#this just crept up on me and I needed it out there

[astrxq]

Borrowed Time

modern!cregan stark x reader

words: 17.4k

notes: this was requested!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Everything is highlighted pink!"

"Everything is important!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He speaks to you!" Sara protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She has a way of convincing people.”  

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

“I wouldn’t say that.”  

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

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

“Unlike Jace.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not that bad!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Better safe than sorry?" you offered weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A bit?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perfect?" you supplied.

He huffed a laugh. "Boring."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could really use your help."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heat crept up your neck. "Jace!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lord of the Rings?"

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

"Fine. Ocean's Eleven?"

"No."

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

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

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

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

"No."

"You're impossible," Jace groaned.

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

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

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

"Inception?" Jace tried again.

"Jace."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of something?" you asked warily.

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

You felt your stomach drop. "Pairs?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or if he even wanted you to try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not exactly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why is that funny?"

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

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

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

"This?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did he even–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Just what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He'd become your friend.

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

Probably.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The front door swung open with a loud thud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's..." you started.

"Very artistic," Cregan finished lamely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had to be nothing.

But then why did it feel like everything?

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

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

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

And then there were two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anticipating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s bleeding.” 

“Barely.” 

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

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

“Hold out your hand,” you demanded. 

“Is this really necessary?” 

“Do not test me right now, Stark.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smirked. “Wasn’t it?”

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

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

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

“You could’ve just asked,” he said.

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[moonlight-alexia]

glitter hearts | s.c.

steph catley x mccabe!reader | 2.7k | your first valentine's day with Steph

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the enchanted to meet you universe. this is set before world cup surprises, their first valentine's together as a couple <3 also i am very busy until sunday but wanted a little valentine's day fic for y'all. i might have time to write an alexia x lil mac one too but no promises <3 enjoy!

any and all feedback, comments, reblogs etc are very appreciated and welcome <3

‘Katie,’ You whispered out, ‘...Katie…’ Your older sister, unsuspecting while she slept, you had slowly crept into her room in the middle of the night. You sighed, waking up Katie had always been difficult so you started gently shaking her shoulder, ‘Katie! Wake up!’

‘What-’ Katie blinks, half sitting up, hands up ready to fight whoever is intruding in her room and in the process half pushing you back when she pushed your hands away from her.

‘Katie,’ You whispered a bit more firmly than before, but still a whisper trying to settle your sister who was still on alert.

‘Oh it’s you,’ Katie grumbled and laid back down, closing her eyes and slightly shifting her body away from you, ‘What you want?’ Turning her head back to look your direction, eyebrow slightly raised, a slight glare in her eyes.

‘Do you think she’ll like this?’ Suddenly your voice went small and you fidgeted with the little card you were holding in your hand. You weren’t nervous when you decided to come wake your sister up but now you were wondering if maybe you should’ve waited until at least a few more hours when the sun would make an appearance.

Your sister definitely would’ve been more forgiving and supportive, anyway you were here and already committed to waking her up. So you held out the card in front of her while she just gave you a questioning look, ‘Steph. Do you think Steph will like it?’

‘You woke me up at…,’ Katie blindly reached out for her phone, grimacing as the brightness of her screen lit up her face, ‘...at 3 in the morning to ask me about a…a handmade card?’

‘Katie,’ You whined out when she pushed the card back towards you, not really bothering to look at it. You, ever persistent and just as stubborn as your older sister in getting what you want, held the card back out towards her, ‘There’s more but, I didn’t want to push my luck in actually getting you out of bed,’

‘You and coming into my room in the middle of the night,’ Katie muttered under her breath, it wasn’t a common occurrence but there were plenty of times you’d woken your older sister up at all different hours of the night. Katie didn’t really mind, she’d always be there for you, your protective slightly older sister. 

Slowly but surely making a move to get out from the coziness of her blankets into the chill of the night, ‘I’m gonna have to get a lock or just kick you out. Go annoy someone else,’ The way Katie’s lips turned upwards slightly in the corner was all you needed to know she wasn’t actually being serious. You’d be the same if the roles were reversed. 

Katie’s eyes went wide when she saw the state of her dining room, ‘Not only did you wake me in the middle of the night, you woke me to show me you destroyed my house,’ 

‘You’re so dramatic,’ Rolling your eyes at your sister's comments, making your way through the scrap pieces of paper, glitter, markers and tape that littered the room, to pick up what you’d been working on, ‘So…?’  

Katie’s eyes softened the moment you stood in front of her, the little handmade gift in your arms with a dumb proud look on your face, ‘Alright, give it here,’ Katie begrudgingly held out her hand so you could give her the gift so she could look at i properly. The more she looked at it the more she couldn’t be mad with you for waking her up, in all honesty Katie could hardly be mad at you for long anyway there was just something about you that stopped almost anyone from being mad or annoyed with you for a long time.

‘Mac, Steph is gonna love this,’ You let out a soft sigh, your eyes hopeful as Katie gave the gift back to you.

‘Yeah? Are you sure?’ There was always a flicker of doubt that crossed over you. Since Alexia you struggled a lot more than you had previously, doubting your actions and second guessing the things you did. You still hadn’t properly let Steph in, struggling to get too close in case things came crashing down suddenly. 

You hadn’t been with Steph for a long time, though you know it was definitely long enough that saying ‘I love you’ would be acceptable. Steph was always understanding when it came to you, even without the little warning talk your older sister gave her, you couldn’t be more thankful. It was your first valentine’s together and you hoped that this gift would show and tell Steph that you love her, even if you couldn’t find the words to say it just yet.

You’d come a long way since you moved to England, but these little moments Katie hated when flickers of self doubt ran through your mind knowing where they’d stemmed from, ‘I’m 100% positive. Steph looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars yourself,’ You looked down, letting out a small breath, half a laugh, trying to keep your cheeks from heating up too much, ‘You could probably give her a speck of glitter and she’d talk about how she was the luckiest person in the world,’ 

Katie had definitely overheard way too many conversations Steph talking about you to Beth. At first she deliberately eavesdropped just to make sure Steph was treating you right but since then she wished she would stop running into that situation. There’s only so many times Katie can stand to hear it, especially since she has to hear it from you all the time. 

‘Yeah…yeah you’re right,’ Your smile was bashful, always was when you thought of Steph. There was a moment where you didn’t think you would ever feel this way about someone again. After a long few years, you found and let yourself have that happiness again.

‘I always am,’ Katie smirked while stifling a yawn, a reminder at how early it was and that the two of you should definitely be asleep, ‘Now my house better not look like a glitter bomb exploded when I get up later,’ You rolled your eyes as Katie made her way back up the stairs to her room but not before shouting back down at you, ‘And maybe try to get some sleep,’

‘Yes ma,’ You shouted back up at her, laughing when you heard Katie’s door shut a bit more loud than normal.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‘Stephy, hi,’ You wrapped your arms around Steph’s waist, giving her a quick little hug, greeting her since you’d just arrived at training, ‘Happy Valentine’s day,’ You spoke softly, sitting next to her so your shoulders were touching and handing her a singular rose you’d picked up on your way to training that morning.

‘Aw, happy Valentine's day,’ Steph took the rose from you, giving you a kiss on your cheek, ‘You look like you haven’t slept,’ Steph commented, her hand brushing some stray hairs back from your face, a little bit of worry etched on her face.

‘She hasn’t and neither have I,’ Katie grumbled from the other side of the room. Steph looked between the two of you, silently questioning.

‘Don’t worry about it. You know how Katie is-’

‘Dramatic,’ Steph finished off what you were saying, sharing a laugh between the two of you before you were being hit with a shoe that came at you from across the room.

‘Hey!’ Katie just shot you a look that said you had it coming before she left the pair of you, ‘Anyway, we still on for tonight?’ 

‘Of course, I wouldn't miss getting to spend a night with you,’ Steph leaned her head on your shoulder, looking down at the rose that she was still holding on to. She was trying to stay calm but still every time she was close to you, her stomach erupted in that nice fuzzy, full of butterflies kind of feeling. Steph was grateful you gave her a chance, she didn’t know everything that happened in Barcelona, but she saw a lot of the aftermath when you moved. 

After training Steph drove the two of you back to where you were staying with Katie, your hand placed on top of hers, lacing your fingers together. Katie wasn’t going to be home, you made sure of it, wanting to make your first Valentine’s day night together as special as you could. You’d already set up everything before you left this morning, triple checking everything so you didn’t forget a single thing.

‘I’m sorry we aren’t going out or doing anything particularly special,’ The nerves started taking over, you were worried that this wouldn’t be special enough, or just enough in general for Steph. You were putting a lot of pressure on yourself for tonight to be perfect.

‘Shh, love, a night in with you is perfect and just what I- we both need. I don’t care what we do, as long as I’m with you,’ Steph gently turned you so you were facing her, a hand lifting your head so you were looking at her. You could see in her eyes that she meant every word. Steph leant her forehead against yours, ‘Hi,’

You let out a giggle, brushing your nose softly against hers, ‘Hi,’ Your lips finding hers, a quick but firm kiss. Pulling away, or at least Steph tried to, but not before you pulled her back in for another little kiss, holding onto her so she wouldn’t go further than just in the doorway, ‘You gotta close your eyes,’ 

You also covered Steph’s eyes with your hands just to make sure she wouldn’t try to sneak a peek at your surprise for her. Trying to lead Steph throughout the house, whisper yelling at coopurr when he wouldn’t move out of the way, you didn’t want Steph to trip over anything and he just wasn’t cooperating with you. 

You smiled at Steph’s laughs, you’d complained about the cat quite a few times to her, how he was always out to get you but anytime Steph was around he was always an angel, but to you was a different story, ‘Leave poor Coopurr alone, he just wants to see his favourite person,’ Steph teased

‘I’ll tell Katie you said that,’ Successfully clearing the path to where you wanted to lead Steph to.

‘You wouldn’t,’ Steph had already taken her little sister from her, she wouldn’t risk Katie hearing she was taking her son too, they still had to play together.

‘Try me babe,’ You smirked when Steph gasped a little in surprise when she felt your lips on hers. Your hands slowly uncovered her eyes, resting them on her waist and pulling Steph against you. You pulled away, slightly out of breath but still holding Steph in your arms. Her eyes widened when she took a quick glance over your shoulder.

‘All that…for me?’ Steph was in shock looking at everything you had set up. A teddy bear holding a bouquet of flowers, some heart shaped chocolates and chocolate covered strawberries, heart shaped balloons and in the middle of it all were three neatly wrapped presents. Presents you’d rewrapped a million times each, wanting to make sure they were wrapped perfectly.

It really looked like a scene from those cheesy rom coms the two of you had indulged in many times together. You’d gone all out but Steph meant the world to you and you needed her to know, ‘It’s our first Valentine’s together, I wanted to make it special for you,’ You had your arm around Steph’s waist, keeping her pulled into your side while she took it all in.

‘You make every day special,’ Steph leaned her head on your shoulder, turning her head to look at you. You looked down, smiling softly at her, ‘Thank you my love,’ 

‘Anything for you Stephy,’ You whispered, the music in the background seemed dull, the two of you lost in each other, ‘So which one did you want to open first?’ You nodded towards the presents, nervous but eager to see what Steph thought of them, in particular the one you had made for her.

Steph let out a small laugh, her hand gently squeezing yours and shuffling close to you, as if she could get any closer, ‘I’ve already got my favourite present right here,’ Turning her head she brushed her lips against your neck, a shiver shot down your spine. You bit your lip, closing your eyes briefly to try to compose yourself. Though it was always hard around Steph.

‘You’re my favourite too,’ You smiled sheepishly, slight redness appearing over your cheeks. Steph kissed your neck more firmly, her lips lingering. You could feel her smile against your skin and it was enough to send your heart racing, ‘Alright, no more teasing,’ You whined softly, feeling her press more kisses against your neck.

Steph reluctantly pulled away and let you lead her to sit on the couch. Your hands shook slightly as you picked up the present you’d spent hours making, hoping that holding onto it would make the shaking less noticeable. You knew Steph noticed when her eyes softened, though to be fair to Steph her eyes always softened when she looked at you but you could tell there was something different behind her eyes.

‘Hey,’ Steph spoke softly, her hand resting against your thigh once you’d sat next to her, ‘It’s just me,’ She smiled at you reassuringly. You relaxed as much as you could almost instantly, the effect Steph had on you, you both loved and felt terrified over it. 

‘I just really hope you’ll like it,’ You looked down, placing the gift on Steph’s lap, ‘And if you don’t- I- There’s a few more, maybe you’ll like one of those,’ Nervously you rambled, a habit that would overcome you every time you got nervous or anxious. 

‘Mac baby, it’s from you,’ Steph held the present, her smile never wavering, ‘I’m going to love it,’ You nodded your head, taking a deep breath. You still hated how unsure of yourself you could get, maybe one day you’ll get back to being your usually confident self more often than not. 

While Steph was opening the present, your eyes were glued to your hands, not wanting to see any potential rejection at the present you made. Though what you really missed was Steph’s mouth opening in surprise, the few little tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes and the love she looked at every page with. 

You spent hours putting together a little scrapbook. A scrapbook that held all the memories and love you had for each other. From the trips and memories you made while you were ‘just friends’ to the last few months that you’d officially been together for. You included Steph’s favourite colours amongst the markers, paper and glitter that you used. Lots of hearts over each page. So many photos of the two of you from over the last year.

‘Wow- I-’ Steph couldn’t find the words to tell you how much it meant to her. Your eyes wide when you finally looked her way, expecting to see a form of hatred or disgust, instead you were met with her lips on yours. 

Blindly Steph put the scrapbook to the side, pushing you down against the couch, your lips never leaving each other. Your hands found their way to her hips, fingers grazing underneath the hem of her shirt, dancing along Steph’s bare skin. Steph put all of her emotion and feelings for you into the kiss, deepening it, pressing herself against you more.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips swollen when you finally broke away from each other, besides for the little pecks you’d both give, never getting enough, ‘So you liked it…’ You let out a breathy laugh, voice trailing off still getting your breath back.

‘More than liked it babe,’ Steph’s hand rested against your cheek, her thumb rubbing gently, ‘You’re too sweet and thoughtful. I really like you…’ 

‘I really like you too,’ There was a look of understanding shared in that moment. The words you both wanted to say were on the tips of your lips, even though neither of you actually said it, you could see it in each other's eyes and that was enough for now.

[rafesslxt]

beach night

DAY 1 valentines special <3

SUMMARY: it‘s your first valentines day together and rafe wants to do something special for you, even asking his sister for help.

WARNINGS: make-out session at the beach, rafe being the cutest ever, romantic date, emotional gift, rafe crying, mention of rafe's passed away mom

WORD COUNT: 2,4k

NOTE: english isn‘t my first language, thank you all for reading! Every like, comment or reblog is appreciated! <3

"What are you doing?“ Sarah‘s voice echoed through the steamy kitchen as she appeared in the doorway, which was filled with smoke and cursings coming from Rafe‘s lips as he tried to scratch the last remnants of noodles from the pot that was now pitch black.

"I‘m cooking." his voice was tight, his jaw tensed as he thossed the ruined pan into the kitchen sink. "fuckn‘ shit" he mumbled under his breath, running a hand over his buzz cut and then across his face.

"Yeah.. and why are you trying to cook?“ Rafe sighed, now looking at his sister's amused face. "It's valentines day." he answered, as If that would explain anything.

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "I wanted to surprise her with a.. romantic dinner." A smile crept onto Sarah’s face at her brother’s words. 

"Oh I should‘ve known this is about y/n. Why else would you be in the kitchen the first time after 20 years. So, what did you have in mind ?"

Rafe glanced back at his culinary disaster.  "I wanted to surprise her with dinner tonight – i know i can‘t cook, so I thought I’d practice beforehand to avoid ruining it.”

"Why don‘t you take her to a nice restaurant? You know she appreciates everything, no matter what you do." Sarah should know, she‘s your best friend. But Rafe already knew that you would be happy even if you both just sat on the couch watching movies all night long.

"I know that. But she deserves more. She deserves everything. And I don‘t want to do something with money, that‘s not impressing her." He sank into a chair, running both hands over his head, his elbows resting on the desk in front of him. “Can you help me?” 

"What?", Sarah looked at her brother in surprise. "You heard me. You‘re her best friend, you have to have an idea come on." "Well -", she began, walking over to sit across from him. 

"I mean let‘s brainstorm. What does y/n like? What is she talking about the whole time when you two are together?"

He leaned back, letting memories of their conversations, dates, and time spent together flood his mind "I mean she loves her family, her dog, her friends.. she likes clothes and makeup.."

His sister rolled her eyes. "Not like that. That‘s what every girl likes. I meant stuff like.. her passions."

Rafe nods. "She loves animals, always talking 'bout them. Loves trying new food, experimenting with it while cooking. Uh – she also loves the beach, the ocean in general."

Sarah smiled at him, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. "What?“ "I didn‘t know you could be such a listener."

"Come on, Sarah, I don't have time for this." his voice tighter than before. "Alright alright.. what about a date at the beach?", she suggested.

Rafe's eyes widened, "Yes yes yes! She once showed me some tiktok's of a picnic at the beach 'n stuff. Bet she would love that." Rafe stood up from his chair and began pacing around the kitchen, excitement coursing through him at the thought of her face when she saw a full picnic spread out on the beach. 

"But how do I get the food to be warm when we get there ? I would have to pick her up." His gaze landed on his sister again. "Can you pick her up?"

"Yeah gonna do. John B and I aren't meeting until 10 pm." "Okay great. Uhm - okay I need to go and get everything. Just text her you wanna do something with her since John B doesn't have time for you -" "Uh - he does have time; he's just-" "Yeah yeah, broke ass boyfriend who's late so he has to push the date to 10pm to get everything sorted."

-

He had literally thought of everything. He even enlisted Topper’s help, since that idiot hadn’t managed to secure a date aside from a little hookup that never happened because she dumped him.

Topper assisted him in setting up four fire torches adorned with fairy lights, and he also brought over the food while Rafe continued arranging the rest. He arrived exactly five minutes before you were supposed to show up with Sarah.

“Thanks, man.” He gave his friend a light slap on the shoulder, surveying the setup.

"No problem man, I like y/n. Even though she's a pogue." Topper chuckled before he turned towards Rafe. "Okay bro, gonna leave before the princess arrives. Call me up If you need anything else alright?" He nods and starts walking backwards while Rafe gave him thumbs up and a little smile.

Topper hopped into his car and drove off the beach, taking a different route to avoid crossing paths with you and Sarah. 

Meanwhile you and Sarah laughed in her car to a joke she just told you. "I can't believe he said that!" "It's JJ, what do we expect I guess?", you giggled, glancing outside the window for a short moment. "Yeah, touche."

You noticed Sarah taking a turn toward the beach instead of continuing down the road to her place. “Where are we going?” you asked, curious. "I don't know, felt like taking a quick stop at the beach. Romantic at Valentinesday.", she joked, wiggling her eyebrows.

A small laugh left your lips at her corniness. "Stop, you're almost acting like JJ when he wants Rafe to get mad at him for flirting with me." "I know, saw it last time and I had to listen to Rafe ranting the whole day at home how he's gonna punch JJ in the face so he never can talk to you ever again without a tongue."

You both hopped out of her car when she parked near the ocean. Just a little bit of sand separating you from the waves.

You quietly walked down towards the shore, Sarah taking a turn around a little cliff. That's when you saw it. Him.

"Have fun.", Sarah whispered into your eyes before disappearing behind you.

With your heart racing, you walked down theshore toward your boyfriend, a smile stretching across your face. “Rafe... what did you do?” you asked, clearly shocked, your breath taken away as the view became clearer.

As you reached him, he instantly reached out, pulling you close, his hands finding yours and intertwining your fingers. "Thought surprising you with something different than expensive stuff.", he smiled like a fool, full of love.

Tears of joy tingled in your eyes as you looked over his shoulder. It was breathtaking, like something out of a movie. Therewere various plates of food: one filled with your favorite fruits, another with candy, and a third brimming with crackers,cheese, olives, and everything he had found on Pinterest. Next to the plates sat a large pizza box and a bottle of your favorite wine, accompanied by two glasses.

Everything was beautifully arranged on a large white blanket, adorned with rose petals scattered among the different items.At the end of the blanket was a massive pile of pillows, every cushion Rafe could find around the house, except for those on the beds.

"This is - I don't even have words like, wow. It's so beautiful Rafe, thank you. Thank you so much." He reached down and tilted your head upwards, looking right into your eyes. "Everything. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.", he whispered before crushing his lips against yours.

The kiss was tender and full of love, his lips moving slowly and intensely against yours.

He teased your bottom lip,smirking against your mouth as he felt you open up for him. His tongue found yours, and within moments, the kiss deepened,your hands exploring his chest and wrapping around his neck. Your body pressed against his, feeling his heart racing beneath his chest..

You felt your stomach getting all tingly, heat slowly pooling low in your stomach when you felt his hands greedily wandering over your stomach and right side, down towards your ass cupping it and pressing you even tighter against him.

A moan slipped past your lips, which he swallowed down like the air he needed to breathe. "Shit, stop doin' this shit or I'm gonna have you before we even made it to the blanket." he murmured against your lips, brushing his against yours.

Your eyes locked with his and a little smile formed on your lips. "Hmm, we wouldn't want that to happen, right?" A cheeky grin spread across Rafe’s face, revealing his mischievous thoughts.

You playfully rolled your eyes and took his hands in yours, pulling him toward the picnic. As you settled down, you glancedover your shoulder. When you turned back, Rafe was already hovering over you.

"I'm hungry.." Rafe grinned, looking at you like you were his last meal. "Rafe stop!", you giggled and pushed him off you so he tumbled beside you.

"Come on, let's eat before it gets cold.", you suggested, opening the pizza box. You took a piece and put it on a plate, placing it in front of Rafe while he uncorked the wine and poured each of you a glass.

"To us. To you, the most beautiful girlfriend on this planet.", he said with a cheeky smile, clinking his glass with yours before taking a sip.

You two started to eat and drink, the night filled with you guys laughter and chatting. "I know we said no big gifts and stuff but I still have something for you.", Rafe started when he placed a strawberry in front of your lips. "Rafe.." "Don't start baby doll, you're my girl, I can gift you what I want, alright?" A sight left your lips before you wrapped your lips around the strawberry, sucked it in a little bit and bit off a peace.

Rafe watched you intently, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "Damn you wanna get me high and dry tonight huh?" "What the hell?" you let out a loud laughter at that quote. "Weirdo.", you smirked at him while he pulled out a little box from the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled you into his lap, putting his head onto your shoulder from behind. "Here, open it.", he whispered inside your ear, putting it into your hands. You smiled at him and slowly took the lid off the small boy.

A small gasp left your lips when you looked at a beautiful shell that was threaded onto a golden necklace. "It's the shell you gave me when we first crashed into each other at the beach – the day you moved here, remember?" he kissed your cheek.

You could feel your heart aching with love, your troat slightly throbbing, trying to hold back the little sob. "You still have it?" "Hmm, always had it the top drawer beside my bed." his lips brushed against your cheek before he placed a gentle kiss there.

"Can you put it on me, please?" you asked, your bottom lip slightly quivering. " 'Course." he softly brushed your hair over your shoulder, took the necklace from your hand and placed it around your neck, securing the little clasp before placing your hair back over your shoulder. "Done."

You looked down at your chest and smiled at the little shell that hung now right above your other Necklace with an "R" on it. "It's beautiful, thank you. Can I give you yours now?", you smiled up at him, bending your head a little to look at him.

Before he could protest that you shouldn’t have gotten him anything, you pulled out something from your little purse. "Close your eyes." He obeyed, waiting patiently. You took his hand and opened it, placing the cool item in his palm.

"Okay, open now." ´, you told him, waiting for him to look at it. he opened his eyes and looked down o to his hand, a little golden necklace placed on it. He let out a chuckle and looked at you.

"Seems like we have similar tastes, huh?" "Open it, Rafe.", you said softly, knowing what's inside the golden pendant. He raised an eyebrow at you before taking it in both his hands and opening it up with his fingers.

His smile fell as he stared at the little black and white picture that was placed in it. He felt as if he were frozen, unable to move or even breathe. "Rafe? Baby..", you careful asked him, not sure If it may have been a bad idea to ask Sarah for that picture.

You saw his eyes filling with tears until the first one dropped right down his right cheeks, his lips starting to quiver. "I -" he tried to talk but his words were cut off by a little sob that made its way out of his throat. More tears followed down the first one on his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry, Rafe. Shit I -" He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his head resting against your shoulder as he sobbed like a child, clutching the necklace in his fist. 

"Thank you.", he cried out, his eyes closed as he tried to regain his composure "Do you want me to put it on for you?", you asked softly, kissing his cheek while your arms were wrapped around him.

You just nodded, causing you to get up a little and carefully taking the necklace from his fist he had opened for you. You put it around his neck like he had earlier around yours and placed the pendant on his chest, a soft smile on your lips.

He looked down at it, opening it again and looking down at a little photo of his mom inside of it, smiling brightly at the camera.

"I asked your dad for it. He told me it was -", you corrected yourself, "is, his favorite picture of her." Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before meeting your gaze again.

"I love you so, so much, y/n. This is - it means so much to me." He said, his voice still trembling. "I love you too, Ray." He pulled you in for a sweet kiss, both his hands cradling your cheeks. "Best Valentine ever.", he chuckled against your lips, making you giggle.

Best Valentine indeed.

masterlist | taglist | navigation | valentines day special

taglist: @supernaturaldawning @cardibre91 @aegonsslxt @juliet-017 @lizzysmith110 @mattyskies @my-name-is-baby @synicaljah @tiaajosephin @gxdsfavgal @whyamireadingthis @starkeycore

xoxo sarah <3

[linoxpudding]

Morning Cuddles - Kim Seungmin

*gif credit goes to owner*

summary: the first time waking up in each others arms after confessing your feelings

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

word count: 856 words

a/n: this is based on this request ♡ friends to lovers is so minnie coded, I love this puppy sm

-

morning cuddles series:

Chan Lee Know Changbin Hyunjin Jisung Felix I.N

Masterlist

~°~

Your woke up feeling your head was nestled against something firm yet comfortable, and as your senses slowly caught up, you felt the steady rise and fall of Seungmin’s chest beneath your cheek. His arms were loosely wrapped around you, his hoodie bunched up slightly where your fingers unconsciously clung to the fabric.

And then it hit you.

Last night.

Heat crept up your cheeks as the memories came flooding back.

~

You had been sitting right here, on this very couch, knees almost touching, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the TV long forgotten as the weight of unspoken words filled the space between you.

“I need to tell you something,” Seungmin had said, his voice unusually hesitant.

You had swallowed hard, heart pounding, already sensing what was coming. “Me too.”

His fingers tapped anxiously against his knee. “You first.”

You had shaken your head, nerves tangling in your stomach. “No, you.”

A pause. And then, in a breath so soft yet so powerful, he had whispered, “I like you.”

Your breath had caught in your throat. “You do?”

Seungmin had let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. A lot. And for a really long time.” His cheeks had been dusted pink, eyes flickering between your gaze and the floor. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to mess this up.”

Your heart had swelled at the vulnerability in his voice. “You could never mess this up,” you had assured, your voice just as shaky.

A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper, you had confessed, “I like you too.”

The relief on his face had been instant, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “You do?” he had echoed, as if he needed to hear it again just to make sure.

You had nodded, mirroring his bashful grin. “A lot. And for a really long time.”

And just like that, the dam had broken.

~

You had spent hours talking, rediscovering each other in a way you hadn’t allowed yourselves to before. Every nervous laugh, every hesitant brush of fingers had felt like stepping into something both thrilling and terrifying.

There had been giggles when Seungmin had admitted he had planned a whole speech but forgot all of it the moment you looked at him. There had been playful nudges when you had confessed how many times you almost told him but chickened out. And there had been warmth—so much warmth—when he had shyly laced his fingers with yours for the first time.

And at some point, wrapped in the comfort of each other, exhaustion had settled in.

Now, in the hazy glow of morning, you realized neither of you had moved. Your legs were tangled, his hoodie still loosely hanging off your shoulders where he had draped it over you when you got cold. His cheek rested against the top of your head, his breathing deep and even.

You shifted slightly, just enough to tilt your head up, and nearly laughed at the sight.

Seungmin was awake, his eyes barely open, cheeks dusted pink as he stared at you—caught red-handed watching you sleep.

“Were you just staring at me?” you teased, voice thick with sleep.

His eyes widened slightly before he groaned, burying his face into his hoodie. “I wasn’t.”

You giggled, poking his side. “You totally were.”

Seungmin peeked out from behind his sleeve, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Okay, maybe I was.”

Your heart melted at the admission.

Neither of you moved to untangle from each other. If anything, Seungmin’s grip tightened ever so slightly. “So,” he murmured, voice still husky with sleep. “This means I get to call you my girlfriend now, right?”

Your face heated at the way he said it—soft, teasing, but with an underlying fondness that made your stomach flip.

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. And I get to call you my boyfriend.”

A real, genuine smile stretched across his face. “I like the sound of that.”

You sighed happily, nestling back against his chest. “Me too.”

Seungmin’s gaze lingers on you, studying your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. Then, without hesitation, he buries his face against the crook of your neck, his warmth seeping into your skin. “This is weird,” he mumbles, voice muffled.

You laugh softly. “Which part?”

He exhales, the warmth of it sending shivers down your spine. “The part where I wake up next to you, and you’re not just my best friend anymore.” His fingers tighten slightly around your waist. “The part where I get to hold you like this.”

Your heart flutters at the quiet confession. Turning in his arms, you meet his gaze fully, your hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Does it feel bad?” you ask, teasing.

Seungmin huffs, lips twitching. “No,” he admits. His voice softens as he tugs you closer, tucking you beneath his chin. “It feels… right.”

And just like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the rest of the world could wait.

[rhyrhy]

it's my time to shine, ayy 🫶🏼 'm on a whole mission, (you can see it on my blog), reader is cocky, smug, little-shit femme, her and Abby are friends with "benefits" (as: Abby and reader take care of each other, share a bed, kisses "as friends" using it as a stress relief, etc) yet every single time reader try to, like, DTR (define the relationship, duh!), Abby straight up ghosts reader on that convo, (she has major comphet vibes, but that's just a lil' headcanon, don't come for me) now, reader? she ain't no doormat, she's PETTY. Capital P-E-T-T-Y. so when they're both forced (forced proximity? oops...) for a mission, reader looks at Abby dead in the eyes when they're aline and hit her with: "girl, i've been wantin' to kick your ass all week"

OOOOOO THIS IS GOOD! I did my best, mini Drabble

Dodge, duck, ghost - A.A

Abby Run-Like-a-Bitch Anderson,

Manny cried laughing the first time he heard you call her that. But you weren’t joking.

Not when the last time you saw Abby, she was bolting out of your room like the WLF had just declared war. And before that? Her tongue was down your throat, hands gripping your waist like she never planned on letting go. That’s how it felt every-time.

That was how she always was touchy, needy, all over you behind closed doors. But you weren’t some secret, something to be ashamed of. Not when there were plenty of other people who’d proudly parade you around. But unfortunately for you, the heart wants what it wants. And unlike Abby, you actually listen to yours. So when the moans and cries had stopped bouncing off your walls, she said something that caught you off guard.

Abby’s breathing was still uneven, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your hip like she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your heart still thudding in your chest. And then, she said it. soft, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“It’s— this, is different with you…you feel like home”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. Her gaze was on the ceiling, brows slightly furrowed, like she was already regretting the words.

“Home..?” A slow smile crept onto your lips. “…Sounds long term,” you teased, nudging her side.

That made her freeze. The lazy circles against your hip stopped. Then, before you could react, she was pulling away, sitting up and reaching for her clothes like she’d just been caught doing something wrong. Afterglow or not, she meant it. And you had to push. You’d let her dance around the obvious for too long. For God’s sake, you were there when she broke up with Owen. Listened to her go on and on about how much of a bitch Mel was, how wrong it all felt. So the least she could do was be honest. not just with you, but with herself.

And like clockwork, she stiffened. Sat up. Started getting dressed like she hadn’t just spent the last hour tangled up with you, her face buried against your neck.

“Uht-uht. Hey. Where are you going?” you asked, watching her yank on her shirt.

Abby didn’t look at you. Just laced up her boots and muttered, “I gotta be up early.”

You sat up too, arms resting on your knees. The only thing keeping your sheets warm now was the disappointment. This couldnt keep going on. “Abby, can you stop for two—”

Thud

But the door was already closed behind her.

”—seconds,” you finished, to the empty room.

That was weeks ago.

And wasn’t the first time she’s done that. You never pushed her to label herself, bi, lesbian, it didn’t matter to you. But with her, it went in one ear and out the other. At first, you tried to play it cool. If she needed time to sort through whatever that was, fine. But then she started dodging you. Switched up her gym schedule. Took shifts at different hours. Disappeared from the mess hall when you walked in. She was practically a ghost.

“Yeah, she definitely avoiding you chica” manny said turning back to his plate

“Wow Thanks manny” you huffed. Yeah, That much was obvious.

The Abby you knew wouldn’t just run off. Or at least, the Abby you thought you knew. So when Isaac briefed you on your next mission and didn’t mention her name, you almost bought it. Almost. Until you showed up at the post and caught Abby mid-change, swapping out a sweat-stained shirt for a clean one.

She paused when she saw you, shoulders stiff like she’d already knew where this was going. You cocked your head, waiting for her to say something.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

“You know what—” you sighed, setting your pack down. Then, dead serious, you looked her right in the eyes and said—

“Girl, I’ve been wantin’ to kick your ass all week.”

Abby exhaled through her nose, shaking her head like she knew this was coming. “Jesus.”

“Jesus? Oh no, don’t bring him into this now,” you scoffed, stepping closer. “He ain’t the one who ghosted me after weeks of—what did you call it? ‘Taking care of each other?’” You even threw up air quotes, just to be a little shit about it.

Abby’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ghost you.”

You blinked. Then laughed at her, like she was doing stand up on stage. “Oh, right. So what do you call changing your gym schedule, eating at different times, avoiding me like I got the damn plague?”

Abby dragged a hand down her face, resting it on her hip. “I just—”

You held a hand up before she could choke something out. “Say some bullshit, I dare you,” you cut in, tilting your head.

She clenched her jaw. Looked away. “I just needed space.”

You stared at her. “Space? Call NASA for that shit. You were in my bed two weeks ago. Two.”

Abby shifted, muttering, “That was different.”

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “How?”

Silence.

You let it hang there, watching her fingers flex at her sides like she wanted to ball them into fists but knew that wouldn’t fix this. Like she knew you were right but refused to say it. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “See, this is exactly why I said what I said. You know what you want, Abby. You’re just too chickenshit to admit it.”

Abby’s head snapped up. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” You stepped closer, tilting your chin up. “Tell me you don’t want me. Right here, right now.”

Abby just stared at you, jaw tight, breath a little unsteady.

The tension was thick. You could see it in the way her fists clenched, in the way her eyes flickered over your face like she was searching for something. some way out, some way forward. Anything.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

But then, someone called both of your names, signaling it was time to move out. Abby exhaled sharply, grabbed her pack, and brushed past you without another word.

You just sighed , slinging your bag over your shoulder. Three days.

She’d have to deal with you for three whole days.

The mission was simple: track and clear a small group of Scars camping out near the old radio tower. It should’ve been easy. Would’ve been, if not for the unspoken thing crackling in the air between you and Abby. She was doing her best to ignore it, kept her distance, kept her eyes forward, barely said a word unless it was mission-related.

You? You were having the time of your life.

Every chance you got, you brushed past her, just close enough to graze her arm. Threw her smug little looks when she glared at you. Smiled real pretty when she clenched her jaw and looked away. Petty? Yeah. But so was avoiding someone just because they called you out on your own bullshit. Your own feelings that were right in front of her.

By the time the mission was over and you’d made it back to the safe house for the night, you could feel the tension rolling off her. Everyone else had turned in for the night, sprawled out across old mattresses and sleeping bags. But you weren’t done with her yet.

She was sitting near the window, legs stretched out, back against the wall. She had her arms crossed, fingers tapping against her bicep like she was still wound up, still caught up in whatever thought, feelings words even, she refused to let out.

So you moved over to her. You crouched in front of her, hands on your knees, and grinned. “Y’know,” you said, voice just low enough that no one else could hear, “if you keep runnin’ from your feelings like this, you’re gonna pull something.”

Abby’s fingers stopped tapping. Her eyes flicked to you, sharp and tired. “Not now.”

“Oh, so later then?” Your smile grew. “I’ll pen you in.” “How’s Friday? That work for you?”

Abby exhaled through her nose. “Jesus, do you ever shut up?

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even lower. “Mm, You used to like when I ran my mouth. What happened to that?”

Abby’s jaw tightened.

You tilted your head. “What, nothing to say? No pissy comeback? No ‘shut the fuck up’ ,” You reached out, lightly tapping her knee. “C’mon, Abs. Say something.”

And that’s when it happened.

Abby moved fast. One second, she was sitting against the wall, and the next, she was grabbing you by the front of your shirt and yanking you up until your back hit the opposite wall. The breath caught in your throat, but before you could recover, she was right there, her face inches from yours, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like she’d finally had enough. You’d finally pissed her off enough.

You could feel the frustration flowing off of her. And man, did you love it.

“You think this” she gestured between you two “is a game?” Abby hissed, voice low, rough.

Your pulse spiked, but you kept your cool, rolling your eyes at her. “I think you’re mad ‘cause you know I’m right.”

Abby’s grip on your shirt tightened. “You make everything so fucking difficult ” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice was barely a whisper now.

Abby’s eyes flickered to your mouth. Then, finally. finally. she broke. “Yeah.”

Her mouth crashed into yours, rough and frustrated, her hands sliding down to grab your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. You gasped into it, hands flying to her arms, gripping her tight as she kissed you like she was trying to shut you up for good.

Like she was trying to prove something, to you, to herself maybe.

But she’d already lost. Because when she pulled back, breathing hard, you just smiled before speaking again. “Atta girl. Knew you’d crack.”

Abby groaned, dropping her head against your shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Mmn, no you don’t.” You grinned, running a hand through her hair. “But keep tellin’ yourself that, baby.” Her hands tightened on your waist.

Yeah, you’d won this round. But she still had a long way to go.

@/enchanthings for boarders

[starzify]

ready — sam winchester

pairing stanford!sam winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | handjob | sam is inexperienced | dom/sub undertones

SPN MASTERLIST

Sam had been your tutor for months, patiently guiding you through your college coursework. In return, you started tutoring him in something he’d never had the chance to learn—something he’d barely even let himself think about.

It started as a joke, a passing tease about his inexperience, but the way he fumbled for a response—how his ears burned red, how he couldn’t meet your eyes—told you the truth. Sam Winchester, all six-foot-something of him, had never been touched. Never felt a hand trace his skin with intent. Never been taught how to lose himself in someone else’s warmth.

And maybe, just maybe, you were going to be the one to change that.

You look at the time and notice that you only have a couple of minutes before he arrives so you decided to take a quick shower.

In the middle of turning off the water, the sound of a knock hit your ears. You grabbed the white towel and dried your body, quickly moisturizing your skin before hurrying to the door.

Leaving your hair wet, you went to open the door. Standing tall at the door frame was Sam Winchester, a bag over his shoulder and your laptop safely in his grasp.

He finally met your eyes and realized that you were only in a towel as he cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were busy.”

"Come in, just give me a few seconds to change.” You let him in, allowing him to sit on your bed.

You quickly grabbed some pyjamas and shut the bathroom door, dropping the towel to the floor to change.

When you exited the bathroom, you threw the towel in the hamper beside the door. You found him looking over to the stack of books you’ve chosen for him to read.

"I realized that reading is more of your thing, so I found some really good books I've already read for you to read. Why watch porn when you can just read it?" You go over and pick two steamy ones out and hand them to him.

He turned the book to read the description in the back, when his eyes slightly widened, you knew that you picked out the perfect books.

"Here, I read one and you read the other. Alright?" You took one of the books from his hand, leaving him with your favourite one.

"I think you'd like this one more" You sat on the chair near your desk, opening opening book.

You would often peek up at him to see him turn a page and Sam’s eyes never left the pages once. A cherry-like blush crept its way to his face and his lips opened a little bit before closing it, finally noticing that his mouth was open.

You let him continue reading for another thirty minutes, but you hadn't read a single word since you opened the book. You were too busy watching his innocent eyes read such dirty words.

You shut my book, moving in front of him. You used your index finger to lift his chin and admire his flushed face.

"It's a little hot in here, let me help"

You unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, showing the silver chain around his neck "Better?"

He sat up a little bit more with a nod, fixing his posture and that's when you slowly glanced down at the hard-on in his slacks.

"My favorite part of the book is.." You run your hand up to his thigh, barely touching the side of his groin.

"When she slowly undresses herself and doesn't let him touch only watch as she touches herself and moans his name" You play with the collar of his shirt before going back to place your hand on his thigh.

"Or when she doesn't touch him until he begs her too" His hands fall to his sides.

"Is that what you want? Do you want me to touch you, Sam? I need you to use your words or I won't know what you want" He gulps, biting his lower lip as your hand only slowly creeps its way close to his covered dick before moving away back to his thigh.

"Y/N…please.. can you touch me?" You almost moan just by the desperation in his voice as you begin to unbuckle his belt, running your hand over his bulge before taking him out of his slacks.

You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight of his cock. He was big. So fucking big and perfect. "I-Is this alright?" You switched your eyes to him, almost like he wanted to hide himself away because you had been staring for far too long. 

"It's perfect, so damn perfect" Sam relaxed a little bit but that didn't stop him from blushing harder.

"I wonder, would you like it if I ran my tongue along here?" You use your index finger to run up the base of his dick, letting his mouth fall open with a nod.

"Or if I were to take you all the way down my throat?" You squeeze the head of his dick, making him release a moan that could make anyone wet.

He followed your gaze when your got down on my knees, the strap of your flimsy shirt sliding down your shoulder which caused him to take a peek at your boobs. You pushed out your breasts even more, causing his entire face to go red.

"Do you fantasize about them? How soft they would feel in your hand, massaging them? Or having them wrapped around your dick while I look at you with such innocent eyes until you cum?" You softly asked, stroking him with an occasional twist of your hand.

“Or how good they'd look in your mouth?" You wanted... no. You needed to touch yourself but this was about him.

"Oh my.." You watched his chest heave up and down, your nipples pushed against the fabric of your thin shirt.

"I bet you would love to feel my lips around you, sucking and letting my tongue tease over your tip. The feeling of coming over my tits or deep down my throat, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, love?" He quickly nods his head and you don't think he's realized he's admitted to it.

“You're so hard, Sam. You’re doing so good for me right now.” his hips bucked up, his muscles bulging in his shirt which allowed you to make a mental note that he likes to be praised.

“Y/N... I'm— I-I.. oh please keep going" His words became a complete mess as he grew closer, throbbing in your hand.

"Cum for me, Sam. Let me make you feel good." You sped up the pace of your hand, making sure to run my thumb over the tip before using his pre-cum as lubricant to squeeze the base of him.

Sam bit down on his lip but you tapped on his thigh to make him stop his actions. "I want to hear you, baby." he never looked away. Even when you thought he would, he didn't.

With each twist of your hand, you knew only one thing would set him off completely. Almost as if he knew something was coming, your eyes shined with a devious glint.

You placed a peck to the tip of him which set him off, making him bundle your bedsheets with a grip that made his veins nearly pop. You placed another one on the base of his dick, the second kiss making him lean his head back on his shoulders and his thighs tense on both sides of you.

You were pressing your thighs together painfully to where your knees dug into the wooden floor, watching him unravel in your hand.

The pain was worth the sight.

His shaggy bangs were now slightly wet due to sweat, sticking to his forehead. The v-neck of his shirt further showed a few sweat droplets running down his chest that you so wanted to see.

When he finally calmed down, he stayed silent. You got up from the floor and wiped your hand with napkin and disposed of it in the trash can before going over to him and leaning towards his ear.

"Maybe next time, I'll let you fuck my mouth" You pressed your lips a little below his ear, feeling his hands clutch the sheets again.

“I-I can't handle it when you say things like that" he admitted as you fixed his shirt for him.

"Why do you think I say them?" Your faces were close. One more inch closer and your lips would have touched.

"Because I know how hard it makes you" You let him fix himself and his pants. You pick up the books that had fallen to the floor.

"Take them with you" you give him both books. "I can't help but notice that you've taken a liking to read dirty literature" He places the books in his bag.

You walk over to the door to open it for him before stopping and peering up at him.

"Think of me when you try to study." You step up to his height a little bit and kiss his cheek.

tags: @ultravi0lence14 @titsout4jackles @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @deanangel @beausling @deanswidow @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @florchids @sunsbaby @sunsettsam @deansbeer @soldiersgirl @h8aaz

cassie chats: YUMMY IN MY TUMMY

[mintfullyyours]

"no one can hear you scream" prank

I'm sure this has been done but have y'all see that prank "no one can hear you scream"? this is how I imagine it would go lol

They all would react so different but tell me why Simon would be low-key into it?

thank you all for indulging with me <3

let me know if you'd like to be on my tag list

John Price

"And that, love, is a Redwing," John points upwards, bringing his binoculars to his eyes. "Beautiful, innit? Migrates here from Scandinavia and Iceland."

"Beautiful indeed," you hum in agreement. You step ahead of John, hands tucked into your pockets as you glance back at him with a mischievous smirk, "I bet no one can hear you scream."

John squints at you, lowering his binoculars slowly. His hand instinctively drops to the waistband of his jeans, where his handcuffs are nestled. Unease crept up his chest, "What was that?"

You spin around with a teasing glint in your eye. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding."

John huffs, shaking his head as he closes the distance between you. "Uh-huh," he drawls, reaching out to grab your wrist before you can dart away. You yelp, laughing as he easily pulls you into him, wrapping his arms around you in a firm but playful hold. "Think you're funny, don't you?" he murmurs against your hair.

"A little," you admit, grinning up at him.

He exhales dramatically, "You’re lucky I love you."

You poke his chest. "And you're lucky I didn't mean it."

John lets out a chuckle, pressing a warm kiss to your temple before nudging you forward. "Come on, dove. Before I have to put those handcuffs to use." The way he smirks at you sends a shiver down your spine—not from the cold, but from the entirely new kind of trouble you might’ve just walked into.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

"Finally." You huff out, interlacing your fingers with Simon, you drag him deeper into the woods. "Now that we're alone, no one can hear you scream."

You giggle, thinking this is how you'll really leave him speechless. Without skipping a beat, Simon smirks. "I won't scream."

"Huh?"

Before you can process his words, he grabs a fistful of your shirt and pushes you back against a tree. The rough bark presses into your spine, and your heart races. This wasn’t how your silly little trend was supposed to go.

But this was your boyfriend & he is lethal.

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "You forget who you're playin’ with, love," he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. His fingers tighten around the fabric at your waist, his body pressing just close enough to make you shiver. "If anything, you'll be the one screaming."

Your breath catches, and he chuckles—low, knowing.

"You alright" he teases, tilting his head. "What happened to all that courage, hm?"

You clear your throat, willing yourself to sound unfazed. "I—uh—"

Simon hums, running his fingers along your side before pulling away with an infuriating smirk. "Thought so." He steps back, offering you his hand. "Now, are we finishing this walk, or do I need to carry you out of here?"

You narrow your eyes, smoothing down your shirt as you take his hand. "You're the wooorst."

He presses a quick, teasing kiss to your forehead. "And you love it."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny leapt over a small stream and held his hand out for you to take. "Actually, birdie, next time we can go to Inverness. Beautiful trail out there." You groaned playfully, already counting down the hours until you’d be back in civilization.

"'M thinking we get pizza for dinner after this," Johnny huffed, stepping over a rock. Your stomach grumbled at the sound of that, "Make that two."

"Pizza’s good," you agreed, teasing. "Just like how it's good for us to be out here… because no one would hear you scream."

Johnny halted mid-step, "What was that?"

You blinked innocently, "I said I wanted ice cream... when we get back?" You tilted your head. "What’dya think I said?"

His eyes narrowed, lips twitching upward. In a blink, he closed the distance, scooping you up in one swift motion. You yelped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he spun you effortlessly.

"Johnny!" You shrieked, laughing.

"Oh no, lass," he smirked, voice dropping to something low and playful, "if you’re gonna make threats, ye best be ready for the consequences."

Still holding you against him, he leaned in, his breath ghosting against your lips. "No one would hear you scream, either."

Heat bloomed in your chest, your breath hitching—but before you could react, he kissed the tip of your nose and dropped you back onto your feet with a smug grin.

"Now," he clapped his hands, "pizza first, then ice cream, and maybe… if you’re real sweet to me, I’ll let you make all the threats you want—in private."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You shut the car door and take a deep breath of the crisp forest air. Marveling at the dense trees ahead of you, you take a step forward and sigh, "No one would hear you scream."

"What?" Kyle asked, arching a brow. His hand still rested on the car door, as if ready to bolt.

"Nothinggg." You say in a singsong voice, suppressing a grin.

"Oh, absolutely not." Kyle wrenches the car door back open and hops right back inside.

You giggle, walking back to the car to find the door locked when you try to open it. "Kyle, I was just kidding."

"Yeah? I've watched enough True Crime while you've dozed off to know you might not actually be kidding."

"Let me in, Garrick," you roll your eyes, tugging at the handle again.

"No way, love," he says, smirking through the window.

You cross your arms and tilt your head. "If you don't let me in, I will find another way to make you scream." His smirk falters just a little. "That a threat?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "A promise."

Kyle hesitates for a beat, then the locks click open. The second you slide into the passenger seat, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his space—close enough for you to feel his breath fan against your lips.

"You know," he murmurs, his fingers grazing along your arm, "for someone who jokes about murder, you’re an awful tease."

You smirk. "And yet, you keep letting me in."

Kyle exhales a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Now tell me—what was that about making me scream?"

You hum, trailing your fingers along his jaw. "Guess you'll just have to find out later, Sergeant."

His eyes darken just enough to send a thrill through you.

"Yeah," he mutters, starting the engine with a grin. "We're definitely getting a cabin next time."

tag list

@ebodebo @meheheasasa

[nisbanisba]

Thanks for the tag @heartstringsduet! Here’s a smidgen of chapter 2 of Of Headaches and Housecats, which I’m hoping to have up by Wednesday!

When he takes the napkin down again, a flicker of motion catches his eye. “Hey, speaking of neurotic. Look who it is,” he whispers to Tommy, nodding to where Ramon has crept up onto the couch to see his injured person. 

“Oh, my goodness, I don’t think he’s ever come out for me before. Que cosa más linda,” Tommy gushes quietly. Ramon rubs his face gently against Carlos’s, and Carlos stirs enough to make puckered kissy lips in his cat’s general direction. 

“They’re really cute. He’s still not quite sure about me,” TK tells her.

“Because he still thinks you’re the scary guy who comes to his house with clompy boots and a gurney,” grunts Carlos. Ramon starts to venture towards Carlos’s torso, but Beezus stops him with a swat to the face. Offended, Ramon parkours off the couch and out of the room. 

“And he’s gone,” says TK. 

“Go, horsey, go,” comes Jonah’s sweet little voice, and Izzy comes down the hall with Jonah on her back.

“Mom, Evie’s texting,” says Izzy. “You’re supposed to take her to tae kwon do.”

Tommy looks at her phone and nods. “TK, we need to get going, I have to be an Uber now,” she says. “But you can call if you need me. Even if you just need to talk, all right?”

Open tag +

@rmd-writes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes

@everlastingday

@reyesstrand @sunshineacd @theghostofashton @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions

@sapphic--kiwi

@carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom

@ladytessa74 @three-drink-amy @butchreyes @decafdino @never-blooms

@freneticfloetry @eclectic-sassycoweyes @herefortarlos

@alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye @chicgeekgirl89 @lightningboltreader @captain-gillian

@paperstorm

@nancys-braids @pimento-playing-hopscotch @goodways @literateowl @carlos-tk tk @welcometololaland @henrygrass @rangersoup @annoyingcloudearthquake

[viilovers]

Title: Bruises and Broken Bottles

Warnings: ¡Smut! (Not hyper detailed) pit figther vi! X male reader! (Sorry not sorry) If you don't wanna read then block! Or scroll!

The stench of stale beer and regret clung to the air like a shroud. I navigated the cluttered floor of Vi's apartment, dodging discarded clothes and the occasional shattered bottle. “Vi?” I called out, my voice tight with a mixture of concern and exasperation.

A groan rumbled from the corner, followed by a crash. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fuckin’ here, pretty boy.”

That was my cue. Pretty boy. Asshole. Useless sack of shit. The terms of endearment varied depending on the level of intoxication. I was used to it. Too used to it, maybe.

I found her sprawled on the dilapidated couch, one arm dangling off the side, her pink hair a tangled mess against the stained fabric. Her breathing was ragged, and the air around her reeked of cheap whiskey.

“Vi, c’mon. Up you get,” I said, trying to pull her upright.

She swatted my hand away, her eyes bleary and unfocused. “Get off me, Y/N. I don’t need your help.”

“Sure looks like it,” I muttered, but kept my voice soft. Arguing with a drunk and heartbroken Vi was like wrestling a rabid badger. You always ended up worse for wear.

It had been...complicated between us. Years ago, we were inseparable. Two kids from the Undercity, dreaming of a life beyond the grime and the gang wars. Then, everything went sideways. Prison. Powder. Silco. And then...Caitlyn.

Vi and Caitlyn had been good. Really good. I saw it in the way Vi’s eyes softened when she talked about her, the way a small smile would play on her lips. I even thought, maybe, finally, she’d found some peace.

But peace was a luxury we couldn't afford long. When Caitlyn broke up with her after being unsure for too long, Vi had spiraled. The bars, the pit fights, the self-destruction… it was a familiar, agonizing pattern. And for some reason, despite everything, I was the one she called.

I managed to wrestle her into a sitting position, propping her up against the back of the couch. “Water. You need water.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she slurred, but didn’t resist when I pressed a glass of water into her hand.

She took a tentative sip, then grimaced. “Tastes like…regret.”

“Probably is regret. You drank enough of it tonight.”

She glared at me, a flicker of anger in her eyes. “Why are you even here, Y/N? You got nothing better to do than babysit a washed-up pit fighter?”

The words stung, even though I knew they were fueled by alcohol and pain. “Someone has to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit. Besides, who else is going to listen to you whine about the perfect cupcake breaking your heart?”

The jab hit home. Her expression crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “She…she didn’t understand. She didn't get it here. She didn't see me for me"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I hated seeing her like this. Hated the vulnerability that she usually kept locked away behind layers of bravado and aggression.

I knelt in front of her, taking her hand in mine. Her skin was rough, calloused from years of fighting. “I know. I know it hurts, Vi. But you gotta stop doing this to yourself.”

She squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “Easy for you to say. You got it all figured out, right? Always the responsible one. Always so fucking perfect.”

“Perfect? Vi, if I was so perfect, would I be here, cleaning up your messes at 3 in the morning?”

She laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “Good point, pretty boy.”

I stayed with her for a long time, just holding her hand and listening to her ramble. Eventually, she passed out, her breathing evening out. I covered her with a blanket and sat in the rickety armchair, watching over her.

The first rays of dawn crept through the grimy window, painting the room in a pale, depressing light. I was stiff and exhausted, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I knew what Vi would be like when she woke up. The hangover, the shame, the desperate attempt to bury it all under a fresh layer of anger and defiance.

I woke to the feeling of eyes on me. Heavy eyes, blood shot eyes. I should be repulsed as i had been last night, but for the sake of my love for her, I wouldn't.

"Morning." I grunt out, still sore from last night.

"Morning." Vi says back, still a little drunk, but sober enough to make out my face. She looks me over a few times, and i know exactly what she's doing. She always looks like she wants to swallow me whole.

I shift uncomfortably at the thought. "Hungry? I could make breakfast."

"I'm starving." She says back, but not for food. Her eyes travel to my lips as she licks her own. "Starving for you."

I try to ignore the way my pulse jumps. "Vi, you're still drunk. You don't mean that."

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, I think I do. I've been wanting you for a long time, Y/N. Since before Caitlyn, even."

I swallow hard. "Vi..."

She doesn't let me finish. She reaches out and grabs my shirt, pulling me towards her. My lips crash against hers, and all thoughts of responsibility and reason fly out the window.

Her kiss is rough and desperate, mirroring the turmoil inside her. I kiss her back, unable to resist the pull of her, the memory of what we used to be.

Her hands move to my belt, fumbling with the buckle. "Help me out here, pretty boy," she whispers against my lips.

I pull away slightly. "Vi, are you sure about this? I don't want you to regret it in the morning."

She looks me dead in the eye, her gaze intense and unwavering. "I won't. I promise."

And for some reason, I believe her. I help her with my belt, then start unbuttoning her shirt. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, marked with old scars and bruises, each one a testament to her strength and resilience.

We don't talk anymore. We don't need to. Our bodies speak for us, a language of raw need and unspoken desires. I kiss her neck, her shoulders, tracing the lines of her muscles with my tongue.

She moans, arching her back against me. "Fuck, Y/N," she breathes. "I need you so bad."

I don't hesitate. I enter her, and she cries out, her body clenching around me. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming, a release of all the pent-up tension and frustration that has been building between us for months.

We move together, lost in the rhythm of our bodies, the urgency of our need. I kiss her again, harder this time, and she bites my lip, drawing blood.

We had been apart for so long, and so much had changed. But in that moment, tangled together in the ruins of her apartment, it felt like nothing had ever come between us.

Afterward, we lay in silence, her head resting on my chest, our bodies slick with sweat. I stroked her hair, unsure of what to say.

“Vi?” I ventured, my voice hesitant.

She stirred slightly, nuzzling closer. “Hmm?”

“What…what does this mean?”

She was silent for a long moment. Then, she sighed. “I don’t know, Y/N. I really don’t.”

And that was the truth. We were a mess, a tangled web of history, hurt, and unresolved feelings. But as I looked down at her, at the vulnerability in her eyes, I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t ready to walk away. Not again.

The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and potential heartbreak. But for now, in this moment, it was enough to be here, with her, holding her close. I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning. We had a long way to go, a lot to figure out. But maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. Even if it was through bruises and broken bottles.

[wyattxfoster]

Eyeing the container for a moment before turning his gaze back to Laurel, a smirk crept upon his lips. "Hm, you'll never know," his eyes sparkling under the sun, "wonder if the soccer ball had some spidey sense. Or rather, cookie-sense." He let out a soft laugh, tilting his head ever so slightly, this ruse between them felt like no time had passed, and it stirred unresolved feelings he forgot he had. He started to feel things that he had stored away decades ago, fully thinking he had left them in the past. But a sudden meeting brought them back to the surface, and adding in new players to their story. "They sound like they've known each other forever," he nodded towards their two kids, Benny and Miriam only meeting just now but settling in to a rhythm easily.

"You and me both," he nodded, reaching out to swat a stray fly, his fingers brushing against her knee. A touch so innocent, but send shockwaves across him. "Of course I do, so does the kid," he said with a laugh, "I've become a but of a chef myself." He grinned, feeling and oozing confidence, though his cheeks told a different story, as the reddened up a bit. "I promise I'll only tell good lies," he teased, holding his gaze a littler longer than need be, but feeling oh so right.

Laurel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she nudged the container just slightly out of his reach. “I don’t know, Wyatt,” she mused, her lips curving into a smirk. “I’m starting to think you only showed up for the cookies. Not for me, not for catching up—just sugar and butter.” Across the picnic blanket, their kids chattered in rapid French, their voices blending together in a lively hum. Laurel glanced over, her expression softening at the sight of them so effortlessly getting along. It felt strange, in the best way, how easily this moment settled around them like no time had passed at all. And yet, there was so much time—two whole decades filled with lives they hadn’t been part of.

She turned back to Wyatt, her smile a touch smaller but no less warm. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Taking it day by day.” She didn’t elaborate, not with little ears so close, but the way her fingers smoothed over the edge of the picnic blanket was telling enough. Not lingering, she switched gears easily, her eyes dropping to the spread of food between them. “I hope you still like good food,” she teased. “I made most of it myself, and if you say something terrible, I might just let you go hungry.” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was something familiar in it, something easy—like muscle memory.

[curiouschild]

Sometimes I think of Marjorie and just.. have to sit in it

[geneviveleocardius]

dad’s got it covered

feat. simon riley

the soft clatter of pots and pans fills the kitchen as you stir the bubbling pot of pasta sauce. the warm aroma of garlic and herbs drifts through the house, mingling with the faint sound of the tv playing in the living room. amidst it all, your toddler’s tiny voice breaks through, high-pitched and filled with excitement.

“mummy, i want the braid! the one rapunzel has!” she calls from the couch, holding a toy brush in her small hands.

you glance over your shoulder, a small smile tugging at your lips. “later, sweetheart,” you say, your voice gentle but distracted. “mummy’s making dinner right now.”

there’s a pause, and then the sound of her humming to herself, followed by the occasional soft giggle. it’s enough to make you peek out of the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of you. what you see stops you in your tracks.

simon, your husband—your hulking, stoic husband—sits on the floor behind your daughter. his large hands, so used to wielding weapons and carrying the weight of the world, now work with a surprising delicacy. he’s carefully braiding her fine hair, his expression one of focused determination. your daughter is practically glowing, a radiant grin on her face as she chatters away, oblivious to how tender the moment is.

your heart softens, warmth blooming in your chest as you lean against the doorway, watching them. simon glances up briefly, catching your eye. there’s a flicker of something in his gaze—a mixture of pride and amusement.

“you’re lucky she doesn’t want the full rapunzel treatment,” he murmurs, his deep voice laced with dry humor. “i’d need a ladder.”

you laugh softly, shaking your head. “you’re doing great, love,” you say, meaning every word.

years pass in the blink of an eye. your little girl is no longer so little, and the house feels quieter, the once-constant chaos of toddler life now replaced by the rhythm of a teenager’s world. tonight, your daughter has a party to attend. she’d asked you earlier to iron her hair, a request you’d readily agreed to.

but somewhere between the dishes and the laundry, exhaustion crept in. you’d sat down for just a moment and fallen asleep. when you wake with a start, panic surges through you. you glance at the clock, your heart sinking as you realize how much time has passed.

“oh no,” you mutter, scrambling to your feet. “her hair—”

you rush out of the room, searching for her, guilt already gnawing at you. when you find her, the sight that greets you makes you stop short.

she’s sitting in front of the vanity in her room, scrolling casually through her phone. behind her stands simon, a flat iron in one hand and a comb in the other. his movements are slow and precise as he smooths out her hair, section by section.

your daughter barely looks up from her phone, her trust in her father’s meticulousness evident. but you can see it—the care in simon’s touch, the way he handles her hair like it’s the most delicate thing in the world. his expression is the same as it was all those years ago, when he braided her hair for the first time: focused, patient, and filled with an unspoken love.

your heart melts at the sight, the guilt dissolving into something softer, sweeter. leaning against the doorway, you smile to yourself, the memory of a tiny girl and a father’s careful hands blending seamlessly with the present.

“you’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

simon glances at you, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a faint smirk. “just don’t expect me to start charging for haircuts,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but warm.

your daughter, still focused on her phone, rolls her eyes with a groan. “dad, you’re so lame.”

you laugh quietly, your heart full to bursting. watching them, you realize some things never change—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[mothercain]

The Consequence of Audience

As I went there through the long, long wood, I felt no-thing and I was no-thing and I was at ease. The grey ash trees and their mottled plumage were as one with each other, curving and branching to form a ceiling overhead. There was wide separation between trunks, creating vast corridors stretching off in all directions before me, behind me, all around me. O, what praise I could sing of that never-ending dusk fall I spent between those oaks! None came with me, none came upon me, for I was alone and I was at ease. Yet came the day the trees broke, the corridor ended, and I was thrust upon the rocky expanse that was the Great Dark. There I saw first face and heard footstep, few and far between, but I was no longer alone. It was a shameful deed to carry these two naked hands as they clenched hotly, now in full display for all to see. I had never noticed them in the wood, for I was at ease. Here, the taut skin seemed to stretch and sweat, almost glowing, as if exasperated of their own grip. For as I wandered the Great Dark, there was not but grey, barren rock as far as any eye could see. It did make a passerby out of an observer. I saw them trudge by, fingers dipped into their open mouths desperate for wetness, the lolled tongue. There, in the wood, I was the watcher, but here I am nothing but displacing air. Yet, within the smothering toil of my apathy, I had heard the bell. Murmur of God between their slick, bent fingers ruffled the hair on the back of my neck. My muscles groaned against the weight of the skin around them, aching to be set loose. All at once, I saw, from where I stood, there rose a great dome atop a hill on the horizon before me. Yes, I saw it there with mine own two eyes! The white exterior peered at me with flat orifices obscured through the mist, barely distinguishable from the dark sky behind it, as though all the world beyond the dome was cut from the same slab, only slightly effaced. The convex roof sat atop a disk, held up by great ionic pillars circling the temple. Steps radiated out and down the slope, like ripples in a pond escaping a dropped stone. It was greater than life, greater than the wood, greater than all else which filled this dark, and my gullible delight was that it was all mine. Yes, all mine! One could follow me to it but they could not follow me in. My hands stretched outwards with an audible cracking in the bone as I crept forward there. I could not tell you the rest. I would not even attempt, for it would change no-thing. To know if I did go completely naked into the theater of the divine. If I did need for no-thing, want for no-thing. If I was then full to the brim, cylindrical pull slid through my gaping jaw into my endless throat. If I saw it there, shimmering through the veil like pearlescent oil over crystal water. If it heard me singing with every atom that formed me, through every orifice and wound I had, polytonal in my begging for it to complete me with the fifth. If it looked into me, saw how I needed to know what God knows and to be with him. If it spoke back to me in flat dissonance, “how couldn’t ye?” It would be of no good to speak these things to you. In what way I was still returned to the ground, even if beneath it, intact with my puerile need to repeat my-self and my mistakes. Who would not climb the wall for a peer over the edge? The cautionary tale is the fool’s errand, and I am no fool. I am as my hands are; twisting in on themselves and bursting at the seams. I can-not contain the ache for sensation, just as I could not contain the grief as I fell, nor the agony as I crawled my way back to this rocky countryside, and lo! I am on my way there again now. I am, I am, I am! But I will not tell you the visceral details, as you already know them. You all do.

It’s happening to every-body.

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ angel girl

_._____ 𝒙 f.reader

wc ::: drabble length sharinote ::: contains dumbification and some other stuff! unprotected sex as well as mirror sex… also pet names (SLIGHT daddy kink… im so sorry) and overstimulation + squirting and maybs a little roughness. this isn’t proofread grrr :(

[porn no plot] just your boyfriend fucking you dumb and making you squirt 👻

'dumb baby...' your boyfriend relentlessly fucked into you from behind — his breath hot and fanning against you neck, fueling to the fire that was your arousal.

the mirror in front of you was just as foggy as your brain — your eyes clouded, and rolled back as you babbled incoherently. 'mmm...' a soft groan fell bubbling from between your lips.

'you're drooling everywhere, sweet girl...’ your boyfriend’s rough thrusts coming to a slow halt as his hands snaked around your body. ‘here… give daddy your chin, sweetheart.' his long slender fingers came crawling between the valley of your breasts and past your neck to firmly grip you cheeks.

'look at you, sweetheart. so, so pretty.' as he forced your face up and out of the sheets his lips met your own in a sloppy wet kiss — one filled with passion and desire. once more, his hips forcefully slammed against your ass — red from the friction as he buried himself deep within your sopping cunt.

'good girl...' his hand groped the swell of your breasts. as you were overwhelmed with pleasure, you could feel yourself slipping away. what you’d assumed to be your third, maybe fourth orgasm crept up on you. 'aht aht...’ he tutted in your ear. ‘want you to look... watch it, pretty girl.'

you could feel him roughly repositioning your face yet again to stare into your reflection.

he trailed kisses along your neck, chuckling warmly as he saw your eyes snap open in awe at the scene before you: your thighs littered in hickeys your lips puffy and swollen and your whole body quivering in absolute bliss.

'ah! s'too much... s'so deep!' you squirmed. he pressed on the bulge poking out from your lower abdomen. 'too deep? m'only right here... how about this?' harder. deeper. you suddenly hit the mattress, his grip on your waist faltering as he fucked into you with even more dedication... slamming you down and splitting you open for the umpteenth time on his cock... he continued bullying himself cozily into your cunt as he drilled further, and further within you velvety wet walls. ‘ffuck… always so tight aren’t you, baby?’

'ahw fuck, fuck mh!' gasping, your fingers knotted up in the sheets as you moaned uncontrollably… back arching far into the bed before he lifted you up yet again — his tip practically kissing your cervix.

‘shit! w-wait…’ the knot in your stomach began to wrap itself up. waves of pleasure threatening to fall and crash over you if he continued — which he did.

it only took a few more thrusts — each drag of his cock soothing your high as you’d finally came.

sharp thrust after sharp thrust… you took note of how he carefully overstimulated you. harshly rubbing your clit even after your orgasm. ‘shit! a-already… fuck… I already came.’ you pout, whining. ‘I know, just hold on, baby… need one more thing from you.’

‘unghhh!’ the male had lifted you up once more… your reflection not your own as you appeared completely ruined. ‘how’s it feel hm?’ your sore core ached — burning hot as you cried, leaning into his neck. ‘don’t hide.’

‘feels like im ‘gonna pee…’ you mumbled beneath your breath. he nodded. ‘good girl, let go f’me.’

another knot came forming in your tummy…

‘w-wait! ohmygodohmygod..!’ and clear liquid shot from between you legs. drenching the sheets and you and your boyfriend's thighs.

the two of you breathed heavily collapsing onto one another as he kissed your forehead. ‘angel girl…’ he purred. ‘did so good for me yeah?’

lee heuseng: yang jungwon: choi soobin: kang taehyun: jeong yunho: choi san: taesan: leehan: park gunwook: suh johnny: lee jeno: whoever else your little heart desires 🤍

[nightingale-prompts]

The Nightingale Family-DC x DP prompt

(Shameless Addams family inspired prompt)

News travels fast in Gotham, especially in affluent circles. A new family has arrived in the city, old money at that. They had taken up residents in the old mansion overlooking the Historic Gotham Graveyard.

The Nightingales had a way of letting their presence be known. They were rarely seen in public. The eldest Jasmine Nightingale however had made waves working at the Gotham Asylum as a psychologist. She was often escorted by her younger brother Dan Nightingale. The public really started talking when Jazz was seen talking with Harley Quinn.

There were two children that lived in the Nightingale manor. They were elusive to say the least as the family didn't attend the parties of Gotham.

It wasn't until Damian Wayne got an invite from his classmate Danielle to visit their manor that someone saw the lives of Nightingales. This invite had been received after Damian carefully befriended the youngest Nightingale to investigate their connections.

That's how the Waynes ended up at a dinner party.

The manor was bleak to say the least and that's saying something in Gotham. The buildingbwas made from black stones and gargoyles perched on the roof. The garden was wilted and full of thrones that crept up the walls.

Bruce felt a sense of Deja vu as he approached the door and rang the bell. Tower bells rang out as the face of Jasmine Nightingale appeared. She was dressed in black dress pants and blazer. Her lips were painted to match. Her red hair had a striking white streak through it which had become a fashion trend since the family's arrival to girls wanting to seem mysterious.

"Good Evening. It is so nice to meet the infamous Waynes." She shook Bruce's hand. Behind her, the sounds of clanking metal was heard. "That is just my younger siblings playing. You don't you boys join while I talk to your father.

Despite only being a fresh-faced 20 year old Jazz carried herself like a confident adult. A certified genius in psychology who graduated early she also handled the inmates at the Asylum well enough that escapes are at an all time low.

"She's got it all" was what Harley said.

Bruce's admiration of the young lady was only matched by his suspicion. The house the Nightingales lived y had once belonged to the Al Ghouls. There was no telling yet if there was a connection.

He took a seat in the living room with Jazz tea already prepared. She poured two cups of black tea. Not black as in the type of tea but the color of the drink. Bruce cautiously sniffed the black liquid, it smelled earthy and acidic. Poison.

"Do you like it? I made it myself. I added the belladonna myself. It has a sweet taste so you don't need sugar. The kids have sweet tooths but we avoid added sugars. They love nightshade." She smiled drinking.

Bruce put the cup down. So they drink poison at a young age. They must be part of The League of Assassins. But why are they here?

"If you don't mind me asking. Why did you move to Gotham? Your parents-" Jazz put a hand up as she finished her cup.

"Mr. Wayne I'm sure you are no stranger to parents leaving before their time nor the concept that not all parents deserve children. Now I can't confirm or deny if that is the case for use but you can understand that it's a private matter." Jazz said sternly.

That wasn't an answer.

Upstairs Danny and Danielle played with Elle's new toys. Swords from Dan's trip to Portugal. He even sharpened them. They were currently tearing through the mansion.

Tim and Damian caught them while Danny had successfully pinned Elle to the ground.

"Dami! Help!" Elle yelled catching Danny off guard as Damian tackled Danny to the ground.

"Alright, alright. You can go next." Danny rolling Damian off him and passing him the sword. "Im taking a break."

Danny loved playing with his little sister but baby games are tiring.

"They let you play with swords," Tim exclaimed. This wasn't something he expected, sure it was normal for Damian but Damian is weird and was raised by assassins. Damian didn't do it for fun, it was training.

Damian and Danielle ran off while fencing.

"You must be one of the Waynes. Elle has been excited to have your brother over." Danny said politely if not a bit dismissive.

"Eh, yeah. Your sister said we should join you." Tim said a bit awkward. " You have another brother right?"

"Oh, yeah. He travels alot but he's relaxing right now. He's probably swimming." Danny shrugged.

Tim had heard of Danny. They went to the same school but Danny was part of a program that allowed him to come to school when he felt like it. The program is for young engineers who want to work for Wayne Industries. He mostly worked on small experimental projects. So far Danny's superconductor tech was revolutionary but impossible to replicate. Danny somehow managed to make a more effective coolant than anything they had created in the lab.

"You have a pool?" Tim knew that the mansion didn't have a pool.

"Of water? No." Danny shrugged but gave no further answer.

"I see, so what do you do?" Tim tried to sound normal like he was talking to his friends and not someone he was trying to probe.

"Anything, everything. I was going to recalibrate my telescope but I have a laser to test." Danny walked off expecting Tim to follow.

Testing was just cut a bunch of things in half. Tim got some great info on making an explosive ice canister and foam bombs. Tim made sure to get his number to hire him to make some gear for him.

The Nightingale kids were absolutely lawless. They destroyed everything in their path.

Elle had dragged Damian to her room to show off her toys. She used to travel with Dan until she started school. She picked up a bunch of items. Cult artifacts, shrunken heads, voodoo dolls, cursed puppets, knives, swords, and the homemade taxidermy Elle made from roadkill. She also had a pet dodo bird named Ernesto who had a bed next to her bed. Ernesto took a liking to Damian and sat on his head. The way he shows his affection

Soon enough Dan came upstairs to check on Elle and Danny.

"You kids, need to get ready for dinner. Sharpen your nails and teeth." He said before going back to the kitchen.

"What does that mean?" Damian asked.

"You don't sharpen your nails. Well good luck at dinner." Elle said bemused.

Dinner was...horrifying. Watching the family chat happily as they ripped apart the moving food as it came to life. Damian was actually excited as he skewered the cheese and broccoli casserole that screamed at him.

"Father, why can't we do this at our home?" He asked.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ ﹏ please you ¡

pairing perv!rafe x stepmom!reader

summary rafe feels the need to please you after he discovers his father wasn't sexually satisfying you, taking it for granted to fulfill his own filthy desires.

contains smut, stepcest, p in v, unprotected sex, cheating, creampies, dirty talk, degrading, rafe is 1-2yrs younger than you, ward (he needs his own warning) wc; 1.3k

a/n this is so dirty bahhh my apologies if its bad i dont usually write stuff like this

Had you known Rafe visiting would result in you bent over his desk as he thrusted his hips into your soaking cunt; you would not have felt guilty, because fuck, did his throbbing cock feel amazing inside you. 

You couldn't resist him, driven over the edge every time his gaze would land on you, brazenly undressing you with his eyes, and the way his hold would linger around your hip when he's passing by, his lips ghosting over your ear causing shivers to run down your spine, clearly marking his territory, and letting you know he wanted you, just as bad as you did. 

Guilt couldn't capture the extent of how you felt, overwhelming you whole every time you touched yourself to the thought of him, with your own husband next to you, whom you clearly had no feelings for, your marriage a mere contract you agreed on for the money offered. 

It was still wrong, though, with tension seeping through every time he's in your presence. Whether it was him walking around with merely his shorts on, or the way his shirt would cling to his chest after a hefty work out session. The smell of sweat mixed with his musky cologne would fill your nostrils, intoxicating your senses and fuzzing your brain all over. You did everything in your power not to be affected by the subtle touches, and his foot as it crept up your leg from beneath the table, the gesture casual, yet deliberate.

You could only tolerate so much, giving in when he swept past you, the tint in his pants gliding over your ass, hinting nothing but the lust and despair he felt for you. That was the only sign you needed, colliding your lips with his in an eager kiss that spoke for your forbidden desires.  

Now, here you were, a few doors down from Ward's room, getting fucked senseless by his own son. 

Rafe bucked his hips inside you, his thrusts growing sloppy with how wet you were around him, your skin colliding with his covering over your desperate moans. 

"Look at you, such a fucking slut, so desperate for my cock." He whispered, bending down until his lips ghosted over your ear, still keeping up with the rhythm of his hips, as he stuffed your soaking cunt with his cock. "Is my dad not pleasing you, huh? Is that why you're so fucking wet for me? Offering yourself to me like a fucking whore?" 

His words were like music to your ears, muffled whines and whimpers scooping out of your parted lips when his arm slid around your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers, desperately seeking the pleasure he fucked out of you.

"Rafeee," you moaned, throwing your head back when he pressed you close to his broad chest, the fraction sending you spiraling as your back arched against him, chasing after the overwhelming pleasure, wanting nothing but for him to thrust deeper into you. 

While you did feel culpable for cheating, Ward never made an effort to please you, leaving you hanging once he finished his business. But Rafe, on the other hand, the boy did everything in his power to make you feel good, aiming for your weak spot and making you crumble from beneath him. 

"There you go, keep fucking moaning my name," He panted in your ear, squeezing the flesh plump of your ass, spreading it with his large digits to get a better view of your pussy, now drenched with your juices, mixed with Rafe’s precum. "Fuck, you're so wet for me, huh? You know how long I've been waiting for this? All the times I held myself back from bending you over the counter n' fuckin' you right there in there." 

Your eyes forced shut at the confession, overstimulated by how good his cock felt inside you, pulsing in and out of your dripping cunt. Rafe hissed when you clenched around him, chasing after the fraction, slightly taken aback by the action, as you let him do most of the work till now. 

"Fuck, ‘that feel good?" he grunted into your ear, pulling you off the desk, until your flesh was directly flushed against his hot, sweat soaked torso. One of his hands trailed down to your heat, flicking your clit with his fingers, the patterns he rubbed to your nub making you grow sensitive under his touch, instantly crumbling in his hold. "God, you're such a fucking mess, does your husband know how pathetic you are, desperate for my cock inside you?" 

"Rafe," you inaudibly gasp, fingers clutching to the arm wrapping low around your waist, merely to hold you in place. “Fuck, fuck, fuckkk.” 

“What is it, baby?” He hushed out, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck, nibbling on the skin to get a reaction out of you. “Tell me what you want, ‘wanna make you feel good.”

Rafe’s thumb pressed to your bottom lip, using your parted lips as an opportunity to slip his fingers in your mouth. A ragged breath escaped his throat, welcoming the sensation of your hot spit coating his digits, letting his eyes fall shut as he enjoyed the warmth of your tongue swirling over his fingers. 

“I'm so fuckin’ close.” You barely muffled out, nails digging into his arm. “Fuck I’m about to come.” 

Your climax built up, indicating that you were close with everytime Rafe’s hips rolled inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. 

“Come around my cock, baby.” He ordered, sinful words pushing down the guilt filling up your chest. “Wanna fuck you ‘til you’re no longer able to speak.” 

You came undone as Rafe bucked his hips into you, trembling underneath him while he continued pumping his cock in and out of you, walking you through your pleasure, and his growing climax. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned when your ass pressed against the low of his stomach, leaning over the desk, and silently offering your doused cunt to him. You looked over your shoulder, mouth parting in a desperate moan as you muttered your next words. 

“Finish inside me,” you mumbled, making the latter slightly halt at your command. “Please.” 

“You sure?” He shot back, your begging causing his cock to pulse inside you, insanely turned on by the thought of coming inside you, and creating a hell of a mess out of your hole, with his cum dripping from your entrance.

“Mhm,” you hummed, slightly embarrassed as you continued. “Do it, please.” 

Truth be told, you preferred using a condom, not liking how Ward felt inside you, insisting he utilizes one every time you had sex. Therefore, your confession was slightly insane, though it wasn't a lie; you wanted Rafe to fuck you raw, fill up your insides with his cum. 

“Oh, so that’s what this is about.” Rafe’s lips tugged into a smug smirk, amused by how flustered you grew. “You want me to finish inside you? ‘Want me to fill your pretty pussy with my cum, hmm?” 

For someone younger than you (a year or two), Rafe sure knew what to say, talking you through it, his words making you even more turned on, though you just finished. 

His thrusts grew rough and sloppy, as he fucked you through his orgasm, fastening his pace while his mouth gaped with pleasure, approaching his high with each time he bucked his hips into you. 

Rafe rolled his hips into your cunt, hitting your cervix with his cock as he released inside you, painting your walls white with his cum. His head fell back, letting the warmness of his sperm fill up your hole, making your brain fuzz all over.  

“Fuck, that was amazing.” Rafe started, letting himself recover from the rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I love your pussy, baby, don’t think this will be the last time we’ll be doing this.” 

And how could you resist Rafe Cameron, even though this was wrong, forbidden to the outside? 

It could be your dirty little secret, your only escape from reality, and the hell you just created out of your future.