.

He drank in the sight of your naked, glistening sex, his eyes darkening with lust and a possessive intensity that made your heart race. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate flesh.

He leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue along your slit, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He licked a long, slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it into his mouth with a low, approving groan.

"You taste like heaven" he murmured against your flesh, his words muffled and distorted by his greedy mouthing at your sex.

" Raf.....the door isn't locked" you warn him.

Rafayel paused briefly in his ministrations, glancing up at you with a wicked, almost defiant grin. He seemed not at all concerned by the possibility of being caught in such a compromising position.

"Let them come," he challenged, a reckless edge to his voice. "Let the whole fucking world see me claiming what's mine. I don't care anymore."

With that, he dove back in, his mouth latching onto your sex with a hunger that bordered on feral. His tongue pushed inside you, thrusting deep and hard, fucking you with a intensity that stole your breath.

One hand released your hip to slide up your body, pushing your shirt out of the way to expose your breasts. He palmed the soft mounds, his fingers sinking into the supple flesh as he rolled and plucked at your nipples.

Rafayel lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence as he stared up at you with a wicked, challenging grin. He seemed to relish the idea of being caught in such a compromising position, of giving the world a peek into the dark, passionate side of his nature.

"The walls are thin here", he murmured, his voice low and rough with lust. "So it's up to you cutie, Do we keep your sweet cries of pleasure to ourselves...or do we let everyone outside hear just how much you love being fucked by me?"

As Rafayel's fingers pinched and rolled your nipple almost painfully, and his teeth clamped down hard on your sensitive clit, you could no longer hold back the tide of pleasure that crashed over you. A loud, wanton scream tore from your throat, echoing off the thin walls of the office and no doubt carrying out into the hallway beyond.

"Fuck, yes!" Rafayel growled in approval as he felt your body convulse beneath him, your juices flooding his mouth and chin. He lapped at you greedily, his tongue delving deep to catch every drop of your essence as he pushed you ruthlessly through your intense climax.

In a sudden, aggressive motion, Rafayel flipped you over onto your stomach on the desk. He pressed your chest down against the cool, smooth wood, the air forcing out of your lungs in a rush. Before you could catch your breath, he had already gripped your hips and tugged them back, bending you at the waist and exposing your bare, dripping sex to his hungry gaze.

"Fuck, look at this ass", he growled, his hands kneading and squeezing the round globes roughly. "Such a perfect, fuckable ass. It's a crime to keep it hidden away"

He punctuated his words by delivering a sharp smack to one cheek, the sound of the impact echoing through the room. The sting quickly gave way to a warm, tingling pleasure that spread through your nerves, making you clench and tighten around nothing.

With that, he gripped the base of his thick, hard cock and rubbed the leaking tip teasingly along your slit. He coated himself in your juices, mixing them with the bead of precum that oozed from his slit. Then, with one hard, ruthless thrust, he buried himself inside your tight, clutching heat.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," he grunted, his hips flush against your ass as he savored the feel of your walls gripping him like a vice. "Such a perfect fucking fit for my cock. Like you were made just for me..."

Rafayel began to move, his hips pulling back until just the tip of his cock remained inside you, before slamming forward and burying himself to the hilt once more. He set a hard, fast pace, the desk creaking and shaking beneath you with each powerful thrust of his hips.

Your face was pressed into the smooth wood, drool already beginning to pool and drip from the corner of your slack mouth. The sensation of being so thoroughly taken, so completely at the mercy of Rafayel's lust and desire, was overwhelming. It was almost too much, too intense.

Rafayel grabbed your arms, pulling them up and bending them at the elbows to either side of your head. He placed your palms flat against the desk, giving you something to hold onto as he continued his relentless, pounding assault on your pussy.

"Hold on tight, cutie", he growled, his voice strained with exertion and lust. "You're going to need to brace yourself for what comes next. I'm not going to hold back, not anymore."

Rafayel kept up his relentless pace, pounding into you with a single-minded determination. But despite the intensity of his thrusts and the building pleasure, he somehow avoided hitting that one special spot inside you that always sent you hurtling over the edge. It was as if he could read your mind, could sense your impending release, and was deliberately denying you that final push.

"Punishing you," he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble in your ear. "Teasing you, making you beg so sweetly for something I can give you...but won't. Not yet."

"Don't you dare come until I say you can," he ordered, his voice a harsh, dominating bark. "You don't get to come until I've had my fill...until I've pumped this greedy cunt full of my seed and marked you as mine"

You found yourself begging, unable to hold back the desperate pleas that spilled from your lips. Your voice was high and thin, strained with the effort of holding back your rapidly approaching climax, of keeping your body from seizing control.

"Please, Rafayel, please!" you cried out, your fingers scrabbling against the smooth wood of the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation. "Please, I need...I need to come. I can't...please, Rafayel!"

Tears of frustration and desperation pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body shaking and trembling beneath Rafayel's ruthless onslaught. You were completely at his mercy, completely under his control. And in that moment, you knew you would do anything, say anything, to earn the release you so desperately craved.

He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips finding your ear. When he spoke, his voice was a low, dark rasp, each word deliberately enunciated.

"Don't. Ever. Doubt. Me."

He punctuated each word with a sharp, precise thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep inside you, grinding against that maddeningly elusive spot just out of reach. Your body shook and trembled, tears leaking from your clenched eyes as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to stifle your increasingly desperate moans.

"Im. Yours."

Thrust.

"Completely. And. Totally."

Thrust.

"Yours"

Thrust

"So you'll wait. You'll wait until I give you permission. Until I grant you the release you so desperately crave. Until then...you'll take what I give you. Understand?"

He emphasized his demand with a particularly brutal thrust, his pelvis slamming against your ass, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clutching heat. He remained still for a long moment, his breath hot and heavy against your neck, his heart pounding against your back.

"Tell me you understand y/n"

As soon as the words "I do" left your lips, Rafayel let out a low growl of satisfaction. He angled your hips just so, tilting them up and back to align your body perfectly with his. And then, with a ferocity that stole your breath, he began to pound into that sweet spot deep inside you.

"Yes, just like that", he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

"That's it, baby", he encouraged, his hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. "I can feel you getting close. I can feel your pussy clenching around me, trying to suck me in deeper. You're so fucking close, aren't you? Ready to explode like a fucking firework?"

He angled your hips again, changing the angle slightly, and suddenly you could feel the tension in your body pulling tighter, the coil wound to its breaking point. Your breath came in ragged, desperate gasps, your fingers scrabbling against the desk as you tried to find purchase, to anchor yourself against the tidal wave of sensation threatening to sweep you away.

"Come for me, pretty girl", Rafayel demanded, his voice a low, dark command. "Come screaming my name, so everyone knows who makes you feel this fucking good. Now, fucking do it!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he finally allowed his own release to overtake him. Thick, scalding ropes of his seed painted your insides, marking you, claiming you as his own as he filled you with his essence.

The sensation of his hot cum flooding your core pushed you over the edge, your body seizing and convulsing beneath his as you came harder than you ever had before. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the thin walls, no doubt alerting everyone in the vicinity to your shared climax.

As the intense waves of your shared climax began to ebb, Rafayel collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you down into the desk. You both panted and gasped for air, bodies slick with sweat, hearts racing in tandem as you struggled to regain your composure.

After a long moment, Rafayel rolled off of you, his softening cock slipping from your dripping cunt. He gathered you into his arms, holding you close as he pulled you up to sit on the edge of the desk. Your legs were shaky, and you leaned against him for support, not trusting your own balance just yet.

"Look at the mess we made," he murmurs, his voice still rough and strained. He gestures to the desk, streaked with your combined fluids, and the floor, splattered with the evidence of your passionate coupling.

"But it was worth it. Fuck, was it ever worth it. I love you, y/n," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never forget it."

As you both stepped out of the office, still flushed and disheveled from your passionate encounter, you find Celine waiting. The young woman's eyes were round as saucers, her face a deep shade of red as she no doubt processed the sounds she had just witnessed emanating from the closed door.

Rafayel barely spared her a glance as he strode past, his arm around your waist to keep you steady. He paused just before exiting the building and turned to face Celine, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Keep the paintings, Celine", he instructed, his voice still rough and low from their recent activities. "Our agreement is null and void, effective immediately. Consider this a parting gift, for your trouble."

Celine's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying to formulate a response, but no words came out. She looked stunned, her gaze flickering between you and Rafayel.

"And say hi to the family for me, dear cousin", Rafayel added with a mocking, almost cruel edge to his voice.

With that parting shot, he ushered you out into the brilliant sunlight, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool interior of the gallery.

222 notes · View notes

astrxq · 1 day ago

Text

Borrowed Time

modern!cregan stark x reader

words: 17.4k

notes: this was requested!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everything is highlighted pink!"

"Everything is important!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He speaks to you!" Sara protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She has a way of convincing people.”

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

“I wouldn’t say that.”

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

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

“Unlike Jace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not that bad!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better safe than sorry?" you offered weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A bit?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perfect?" you supplied.

He huffed a laugh. "Boring."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could really use your help."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heat crept up your neck. "Jace!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lord of the Rings?"

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

"Fine. Ocean's Eleven?"

"No."

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

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

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

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

"No."

"You're impossible," Jace groaned.

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

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

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

"Inception?" Jace tried again.

"Jace."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of something?" you asked warily.

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

You felt your stomach drop. "Pairs?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or if he even wanted you to try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not exactly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why is that funny?"

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

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

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

"This?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did he even–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd become your friend.

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

Probably.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The front door swung open with a loud thud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's..." you started.

"Very artistic," Cregan finished lamely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had to be nothing.

But then why did it feel like everything?

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

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

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

And then there were two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anticipating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s bleeding.”

“Barely.”

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

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

“Hold out your hand,” you demanded.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Do not test me right now, Stark.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “Wasn’t it?”

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

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

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

“You could’ve just asked,” he said.

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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inkabelledesigns · 3 days ago

Text

Okay, I have never witnessed this on BlueSky. For the most part our art communities are pretty nice places to be, at least the ones I'm in for doll photography and Bendy fan art. But this person...oh boy. I have thoughts. I get wanting to encourage people to use alt text, but this is not the way to do it. If anything, telling people you're adding them to a blocklist for a failure to make the choice you wanted them to make is a surefire way to make someone not want to do what you're saying they should do. Like, we deal with enough public shaming in the world, why add to it? It doesn't produce meaningful change, it produces resentment and makes you look like an asshole.

If people aren't adding alt text to their posts, and you think they should be, the first question you should ask yourself is why. Why do they not use alt text? It could be any number of reasons, and I'm fairly confident most of them should not be taken in bad faith. Maybe they don't know what alt text is or how it works. Maybe they don't know what kinds of things should be included in alt text. Maybe there's a limitation regarding time or internet connection, or there's a physical or mental disability in the mix. Maybe they don't know where to start in researching the topic and are paralyzed/intimidated. Because goodness knows, some parts of the internet can be cruel and unforgiving when you make mistakes, and it's impossible to learn things without making mistakes. Maybe it's any number of other things that you're simply not privy to that may be none of your business.

If your goal is truly to make the world a more inclusive and accessible place, then why not make some posts talking about how to effectively use the alt text feature? Make a guide for people that's easy and intuitive to use! Why not offer to help someone learn how to do it one on one? There are literally so many choices you could make to help people learn a new skill, and you chose to shame them and prey on their insecurities instead. That's uncool. That tells me this isn't about accessibility so much as it is controlling others, and I'm not into that.

For the people who are actually into accessibility, if you have any suggestions or resources for how to write alt text effectively, I would love to learn from you! This is something I'm inexperienced with. I know that the details I think are important in an image or art piece may not be the stuff other people need in their experience, and finding the balance to actually be inclusive and thoughtful of the people who would use this feature is something I could use some help with. Let's be productive and actually learn something.

observations

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takes1 · 2 days ago

Note

Hello!! (I don't know exactly how to do this)

Could you write something for Tendo Satori being a simp for short skirts with thigh-high stockings?

Thank you so much

tendou is obsessed with your thigh-highs

hi!! you did it right haha. could not stop thinking about this one. great request!! glad to be able to write it so quickly :0

warnings. nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / tendou is a thigh guy / thigh high fetish / almost fingering / makin out / reserved!reader / yapper!tendou / endstate situationship / intense PDA / college au / TA!tendou / 2.3k words / potential for part two idk

links. masterlist. more haikyuu here. my ao3. my imagines requests open

Tendou clocked your little outfit the second you walked into his study group's reserved room.

As the TA for this course, he tried to keep himself far away from you, just to clear his mind before trying to help. The library was now 40 minutes away from closing, and the handful of students that showed up were nearly all gone.

Helping the last poor soul with practice questions was not quite enough- he found himself praying you would stay another ten minutes for him to try and flirt, just a little.

He wanted to ask what was the deal with such an eye-catching get-up, but he wasn't sure what the best approach was. So, like usual, he just went with whatever felt right.

"Hey!" He was loud, friendly, and accidentally succeeded in startling you from behind.

You turned in your chosen beanbag to give him an unsure look. You didn't say hello back.

There was something different about this guy. You had your guesses at to what exactly ailed him, but they would remain background noise for the time being. Phone clutched to your chest, you collected yourself again in the aftermath of such a fright.

"Did I scare ya?"

He didn't wait for you to respond through your tiny chuckle. He was on a roll, and needed to open this up.

"Whaaat? No homework?" Tendo pushed his weight forward, limp over your beanbag, right beside you, "Don't tell me you're already done?"

Tendou was absurdly quick. Conversations, usually more confined to a specific, academic topic, usually left you spiraling from his fast and unfocused mind. Most of the time, you felt like a passenger in your own talks, but he was waiting for you now.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed, engrossed in a post on your phone for minutes, now. Everybody was almost gone.

"Um- yeah, I am."

There was so much going on behind the squint he gave you. It made you feel all hot and cold at the same time.

He muttered, looking around the rest of the room, "Smart and pretty, cool- that's cool."

Your mouth hung open a little, a blush creeping over your face, but he was onto the next thing. As if he didn't just call you pretty.

"So-ooo do you usually dress up outside of class?"

It was never one question. In this case it led to lots of elaboration, back-to-back.

"Because I totally did not get the memo, if we were supposed to wear something nice. I mean, bro over there is wearing a piano shirt, suit jacket and jeans. I'm-," He paused a moment to snicker at him, "-A little confused. So--,"

His eyes nearly gave him away. They faltered, slipping down to the sliver of skin showing at the top of your thigh-highs, just before the hem of your skirt ended.

"Do you- usually wear this?"

In a natural response, your eyes were following his, and you automatically pulled down on your skirt to cover yourself.

Your voice was quieter, slower, than his by many measures, "I wouldn't call this 'dressing up,' but, um, it is my style."

He had to mask his frustration -the Hellish screaming from inside- with a bigger, sillier thing.

"You got somewhere to be after this?"

Again, more questions. You couldn't help but laugh at the way he asked them so quick, flighty, like he was maybe asking you about course material.

"Like, a date, or something? Going to- I dunno- see your boyfriend? Something like that?"

Now you understood. He was no-doubt flirting. You set your phone on the floor, an inquisitive smile at your lips.

"I don't have a boyfriend," You looked him up and down slowly, watching how he adjusted, plenty aware of it, "Why do you need to know so bad?"

For the first time ever, he was searching for what to say. You grinned.

"Y'know," You shifted, twisted, to look at him straight on, "If you kissed me, I might kiss you back."

Your teeth clinked together in his haste. It was silly, an endearing accident, that made you smile against him.

His lips were soft, and warm, but he kissed you like you were made of chocolate. Something sweet, something to be devoured. There was no room to doubt his intentions because he was so passionate from the start.

A big, strong hand laced through your roots and guided you to get a better kiss from this angle.

It had been a while since your last fling. Tendou could fill the empty space in your heart, between your legs, for enough time to forget how lonely you were. Longevity wasn't something you were after. He was into you and that would do.

"Mm-h," You parted to tell him to come sit next to you, instead.

Tendou wiped the string of spit from his mouth, flushed, but never backed down. His confidence, especially in the face of being such a weirdo, was a turn-on.

"Ya think this is big enough for me~? Let's seeee,"

You watched, amused, at how he slinked into the space next to you and completely filled it up.

"You're... pretty tall," You confessed, shaky. Your hand shot out to touch him, invested in his size, all of a sudden. Hesitation, at the last second, kept you from following through.

"Mhmmm, you know it. 6'2, if you're curious."

Encouraging, he completed your desire to feel him by placing your hand on his shoulder. He did all the hard work so easily.

You were human. You had your preconceived biases. You thought weird, nerdy guys were supposed to be frail and skinny.

Tendou's shoulder was instead strong, and filled out. His shirt was a thin blend of polyester and cotton that was strained at the bicep and not so much at the waist. His legs stretched out much further than yours. All these titillating realizations kept cascading in big waves of shock. It kept you in a state of stillness that directly contrasted his excited wiggling around to get comfortable.

"You okayy?" He laughed, his proximity a safe, but new change. His words buzzed against your cheek between kisses, "You really like tall guys, or somethin'?"

He did usually wear hoodies, in your cold classroom. The way he slouched in it made him look closer to 5'9". It was warm in here so he had set it on the back of a chair a while ago.

You kissed him, falling against his warm chest in an attempt to shut him up.

Though he loved being chatty, he knew when it was a good time to let other things get the point across.

"Mmh-,"

He returned your passion tenfold. Forearm behind your upper back, a hand wrapped all around the back of your neck, he crushed you back down under him.

God, he was good with his tongue.

It didn't take very long to realize you both wanted each other, bad.

You liked what you were finding out about him, the further he went with you- he knew he liked you from the start of the semester, and now got to express his gratefulness for the chance.

"You should wear these more," His dirty, breathy voice matched the rough way he pulled your thigh-highs down.

Tendou was completely lost in the way your thighs squeezed together, how your stockings were just a little too small, your skirt arguably too short for your ass. No wonder you chose a seat like this, far away from the other students.

What he wanted was for you to sit on his face. But even he knew that idea was too much, so he settled for squeezing at your flesh, adjusting to be more over you.

You gave a closed-mouth moan of surprise at the feeling of a stiff cock under his jeans, rubbing on your leg.

The way he had you all spread and squished again for him, a little tight on space, very last-minute and surprised, was exactly how he wanted you. He grinned. Thanks to his features, that made him look intimidating.

"I've got a- a thing, for these," He explained, clearing the air a little, "Now that I think about it, if you wore this to class, I probably wouldn't be able to focus."

Just the idea of keeping him distracted like that filled you with a hot, focused, urgency. You pulled him in, legs parted, for a raunchier kiss.

He groaned against your mouth, biting your lip, and pressed an eager palm against your pussy.

"Ahh-mm-!" Your whine was getting cut short by another carnivorous suck to your lip.

He got you so wet, so malleable, so quickly.

"Fuck," His hips were grinding on your thigh, apparently enough stimulation for him- it made you feel proud, that you could get him feeling so good without much work.

His digits slid under your soaked panties. You gasped against his mouth, fingers filling with the neck of his t-shirt.

"Mmm, fuck that feels so-o good," His confession devolved into more of a growl.

His fingers were using all the wet there to better slide against your clit, a filthy, smooth sensation that kept you writhing.

"Ohh--oh my go-d," You mewled, eyes scrunched shut at how much you needed it. He swallowed up your sounds with hasty, hard kisses.

His groin kept pressed, rolling, against the back of your thigh.

It felt hot, and big from what you could tell, but you were still left to speculate what he was hiding under those jeans.

Never in a million years would you have guessed that he possessed knowledge on how to touch a woman. In any sense, not just explicitly. He was everyone's favorite, goofy TA. Not some womanizer.

Your fingers raked through his messy hair, taking in the feeling of his tongue against yours, all while trying to keep your noise down.

When he began to part, you didn't fight it, because you needed to breathe. But he stopped moving his fingers, and it left you shaky, needy. You rolled your hips and pressed your leg harder onto his hard-on.

"We sh-ould- we should stop," Tendou sighed, clearing his throat.

He was glancing around the empty study room, head on a swivel. He didn't look particularly upset, nor like he had actually heard something. You sure didn't. What the hell was his problem?

You were grabbing at him, groaning, "What?"

Another little kiss to your forehead, and the hottest, most rabid look any guy had ever given you before made you pause.

"I just- uh, I just have--," He was distracted again, squinting around, "A bad... feeling."

"I made you feel bad?" You sounded more whiny, than anything. You would have thought it embarrassing, but your cunt was throbbing with the need for more, and that took priority.

He chuckled, prying his own fingers from between your legs with marked displeasure.

"Noo, no, you make me feel like I wanna tear our clothes off." He thought for a second, sucking the wet from his index and middle finger, "Then run naked into the woods and never come back. Live like our ancestors. Have like, 16 kids."

There was no time to unpack that.

Just as you had fixed your stockings back, and he rolled off of the beanbag to stand -shifting his cock to a less obvious position in his jeans-, the door opened fast with no knock.

"Heyyy!"

Your wide eyes went straight to Tendou, but he didn't look at you. How did he know?

"Hey!" He greeted piano-shirt guy with typical ease.

The unwelcome guest, somebody you vaguely recognized from your class, explained themselves, glancing about the room, "I left my phone here! Have you guys seen it?"

Your voice cracked to say 'No,' and you vowed to remain silent for the remainder of your fake search for this idiot's phone.

Tendou found it in one of the swivel chairs. Part of you couldn't help but feel like he had some magical powers. Once the guy left, you were left mourning all that perfect proximity, all the dizzying desire you had built so quickly.

"Sooo angry," He cooed.

As he invited you for a hug, it was clear that he found your frustration the most adorable thing in the world.

You tolerated it because he held you. More specifically, he held you and palmed your ass from under your skirt. Your arms were stretched, linked behind his shoulders, as you stole more of his perfect kisses. You pushed him to sit on the table so you could stand between his parted legs.

He kept laughing, giggling at least, and messing your kisses up.

"Mh- what? What is it?"

Tendou snickered, "Didn't know you were such a little freak--,"

"Freak?"

"Ohh-kay, okay, not freak- umm," He giggled at the offense you took, cupping your face in his oversized hands, "Sorry. I really like you. I wanna do this more."

You hadn't caught on quite yet, so you leaned in to kiss him again, but only got his cheek. He grinned at your disappointment.

"Nooot here, though."

He was still squinting around, "I dunno, I still don't feel right."

After such a strong demonstration of predictive ability, you couldn't not trust his warning. You glanced around, too.

"Some other time?"

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu. (new) my imagines.

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shaisuki · 11 hours ago

Text

“Caleb?”

“What is it, pipsqueak?”

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

You asked him out of the blue while munching on the snack he bought for you. Seated on the stairs at the front of the store. The wind's cold. A telltale sign of the night to come. The skies are purplish with hues of orange and red. The can of soda sweats with condensation. Leaving a imprint of it on the concrete floor.

“What about it, pipsqueak?”

Caleb brows furrow at the sudden question. You were both in high school and neither of the romance stuff were discussed except when you both watched a romance drama that aired on the evening. He didn't even know you were interested.

”No. I mean that's normal. You're popular with girls and I know you must kissed one of them right? Riiight?”

Absentmindedly crinkling a wrapper of the candy and Caleb can hear the crunch of the packaging. A amused laugh escaped Caleb's lips. Turning his body to face you and resting his jaw to his palm. His elbow leaning on his knees.

He stares at your side profile. Studying how your eyelashes flutter and the dimple surfacing on your round cheek. A small pout in your plump lips.

“I haven't kissed anyone, pipsqueak.”

“For real? Nah, you're kidding me.”

Caleb's smile grew wider when you whipped your head to see if he was really serious. Your face scrunched up while you eye him suspiciously.

It was the truth. He gets it. He was Mr. Popular among his peers and there's the endless stream of girls who tried to get on his good graces. However he can't bring himself to like the attention. Sure, it was good that he can count on them and he knows you're going to be cool about it but it feels wrong.

“I'm not interested, pipsqueak.” Caleb assures you. Patting your head in a affectionate manner like he always did. His palm hold your round cheek. Caressing the skin with his thumb and his aura gets serious all of a sudden. “What made you ask me that kind of question?”

“A classmate asked me if you have a girlfriend and then if you did the lovey-dovey stuff with a girl. I told her I don't know and....” Your eyes squint for a little bit. The gears in your head turning. “— that's why I asked you about it.” You explained.

Caleb pinched your cheek. If Caleb wants to be honest with you right now. He will say he wants to kiss you, first. His eyes landing on your lips. He fought the urge to run his thumb in your lips for he might regret what he's about to do next. It's to kiss you. Taste the sweetness of the candy in your lips and feel the softness of your lips that will linger for days to come.

Caleb wants you, needs you to be his firsts. It's the way it is most special cause he shared it with you and he knows you're inexperienced too and what's better to be each other's firsts, if you'll allow it.

“Pipsqueak, do you want to be kissed?” His voice suddenly serious. The streetlight casting a glow behind them and from the angle where you look at him. Caleb's expression grew darker. The knowledge that you're going to be kissed someone that is not him — brings a pain that he can never recover.

“Someday, Caleb. Someday.” You mutter and Caleb smiles, cause that someday is the day when he will finally get to kiss you. A real kiss. Not the indirect kisses from having to share cans of soda or tasting another one's food. You didn't even know that.

Caleb and you stayed for a bit. Watching as nightfall envelops the whole city. Contented at the peace and quiet with the conversation gone in your mind except for Caleb who burned the memory. He's contented for now.

He can be patient towards you and when the time comes, it's not only a kiss from you but the whole you, body and soul.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb #lads x chubby reader #love and deepspace x chubby reader

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blueraith · 2 days ago

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"How could Vi not notice her sister is suicidal?!"

I feel like people who ask this question have a fundamentally immature understanding of depression and suicidal thoughts/actions, and how the two affect people OUTSIDE of the person suffering from these conditions. Perhaps you guys are young, and you don't know how to view this matter outside of yourselves and your own perception, but it is tragically common for people to miss seemingly "obvious" details that lead up to a loved one's suicide. "I didn't notice anything was wrong" is about one of the most common refrains you'll hear after the fact.

Let’s also remember that Vi does not actually know all of Jinx's emotional tells or signs of an impending episode. She is confused each and every time Jinx goes through one and almost always unintentionally triggers her. This because it's been SEVEN FUCKING YEARS since they've seen, spoken to, or lived together.

Neither Jinx or Vi actually know the current versions of each other very well, it's one of the reasons they keep hurting each other, and part of the tragedy of their relationship.

Look, I have depression. I've had it since I was about 15 or so. I can recall self-isolating or worse and assuming my parents or friends or a teacher would notice and rush to my aid or something.

Never happened. Because depression isn't always a very obvious condition. People mask in different ways, and not always with the conscious intention to hide their symptoms. Sometimes, people with depression mask simply because it makes it slightly easier to get through the day. Jinx's case would likely be even more difficult to spot because of the manic side of her condition.

I ended up getting the bulk of my care taken care of as an adult. Mostly because I could finally advocate for myself and I also realized that NO ONE is going to notice the more alarming symptoms of my own depression better than me.

This is not to say that you can't have a support network. Or that members of that support network WON'T spot something you've overlooked from time-to-time.

But Vi is not Jinx's support network. (Arguably Sevika is far better placed for that.) She might have gotten there eventually if Act 2 hadn't ended the way that it had, but that dream of the sisters being able to recreate their lost family was shattered and the progress they were making in getting to know each other halted at Jinx's realization that she needed to leave for Vi to move on.

I don't know, it's like some of you expect everyone in your lives or in other, unrelated media to have a 13 Reasons Why style reaction any time someone shows symptoms of suicidal thoughts or actions, or when one occurs. This is almost an absurd thing to expect out of anyone unfamiliar with what depression or suicidal thoughts actually look like. Like, if you're American, this idea that everyone everywhere is familiar with what a mental health crisis looks like is even more tragically farcical because we can't even admit that poor mental health is an aspect of mass shootings here as a society and culture.

And y'all expect the ex-con stuffed into a box since the age of 15 or so to be able to just instantly spot that her sister--again whose symptoms she's very obviously not familiar with--is going through a crisis event?

Like, damn, no one in this fandom is cut more slack than Jinx, and this entire criticism of Vi makes that more clear than any other. It's a position ironically devoid of any and all empathy, probably because y'all spent it all on Jinx, and assumes a sort of selfishness and coldness towards Vi that is in no way, shape, or form supported by canon.

It's honestly an argument that I dismiss entirely the moment a person attempts to make it. Largely because I am exhausted of how hypocritical this aspect of the famdom becomes towards Vi. Jinx's actions are a large part of the reason Vi sinks into alcoholism. She then proceeds to taunt Vi about it in the mines as if Vi's pain is nothing to her.

I NEVER hear anyone talk about that. It's almost always about how Vi should have done better. How Vi hurt Jinx. How Vi wasn't good enough.

It's some Grade A, Bonafide Bullshit™

Vi and Jinx were never going to ride off into the sunset together. If that is something you thought was going to happen and are now irrationally blaming Vi for because you're disappointed....? I don't know what to tell you. I personally thought it was pretty obvious that they were Doomed Siblings in this storyline and any potential, permanent reconciliation between them may happen in some far off sequel project or not at all.

#vi arcane #arcane #arcane season 2 #jinx arcane #jinx and vi

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blubunz · 2 days ago

Text

YAP SESSION 3

— RE chars in general x gn! reader

《MINORS DNI!》

Tags: Sex. Just casual stuff nothing crazy. RE characters includes: Leon , Carlos, Ashley, Jill, Chris, Ada, Luis. Claire is mentioned but I don't write anything horny abt her.

A/N: I have a hunch I'm actually gonna be sick un,, not feeling so great. This is just what j think if it's based on normal stuff like no fucked up messed up situations whatever, just casual lovers making love and what they like.

Consensual.

Ok now that's out of the way, I have some preference in minds, obvi they're purely just my opinions.

Leon is like, the guy who swings with whatever you want. Rough? Yeah. He'll go feral. Gentle? Ok. He'll be so sweet, even moan for you I'd you want to hear them, in which most of the readers in my fic would love. Most of the time it's just you, you, you. Him asking you what you want. Princess treatment or absolutely feral, he doesn't have one in mind, he's just on board with whatever you want and if you don't say anything, he'll ask you what you want anyway while kissing your cheeks so sweetly.

Carlos,, grhfrgrhgrh, he's so bite-able. I think he's the soft type. Like, he can be rough, but most times, he chooses not to if you don't specify anything. He absolutely loves seeing you just getting satisfied and happy, so yes, he'd go rough if that's what you want, just not without you saying. Even when you did something bad, or if you hit him when youre on top, he'd just melt and cradle you in his arms, kissing you, and you two would have some cuddle-fuck session. In my mind, Carlos is very emotional and sentimental in his love life. I can ramble on about the same thing over and over, how he's an absolute king in showering you with too much affection.

Slapping? You're into that, but Carlos is scared of hurting you. Bondage? He doesn't want to see ropes burn into your skin, the only thing should be on your body are his marks and hickies.

So anyways, his biggest turn-on is seeing you getting so, so satisfied. This might make him indulge in overstimulation however, he keeps making you cum and seeing your brain melting after each orgasm. That's right, you don't have to think, just be happy of what Carlos is giving you — pure love and affection.

I don't get much thoughts fron other characters in a sexual way, but I'll think about it like rn. Both Leon and Carlos are hot to me so obvi they're like,, um, long, and,, the first ones I write about.

I think Ashley would be some vanilla stuff, and if you two both try to go into some kinky stuff, things just gets awkward because both of you never really know how to do it professionally, and then you two would just laugh and watch a movie.

Jill is like,, ohmygod,, she's so ourhrorhrirug. The Jill in my mind is like, into the casual stuff, but she prefers handling you as well. She mainly wants to see every once of your reaction so mind you usually sex with Jill will never be a quickie, she doesn't do it slow, but rather she just does a lot of things to finally let you go.

For Claire. No, idk, I never think of her in that way and when i think about it now,nothing comes to mind. I love her character! I just don't associate her with these horny stuff so no.

Chris, big beef guy, I like him too! I think he'd enjoy handling you like Jill. Ok, so he's be like, usually, dominant and rough, hed praise you though, but hes very rough, and he enjoys using his strength to let you know who's in charge. but like, you can put him down no matter how strong you are. One word, one pleading look and you got him all soften up and asking you if you needed anything. Usually, he's never the one to initiate too, he respects you and only fucks you when you want to. If he's horny and you're not then he's holding it in, not even letting you know. If he's not and you are, then, obviously he has the need to satisfy you in every way he could.

Ada is like, I think with how she is in the games, she'd know what you're into by now. You're an open book to her and she can read you. You didn't even have to ask, it's like she knows. It creeps you out honestly, sometimes, at how every time she knows what you need. Maybe she keeps track every month? She knows your kinks too, and when you talk to her, she's like,, "I know,," sometimes she surprises you during sex, turning the usual sex into one imof your kinks. She enjoys seeing you surprised following with the high amount of pleasure that follows suit.

Luis. A bottom.

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kasagia · 1 day ago

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Hi babe 🩷 hope you’re doing okay and we miss you so much!! I don’t know if you’re still taking Feyd requests or not, but if so can you please write a little cutesy smutty piece about our sweet dark prince being so touch starved and never really knowing what a gentle or loving touch felt like and our reader shows him all the different ways that soft touches can feel good? I’m just in the mood for some Feyd worship (completely obsessed with him)

HIS Right Hand

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!ex-bene gesserit!pregnant! reader Summary: After defeating Atreides, you and Feyd rule Giedi Prime peacefully. (As peacefully as you can with him by your pregnant side.) And you show your husband a whole new side of intimacy. Warnings: 18+, canon violence, smut, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen; A kind of sequel to Right Hand - my most beloved series with our Na-Baron. Hope you will enjoy it! 🖤🖤🖤 Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist

Everything was wrong today.

Your old armour—the outfit in which you walked the corridors of Giedi Prime as Feyd's right hand—no longer fits you at all because your pregnant belly started to show.

Not that you hated it. Quite the opposite. You loved your unborn children with all your heart, but after so many changes that had come so quickly and suddenly into your life, the fact that your old clothes no longer fit somehow completely broke your composure.

So now you were standing in front of a tied prisoner; you don't even remember who he was anymore, and you were abusing him, making cuts in some places on his body, painting the floor with his blood, and his body with wounds in your current vision to get out some of these... anxiety in you.

You realise with dismay why your husband had done this so many times. It was just so fucking therapeutic.

Each cut represented your anger at something different. Stupid, useless advisors. Disgusting, back-pedalling Reverend Mothers. The emperor's spoilt little daughter was only on the throne because you and Feyd didn't want to take that position yet. A poorly cooked breakfast. Stupid, ill-fitting clothes...

"In my wildest dreams, I never thought that pregnancy would make you so aggressive, little witch. If I had known, I would have placed you in this condition earlier. It's rather... exciting to watch." Feyd sneers cockily, leaning against the doorframe and watching you work on the prisoner in unconcealed admiration.

He nods to the guards in the room, causing them to obediently leave, leaving the two of you alone with the barely alive man. Apparently, all of your deep conversations must have taken place in the presence of corpses.

"Don't provoke me, husband." You growl at him and plunge the dagger into the trapped man's chest like it was a bag of pins. The pierced flesh and muscle squelch under your movement, and you swear you see your husband's eyes blacken with lust at the sight and sound. Horny madman.

"Oh, but I love provoking you, my dear darling wife." He responds sweetly, smiling at you as he wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer to him and licks the blood from your temple that had obviously splattered on you in your crazy attack on the poor man.

You must have looked ridiculously like your husband in that state. And that turned him on. Narcissistic asshole.

"Feyd." You growl at him menacingly and give him a dry, cold stare—something he's used to but has become... rare after the two of you ended up together.

He swallows and delicately reaches into your hand, removing the dagger from it—his experience with you stabbing him when you get overly emotional tells him it's best to disarm you before he says something that will unsettle you.

"What's wrong, my Baroness?" He asks, reaching for your chin and forcing you to look him in the eye. You might not have been as open a book to him as he was to you, but Feyd was slowly learning to read you. And each time, he revelled in the small victory of reading you. He hoped that this time he would succeed because you looked... very agitated and nervous. And he didn't like that at all.

"If you laugh at me, I'll spit your guts out and tell our children they never had a father." You growl your threat and rest your chin on his shoulder.

He stiffens a little, unused to being treated affectionately, but slowly he tangles his hand in your hair—perhaps one of the most ethereal things about you—and allows you to hide from his watchful gaze for a moment.

"That's a threat I'm not going to test. Just tell me who to punish."

"My clothes don't fit me anymore." You say tearfully, and, driven by some strange instinct, you nuzzle up to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly and pressing his body closer to yours.

You cry into his chest, completely oblivious to how stiff he has gone, frozen in shock at your odd behaviour.

You and he didn't have an easy past. It was unheard of for you to show any weakness, tears, or need for physical contact other than seeking sexual pleasure from others.

You, as a former Bene Gesserit, had to remain alert and composed at all times. He, as a Harkonnen, was supposed to be the definition of strength and brutality. That didn't exactly go with the cuddles, the tender, caressing touches, and other shit Feyd had read in one of your romance novels that you tried so hard to hide from him.

No, he didn't like them at all. He just liked to know what his woman was doing and liked.

Even after you and he finally ended up together, there wasn't... much tenderness in your relationship. Sure, the sex was amazing, the tension and chemistry between you unthinkable, but seeking solace and a cuddle that wasn't directly related to the hot passion of the moment? Never. Well… maybe in life-threatening situations. We all forget about control in such moments.

That's why Baron Feyd-Rautha, the great warrior, husband, and soon-to-be father, has no idea what to do when his pregnant wife cries and clings to him like some teddy bear (which neither of you have ever had, by the way).

"Hug me, damn it!" You say, or rather order him, irritated. And that side of you is already something more familiar to Feyd.

He obeys your command without hesitation, his strong arms holding you tight, and he swallows nervously, amazed at the power you have over him, how even when you're the one crying and showing your sensitive side, you still hold him by the throat, unsure of what to do next.

"Is ordering new clothes such a big tragedy?" He asks, unsure of your reaction, and by the way you stop shaking from crying in his arms, he dares to think he has solved your problem.

He's never been more fucking wrong in his entire life.

"Of course you have no idea what I'm on about!" You growl angrily and push yourself away from him. "All you know is how to twirl your sword and your penis and nothing else! I sleep in my old chambers tonight!" You scream furiously at him and leave the dungeon like a fury, slamming the grate behind you with such force that the right one falls off its hinges.

Feyd makes a note to check the state of his dungeons and thanks himself for having the prudence to pick the dagger out of your hand earlier. Now he knows damn well what it's like to be on the verge of life and death. And being on the other side of his treatment, he doesn't like it at all. Especially since his pregnant wife had bigger mood swings than him.

"Marital quarrel. You understand, right?" He says to the barely conscious man and ends his suffering by killing him on the spot. After all, he couldn't let anyone witness his little fight with his wife.

Unfortunately, this is not enough to calm his anger.

He moves on to the next prisoner, completely ignoring the knowing, discouraged glances the guards exchange. They're going to have a hell of a lot of cleaning up to do today after their Baron and Baroness visits.

Feyd tossed and turned over again. His large bed with its black velvet sheets was mocking him with how lonely and cold he felt without the familiar warmth of your body next to him.

Just a few months ago, he didn't even know what it was like to have you in his bed and in his arms every night. He didn't care about something like sleeping in his bed; he only considered it an interruption, something annoying that took him away from his training. And with you... he wanted every little second of a nap with you in his arms.

Damn. He was a Harkonnen. A fucking killing machine, he wouldn't let something as shallow as...

His thoughts are interrupted by the quiet opening of the door. He closes his eyes, pretending to sleep, and moves his hand under the pillow, gripping tightly the hilt of a hidden dagger (yours, ironically).

"Leave it, or you'll accidentally hurt me or worse, our children, and then I'll really start a civil war with you." You snap at him, both irritating him and calming his racing thoughts.

He opens one eye and checks the hour. 2:58. You should have been asleep by now in your condition. It wasn't healthy for you or your children.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this late visit? Is there something wrong with your rooms?" He allows himself to mock you, embittered by your childish behaviour, and sits down to get a better look at you.

Your hair is dishevelled—a clear indication that you couldn't sleep either, and the hastily thrown-on robe over your nightgown gives him a beautiful view of your figure and the slightly rounded curve of your belly. A strange warmth blooms in his chest at the sight, making him almost completely forget about your earlier unfounded outburst at him and that he should be mortally offended and angry at you.

"Move your ass."

"What?"

"You lie on my side."

Feyd snorts angrily, keeping up his indignant appearances while trying to hide the fact that before you came in, in his desperation he reached for your pillow, burying his nose in it in the hopes that the scent lingering on it would somehow lull him to sleep.

He shifts, raising his hairless eyebrows in surprise as you lie down next to him without a word. It is true that you growl something under your breath before pulling him roughly by his neck closer to you, but that's something Feyd was used to by now. He actually expected you to yell at him again. But you just bury your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your arms tightly around him, snuggling into him.

He lies still for a few minutes, then he hesitantly wraps his arms around you and rubs your back the way his mother used to do to calm him. An old, unwanted memory.

"What is that?" He dares to ask, but he doesn't let go of your grip. If anything, he presses a little closer to you. You were warm. And… cosy.

"Shut up. I need this." You mumble into his pearly skin and nuzzle his neck, burying your face deeper. He allows himself a small smile as you wrap your arms around his chest, clinging to him as he absentmindedly brushes through your hair.

"Why exactly?"

"I don't know. Fucking pregnancy hormones. So shut up so we can both sleep, or I'm going to start crying, and I promise you'll regret the day you put that thick, monstrous dick inside me." You growl madly, which leaves him completely confused about what you're on about or what exactly he did wrong this time.

"As you wish, my Baroness." He mumbles and presses his lips to your temple, making you purr in contentment and snuggle even closer to him.

He accepts your strange clinginess to him, though, more surprised by the fact that... he actually enjoys cuddling with you than by your mood swings.

"I like it a bit. This side of you."

"What? An aggressive cold bitch with mood swings?" You snort, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He barely manages to keep from bursting out laughing at how accurately you described yourself. No one said you wouldn't reach under your pillow and commit an act of murder on him for such an insult.

"This is the version of you I've had every day since you stepped onto my goddamn ship. I meant more... that… that is... pleasant in a different way." His heart flutters faster when he feels your lips form a tiny smile against his skin at his words. He tightens his grip on you, making sure you’re covered tightly by the blanket.

"Whatever." You mumble dismissively, inhaling his scent. You intertwine your legs with his, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

"You like it too." He teases you, delighting in the feeling of your heart beating gently against him.

"Feyd?"

"Hm?"

"Shut up." You shush him, to which he only mutters something under his breath and obediently falls silent. The feeling of guilt grows inside you, causing an unpleasant lump to form in your throat and tears to press to your eyes. Fucking pregnancy hormones.

It was probably the first time, with anyone, ever, that you were so... open about what you wanted, what you needed. And as good as it felt... there was still a little red lamp in the back of your head, a conviction trained over the years that you couldn't just let go of your barrier. But if not with him, then with whom else could you?

"I love you." You mumble against his skin and press a kiss to his neck, leaving a small mark there for your eyes only. He smiles a little and presses a kiss to your forehead, silently returning your gesture.

It wasn't the first time you'd "apologised" to each other in this way, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Just as it wouldn't be the first and last time you fell asleep cuddled up together, simply enjoying the other's closeness.

It's instinct. That's how Feyd tells himself when, during a meeting, he reaches over to his wife's side and rests his hand thoughtfully on her pregnant belly, stroking it gently.

It's instinct. That's what you tell yourself as, lost in thought while reading reports and listening to Rabban's words, you reach for the back of Feyd's head and begin to trace lazy patterns on his smooth skin.

You have been acting around each other in this way for several days now.

First, it started when Feyd decided to renovate the throne room, and he happened to start with your throne, which resulted in you landing on his lap for all sorts of meetings and audiences.

You thought it was just his typical prank, an excuse to hold you closer and enjoy the closeness of your body, but the next day during dinner, instead of sitting in his usual seat across from you, he chose to sit right next to you so he could keep his hand on your upper thigh or around you.

And you didn't remain passive to him. You also looked for various opportunities to lay your hands on him. And not at all with sexual overtones, which surprised you greatly.

You realised it this morning when you woke up for the first time in a long time with Feyd still in bed, and most importantly, cuddled up to you.

At first you thought he had overslept for his morning workout and that was why he was still cuddled up to you with his head against your belly, but the moment you felt his finger lazily stroking patterns on your side and found your hand in his tightening grip, you realised he had purposely skipped his morning workout to stay in bed with you.

"Are you sick?" You ask him in disbelief and let your free hand wander to the top of his bald head. You smooth your nails over his skin, not liking the way he lets out a quiet sigh at your caresses.

"Good morning to you too, woman." He mumbles against your skin, not even lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm deadly serious. Should I call a doctor? Have you gone mad? Am I supposed to rule Giedi Prime alone?"

You smirk as he rests his chin on your belly and gives you a hostile look. You decide to tease him even more and start tracing the lines of his eyebrows, his nose, his lips, and his jaw with your fingertip. He leans into your touch and purrs at the pleasant feeling of your soft skin.

"Unfortunately, I must curb your imperial ambitions. I am more than capable of ruling... for now. Unless my dear, cruel wife uses her skills that she learnt as my right hand to dethrone me, declaring our unborn children the rightful heirs to the throne and making herself regent."

"Nicely thought out. Do you want to retire?" He snorts in amusement at your question and shakes his head, not moving even an inch away from you.

"No, I am quite good right now." He mumbles and presses his lips to your belly. You smile, trying to hold back giggles as he tickles you, placing kisses along your baby bump.

It feels a little surreal. Being here with him, when he shows you such affectionate behaviour. Who would have thought a few months ago that you would find yourself in this moment? That from his right hand, his most trusted person, you would become his wife, the mother of his children, someone he simply adored.

Despite the many doubts and the series of unknowns that lay ahead on your path, you wouldn't trade your messed-up relationship for anything else in this world. Especially not when it felt so good to simply lie with his arms wrapped around you. And to think that at one time you would consider this a form of imprisonment for you...

"Fine. But only because I will still need you. Who would hold me and keep me warm at night if you left prematurely?"

"It's great to know you find useful uses for me, my Baroness."

"Very useful, I would dare to say, my Baron." You mumble, pulling him higher so you can plant a proper kiss on his lips.

You moan as he practices his skill in the way that drives you crazy, and you gladly grant his capable tongue access to your mouth. You wrap your arms around him, supporting yourself against him as you sit on your bed.

His broad, rough hands travel beneath the material of your nightgown, caressing the bare skin of your upper thigh as he removes the black silk material from your body.

Your hands travel to his pants, hastily pushing the material at his waist down his legs to finally...

"Can you stop for a minute?" Rabban's voice tears you from your memories of this morning.

You frown and try to understand what exactly he means, but Feyd takes over the situation and covers your ignorance by asking:

"What do you mean?"

"Touching... her like that. I thought it was supposed to be a serious political meeting."

Your head shoots to where Feyd's arm wraps around your waist so his hand can rest on your growing baby bump. His other hand—the one with the wedding ring and Baron's signet ring—rests securely on yours as he plays with your own rings. You blush slightly and are about to squirm out of his grip when Feyd tightens it around you, making it nearly impossible. You look up at him, almost sighing when you see his eyes crinkle at his brother.

"If it was supposed to be that serious political meeting, then we wouldn't invite you, brother."

"Feyd." You scold him quietly, but he doesn't take his watchful gaze off his brother.

Instead, he moves his hand to your thigh and squeezes it tightly, sending an involuntary shiver of arousal through you. In an instant, a thousand other uses for his large hand and thick fingers run through your mind, as well as the chair he was currently sitting on. Or the table in front of you. The floor. The walls. The windows... fucking pregnancy hormones.

"I just say that you could keep your hands off your whore for a while."

And after these words, you already know that a very cruel murder will take place here.

You watch Feyd carefully, ignoring Rabban's wide eyes of fear and surprise as he realises what has slipped through his lips. Your husband... wears the most calm expression his subjects have ever seen. But you know him too well. You see the glint of cruelty in his eyes, the exact moment when your reasonably rational Feyd leaves the scene and gives way to his innate, brutal Harkonnen nature.

Once, when you were still his right hand, it would have meant a lot of cleaning up after him and organising something for him to do to keep his restless mind occupied, to cool his raging blood—a whore(s), a prisoner to torture, a particularly intense sparring session, whatever.

Now, as his wife, it mostly meant entertaining displays of his cruelty to watch... which occasionally ended in an incredible fuck. And given your raging hormones and the way he dug his fingers into your thigh, you would have preferred to skip straight to the second one without watching your husband smear his brother's insides all over the floor.

But apparently your husband had other plans.

In an instant he's leaping, fucking leaping, the length of the table to get to his brother. After a rather brief and pathetic scuffle and a few broken chairs, Rabban ends up defeated on the floor with Feyd pinning his head to the floor with his boot and twisting his right arm out of joint.

"Are you jealous or stupid? How dare you talk about your Baroness in such a way? Either you have a death wish or you really envy me that I have a wife that I can touch and caress whenever I want, and you can only count on your fist, right, brother? Apologise to her."

"It is not..."

"He will apologise." Feyd interrupts you before you can even finish your sentence, preventing you from even offering to forget his brother's "sins" against you. "On his knees. Kiss the chair she is sitting on. The future of House Harkonnen."

You can barely keep yourself from rolling your eyes at your husband's crazy diva behaviour. Rabban, scared to death, without smelling, puts his mouth to the legs of your chair. Feyd nods with satisfaction and lets go of his brother, who takes the opportunity and runs away, before his brother decides to chop off his limbs.

You sigh as the door clatters shut behind him, and you place your crown on the table.

"That was cruel." You comment, rubbing your hand over the back of your neck. The metal thing was getting heavier and heavier on your head with each passing day.

"It turns you on when I'm cruel." He shrugs at you and walks over to you.

You groan as he stands behind you and begins to massage the aching muscles in your shoulders and neck. You lean into him and bite your lower lip, trying not to flatter him like that. You were still mad at him. It only took you a few seconds to remember why.

"Not to your brother."

"And why not?"

"Because... that's a bad example for our children."

"How fortunate that they are not here yet to witness my outrageous behaviour." He mocks you and pulls away. You want to snap at him angrily, but he suddenly reaches over and places his hands under your knees. You gasp when he suddenly lifts you up and sits you on his lap.

"But they can hear it. You wish they would treat each other the way you and Rabban do?" You continue, trying to ignore his dilated pupils and the glint in his eyes that only meant one thing. Trouble.

He gives you a small smile and lazily tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning down to press his lips to your neck. Bastard, you think as you try to control your shaking legs as he slowly strokes your bare ankle.

"You know perfectly well that this is entirely something else. Besides, who will forbid me to keep my hands on my wife, my baroness, the mother of my children, my right hand, my little witch?" He whispers into your skin, leaving a hickey on your skin with every nickname/role he utters.

"You're clingy." You gasp, squirming in his lap, trying to find a more comfortable position as he practically pulls you into him. And it feels so fucking good. You have no idea how or when the two of you got back to the can't-keep-your-hands-off-you stage, but you loved it.

"It's my wife's fault. She raised a monster." You smile at his teasing and nibble on his earlobe. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, his face buried in your cleavage as he tirelessly kisses every inch of your skin.

"A real monster, isn't it?" You ask, grinding against his crotch to prove your point. He can’t help but let out a raspy chuckle as you also gently stroke the back of his head.

"It's true… So what are you going to do about it?" He growls against your skin, cupping your collarbone gently. You sigh, digging your finger into the skin of his scalp and pressing your lips to the tip of his head.

"Oh, should I do something?"

"It would be appropriate." He nods, pushing the material of your dress aside with his chin to begin peppering kisses across your sensitive breasts.

"Since when did we do anything that was ever considered appropriate, my Baron?" You snicker at him as his hands go to the fastening of your dress.

"There's always a first time…"

"I'd boldly assume that neither of us has any more first times to tick off." You interrupt him with a mocking smile as he slides the material of your dress off your shoulders.

“No, that’s not true.” He mumbles, blowing warm air onto your nipples. You bite your lower lip to hold back a small moan and close your eyes, looking up at him from under your lashes. “I don’t remember ever doing this on this chair with you. Or anyone…”

"Unbelievable. I guess we need to change that."

"Very quickly." He nods eagerly and makes some room for you to place your hands on the waistband of his pants. Of course, still holding you in his tight embrace and not withdrawing his face from the valley between your breasts.

You unbutton his pants and wrap your hand around his cock. He doesn't need much preparation, already eager and ready for you, but you love hearing him pant with anticipation and frustration as you prolong the inevitable. You straddle him and position yourself above him, slowly lowering yourself onto him.

Even though you had done this countless times before, you doubted you could ever get used to it. The way he stretched you, the way he filled you so deliciously and perfectly, was simply indescribable, and you doubted anyone else before him had fit you so perfectly, had fulfilled all your inner needs and desires… or to be as fucked up as you.

Slightly irritated by his lack of movement, you lift your hips, prepared to ride him, when he suddenly squeezes your side tightly and settles you back down on his cock. You whine in protest, but he silences you with a lazy kiss, the pads of his fingers gently tracing circles on your bare back.

"Don't move."

"But..."

"I told you something, woman." He growls in your ear, sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. You wince, trying to keep yourself steady against him, but with every breath you take, you feel him more and more inside you. And it's incredibly difficult to stay still under these circumstances. "Do. Not. Move." He warns you, staining your arm with new marks with every breathless word.

You knew from the way his cock twitched inside you that keeping still was as much of a task for him as it was for you. It was little comfort to your desperate need for him, but it was some kind of comfort. At least you had the satisfaction of knowing you were both suffering.

But over time you began to understand why he suddenly insisted that you warm his cock. It felt so... nice. Him buried safely deep inside you, his arms around you and his mouth on your neck, his breath hitting your skin, his scent and warmth around you. It was like... a safe cocoon.

You almost snort thinking about how ridiculous it is to equate him with safety.

But right now, on his lap, as you stroked his shoulders, his neck, his head, his cheeks, and his lips with your fingertips, feeling him beneath you, inside you, and around you in such a vulnerable, passionate, and tender position... your heart beat a little faster.

"Feyd..." You mumble into his skin as he presses his nose to your neck and inhales your scent, inhaling it like some kind of the best drug.

Is it possible to be addicted to another person? Probably not. But you don't know how else to explain the tingling and buzzing in your head and the euphoria of being so close to him.

If love was a drug, then you never wanted to be clean again. No. You wanted to be tainted by it, soaked to the core, able to reduce him to the same quivering mess he reduced you to with the slightest touch of your skin against his.

Just a few months ago, such a thought would have caused you great anxiety. Now, it was an exciting challenge. What a bloody long way you've come.

"Y/N..." He groans, his hips bucking slightly, making him push himself even further into you. You moan, digging your nails into his shoulders, feeling his length deliciously poke through your walls.

"I know. I know." You mumble tearfully and stroke the back of his head, pulling him closer to your bruising, needy kiss, as if lamenting the fact that you can’t get any closer to him than you've already been.

He slowly thrusts into you, watching your every tiny reaction to his thrusts. All you can do is hold on for dear life, pulling him closer and closer, encouraging him to sink his night-black teeth into your skin as you leave bloody scratches across his arms and back.

You yank at his clothes, ripping his shirt and exposing his chest to you. Your mouth travels along his neck, worshipping every scar, every muscle, every perfect blemish on his body that years of training in war and combat have left—the living mark of being the Harkonnen heir.

You moan loudly as his thrusts intensify. He tightens his fingers on your hips, probably leaving a few bruises there, but all that mattered now was how wonderfully he was pounding into you from below, his chest rubbing against yours as he held you tightly against him, practically encouraging you to collapse onto him and cuddle up to him as he fucked your brains out.

It's humiliating how little it takes for you to come. After a few more thrusts, you're a moaning mess, a mass of bones and muscle you can't control, giving yourself over to him completely as the world around you turns white as his skin, screaming his name.

Your chin falls onto his shoulder; you are wrapping your arms tightly around him and letting him use you however he wants as you come down from your orgasm haze, appreciating the way his cock, wet from your cum, digs a spot inside you for release.

Feyd grunts, his thrusts becoming jerky as he presses his nose to your temple and sucks on the sensitive spot behind your ear, coming buried deep inside you. You shudder as his thick, sticky seed floods your already full womb and spills between the two of you, sealing you together.

You both breathe deeply and shakily, clinging desperately to the other, holding on to the other's body for dear life and not daring to move an inch as you appreciate the other's intimate closeness.

This was... completely different from your usual fucks. Usually it was raw passion, teeth and claws, desperate pursuit of orgasm, and finding pleasure in the other, but here... this was about closeness. A real sense of another person. You shiver as you feel something wet land on your shoulder. Your heart stops a little when you realise it's a tear. His tear.

Neither of you comment on this. You don't have to. You don't want to. You know how raw and vulnerable this moment is for the two of you. What you just did was really meant.

And you dare assume that this is the first time you've actually, truly gotten closer to each other. In a much more meaningful and deeper way than you've ever dared to think you could with anyone.

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