#this time around it appears it will be more of the same

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 27: Public Sex

We have another one of these down. I'll probably stop at thirty. Also, Who knew she was so kinky. On another note, I just happened to have these ideas and requests for Dahyun that I really liked. This is probably the last time she appears though.

Length 2K

Dahyun X Mreader

“Let’s play a game!” The girls all knew what that meant. They looked at each other, wondering what the game would be this time. Sana always wanted to play dirty games when the group had finished off bottles of alcohol. Sana giggled as she placed the pirate on the coffee table in front of the group. “The loser has to do what the others say!” Sana didn’t care who lost; she knew she would get something out of it. The other Twice members agreed to play; it was usually fun to see what would happen. Each member took one plastic sword, putting it into the pirate’s barrel, hoping it wouldn’t pop up. Sword after sword went in, and the members were surprised they hadn’t caused the game to end yet. They looked at each other nervously, each member having one sword left. This would be the last round.

Sana went first, whining as she pushed in the sword. After the click, she was slightly disappointed to see the pirate still in the barrel. She wanted to be the loser; she knew the punished member would have the most fun. Momo went next, and the result was much the same, but she was happy not to be the loser. Mina followed, then Nayeon, Jihyo, and Chaeyoung. It came down to the final three: Dahyun, Jeongyeon, and Tzuyu. They stared nervously at the pirate. “Wait!” Sana said, having an idea of how to make it more exciting. “Everyone choose a hole, then we’ll go in order.” Sana’s idea was to have them choose now before the options become limited.  Jeongyeon, Dahyun, and Tzuyu each chose where they would put the sword, holding the tip inside and waiting. Jeongyeon went first, pushing in until she heard the click; she took a deep breath, happy it wasn’t her. Dahyun went next; the loser would be either her or Tzuyu. Pushing the sword in, she held her breath. The toy pirate popped up from the barrel as it clicked, making her the loser. Tzuyu breathed a sigh of relief as the pirate popped up. She wouldn’t be the one to get punished. 

“Dahyun, go wait in the kitchen. We have to decide your punishment.” Sana cheered, happy that the game was finally over. Dahyun hung her head as she walked to the kitchen. The others chatted about what to have the young woman do until they finally came to a decision. Once they called her back, Dahyun looked around, hoping her punishment wouldn’t be too rough. “Jihyo, do you want to tell Dahyun her punishment?”

“You should do it; it was your idea.”

“Okay! Dahyun, your punishment is you’re going to have to go outside and have sex with someone!” Sana said, clapping as she announced the punishment. “Isn’t this great you get to have sex!” Dahyun was stunned at the punishment. Truth be told, it wasn’t the worst thing, but she knew how Sana had come up with the idea. The older woman had talked to Dahyun about kinks before and knew Dahyun wanted to try public sex. “Oh! And you have to go out in this!” Sana said, pulling up a large coat and stockings. “You only get to wear this,” Sana giggled. The others laughed, seeing the outfit Dahyun would have to go out in. 

Dahyun whined as she grabbed the lack of clothes, stripped in front of the group, and put on her stockings and coat. She grumbled as she walked through the door and stepped outside the dorm. Walking into the streets, she could feel her phone vibrating as the members texted her to ask if she had found someone yet. It had just been a few minutes. It was like they expected the idol to fuck someone in front of the building. Dahyun’s plan was to go further away and find an alley that would be a more comfortable spot. Once she found one, she waited. She watched people walk by before happening to spot you. You would have to do. “Excuse me!” She called. You turned your head to the voice calling you. Seeing the young woman, you walked over before recognizing her as the idol. “Hi, I need you to do something for me.”

“What do you need?” You ask, eager to help the idol. Dahyun beckons you into the alley, going deep into it so people won’t notice the act that would happen. “Dahyun?” You call as you follow her.

“I just need something really quick.” Dahyun pauses as she turns around, moving her hand between the top of her coat, ready to reveal herself. She was getting wet thinking about what was about to happen. “I want you to fuck me. Can you help me with that?” You’re stunned at the request. You always viewed Dahyun as a pure woman, so to hear her asking for sex so blatantly was unexpected. Seeing your hesitation, Dahyun asks again, layering the lust in her voice. “I just really need a nice hard cock. Can you help me? I’m so horny.”

Dahyun opened her coat, revealing nothing underneath her jacket. Her black stockings fit tightly around her thighs. It was the only thing that she had on. She bit her bottom lip, a sly smile forming as the cold air hit her body. Dahyun's thighs were slick with her juices as she stared at you. As your eyes move from the hard pink nubs on her chest to her puffy lips, you feel your desires for the idol building. The night lights made her slick thighs glisten. She waits with bated breath for you to make a move on her. As you unconsciously reach out for her chest, she pushes it out to meet you. Your hand touches the firm mound, and as you squeeze it, Dahyunletss out a soft moan. Hearing your bias moan because of your touch gets you hard, and Dahyun notices. She slips her jacket off her shoulders, dropping it onto the ground before unbuckling your belt and pushing her hand into your pants. Wrapping her hand around your cock Dahyun licks her lips as her hand begins to move along your shaft. “Thanks for the help. I’ll make sure you feel good, too.”

Dahyun’s delicate fingers have your cock in a soft grip as she pulls it out of your pants. She glances down, sucking in a quick breath as she sees its size. “Oh, it’s so big already. You were thinking some naughty thoughts, weren’t you?” You nod, struggling to get a word out as she rubs the tip of your cock with her thumb. You would’ve never imagined Dahyun to be so  slutty, but here she was proving you wrong. Dahyun pushed herself onto you, continuing to stroke your cock as you groped her breasts, her hard nipples rubbing against your palms. You lean down and steal a kiss from Dahyun. 

You’re surprised to feel her tongue trace your lips but push for more. You explore each other’s mouths as Dahyun coats her hand in your precum. She rubs her legs together, becoming more aroused, her mind filling with thoughts of you stuffing her with your cock in the alley.  Dahyun moves one hand down to her clit, rubbing it softly as she jerks you off with her other hand. “Fuck me already,” she whimpers. 

You press Dahyun against the wall, getting behind her. You rub your cock against her cunt only for a second before ramming your length inside her; she cries out, your cock stretching out her tiny cunt. “Oh fuck!”  You don’t give her any time to adjust; her fleshy walls are squeezing tightly as you thrust deep into her cunt. Dahyun moans freely as you slam yourself against her ass, burying your cock inside her with every thrust. You grip her waist tightly, digging your nails into her pale skin. “Fuck, yes, deeper!” Dahyun moans, grimacing as her body bounces against yours, her tits swinging as another thrust makes you bottom out inside her. You move one hand to her tits, grabbing at them as you fuck the idol. 

Dahyun feels her core tightening; she leans against the wall to support herself as she feels her climax approaching. Just as she was going to say something, Dahyun felt your cum being pumped into her womb. A guttural moan escapes her lips as you trigger her climax. As Dahyun’s body shakes from her climax, you slap her ass, watching the soft flesh jiggle as she cums. You spank her again, leaving a handprint on her pale skin as you finish dumping your cum into her. Dahyun groans, moving a hand to her slit to feel your cum leaking out of her. You pull out of the idol and watch as she brings her fingers to her lips, tasting your cum for herself. The sight of the idol eating your cum turns you on and keeps you hard. 

As Dahyun looks over her shoulder to see you still hard, she smiles. Squatting before you, she takes your cock in her hand again.  You cum flows out of her cunt onto the ground as she strokes your messy cock, coating her hand with your cum. She drags her tongue along her palm, moaning as she tastes your salty cum again. “Let me clean you up. I can’t leave such a good cock messy.” Dahyun rubs your cum coated cock against her lips, staining them before she swallows the head. Dahyun moaned around your cock, bobbing her head slowly so her tongue could work around the shaft. You moan loudly, reveling in the feeling of her tongue lapping at the tip as she stops to focus on the head. You place your hand on Dahyun’s head, moving her from the tip to the base of your cock. You felt her lips against your pelvis as your cock hit the back of her throat. Dahyun doesn’t mind the roughness; she was actually enjoying the way you were treating her. As you let her go, she pops you out of her mouth, slapping her cheeks with your cock as she says, “Face fuck me. I’m all yours; treat me like the slut I am.” You’re stunned by Dahyun. You didn’t know what to do for a second but quickly settled on doing your worst to her. You would never get another chance to fuck the idol. 

You hold Dahyun’s head in place as you thrust into her mouth, plugging the hole with your cock as you keep it buried inside her throat for a few seconds before thrusting again. You enjoy every moment of her throat tightening around you. You knew you weren’t going to last long, but that didn’t matter; you were going to fuck Dahyun’s face. Dahyun’s face becomes a mess as time goes on. Saliva coats her chin as it runs down from her lips. Her make-up is ruined, mascara running down her cheeks as her eyes water. “I’m going to cum,” you groan as your thrusts turn wild. You pull out just as you cum, spurting your semen onto the idol's face. Your cum paints her face and lands on her hair. Dahyun sticks her tongue out, getting a few drops on it. She gleefully swallows them. You back up and take good luck at the messy idol. Dahyun’s body was sweaty; her hair was matted. Your cum hadn’t only stained her face but had managed to get onto her body. Cum still dripped out of her cunt. You thank Dahyun for the experience, bowing before you leave. Dahyun stayed in the same place, cleaning the cum from her body before grabbing her coat and walking back to the dorms, cum still on her face as she did so. 

The girls cheered for their members as she walked through the door. Dahyun had a tired smile on her face as she took off the coat and laid back on the couch, letting Sana clean out her cunt as she asked questions about her experience. The others pointed and laughed as they heard the story.

[meo-eiru]

Day 2 of Character Trivia Night! Just a heads up, I already tagged it with the necessary tw warnings but I'll be mentioning self harm so proceed with caution

For tonight we have Elias

Elias has a mother and father, and is an only child

His father is an office worker and his mother is a stay at home mom

He occasionally talks to them when they call him but doesn't actively try to keep a close bond with them

He had short brown hair before meeting you but after doing so he decided to switch to a more flashy appearance to make up for his lack of personality

He doesn't have a favorite or least favorite food but follows a strict diet to have a body to your liking

He's not a morning person but forces himself to wake up early to spend 1 to 2 hours in the bathroom prettying himself up

Has had the same manager for years but still can't remember his name

He had a few stalkers growing up and was even poisoned once after you two started dating

He was more worried about appearing sickly in front of you than almost dying so when you tried entering his room to check up on him he cried

Talking with a man for more 10 minutes, being alone with one for more than 5 minutes, not returning his calls or messages within 1 minute, not looking at him once for more than half an hour when you two are together and not complimenting him at least 30 times during the day all counts as signs of cheating in his eyes

If you show attraction to another men, such as an idol or celebrity, he'll start mimicking their looks and behavior

He desperately wants to kill the people around you but last time he tried it he almost messed everything up so now he just pretends to be a victim and ruins them socially

He's not such a high ranking model because besides his good looks he lacks presence, but he does have a decent social media following

He doesn't post that often and when he does they are either just photos or a few words, it was enough to gather a small cult following though

He does have a private account he uses to vent, he usually uses it like a diary to write about you but when he gets distressed his posts turn very aggressive

He occasionally does self harm, he doesn't particularly enjoy the feeling but he loves the expression on your face when you see it

He usually uses it as a trick to manipulate you. Once he couldn't contact you for an hour so he just spammed you with pictures of a particularly deep wound and "I'm ending it since you apparently don't care about me" messages.

You had to run to his house only to find him lightheaded from blood loss, but he just greeted you with a smile and hug like his arm wasn't dripping blood

If you can't take it and try to break up with him he'll take it outside, start making a scene, gather a crowd and threaten to jump off until you take it back due to public pressure

He doesn't particularly care about the scars left during these outbursts since he views them as memories the two of you share but if someone else leaves a scar on him, even by accident, he'll have a breakdown and attack the person until someone pulls him back

His favorite dates are the ones where you two just laze around in bed the whole day, open a random show and have sex instead of actually watching it

He's mostly fine with you having your own hobbies and interests but if you seem to enjoy them a bit too much for his liking he'll start throwing tantrums to get you to do them less

He has two moles right above his butt, on the left

[moonstruckme]

hi! i just read your drabble with remus fixing the readers attitude and i was wondering if you could do the same with sirius? i really loved your other one and seen you were trying to take requests for sirius.

i hope you have a wonderful day!!

Thanks for requesting, hope you have a lovely day as well <3

cw: d/s dynamics, reader has hair troubles and uses products + tries running fingers through it so it's long enough for that

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 991 words

Sirius can hear you fuming from outside the bathroom. Heavy breaths and drawers being shut too harshly and the occasional, frustrated grunt. If it wouldn’t be such a betrayal of you, he’d take a video so Remus can see what he’s like while he’s transforming during a full moon. 

“What’s going on in there, gorgeous?” he asks from the bed. 

Your reply is nearly a growl. “Nothing.” 

“Mm. Yeah, sounds like nothing.” Sirius gets up, going to the bathroom and nudging the door open. He leans against the doorframe as you scowl at yourself in the mirror, wringing product into your hair like you half hope it just tears off. “What’s got you so wound up?”

“Nothing.”

He tuts. “Not any more convincing the second time. Try again.” 

You’re pointedly not looking at him, but Sirius notices that your scowl intensifies. “My hair is being fucking unbearable.” 

Sirius opens his mouth, but you cut him off. 

“And I don’t want to hear that it always looks good, or that you think I look nice no matter what, or any of that bullshit, okay?” 

“That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry, sweetness, but I’m not going to start lying to you. Your hair is perfect, and you do always look—”

Your eyes bore into your own reflection, sharp and wrathful. “Don’t.” 

Sirius’ eyebrows lift. “I’m sorry, don’t? Don’t compliment my girlfriend, or don’t be honest?” 

“Either. I know you’re full of shit, because it looks insane right now, but even if you have miraculously gone blind since this morning, Lily and Alice will be there, and they know what hair should look like when it’s not being so—so—” 

“Alright.” Sirius is beginning to grow amused with you. You’re so ridiculous when you’re upset, brash and squinty-eyed and cute. “Save yourself the exertion of finishing that sentence gorgeous. Take a breath.” 

“I don’t want to breathe!”

“And yet, we all have to anyway.” 

“God, Sirius, fuck off!” You finally lock eyes with him in the mirror, positively fuming. “I knew you wouldn’t get it. I’m trying to look nice for your friends, and you’re making fun of me! If my hair would just—fucking—” You appear to give up on the product, your attention returning to your hair as you begin dragging your fingers through it mercilessly. “—do what I tell it to, maybe then I’d fucking breathe, but instead it’s basically unsalvageable, and—”

“Oi.” Sirius’ humor at the situation has vanished. By the time you think to look at him he has both your hands in his, restrained from doing further damage to yourself. “No. If you’re going to be like this about going to Frank and Alice’s, we won’t go. So is that it, or can you be good?” 

Sirius uses the sharp tone he knows you’ll respond to, but really he isn’t angry. He only wants to give you pause. And oh, it’s so sweet to watch the brattiness leave your eyes. The terse pucker of your mouth softens to an almost imperceptible pout, your whole demeanor shifting in an instant. 

He takes both your wrists in one hand. With the other, Sirius cups the side of your throat, fingers curled around your nape and thumb rubbing against your erratic pulse. 

“I need an answer,” he says. 

“Yes,” you say, and your voice is soft, like the sharp edge from a minute ago has been bitten off. “I can.” 

“Good.” Sirius allows his tone to gentle some, though he keeps his firm grip on your wrists. “Then you have to relax, baby. Breathe.” 

This time, you do as you’re told. It works as he knew it would, your shoulders drooping after the long exhale like the last of the fight has finally gone out of you.

“Thank you.” He touches his lips briefly to the center of your forehead, pretending not to notice how you sway towards him for more. “Now, do you still want to go to Frank and Alice’s tonight?” 

You open your mouth, but this time it’s Sirius who stops you. 

“Wait. Really think about it. Are you going to enjoy yourself, or are you going to spend the whole time feeling weird about your hair?” 

You hesitate, rubbing your lips together. Sirius strokes his thumb down the line of your throat approvingly. 

“I still think I want to go,” you say after a few moments. 

“Okay.” Sirius nods. “Then you’re going to let me braid your hair for you. You’ll look just as lovely and perfect as you do now, but you won’t be able to mess with it any more. Does that sound alright to you?” 

Your relief is palpable. You let out a breath, eyes growing suspiciously bright. “Yeah. That would be great, thank you.” 

“Okay, come here.” Sirius releases your neck and wrists to wrap his arms around you. He presses his lips to your lovely, perfect hair while you curl your hands in his shirt as if to keep him from slipping away. Like Sirius would ever want to. “Shh. You’re fine, baby. Ease up.” 

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you mumble against his front. 

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You did it more than once, if I recall.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” He laughs a little, hugging you tighter. “It’s okay. You get a hair insanity pass, just this once. Let’s have a good night, okay?” 

You let out another sigh. Sirius rubs your back reflexively. “Yes, please.” 

“M’kay. Let’s go.” He starts ushering you towards the bed, grabbing a couple of hair ties on his way out of the bathroom. “We’re done with the mirror for today. And no yelling at me while I do your hair, got it?” 

You try on a coy smile; it’s small, but Sirius respects the effort. “I could never yell at you.” 

“Uh huh. I may forgive, but I don’t forget that easily, sweetness. Try it again and we’ll be staying home to deal with that attitude of yours.”

[harmoonix]

Forever

- Astrology observations -

Channeling Song:

People with their Moons in the 1st, 7th or 10th house. With moon in these houses you can easily fake your emotions and people might have a hard time to understand how you feel. Your emotional nature becomes more public rather than private, you might hate crying in front of others.

Sun aspecting the Moon can create identity or personality issues, you might have a hard time understanding things about yourself, you are very indecisive, and you have it hard opening to others

Saturn in the 4th, 6th, 8th, or 12th house natives tend to be private. You won´t know many things about them. These people do not like to share that many things, neither often being secretive or mysterious to the people around them

Lilith harshly aspecting the Moon (square, opposition, conjunction) can create lots of hate and underwhelming feelings. These aspects often create tense situations with other women/girls

Lilith in the 10th house can be a placement indicating exposing/shaming publicly. You can be exposed by others and, at the same time, to expose them in front of others

Mercury - Pluto/Mars aspects have a big mouth. They do not let anyone dissrespect them or the people they love. They might get aggressive when defending others or standing up for themselves

Mars aspecting MC tends to get in controversial situations in their life, take care of who you have around you, take care of who you talk/share things to, because it can end with drama

Virgo in the 8th or 12th house tends to have a lot of fears, especially if Mars is involved too. They can have lots of phobias, nightmares, ptsd, ocd and many more

Venus or Mars in the 8th house can get involved in "friends with benefits," and one night stands sometimes, making the native to crave satisfaction from other people even though it is wrong

Pluto/Lilith/Saturn in the 5th house had to grow up too soon. They might have lots of intense feelings when it comes to their childhood and having a hurt inner child.

Capricorn or Saturn in the 7th house, your parnters can cross your boundaries very often, standing your ground might help but is important to date mature people from now on

If you have Pisces or Neptune in the 7th house, your exes might come often back to you. You can have that "missing the partner" feeling once they break up with you...they will come back

10, 22, 8, 20 degrees on sun can indicate the native tends to appear intimidating to others, they can have a cold personality and may seem harsh at first

7, 19, 2, 14, 26 degrees on moon can indicate the native often gets inspired from things that hold a meaning/are dear for them. These natives are good at making a good first impression

Jupiter square/opposite Mercury can have a hard time being positive. Their mind plays a big role in this one. Your brain controls everything, Jupiter helps by trying to make the native less depressed

Saturn in Gemini/Virgo/3rd/6th or at 6° 18°, 3° 15° 27° degrees, even though Saturn here has the communication skills of mercury, the native tenda to be shy/anxious at their workplace

Sun aspecting Saturn natives have high self-control. Usually, if it comes together with an earth sign or degrees

'She can beat me, but she cannot beat my outfit' - an Aries Rising.

Leo/Sun/Libra/Venus/Mars/Aries in the 7th house secretly want their partners to tell them. 'You're my favorite'

(IM CRYING FOR ARIES MARS PPL LMAOO MY FRIEND SEND ME THIS:😭😭😭

The topic is about Mars signs in bed*

Virgo Mars natives are not safe neither😭🙏🏼)

On topic, these mars signs can have it good and struggle sexually at the same time .

Mars or Saturn harshly aspecting the Ascendant or Sun can make the natives body not so strong./sensible body or bones. Sometimes, even struggling with an ED (eating disorder). If you think you have, you should definitely contact a doctor on it

Mercury in the 5th, 7th, 8th houses can be so good at flirting/talking dirty/charming others with their words

I feel natives with Saturn or Uranus in their 2nd/10th house struggle with finding their worth. You struggle to see your true potential

Mercury aspecting Moon natives genuinely have a beautiful mind/mindset. You can fall in love with they way their think/perpective/logic. But you can also learn a lot from these people

Chrion in the 6th/12th house axis can make the native to not feel 'real' sometimes. You can question life so often and wonder if 'is it worth it'

Chiron in the 1st/8th house can overthink hardly when they're hurt/in pain. Sometimes blaming all on themselves

If you have a strong connection with someone's 5th house, you can easily end up dating them/liking each other after a while

Have a good start of the week everybody!🩵🩵

Harmoonix 🩵

[ilovemybettafish]

“Learning to draw is really a matter of learning to see – to see correctly – and that means a good deal more than merely looking with the eye.” - Kimon Nicolaides

These are all great resources, but I think it should be said that no one NEEDS classes or books to learn art. Those things can certainly help, and can expand the set of “tools” you have to draw from while creating. Understanding the rules of human proportions, for example, is very useful. But none of it is required or essential.

The most important thing for an artist is the ability to look at something and see it for every detail: its texture, the interplay of shadows and light, the way perspective can distort appearance, the basic shapes that create the complex object in front of you. Those things can be taught, but you can pick them up just as well by just taking time to look — REALLY LOOK — at the things around you.

Choose one thing to focus on, whether that’s an apple, a lamp, a bench, your own hand. It doesn’t matter what. But choose something and just study it. Take in every detail. And then try to replicate what you see.

You can do the same thing with other art that you admire. If you like manga and want to be a manga artist, look at a lot of manga and take time to notice the details of that style that attract you. Then sit down and try to make your own.

It won’t be perfect at first. You might not be happy with it at first. But the better you become at observing what’s around you in the real world, the easier it becomes to see what is missing from your own art to make it more realistic. And eventually, you develop a style of what is and isn’t important to you to include, what is and isn’t important to you to focus on.

I will say, I’ve known a ton of artists, many of them with successful professional careers in the arts. And, in my experience, the ones who went to a four year college and got a degree for art are often the most talentless. They’re too used to caring about the “rules,” and often don’t have the passion and self discipline needed to make it as a professional creative. They care more about the fact that they have a degree than about building their portfolios, and they think having that piece of paper with their name on it makes them an authority on art.

None of us are authorities on art. Art is the most subjective thing in the world. The best artists I’ve known are the people who have spent years upon years sketching in the margins of their notebooks, letting their own passion and curiosity fuel their exploration of different techniques and mediums. People who have spent years of their free time creating things they love and adding those things to a portfolio.

These are the kinds of artists I know who have their work in museums, who are creative leads in top of the industry gaming studios, or who are successful illustrators. Most of them have no degree at all, or maybe a 1-2 year certificate. You don’t need money to be an artist.

Can't afford art school?

After seeing post like this 👇

And this gem 👇

As well as countless of others from the AI generator community. Just talking about how "inaccessible art" is, I decided why not show how wrong these guys are while also helping anyone who actually wants to learn.

Here is the first one ART TEACHERS! There are plenty online and in places like youtube.

📺Here is my list:

Proko (Free)

Marc Brunet (Free but he does have other classes for a cheap price. Use to work for Blizzard)

Aaron Rutten (free)

BoroCG (free)

Jesse J. Jones (free, talks about animating)

Jesus Conde (free)

Mohammed Agbadi (free, he gives some advice in some videos and talks about art)

Ross Draws (free, he does have other classes for a good price)

SamDoesArts (free, gives good advice and critiques)

Drawfee Show (free, they do give some good advice and great inspiration)

The Art of Aaron Blaise ( useful tips for digital art and animation. Was an animator for Disney)

Bobby Chiu ( useful tips and interviews with artist who are in the industry or making a living as artist)

Second part BOOKS, I have collected some books that have helped me and might help others.

📚Here is my list:

The "how to draw manga" series produced by Graphic-sha. These are for manga artist but they give great advice and information.

"Creating characters with personality" by Tom Bancroft. A great book that can help not just people who draw cartoons but also realistic ones. As it helps you with facial ques and how to make a character interesting.

"Albinus on anatomy" by Robert Beverly Hale and Terence Coyle. Great book to help someone learn basic anatomy.

"Artistic Anatomy" by Dr. Paul Richer and Robert Beverly Hale. A good book if you want to go further in-depth with anatomy.

"Directing the story" by Francis Glebas. A good book if you want to Story board or make comics.

"Animal Anatomy for Artists" by Eliot Goldfinger. A good book for if you want to draw animals or creatures.

"Constructive Anatomy: with almost 500 illustrations" by George B. Bridgman. A great book to help you block out shadows in your figures and see them in a more 3 diamantine way.

"Dynamic Anatomy: Revised and expand" by Burne Hogarth. A book that shows how to block out shapes and easily understand what you are looking out. When it comes to human subjects.

"An Atlas of animal anatomy for artist" by W. Ellenberger and H. Dittrich and H. Baum. This is another good one for people who want to draw animals or creatures.

Etherington Brothers, they make books and have a free blog with art tips.

As for Supplies, I recommend starting out cheap, buying Pencils and art paper at dollar tree or 5 below. For digital art, I recommend not starting with a screen art drawing tablet as they are more expensive.

For the Best art Tablet I recommend either Xp-pen, Bamboo or Huion. Some can range from about 40$ to the thousands.

💻As for art programs here is a list of Free to pay.

Clip Studio paint ( you can choose to pay once or sub and get updates)

Procreate ( pay once for $9.99)

Blender (for 3D modules/sculpting, ect Free)

PaintTool SAI (pay but has a 31 day free trail)

Krita (Free)

mypaint (free)

FireAlpaca (free)

Libresprite (free, for pixel art)

Those are the ones I can recall.

So do with this information as you will but as you can tell there are ways to learn how to become an artist, without breaking the bank. The only thing that might be stopping YOU from using any of these things, is YOU.

I have made time to learn to draw and many artist have too. Either in-between working two jobs or taking care of your family and a job or regular school and chores. YOU just have to take the time or use some time management, it really doesn't take long to practice for like an hour or less. YOU also don't have to do it every day, just once or three times a week is fine.

Hope this was helpful and have a great day.

[aangelinakii]

TO YOUR SHOULDERS.

— you always looked better with your hair down.

summary : despite always wearing your hair up, jason thinks it looks better down.

note : yes this is totally ripped off from a scene in dexter s4,, and also reader is described with long hair but not explicitly fem ??? so just a heads up for that

it had never been a question of if you looked nice, it was just that it worked better for you in every way.

your trusty, dusty claw clip.

having your hair out of your face helps you think, helps you concentrate. you don't need to worry about fly-aways when you're eating, nor food getting stuck in the ends. it goes with every outfit, your claw clip.

whoever invented this thing needs everything they deserve and more, wherever they are.

that morning, as you dressed for work, you'd been standing in the bathroom mirror, clip lodged between your teeth as you gathered your hair at the back of your head.

jason's reflection emerged through the door, and he stepped up to the toilet next to you, lifting the seat up with the back of his knuckle — something he preferred doing to avoid getting germs on his fingers, which he'd wash off anyway.

but he paused, looking at you, and you could feel his gaze, as well as see it in the mirror if you tilted your head just a little.

your movements never ceased, and you reached to the front of your face, fingers closing around your clip.

"hey," jason piped up, almost urgent in a way that caused you to drop your hair and spin to look at him. his eyebrows were raised, but lowered in an instant, and his eyes were calm, kind.

after touching the toilet, he didn't want to reach up and ruin your hair, but he ghosted a hand over the front of your locks. "have i ever told you how good you look with your hair down?"

no, he hadn't, but now he has.

instinctively, you pulled away with a bashful grin threatening to poke out from pulled-up cheeks, soft like fresh bread. "really?" you breathed out, a small laugh like a song to your voice.

"really," he smiled with a nod.

"okay, i'll keep it down today." as you leaned forward into him, placing a hand on his toned chest, your smile still lingered as you kissed him, and you could feel the muscles in his face doing the same.

however, you hadn't kept your promise — not that it was a promise at all, but it was a compliment and it had made you feel warm and fuzzy.

but it's a force of habit, putting your hair up.

so when the work you were doing got a little bit more stressful, a little bit more things for you to rush around and do, the claw clip you'd kept safe in your bag just in case came out and clamped itself in your hair, keeping it up and out of your face.

by the time you'd closed the front door behind you and kicked your shoes off, jason was rounding the corner into the hallway to welcome you home.

your bag slipped from your fingers, falling to the floor as he appeared, and your arms stretched out for him. there was a slight pause in his actions, but it was barely anything noticeable in the exhaust of your head.

his wide frame slotted between your open arms, strong biceps holding you within his own. whilst your hands lay half-limp on his back, jason's embrace was tight, a hand coming to position on the nape of your exposed neck.

soft kisses tickled your temple.

"missed me?" you chuckled, voice muffled by the fabric of jason's grey t-shirt.

to which he only hummed in return, pulling his head away from where he'd been kissing to burrow in the crook of your shoulder. and then he said something, but you couldn't make it out, for his words had got lost in the threads of your clothes.

"speak up?" you offered, carefully twitching your head away so he'd look up.

when his face finally emerged, you found his black hair messed with affection and his eyes soft like the fur of a labrador. his lips thinned with a similar shyness you'd felt that morning.

"you put your hair up," jason finally mustered himself up to say, pads of his fingers dancing along the curls that had fallen down at the back after a busy day.

with a sharp inhale, you brought a hand to feel the clip, as if just realising it was there. "oh! sorry, it's been a long day."

you felt jason's hand rise to the clip too, and you moved yours away, settling it around the base of his neck, where your other hand met it.

"it's okay." his voice was soft and soothing, like a cup of chamomile and honey on a horridly rainy day; the scent of lavender when you're trying to get to sleep.

suddenly the tension at the back of your head was lost.

jason's other hand came around, brushing through the hair released from its clip, coming up to the top of your head to style it to frame your face. his eyes never looked at the hair, only you.

"perfect."

and the styling hand rested upon your cheek, thumb absently skimming across the skin.

with a gentle pull on his neck, you leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut, to meet him in the middle. if you were perfect, he was heaven-sent.

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

I have this idea that each of the Batfam were given nicknames alongside their actual vigilante names by civilians that they do use every now and then. It's either a bird or a type of bat.

Bruce/Batman is obviously just called 'the Bat', probably it SHOULD'VE gone to a more specific species later, but yeah. By the time the Batlings showed up it kind of...... well, it just stuck and stayed.

Dick/Nightwing at first was only called Robin, but as he grew older, they named him 'the Owl' for his silence even in the air. And when some learned that there were evil owl masked assassins (Talons from the Court of Owls) the name became also a rebellion against them, they liked Nightwing better. He's a silent hunter, agile in fight, and idk Owl just fits him. 

 Jason/Red Hood literally died and came back, so they named him 'the Phoenix'. Also for his fiery nature and how he allegedly (to the civilians) died in an explosion, but came back from the black ground like a phoenix is said to rise from the ashes. 

Cass/Black Bat was named 'the Noctule', after the Greater Noctule Bat, since it just fit and also Noctule bats are known to even hunt small birds and THEREFORE are in the same league as them, lining up with how Cass is just as, if not more, dangerous as her siblings. 

I also toyed around with calling her Kite after the Black Kite, but she's Bat vibe more than Bird vibe, (even tho in my view all the Birds are still Batlike) so.... yeah. 

For Steph/Spoiler, I decided on 'the Magpie'. Magpies are smart, mischievous, and have a habit of spoiling things for others.

I toyed around a bit with Wren, since that could also work for her, but magpies are corvids and corvids are more Gotham, so I chose Magpie.  

Tim/Red Robin would get 'the Crow', both for his darker appearance as Robin and Red Robin than the previous two, the calls he lets out sometimes (In some of my AUs) and idk I just came up with it and it unsettlingly fit. So Tim is the Crow. He's smarter than expected and a bit smaller than normal but he can fight, so he is the Crow. 

Duke/Signal would get 'the Sunbird'. I checked. There's a bird called the Sunbird. It's way too obvious as to why i call him that so yeah.

He's also called the Day Bat. Cause to me, he's in direct equilibrium to the Bat and Bird thing. All the others lean more towards one side or another, but he's directly 50/50 to me, that's his vibe. So Signal is 'Day Bat' and 'the Sunbird'. 

 Damian/Robin gets 'the Swift', for the fact that he's small but deadly and fast, and it just fits him idk. Swifts are like..... idk the vibe and all fits. Robin gets the Swift.  

[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

[lyricwritesprose]

Here's the thing. A lot of people think of Kelda Wineberry as a joke. Because she is a bard, and her criteria for falling into the sheets with someone are pretty much consenting and moving and that's it, and also she's a halfling wearing a human hat with a huge ostrich plume, which means that the hat, at first glance, appears roughly the size of Kelda and has usually slid down over her eyes. I gotta admit that I've sometimes underestimated Kelda.

Never again.

Because she not only managed to improvise an anti-panic ritual on the fly, she figured out a way to calm down someone who doesn't breathe. Like. Where do you go with that? Take a deep breath in—nope, he doesn't. Let out your breath slowly—he can't. So she engaged his concentration by asking him to list a bunch of things starting with the same letter, and then another list, all the time plucking gently on her lute. I honestly don't think she was spellcasting. He probably would have known, and panicked. It was just a soothing background to what she was saying.

At length, Janis—who was more than a little singed by whatever Dread Isithamar fired into their chest—coughed, and moaned, and then passed out again.

"You see?" Kelda said. "They're going to be okay. Honestly we've had to do this before. They worship the Lady of Dawn, not the Lady of Standing Back And Making Wise Choices. How about you? How did you get—well—in this state, without a blood ritual?"

"I." Isitiamar can't blink, or I think he might have. "Well, the thing is, I really, really like research."

"Yeah?"

"So when my time came to die—my order gets taken personally by the Lady of Sunset, you know—I didn't turn around to see who it was, I just said, 'Piss off, I'm working.'"

"And?"

"And apparently she sort of—did. Now, you people were talking about a scroll? And an eclipse that's going to end the world? You have to understand, we can't have that. My library is in the world!"

It turns out that the lich the adventurers had been hired to slay had never actually killed anyone before until the impulsive paladin of the group swung first. Now, as the healer tries to revive them, the rest have to calm the ancient undead mage down from what is undeniably a panic attack.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Your Private Dancer

A/N: Everybody say thank you Tina Turner; man I really am just a mixture of everything I’ve seen and heard. 

CW: Dancing for money, sex work/ prostitution mentioned, using money as manipulation, Reader wears makeup n' heels lmao

Synopsis: You work at the downtown peep show dancing for quarters, trying to get out of the rough patch you’ve fallen into. Seemingly, a man out of your usual customer regulars has business with you.

Tonight, a habitual fear bobbed its way inside your head, just as it had the night before. The idea of your boss’s beige, neatly ironed trousers becoming ever-so visible from under the slowly rising black curtains was making an appearance, his aged face slick with sweat, with desire behind the see-through plastic shield.

Again, the same scene but with a distant friend on the other side of the decaying plastic that separated you from your… clients. They’d be popping in the coins you worked for-- mere quarters, often giving you barely enough to buy a drink for the night.

This line of work could be greedy, could sap all energy and self-worth you had-- but for some, it had led to better lives; ones where they could purchase groceries for their kids or nice handbags if they decided to skimp out on dinner that week. 

Never you, though. How long has it been since you started working at the peep show, two months? You barely made enough to cover rent, and that was primarily paid for by your office job handling phones and directing clients to your bulging boss’s office. 

Taking a swig of some bottom shelf vodka you so sneakily hid into a mug, you drank the thoughts away, waiting patiently for the electric blue lights to come on. If you had any less self respect, you’d dare to sit on the yellow tile beneath your studded heels, legs aching from standing ten til’ two waiting for some man or another off the street to feed your coin box something of substance. You prayed for whoever came next-- if anyone-- they wouldn’t try to shove another piece of gum or arcade coin in as a cheap ploy. You thought they did it more to fuck with you and get a free show than a true lack of being able to pay for their lust. 

On the brink of lighting an unused cigarette left next to your mug, the lights of your five-by-five room soon became illuminated by the cobalt blue lights of the client room across from you. Velvet curtains rose to show a pair of black slacks, left knee impatiently bouncing. The blue never bathed the entirety of your small room; it was just an illusion for the paying customer, making everything in front of them turn an electric shade that used to burn your eyes; now, you wished you were doused in that blue, instead of witnessing the yellow stains on the walls beside the see-through window, the dirty circles formed on the green walls from put-out cigarette butts. 

The curtains rose to his neck, and you knew it was time to start dancing. You were by no means a professional-- hell, you never moved this much unless it was in this room. But you were pretty good at making yourself consumable, as if the men on the other side could have you-- could taste the way your hips gyrated and how you grabbed at your chest, stroking and fondling yourself in a desperate attempt to keep the money coming. For some of those who worked the peep show, it was liberating; no man could touch them, and they could rake in all the money they’d need. For you-- it was just a step above demeaning yourself to being touched.

You started slow-- sensual. He was looking at you, of course-- but he hadn’t even gotten his pants down yet. You rarely get these kinds of men, the ones who just liked to stare, maybe smoke a cigarette and put the rest of their quarters in their pockets to leave with a frown of boredom.

You let your hands rise from your hips, gracefully dancing up your stomach, to your chest. You circle around your shapes of hard and soft, letting each curve flow beneath your fingers as if it were his hands touching you. 

You hadn’t gotten a good look at the man, watching him from the corner of your blurry eyes as he brought a hand to his mouth. He stroked his jaw before bringing the cigarette between his fingers to his lips. He scrutinized, a small line creasing under his eye as his gaze traveled the intimate way you swayed your hips. 

He occasionally took a drink from an engraved scotch glass saved for VIP members, those who made monthly payments in cash that the owner hoarded in his liquor cabinet. Not many paid such a hefty price unless they routinely took clients or coworkers here-- and even then, the existence of powerful businessmen in such a grimy part of the city like this, with a less than clean business-- was so rare you were suspicious. 

But your suspicions were buried as soon as he left your dancing cell, your mind quick to focus on electric bills and the next few nights of eating dry pasta and watching bad reality TV, slaving away at the office and more early mornings at the peep show. It almost didn’t surprise you to see him at your dance room again a few days later-- until he started showing up multiple times a week. Like clockwork at 11:02, he was sitting across from you with a cigarette or an indulgent glass. Sometimes, he’d merely watch. You had a few regulars, but none like him… not ‘this’ regular.

Even with keeping your eyes glued on your own reflection, you’d catch the dark blacks of his own trained on you, his face bathed in blue and zoned in on your expression. He never unbuttoned his pants, never lingered his eyes on one area for too long, even if he scanned you up and down with a sultriness.

You couldn’t deny that you felt like you needed to impress him, to make him react or find a reason to keep seeing you; he was allowing you to afford paying rent, putting coins in to last for a 30-minute session before he’d disappear into the night. But you never spoke to him, never had any kind of interaction besides that unspoken ritual. 

Another month at the peep show passed, and you found yourself fixing up your makeup in the vanity, trying desperately to get a thick layer of eyeliner right. A thick knock rapped against the dressing room door, a foreign sound; none of the workers knocked, finding no reason to. Your boss stuck his head through the gap, his receding hairline shiny and his thin silver chain looking  dull from the overhead light. For such a sleaze, he was kinder than most when it came to treating his employees fairly. Maybe because he was keen on avoiding complaints and federal eyes. 

“Got a visitor for ya.” He chewed a thick wad of gum, talking in a voice lower than you had ever heard him speak in. “This one’s a big fish, alright? Don’t do anything to piss him off-- he’s the reason you’re getting such a good payout tonight.”

Payout? You didn’t get paid in anything other than quarters once the night ended, unless someone was looking for further services of which you were not interested in providing. 

Your boss leaves the door open a crack, his mumbles traveling in as he spoke to someone outside. The door was knocked on again, but no one came in.

“It’s open.” You say, a little thrown off by the way your voice cracks a pitch higher. 

The door opens fully, closing behind the stranger as he moves forward. You look in the mirror to see him, but are forced to turn around to believe your eyes. 

“It’s you.” 

You look at him-- nice suit, pressed and finely tailored, with even a small handkerchief in its breast pocket.

His hair isn't dark like you had imagined under the blue light, but rather a gold brown, deep and cool-toned. For being so young, he had deep creases below his eyes, as if he had been worried since birth.

“I’ve paid for your shift tonight. “ He stares at you, direct but with some underlying, concerned thought. “Your manager says there’s a room upstairs, where we can be alone-- privately.”

You’re disgusted by the mention of anything above the underground cells you’ve danced in, recalling the thin walls of faked moans and foul dialogue you’d tried to avoid. 

“I’m not a prostitute,” You say brusquely, watching the stoicism on his expression falter. “You can have your money back, I don’t want it if that’s what you’re expecting.”

“I’m not.” He says, sounding a bit off guard and adjusting his tie almost habitually. “I want.. To talk, If you can believe that,” His hard gaze shifts to minute worry, as if this wasn’t how he expected it to go. “This isn’t… I want to help.”

You’re more so puzzled than offended now, staring at the pool of his ink-like eyes, no traceable ounce of debauchery behind them. If you said no, it almost seems like he wouldn’t care less, besides for another crease layered under his eye. 

“What for?” You question, guarded and fiddling with your absurdly short low-rise shorts; the discomfort was part of the appeal, supposedly. 

“I have a proposition for you-- a deal. You don’t have to accept it, of course. Just listen to what I have to say.” 

He lifts his eyebrows, trying to gauge your reaction, your potential interest. You continue to squint at him, realizing now you were near past the start of your shift; You were losing money as you sat here. 

“Maybe this will convince you; I already let your manager know not to bother us.”

 Like a true businessman, he rummages through the inner pockets of his suit in an attempt to find something hidden. Finally reaching into the left side he pulls out a thin, blank envelope. 

With two hands, he brings the envelope towards you with unnecessary formality, and you waste no time taking it. Besides overdue bills and unpaid bank statements, you rarely opened any other kind of unmarked envelope.

It wasn’t even closed when you tried to open it, the top un-licked and sticky. You looked inside, not needing to take out the content to understand what was in it. Several fifties were lined against each other, scarce in their numbers but large in what they equaled together. 

“What… is this for?” The shock you gave with your agape mouth almost made him grin a bit, fascinated. He rarely felt pleasure in the wide-eyed stare his clients would give him at the same sight, but you weren’t them. Oh no, you were far from them. 

“Just a talk. I can pay you more afterwards.”

Your gut senses danger-- perhaps he took pleasure in luring unsuspecting victims from low places with money, killing them for sport. But, he looked too clean-- too unmotivated.

You should say no, should turn away and finish putting on your makeup and tell him you aren’t looking for a pimp. 

You pocket the money, crumpling the envelope and putting it on your vanity. 

“I don’t do anything under the clothes; I can give you a lap dance at most and that’s it.”

You lead the man out of the dressing room, not bothering to close the door. 

He leads the way upstairs, watching the grimy pictures decorating the walls with feigned interest, some in black and white, others grainy and full of half-naked women. You kind of wish you had led the way now; atleast then you wouldn’t feel like you’re following an omen to your doom, farther deep into the velvet hallway.

“My name is Dakota.” He utters, quiet and firm. 

You brush past him, getting in front to open the door at the beginning of the hall. “What, no last name?”

 You still wonder if you should turn back, even if it means losing your job. But you persevere, holding a dramatic hand towards the now opened room as if you were a doorman.

“I imagine you aren’t interested in my last name,” He stops to take a short view of the client room before settling his eyes back on you. “And regardless, I’d much rather know yours.”

You open your mouth to speak, but are quick to be cut off as he walks past you into the creaky, red-pink room.

“I know you won’t tell me, a part of the show-room code, or so I’m told. but it doesn’t matter; I already know.” 

He reads your mind again as you barely get a moment to protest.

“I’m accustomed to going through unnatural ways to find the information that I need, but don’t bother asking for why or how, I won’t tell you.”

Your body tenses as you shut the door behind you, the red lowlights of the bedroom making your heart pound just a little louder.

“You can’t just say something like that and not expect me to want to know-- it's my privacy damn it,” You’ve forfeited any sexy walking as you come closer. “If you’re some kind of creepy stalker--”

“I guess I could be labeled as that.” Dakota slumps to sit on the edge of the bed, sinking into the dipping mattress. He almost relaxes, shoulders drooping along with his eyes, uncharacteristically so.

“I’ve come here to offer you a chance for safety,” He loosens his tie, watching as you stand there, tensing your back and one step directed toward the door. 

Dakota wasn’t blind to your hesitation, your unease. But you were wrong to think he’d let you go just because of a little fear; you had a lot to learn about him.

You watch him look at you, waiting expectantly for him to go on. But he doesn’t and you realize he’s waiting for you to start-- to do something of which he paid copious amounts of cash for. So, you do what you do best, and what you feel safest doing, where no man can touch or stroke you.

It’s not as extravagant of a dance as when you’re in the coin-operated cell, but it's intimate enough. 

You keep your eyes to the floor, only looking up at Dakota to egg him on, letting your feet drift you in a rhythm. He looks entranced for a moment, offering a stare that was far from innocent-- but not as hungrily disturbing as you had expected. 

“Your co-workers won’t be given the same option, this is an opportunity directed at and intended only for you.” You come closer, small struts as Dakota completely unties his tie. “I’ve got a variety of apartments across the city, most of which are rented out or used as a small place to come back to when I've got business farther out. And no-- I won’t tell you what kind of business I do.” 

You almost grunt in frustration, keeping your eyes on him. 

You’re nearly toe to toe with him now, watching from above as he puts his hands back on the bed. 

“One of these apartments is not too far from here,” He squints his eyes, deliberating. “A few blocks away, I'd say.” 

Your hands slow as you drop them to the front of your hips, Dakota’s eyes following them. 

“It can be yours. If you’d like.” 

“What?”

You stop, dropping your arms and watching the pink glow from under the bed cast a shadow up to Dakota’s cheeks.

“Some people call this kind of an arrangement “sugar babying” but that’s a bit too crude for my tastes.” His eyes are still traveling from your wrist to your forearm. “You’ll be on an allowance, of course. But it means you won’t have to work here anymore.”

The way he said ‘here’, it was clear what he thought of it.

“You can quit that desk job too; or keep it, if you want. But I can’t imagine it being much fun. Either way, you won’t be working here anymore. Not with the kind of men who are looking at you while I’m away.”  

Dakota’s gaze finally met your own, his tired hand coming up to stroke his curved jaw. 

“You’re not actually being serious, are you? This is some kind of sick joke?” You let out a short laugh, lacking in humor. 

Even with him dressed to the nines in a suit that no creature who stepped foot in this place could afford, you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe it. You shake your head in ridiculousness, taking a step back.

“Sorry, I have other customers to attend to; I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.” 

You turn to walk away, feeling less safe than you ever had; if he was delusional, or some kind of sick sadist who thought he could buy your life-- he had another thing coming.

“Hold on,” Dakota grabs at your fingers, almost desperate in his grasp. His eyes were void of anything other than concern. “I’ve booked you for the whole night, I don’t recall asking for you to leave.”

Booked? You were under the impression you just received a little extra bonus from this stranger. Just how much were your manager’s morals worth? Did he care AT ALL what he might’ve ‘sold’ you for?

Dakota held on, even with you hesitantly shuffling back to where you stood. 

“You don’t have to accept what I’m offering-- just consider it,” He stays seated, bringing your hand palm-up towards him. “Though, I’ve been told I'm quite persuasive.”

“Look man, whatever you’re selling, I'm not buying. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly content with my job, and I’m not looking for some kind of ‘savior’ if that’s what you’re trying to be.”

You could feel your own lie cutting deep into you, and by the looks of it Dakota didn’t believe it either. He looked at you, a kind of benign glare leaving from his oaky eyes. 

“Call me by my name.” He says, barely above a whisper.

“...Huh?” 

“I’m not just some ‘man’. Call me by my name.”

Dakota ran his thumb down your palm to your middle finger, keeping your hand hostage between both of his own. He looked to you, then back down to his grasped treasure. He looked like he didn’t really know what to do with it, but that it was something intimate he didn’t want to let go of. 

“Wha--okay fine. Dakota. This isn’t some kind of game,” The name felt weird coming out of your mouth, but watching who it belonged to’s reaction was even stranger. 

He shivered. Physically shivered at the guttural hearing of his name, of the consonants and vowels sliding off your tongue. 

Dakota looked down, avoiding your gaze as he memorized each line and indent in your fingers. You wanted to pull your hand away, to recoil in disgust and fling him off like some kind of bug. But in a way, he looked small sitting there, head down and entranced at the details of your fingers, the ridges of your palms, the shaking pulling at his shoulders as he asked you to say his name again. 

“Dakota.” You mutter, wondering if this was some kind of kink.

With the way he stopped a groan midway from slipping, you were sure you weren’t too far off. But whatever he was into, now was not the time for discovery.

“This is, just ridiculous. Were you listening to me, at all?” You tilt your head, trying to catch his eyes to see if you could see what the hell he was so captivated by.

His thumb pressed hard against your palm, short nail digging just slightly to leave a crescent shape. 

Without the response, you were starting to get fed up. You pulled your hand away, sliding smoothly out of his warm, dry grasp. 

At this, his head shot up, watching you with a kind of look as if he had come from out of a panicked daze.

“I’ve wondered what my name would sound like from your mouth-- I could never hear anything from the other side of the glass.” 

“...Right.” You aren’t sure if you should still be worried, but his fascination with you made you feel a little concerned. 

Dakota propped himself up again, seemingly realizing his recent lack of finesse. 

“Take my business card.” He seemed to say all of a sudden, searching blindly in his inner-jacket pockets like he did to give you your payment for the night. He seemed a little scattered, padding up and down to look for his cards before finding one in his breast pocket. “Here.”

You grab it, finally getting an inkling of answers to who he was besides the money and his name. 

Unfortunately for you, the card didn’t offer much else from what you already knew. There was his name in ink-black font, ‘DAKOTA--VERIDIAN FIRMS’ and a small phone number, barely readable beneath. 

“That’s my personal number. Day or night, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll answer.” He looks at you with an inappropriate level of intensity.

“Okay.” 

“Now that that’s squared away--” He sighs, relaxing backwards again, watching you hold the business card. “We can return to business as usual;” He keeps his eyes on yours, displaying a kind of tension and expectation. “I believe you were dancing, and I was enjoying your company.” 

You can’t imagine spending the rest of your shift solely dancing for one man, in this dreary far-too cold room that had seen too much. You don’t move, not ready for the rest of tonight to continue.

Dakota brings out another small envelope, this time with ease. Looking at it expectantly, he then looks back to you. 

You began to move your shoulders to the rhythm of the thumping music from downstairs, using it as a way to distract your thoughts. Dakota puts the envelope on the bed, letting out a sigh as he voyeured in novelty, watching you gaze at the heart-shaped headboard behind him. 

You tried to keep your thoughts empty, but it was near impossible. How much could you be bought for, and how much more would it take for you to agree to be his? 

[fangdokja]

A love letter: from a guy who’s watched every movie, probably knows your underwear size.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 1,037

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who's a highly successful and respected CEO. He's young, attractive, disgustingly competent, and everyone kisses the ground he walks on. But deep down? He’s a terminally online fanboy who has spent an unhealthy amount of time overanalyzing every single role you've ever played.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who's in board meetings discussing billion-dollar acquisitions, yet his mind is occupied with that one interview where you casually mentioned your favorite brand of tea. He's definitely the type of person who has an entire Reddit archive dedicated to dissecting every subtle micro-expression you make.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who has been in the trenches of fandom wars over you. He's argued on forums, destroyed lesser mortals in Twitter debates, and singlehandedly written an unhinged 100k-word dissertation about your artistic choices. His assistant knows better than to bring up your name in his presence unless they want to hear a three-hour lecture about "symbolism" in your performances.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who definitely has a burner account where he trashes your haters. The fact that he owns entire media conglomerates and could just buy out any publication that slanders you? Irrelevant. The thrill of obliterating someone in an online debate is far more satisfying. His employees whisper that he turns into an eldritch beast when someone misinterprets one of your characters.

♡ Yandere! Producer who has been in charge of your career since you were too young to know what a contract was. Who molded you into the perfect performer, ensuring that no matter what role you played, you would be the best in the industry. He's the reason you're the heir to an empire instead of some washed-up has-been.

♡ Yandere! Producer who's a ruthless perfectionist. If you even THINK about slacking off, he appears out of thin air to personally drag you back to work. You’ve never once seen him take a break. You’re not even sure if he sleeps. His entire existence revolves around making sure you're always at your peak.

♡ Yandere! Producer who definitely doesn't have romantic feelings for you. Absolutely not. That would be inappropriate. He’s just extremely invested in you. Extremely protective. Extremely willing to ruin anyone who dares to speak ill of you. But it’s not love. Nope. Not at all.

♡ Yandere! Producer who would rather perish than let you retire. You want to take a break? Go off the grid? Live like a normal person? Cute. Real cute. But no. Not happening. He’ll personally drag you back to set himself if he has to.

♡ Yandere! Rival who's your childhood best friend turned arch-nemesis. The two of you were supposed to rule the industry together. Instead, you betrayed him. You left him behind. You chose your career over him, and now he despises you. Except he doesn’t. He just wants to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.

♡ Yandere! Rival who is the only person who truly knows you. The deadpan, asocial, walking existential crisis that exists beneath all the roles you play? He’s seen it. He’s lived it. He’s watched you go from some awkward kid who just wanted to escape reality to the living legend you are today. And he hates it. He hates that you succeeded without him.

♡ Yandere! Rival who makes it his personal mission to ruin you. Not out of malice, of course. Just… intense, aggressive, deeply personal spite. He'll buy out companies just to sabotage your projects. He'll challenge you at every turn, making sure you never have a moment of peace. And if you ever show weakness? If you ever show even a hint of wanting to run away from all of this?

Yeah. No. He’s dragging you back himself.

♡ Yandere! Hater who is, objectively speaking, your most logical critic. He doesn’t simp. He doesn’t fanboy. He doesn’t give a shit about your popularity. He just thinks you’re a fraud.

♡ Yandere! Hater who has made an entire career out of analyzing and criticizing you. He's one of the few people who sees past all the personas, the roles, the carefully constructed images you create. And he calls you out for it constantly.

♡ Yandere! Hater who roasts you mercilessly. He sees through every act, every calculated move, every attempt you make to distance yourself from reality. He calls you a coward for never playing roles that hit too close to home. And you hate how much he’s right.

♡ Yandere! Hater who definitely doesn’t have feelings for you. Absolutely not. Just because he keeps tabs on all your projects? Just because he watches every single one of your performances with an almost obsessive level of scrutiny? Just because he memorized your entire career history down to the most obscure details?

Yeah, no. He just thinks you're a hack. That’s all.

And you?

You’re just here. Existing. Barely surviving the sheer insanity of these people. You grew up in an industry where everyone wears a mask, so you became the best at it. You play roles because it’s easier than being yourself. You disappear into characters, because facing reality is overrated.

You’re the dead-eyed, sleep-deprived, existential crisis-ridden heir to an entertainment empire, and somehow, you’ve collected an entire legion of obsessive psychos who can’t decide whether they want to ruin you, worship you, or lock you in a gilded cage.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[vampiresbloodx]

I wonder how good your hands feel around my neck.

pairings: Vi x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings/contains(18+ ONLY): smut, Vi loves her some tits, clubbing, tattoo artist!vi, innocent!reader, porn without plot/plot what plot, top!vi, dirty talk, flirting, daddy vi, fingering

You have the absolute filthiest thoughts that come to mind while getting tattooed. Some you really can’t control, they just appear and you end up fixated on them for hours, before you know it, your session has ended. 

Vi, short for Violet, is the first artist who’s ever tattooed you ever. With her pink hair, to her muscles that are covered in ink. You can’t help but wonder how strong she is, you know she’s talked about how she did boxing one time, she even tried karate, many forms where she gets to fight and use her hands. 

You know she’s good with her hands. 

When you first got your tattoo done by her, you focused on the way her fingers moved the entire time and how the art came alive on your skin, the needle not even bothering you. She was impressed at how long you can stay still. 

You were slightly surprised yourself. You didn’t mind the pain, the pain had slowly turned into pleasure meeting halfway. That’s what made it all worth it. 

You’d work more hours just to save more money so you could see her again, you thought at first you loved her style, how she worked, all that. But then you realised it was more than that. 

Almost you wanted to stop going to her, and you did for a while, focusing on other things in your personal life. Actually trying to hang out with your friends and go outside instead of only going to work and the few shops and stores you went to. It was nice for a while, you did miss her, which felt stupid when she didn’t know you at all. She was just a girl that gave you a few tattoos, some of your best. 

And then you saw her again. 

You went out with a couple of friends on a saturday night, you couldn’t describe the shock you were in when you saw a familiar pink haired girl who was at the same bar as you. Even in a big city, it's strange how you can see the same faces again. 

She was actually here. 

You couldn’t contain how much your heart was racing, you weren’t even paying attention to anything your friend was saying, she grinned when she saw who you were staring at. 

“Hey, is that-” 

“That’s no one,” you interrupted quickly, looking away.

She smiled more. 

“Just go and talk to her, it won’t be as weird since you two already know each other.” 

You shook your head, “that would still be fucking weird and you know it.” 

She shrugged, “maybe a little. But what if I told you she’s coming your way right now?” 

Wait, what? 

Before you could ask any more questions as you thought she was messing with you, it turns out she wasn’t. Just as you turned around to look where Vi was, she was really walking towards you, in your direction, maybe she might just walk past, not even notice you, maybe she saw someone else instead. 

And of course your friend ditched you. 

You heard your name being called. 

It never sounded so much nicer coming from her mouth. 

“Vi? Hey” you tried to act smoothly, as if you didn’t know she was already here. 

“I have to say, you look good, like really good.” 

Did she just?... 

Were you actually dreaming right now? 

“You look great yourself” you decided to say back, it didn’t seem like it would hurt if you flirted back a little. 

She really did though. She wore black ripped jeans, loose tank top that showed a bit of her abs that you couldn’t help but look at shamelessly. God you were obsessed with her. You had an issue. But right now all you could think about was how her hands would feel around your neck as she fucked you silly. 

You didn’t see how much closer she got to stand next to you, until your hands brushed against one another. You couldn’t focus. With the loud music blasting in your ears, the lingering touches. What did she want? 

“Where are your friends?” she asks, her eyes never leaving yours, as you bite down on your bottom lip. 

“She left, of course.” 

“She left a pretty girl like you all by yourself?” she hummed, tilting her head to the side. “Can I keep you company for a lil while? I can make it worth your time.” 

How could you ever deny her? 

You followed her back to her place, you haven’t gone home with someone in a while, you’re happier it was with her than any other stranger. 

She held your hand with a strong grip, leading you the way, making sure you were always with her. The silence between you both wasn't even uncomfortable, you actually enjoyed it. 

It was the thrill of her that was exciting to you, you craved more. 

You laughed with her as her hands roamed your body, touching you wherever she pleases and where you wanted her to be. You let her. And then you found yourself begging for more, it wasn’t long until she had you where she wanted you to be, on top of you as she teased you, slowly taking your clothes off. 

“I hate to take these pretty clothes off, but I think i’d be more happy to see your naked body” she licked her lips, you made a noise as she raised an eyebrow at you. “Someones getting needy.” 

“Please, just touch me” you whimpered.

She spread your thighs apart, keeping one hand a tight grip on them to make sure you don’t move as much. You liked it. The way she stared at you had you squirming. 

“But i'm already touching you?” she teased, and so easily, she slipped a finger inside your wet pussy, moaning at how well you fit her, she wanted to fill you up. 

“God baby, you’re soaking” she groaned, thrusting her finger in and out slowly on purpose, hearing you whine louder, she loved how vocal you got the harder and faster she fucked you. 

Her other hand played with your tits, as she groped you and fondled with them, you were on cloud nine, why didn’t you do this sooner? You both wondered. She really wanted to taste you badly. She wanted to make you cum on her face, make you ride her, hear just how loud you can get. 

She added another finger in and another, stretching you out as she imagined how fucking sexy you’ll look riding her thick strap on, as you cried sweetly. 

“Who knew you were such a slut, behind how innocent you showed yourself to others” she chuckled. She felt herself getting more turned on, getting off on how wet you are for her. “You gonna come for me, baby? Make a mess on my fingers? I want you to come.” 

You let out a sweet release of a beautiful cry, she wanted more. Your heart thumped loudly in your ears as your body shook. Still you craved her touch. You didn’t just want it to be over, and she didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. 

“I hope you’re not thinking of leaving me.” 

“No, I need you.” 

“Good girl, now come use me as a seat, would you?.” 

[nicsnort]

Sweet Cream

NSFW 18+ male minotaur (Tyrus) x female reader

Contains: lactation, milking, hucow, overstimulation, romantic Valentine's date, size difference, and physical transformations

Word Count: 3927

Lore/World-building prompt

Today is Lover's Day, and you wanted to do something special for your minotaur boyfriend. He loves the idea of milking you, but since you aren't ready for calves yet, you find a witch's potion to help you in making his fantasies come true.

Same minotaur character and reader found in After Party but it isn't necessary to read that one first

~

You had been seeing Tyrus for nearly three months. The relationship was going well by your standards. He was as sweet as cream despite his imposing minotaur figure. After he learned how attracted you were to monsters, he was a bit overprotective while on dates if other monsters were around, but he felt no threat from humans. However, Tyrus still snorted at any human men he caught staring at you to scare them off. Human or monster, Tyrus did not need to worry about you breaking up with him to explore your options. The two of you got along well, and you found yourself catching feelings for this minotaur who could have been a one-night stand. Not to mention the sex. The sex with him continued to be as amazing as the first night - even more so as your body adjusted to the magical effect of his minotaur essence so you could actually participate instead of just letting him use you as a sex toy. Though that was still fun to do sometimes.

After every night together, he took such good care of you. But Lover’s Day was approaching, and you wanted to do something for him.

Tyrus loved to talk about milking you during sex. It was one of his biggest fantasies. But to milk you, Tyrus would have to get you pregnant. A three-month relationship was not long enough to consider something as permanent as a calf, and both of you were busy building your careers either way. 

Then you saw it on the corner of the internet where Teratosexuals discussed their stigmatized desires but also solutions to problems they faced in their relationships with monsters. A link to a witch’s webshop that provided various potions and remedies of a sexual nature. And for sale - Moo-duce. 

The lame attempt at coming up with a clever name aside, it was exactly what you needed. A potion that would cause anyone with mammary tissue and nipples to produce milk.

You ordered the potion immediately, and it mysteriously appeared on your kitchen counter the next day. Magic was great. The potion would take 24-36 hours to produce the first milk, and the results would fade after three days or so. You drank the potion a day and a half before your Lover’s Day date with Tyrus. You wanted to make sure your jugs were full of milk for him. There had been a warning that the mammary tissue and nipples would likely be uncomfortable during the 24-36 hours of growth and milk production, especially for first-time users. Tyrus was worth it, though.

After a couple of hours, your breasts started to feel tender. A few hours later, you noticed the first signs of swelling, indicated by your breasts continuously popping out of your bra when you moved too much. By the time you went to bed twelve hours after ingestion, your breasts felt like pins and needles.

The users had recommended massaging your breasts to alleviate the feeling. So, lying there in bed, you cupped your breasts, imagining Tyrus’ hands as you massaged them. You could feel the increased weight already. They had to have swelled a cup in size. Pulling on your nipples, you imagined how it would feel to have milk pouring from them. Tyrus’ lips already felt amazing when he sucked on them, but to have pressure released when that happened? A few reviews said their nipples felt as sensitive as clits.

You couldn’t wait.

In the morning, the pins and needles had faded, but now your breasts felt hot. You walked around your home with your shirt and bra off. Luckily, you had the day off. Sometime after lunch, you suddenly felt a cool tingle around your nipples. A wave of excitement crashed over you. Biting your lower lip, you slowly looked down with anticipation. Leaking out of your areolas were several white droplets of milk.

You danced excitedly. It had worked! 

Raising a hand to your breasts, you wiped the droplets away. Your fingers lingered over your nipple. You wanted to tug on it. You wanted to feel the release. Breathing out slowly, you fought down the urge. No, Tyrus would have the honor of being the first to milk you. You wanted to save it all for him. You were meeting him for dinner tonight.

A few hours later, you started to ready yourself for your date. As you walked, you swore you could feel the milk sloshing around inside of you, yearning to be released. You had pre-bought a larger bra for this evening, but as you put it on, you realized it was too small! The instructions said to expect a growth of one to two cup sizes, but as you quickly measured yourself, you realized you had gone up three and a half!

Fuck. There wasn’t time to go out and buy another. Unless you paid the exorbitant costs of InstantImp, there was no chance to get one that fit. You weighed the options in your head. You had bought a cute but baggy sweater for a top. Despite it being baggy, people would definitely be able to tell you weren’t wearing a bra…damn it.

Opening up InstantImp, you managed to find the same bra in your new size. Of course, there was an increase in fees due to the holiday. At least you could return the other one you bought. Putting in your order, it took ten minutes for the delivery Imp to knock on your door. In your straining bathrobe, you answered the door.

The imp’s wings kept him at human eye level. He wore a bored expression, but his eyes perked up at the sight of you. His flat bat-like nose flared. “Mmmm, moo moo,” he commented, “Thirsty. Give tip?”

“I’ll report you,” you told him shortly, taking your package. The imp pouted and muttered something under his breath in its natural language before teleporting away to pick up its next delivery.

Imps were useful creatures, but their grasp of manners was as lacking as their grasp of the mortal spoken word. It didn’t help that the Imps bound to InstantImp had been created during the Great Incursion by the Demon Lords. At least, this way, they served some purpose instead of wandering in hordes, spreading corruption, assaulting people, and causing chaos. However, you were unsure if, as one of the last corporations, InstantImp was any less evil than the Demon Lords. Was it still the exploitation of labor if the creatures were literally created to serve others?

Finally, you were able to get dressed. The baggy sweater was less baggy than you had wanted, but as you examined yourself in the mirror, it was hard to tell any difference. If anything, it looked like you were wearing a padded bra.

At six, there was a knock on your apartment door. Opening it, you saw Tyrus, his big black-furred form filling the doorway, his horns barely missing the hallway's ceiling. “Omorfia mou,” he greeted, holding out a bouquet of red flowers - gallic roses, traditional for minotaurs, or so you’ve read.

“Tyrus, my handsome bull,” you replied, taking the roses and inhaling their scent. They were lovely.

“They are enchanted; they will stay fresh for over a month even without water.”

Your smile grew wider as you set them on the kitchen counter. You will find a vase for them later. Locking your door, you took Tyrus’ arm and headed outside. “So, are you doing to tell me where you are taking me yet,” you asked as he led you down the street.

“No,” he replied with a devious expression. “A surprise means a surprise. Perhaps I should blindfold you and simply carry you there.”

“A tempting thought, but I shall pass for tonight.”

“Are you sure? I could put you on my shoulders. I know how much you love to hold on to my horns with my head between your legs.”

“I believe I would be the wrong way around for the position I enjoy.”

“True. Then I could hold you in my arms, princess carry?” The two of you continued to make sexually charged banter back and forth. While Tyrus never did carry you, you completely lost track of where the two of you were going. All according to Tyrus’ plan.

“And here we are,” he announced after a ten-minute walk after getting off the tram. He gestured to a brickwork building with a large ornate wooden door that looked like it belonged in a castle. Old World was inscribed in iron-wrought letters above the door. You had heard of this place. It was a restaurant that catered to monsters and those from beyond the Rift, or the Old World as they called it. It was hard, if not impossible, for those from this plane to gain access.

You gasped and hugged Tyrus as tightly as you could. Your milk-filled breasts leaked slightly from the pressure. “Really? Are you sure it's okay? I mean - I’m allowed in?”

“No, this is just for me; eat elsewhere,” he said, barely hiding a smile as he spoke. Then, he could not keep a straight expression. His ears twitched with delight as he chuckled. “Yes, it is alright, Omorfia mou. They are doing a Lover’s Day special for those with human partners here.”

While plenty of food from beyond the Rift had shown up in restaurants, those recipes used ingredients from this plane and were changed to fit the norms here. This was as true to Old World food as you could get in this plane. 

You danced excitedly, only collecting yourself as Tyrus led you through the front doors. A kitsune welcomed you, its tails swishing majestically, before leading you to the reserved table. It seemed they knew the sizes of those who would be eating at the table as Tyrus had a sturdier chair with his size, and you had a taller one to put you at near equal height to the table. Looking around, you saw all sorts of accommodations for various monstrous bodies. Unlike the human world, those beyond the Rift were used to adjusting for a variety of needs.

The dinner was a whirlwind of new experiences. The restaurant had created a tasting arrangement for the humans in the restaurant to give them the full experience. You tried roasted mimic, braised sunroots, fermented ooze noodles, and a whole variety of other things that you quickly forgot the names of in your excitement. You washed the food down with samples of Oakengleam Stout, Glowing Mushroom Wine, and Cinder Cider, the last of which caused you to breathe out a bit of smoke with each exhale. Finally, the tour of foods ended with a slice of heart apple pie.

“They say that those who share heart apple pie on Lover’s Day will have a passionate and happy year together,” Tyrus told you, offering a bite off his fork. 

“Oh, that is very romantic,” you cooed, a blush on your face. Around the restaurant, several other people were making similar comments, as their lovers had probably told them the same thing.

You wrapped your lips around the bite he offered you, a bit more sensually than needed, then offered him a piece of your own slice. A romantic year you hoped for indeed. 

Once dessert was finished and the bill paid, the two of you began heading to Tyrus’ apartment. It was a twenty-minute walk or so, but during that time, you noticed something. Your breasts were beginning to hurt. You could feel the pressure inside of them building up, needing release. By the gods, you needed to be milked.

“Are you alright, Omorfia mou,” Tyrus asked as you reached his apartment building. “Did a dish not sit well with you?”

“No, it was all delicious,” you replied. You leaned into him as you entered the elevator. “It was the most wonderful surprise…Under my clothes, I have a surprise for you, too; it has just gotten a bit uncomfortable…”

Tyrus snorted with anticipation, his tail lifting and curving to show excitement. “Well, then, let us get it off you soon.”

You giggled to yourself. He thought it was lingerie.

In his apartment, your excitement only grew. Your nipples ached, longing to be touched, pulled, and suckled on. Tyrus wrapped his arms around you from the back, pulling you against his firm body. His fingers played with the hem of your sweater, slowly pulling it up. “Can I have my surprise now,” he asked.

You hummed in anticipation, turning around in his arms, your aching breasts brushing against his firm chest. “Oh, yes, you may.”

Tyrus’ thick, calloused fingers dragged along your sensitive sides as he pulled the sweater up and over your head, revealing your plain blue bra. You saw his brow furrow and ears flick with confusion. “Uh, it is a very pretty color, Omorfia. A push-up bra?” 

You laughed aloud. “That isn’t the surprise, silly. I never said it was something I was wearing. You see, I bought a potion from a verified witch to help make your fantasies, our fantasies, come true.”

As you spoke, you reached back and undid the strap to your bra. Pulling it away, you revealed your milky tits. “As you asked me on the night we met, can I get you a drink?”

The bull went silent as he took in your leaking nipples. You watched as his pants tented, his member growing rock hard at the sight of your milk-filled breasts. “Nomízo óti eímai erotevménos mazí sou,” he said in his native language as quietly as a prayer.

His hooves scraped against the floor as he kneeled before you. Usually, he would lift you up on the table or counter, but now he got down on your level. His large hands cupped your breasts. Your breasts had grown so large that they now overflowed his grasp instead of being engulfed by it. Tyrus snorted with pleasure as he lifted your heavy globes. His hot breath made your nipples stand at attention, milk dripping from their pores.

“Please, Tyrus. I need you to milk me.”

That broke him.

His broad tongue swept out across your right breast, licking up every leaking drop before finally wrapping his hot lips around your nipple. With a mighty suck, you felt the milk rush out of your breast, through your nipple, and pour into his eager mouth.

Your eyes closed, and your head tipped back as you moaned with pleasure. Gripping his horns, you held him in place. This was ecstatic. Each strong suck sent a jolt down your spine to your pussy. Soon your cunt was dripping as fast as your milk.

After a long suck, Tyrus broke off from your right breast and switched to the left one. You gasped with pleasure. With each strong pull of your tit, you felt your pussy clench like a slow, extended orgasm. “Fuck, Tyrus. I feel like I’m gonna cum just from this.”

He snorted, the speed of his suckling quickening. He took your words as a challenge. 

The muscles of your cunt clenched faster and faster. Gods, you were getting close. Your hands tightened on his horns. Your hips rolled, desperate for that little bit of extra to push you over the edge. You were so close. You were gonna--

Then Tyrus broke his mouth off again, leaving you at the edge of your orgasm. “Noooo,” you whined, tears forming at the corner of your eyes in frustration.

His hands held your breasts up, and he pressed them together. Lowering his head, he captured both of your leaking nipples in his mouth and sucked. Twin streams of milk shot out of your breasts and down his throat. You screamed. Your eyes rolled back in your head. Your hips shook violently as you came hard. He continued to gulp down your milk, extending your orgasm.

Finally, your body couldn’t handle it anymore. Your hands released his horns as your legs gave out from the pleasure. Tyrus caught you, releasing your breasts to hold you up. Lifting your feet off the ground, he carried you over to the sex swing he had installed a couple of weeks ago. With surprising strength, even for being a minotaur, he tore your pants off you, but the sound of ripping cloth didn’t even phase you. Your cunt was still twitching with aftershocks as he placed you in the harness face down so your breasts hung like a pair of udders.

“Look at you, agápi,” he praised, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “just like a cow. My little hucow with milk leaking from your tits.”

Another rip of fabric, and you felt his heavy cock rest between your swollen needy lower lips. You could smell his precum. The heady scent alone caused you to moan. His hot member rubbed against your pussy as he reached around you. Tyrus’ strong hands cupped your breasts once more, his thumbs and forefingers sliding down to pinch your nipples. Then he tugged.

Milk sprayed out of your tits. You threw your head back as your back arched with pleasure. Rhythmically, Tyrus began to milk your tits. First, the right nipple was pulled, then the left, repeat. Each tug on your nipples sent a stream of milk to the floor. You felt like a cow, and you loved it.

Your hips rocked, grinding against his cock. You wanted it in you. You wanted to milk his cock with your cunt as he milked your breasts. Your clit dragged across the silky skin of his dick. So soon after your first orgasm, it was already driving you back toward the edge. 

“Tyrus, Tyrus,” you began to chant in sync with your milking. “More, I need. Mo-mo-moooooo.”

You came once again, your juice gushing over his shaft. Tyrus relented his stimulation. His callused hands slid across your skin and held your hips. He pulled his cock back and began lining it up with your unused but soaking hole. “Listen to that, just like a real cow. Usually, it takes my cum down your throat to do that.”

The flared head of his weeping dick pressed against your pussy, slowly sinking in. Each glorious inch sent you further towards the edge of sanity. It was too much, but even so, you wanted more. Through the mind-numbing pleasure, you tried to ask for more again. Still, all that came out was a series of soft moos and moans.

He began to move your hips back and forth using the swing instead of thrusting.“But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be my breeding cow. Just think how much milk you’ll make when you are heavy with my calf. I’ll keep you bred just so you are always full of milk.”

All you could do was hang there in the swing and let Tyrus use you like a toy. Each time he snapped your hips back to hilt his cock inside of you, the force caused milk to drip from your tits. As he spoke, his pace sped up. “You’ll be hooked up to a milking machine. Spending hours on end cumming from your tits alone. Then, when I got home, I’d breed you over and over and over and over and - gah - Moooooooo!”

Tyrus mooed himself as he came deep within you. You could feel his hot, creamy seed filling you up, pouring into your womb in search of an egg to fertilize. Once more, your inner walls clenched, milking his cock. You wanted it all. He was right; you just wanted to be a cow. His breeding cow.

With his cock still rock hard within you, Tyrus lifted you out of the sex swing and deposited you on the bed. It was going to be a long night.

~~~

You awoke to the bright afternoon light seeping into the apartment through the windows. Tyrus’ chest rose and fell steadily underneath you, his half-hard cock still deep within your pussy. Tyrus was already a beast in bed, but perhaps it was true that fresh milk was an aphrodisiac for minotaurs because he had fucked you for an hour straight, fell asleep, then woke up and fucked you some more.

Your body was so relaxed and delightfully heavy. Tyrus had drained your breasts of milk last night, but you already felt them filling up again. You were starving, though, and extremely thirsty. Carefully, you lifted yourself off of Tyrus, your sore but sensitive pussy twitching as his cock was freed from inside of you. Sliding off of him, your body felt heavy; your head, in particular, felt like there was more weight on it. Strange.

The movement woke him. “Mmmm, kaliméra agápi mou,” he muttered sleepily.

You recognized the first word, good morning. “It is far past morning, I think, but it is a very, very good afternoon.”

“It's Time for breakfast, still,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “Perhaps some fresh milk?”

He grinned and cracked his eyes open to look at you. A sudden look of confusion crossed his face, and he blinked rapidly. Sitting up to look at you properly, he stared. “Am I still dreaming?”

“No?” Your ears flicked with curiosity. Tyrus’ tail brushed against your leg. You looked down and saw that his tail was firmly on the opposite side, far from you. Turning your head further, you saw another cow’s tail, the same color as your hair, sweeping back and forth against your leg. Reaching down, a growing look of horror on your face, you followed it up…right to the base of your spine.

All tiredness in your limbs was forgotten as you bolted off the bed to the full-length mirror. Reflected at you, you saw your milk-swollen breasts, your normal body, but three very unexpected things: a swishing cow’s tail, a set of cattle’s ears in place of your human ones, and a pair of small shiny black bovine horns sticking out the sides of your head.

You screamed.

It took several minutes for Tyrus to calm you down. You sat at his kitchen table on his lap, sipping tea while he stroked your back calmingly. “The reviews and warnings never said anything like this,” you bemoaned.

“You are sure it was a verified witch? Not someone trying to make quick coin?”

“Yes, I mean, I am pretty sure…so many said she was trustworthy, people who are big names in the community…I followed the instructions precisely. I mean, my breasts grew more than expected, but that’s it.”

Tyrus thought for a moment. “Did anything else weird happen yesterday? Anything unexpected?”

You shook your head. “I just did housework and caught up on a few shows. The only unexpected thing was that my bigger bra didn’t fit, and I had to order a new one at the last minute.”

Tyrus hmmed in contemplation. “Wait, how did you get a new bra?”

“I used InstantImp.”

“Fuck. Tell me, did you anger the imp somehow? Did it say or do anything strange?”

You furrowed your brow, trying to recall. “The imp smelt my milk and asked for a drink as a tip…I told him I would report him…he…fuck. He muttered something in that demonic language of theirs and disappeared.”

Tyrus snorted with anger. “That little fucking Imp cast a spell on you. Their magic is supposed to be bound.” He sighed and pressed his snout to the top of your head. “Don’t worry. Until we figure this out, at least you will get to be the cutest cow I have ever seen.”

_____________________________________________________________

Other Department of Monster Affairs works

Hello Neighbor - m!werewolf x f!reader, teratophilia, knotting, heat. One-shot.

Sex Therapist - m!Incubus x f!reader, hypnotism, dubious consent, teratophilia, blow jobs. Part 1.

For other works see my masterlist

[munsonsmixtapes]

Expect me to creep into your inbox whenever you ask for requests 👀 I am always going to annoy you because you are so talented

Eddie smut with a plus size reader? Maybe she’s there at one of Corroded Coffin’s gigs at The Hideout and Eddie is just like

girl you keep giving me a big head (don't stop) and I love writing about plus sized!reader so your wish is my command!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex

You enter the smoky bar, looking around the place to take everything in. It's exactly what you thought it'd be but that doesn't mean you don't like it. It's exactly your scene and you love live music so when you heard that a local band preforms there every week, you just knew that you had to check it out.

You make a beeline for the bar to get a drink as the band is setting up. Your eyes immediately catch the guy at the front of the stage fixing up his microphone. He's got long curly hair and the tight t-shirt he's got on is so distracting. You swore to yourself that you weren't going to do this again.

You're trying to not get involved with anyone but that doesn't mean that you can't have a little fun, right? He's exactly your type with the way he's dressed and those large rings he's got on his fingers are making your head spin with the dirtiest thoughts.

Eddie's eyes lock on yours and he's immediately in love. He's always loved curvy girls but there's something about you specifically that is making hearts appear in his eyes. It's the way you carry yourself like you're hot shit and fuck are you.

The tight pants you're wearing are making him dizzy. He wants to have you in the back of his van and love on every inch of you, telling you how beautiful you are. You've got such a hold on him and he doesn't even know your name.

His eyes follow you as you head over the bar and he’s so close to following you just so he can know what name he’s supposed to moan. He just has to have you and straight after the gig, he’s going to ask for your number. 

You give him a little wave and he winks at you before you turn and head to the bar where you take a seat before ordering a drink. Eddie’s watching you the whole time, wondering what you’re drinking, wanting to sit next to you and let you talk his ear off the whole night. You’ve completely captivated him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s seen you.

The set starts and you get closer to the stage, fully intending on being in the action. You just want to be near him. You want to see how pretty he is up close with the sweat dripping off him in the heat of the bar. You want to feel the scruff of his beard against your skin as he kisses his way down your body. 

You’re nodding along to the music, really hoping that they have a tape or something so you can listen to it on repeat. The lead singer’s voice is nothing like you’ve heard before. It’s deep and raspy and you just know that you’d run the tape out because of how much you’d listen to it. 

His eyes are shut tight and it makes you wonder if that’s what he’d look like as you topped him, pretty hair fanned out on your pillow, his eyes shut tight as his hips buck against yours, trying his best to keep up with your pace. 

You clearly haven’t been out in a while because why are you thirsting over the first man you’ve seen? But considering the other women around you seem to be thinking the same, you feel a lot better, more sane for thinking about this stranger in such dirty ways. 

His eyes open and he’s staring straight at you, a smirk playing on his pretty lips as he strums on his guitar, pulling away from the mic as he goes into a guitar solo, his fingers moving down the neck in a rapid motion. You’re not even sure how that’s possible, but at least you know he’s good with his fingers. 

Eddie’s trying his hardest to focus on what he’s doing, trying not to turn his head and look at you because if he does, he’s going to fuck up the set then take you by the hand to go somewhere private where he can kiss you absolutely stupid. 

But he can’t help it. You keep catching his eye and he’ll just stare before he’s pulled out of his trance and thrown back into the song. He can tell you want him too because of the way you’re staring back with that flirty look and he’s counting down the seconds until he’s finished. 

So as soon as the set is done and the crowd begins to disperse, Eddie jumps down from the stage and takes you by the hand, pulling you to his chest, your body flush to his as his hand rests on your back. 

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hi,” you smile and watch his gaze drop to your lips. 

“I’m Eddie.” You’re not sure how, but the name suits him, almost as if it was made specifically for him.

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n, I hope you don’t have any plans tonight.” You don’t and for the first time, you’re glad for it. You have a feeling you know exactly what you’re going to get up to.

“Just whatever you’re doing,” You reply, twirling a strand of his hair. Oh yeah, he’s definitely wrapped around your finger now. 

“I need to pack up my equipment but as soon as I’m done, it’s you and me.” His lips press to your cheek and then he hurries back to the stage while you stand there, waiting for him to be done. You watch him bend over to put his guitar into the case and can’t help but stare at his ass as he does so. You want to just give it a squeeze and hope you get a chance once you’re alone.

He finishes up pretty and quickly hands his guitar off to one of his bandmates before heading over to you, sticking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes are raking over your body, his tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he does so. 

They get to your thighs and he so desperately wants to give them a squeeze, to bury his head between them and eat your pussy like a man starved. Fuck, he’s never been so attracted to anyone like this in his life and he needs you so bad. 

As his band mates flee, he takes you by the hand and lead you out to his van. He pins you to  the side of it and his lips find yours in a hot kiss, not afraid to slide his tongue into your mouth as his hands grab a firm hold of your waist. 

You push his jacket from his shoulders and he lets it fall to the ground behind him before pulling to the back. He opens the doors and helps you inside before climbing inside himself and closing the door behind you.

Once you’re safely inside, you’re quick to undress each other between heated kisses. His lips are hot in your skin as he presses them to every new inch of skin that’s revealed as another piece of clothing is removed. He’s mumbling compliments into your skin and you’re so glad that you’re sitting because you feel like you’re melting under his touch.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what to say and what to do and if just making out with him is making you melt, you’re not so sure how you’re going to handle the sex. Once your bra is off, he lays you down onto the floor of the van, his lips kissing down your chest before wrapping around your hard nipple.

His tongue swipes across it gently and you let out a whine as if asking for more. Eddie pulls away to give you a shit-eating grin before going back in, giving your nipple a suck as his tongue flicks back and forth across it, his other hand reaching up and massaging your other one. You’re whining at the feeling and he takes that as an invitation to continue, going in with his teeth to bite down on it which causes a loud moan to fall from your lips. 

So Eddie does it again, harder this time, causing you to grab fistfulls of his hair, yanking on it to show just how much you’re enjoying yourself. He lets out a little yelp in response, but that doesn’t stop him from biting you again. In fact, it only makes him do it again and again until you’re close to an orgasm.

And when he moves onto your other nipple, you swear that you’re seeing stars as he does the exact same thing, your back arching in pleasure as you keep tugging on his hair, feeling yourself getting progressively more wet as he does so. It’s soaking wet between your legs and you need him between them so bad. You need him to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk for days. 

“Need you,” you whine and spread your legs so he knows exactly what you mean. So his lips travel down your torso and you gasp as his teeth grab onto the waistband of your panities, pulling them down so slowly because he’s such a goddamn tease. He’s looking up at you as his eyes darken, almost looking black. 

He then removes his own before taking out a condom from his jeans pocket and rolls the thing on. He spreads your legs as wide as possible so that they’re touching the floor then positions himself so that he’s lined up with you before going in, pumping as hard as he possibly can, watching you respond to every touch as you lie beneath him. 

You’re watching him in awe, getting even more wet as you take in his tattoos and the way his hair falls, the chain around his neck hitting against his collarbone in a rapid pace because of how hard he’s fucking you. 

“Look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart. And you’re taking me so well already.” His cock is not even halfway inside and you need to feel all of him. You’re desperate for the whole thing, to see just how much you can take so you grab hold of his ass and push him farther inside you until his bush is pressed up against you. 

You gasp at the feeling and tears well up in your eyes because of how big he is, but it just feels so good. Your nails dig into his cheeks and he takes the hint, fucking you with his whole cock as he picks up the pace, moving in and out so quickly you can hardly keep up as you buck your hips against his. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says as his lips press to your neck in a soft kiss. “Like fuck, this is just unfair sweetheart.” He reaches up and swipes some sweaty hair from your forehead. He then picks up the pace even more as he sees that you’re close, making sure to insert all of himself as he does so. 

And when you finally do come, he continues thrusting into you until you’re crying his name. Once you’re coming down, he pulls out and disposes of the condom before helping you get dressed, being nothing but kind to you as he does so. 

And once you’re both dressed, you drive around the city talking about everything and nothing until it’s early in the morning. He then reluctantly drops you off at your car and is quick to make plans to do this all over again because there’s no way he’s only going to do this once. He’s got to see you again because he’s pretty sure that he’s already falling in love with you.

[marksbear2]

Hiiii, bear!!! If you're still taking requests, could a request a homelander x male!reader fic where homelander is sort of a little desperate for readers approval because hw hasn't gotten a lot of positive attention in his life? And if it's still open, could I be '🪼 anon', please?

Homelander x male reader

Hiii and yes you may my friend. This has to be like a world record for me to be writing and posting a request in the same day.

Beneath the Cape

The first time you met Homelander, you hadn’t expected much.

Not because he wasn’t impressive—he was. Towering, broad-shouldered, the very image of America’s strongest hero. But you knew his reputation, the whispers beneath the carefully crafted PR. Dangerous. Unstable. Capable of wiping out a city if the mood struck him.

And yet, when you spoke to him, you saw something else. Something beneath the mask.

It had been a brief encounter. A charity event, one of those nauseatingly polished affairs where Vought paraded their golden boy around like a prize horse. You’d been there as part of your company’s sponsorship, nothing special. Just another name on a list.

But then he walked by, and you—unlike everyone else—didn’t grovel. Didn’t flinch. You just… smiled. A simple thing, a polite acknowledgment, nothing more.

And for a second, just a second, Homelander froze.

Then his expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. He gave you a nod, an almost hesitant one, before moving on.

You thought nothing of it.

He, however, couldn’t stop thinking about it. Homelander started noticing you more after that.

It wasn’t immediate, but it was persistent. Every time he passed through a room, his gaze would linger on you a little longer. At first, it was just curiosity. Why hadn’t you looked at him the way everyone else did? With fear. With worship.

Instead, you were… normal. You treated him like a person, not a god.

And for the first time in his life, that felt more intoxicating than any amount of adoration. So he sought you out. First, by coincidence. Then, with more intention. He made excuses to be near you, dropping by your office under the pretense of business, stopping to chat when he saw you at events. He wanted—needed—to know why you were different.

And every time you spoke to him, it was like a breath of fresh air. No false praise. No trembling admiration. Just simple, casual conversation. You didn’t hesitate to crack a joke, to roll your eyes at corporate nonsense, to treat him like—well, like a regular guy.

He couldn’t get enough of it.

Of you.

At first, you chalked up his frequent appearances to coincidence. But then it became too frequent. Too deliberate.

Homelander always seemed to be around. Finding excuses to talk. Standing just a little too close. And then there were the looks. The way he watched you—not with the cold, calculated gaze he gave most people, but something softer. Almost needy.

It was subtle at first, the way his eyes followed you, the way his expression shifted when you laughed at something he said. But then there were the moments when he lingered after conversations, as if reluctant to leave.

And one night, after another one of those tedious events, you finally called him out on it.

“Alright,” you said, arms crossed as you leaned against the balcony railing. “What’s your deal?”

Homelander blinked, tilting his head. “My deal?”

“You keep showing up around me. Hanging around like a lost puppy.” You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

There it was again—that flicker of something behind his eyes.

“Would you rather I leave?” His voice was casual, but you caught the undercurrent beneath it. The uncertainty. The smallest, quietest thread of insecurity, woven into the carefully controlled mask.

You exhaled. “I didn’t say that.”

His expression shifted, something relieved, something satisfied. “Good,” he murmured, stepping closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, something crisp and clean beneath the fabric of his suit.

And then he smiled, not the perfect, PR-ready grin he always wore for the cameras, but something real.

Something just for you.

From then on, it was impossible to ignore.

Homelander wanted your attention. Craved it. And he wasn’t subtle about it.

He’d show up at your office unannounced, making himself comfortable in your chair like he belonged there. He’d hover during conversations, subtly guiding them back to himself, clearly wanting to hear what you thought of him.

And, God help you, he was charming when he wanted to be. Infuriatingly so.

“You like me, don’t you?” he mused one evening, seated across from you in your apartment—because, yes, he had started showing up there too, somehow always knowing when you were home.

You scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re nice to me.”

You frowned. “And?”

“No one’s ever nice to me.”

Something in his voice made you pause.

It was an admission, plain and simple, but there was something raw beneath it. Something vulnerable.

He covered it quickly, pasting on a smirk. “Well, not without wanting something in return.”

You sighed. “Maybe I’m just nice.”

He studied you for a long moment. Then, quietly, “Maybe that’s why I like you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Not out of fear. Not out of discomfort. But something deeper.

Something dangerous.

Because the way he looked at you—the way he wanted you—wasn’t just some passing fascination.

It was need.

And you weren’t sure you could ignore it much longer.

---

It escalated from there.

Not in the way you expected. He didn’t push. Didn’t demand.

He just… stayed.

In your life. In your space. Always there, always watching, always waiting for whatever little scraps of attention you’d give him. And God, when you did?

It was like he came alive.

A simple touch—your hand brushing his arm—made his breath hitch. A kind word had him lingering on it for days.

You realized, then, just how little warmth he’d ever been given.

And how much he wanted it from you.

One night, after a long conversation over drinks, he sighed, tilting his head toward you. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“How much I need this.” His voice was softer than usual. “How much I need you.”

Your chest tightened.

And when he leaned in, when his lips hovered just a breath away from yours, you realized something.

You needed him too.

THE END

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this

Request: Could I get fem reader x demon where the demon and reader meet at a book shop, but suprise it's the demons book shop. It's neat closing, so after seeing read buying monster romance book, he gives her the real thing!

A/N: Accidentally very romantic (and a bit sad), probably will expand in the future because I really like the plot. Enjoy!

The curse

Demon x fem!reader || size difference, tail play

You’ve come to this library since it opened. It’s just around the corner from your house and you are completely in love with the vibe and the general aura of the place. It smells like old books and something sweet you can’t quite point out.

Most of the time it seems like there’s nobody around, not even somebody to ring your purchases, but you feel at home there. It’s like there’s a vibe in the air that makes you be so quiet and calm, your brain shuts up for a bit while you are browsing different titles, and it’s just… peaceful in a world that’s too noisy.

So you started to spend more and more time in the library, you didn’t even know why, but every time you left your house, something urged you in that direction. So you comply with your baser urges and end up walking into the library with a soft “hello” that nobody answers. As soon as you enter, calm washes over you.

Your feet walk on their own to the monsterfucker section, always well stocked. “Always around the monsterfucker books, human, I’m starting to think you have a kink...” A deep voice resonates behind you, half amused, half teasing.

You let out a loud yelp and turn around so fast your feet slip under you, and you feel the world tilting his axis as you fall to the ground. Your ass sounds like a thud when you hit the hardwood, an imposing figure appearing out of thin air with a smirk so big you can see his fangs. He’s magnificent, big and completely red, his eyes so dark they feel endless and his wings so wide you are a bit scared he’s going to knock the shelves over.

“Who- who are you?” You stutter, your heart is going so fast you almost think it’s trying to escape your chest.

He chuckles, looking at you with something close to… fondness? “I’m the owner of the place,” he finally says, bored, as if he’s said that exact same thing a thousand of times. His big body is leaning against the books you were just looking at, and there’s fire burning inside his deep black eyes. Literal fire that ignites something deep and primal inside your chest making you gasp. He looks relaxed and cool, very much like one of the book boyfriends of your preferred romances.

“I’ve never seen you around?” You intend it as an affirmative, but sounds more like a question.

“Haven’t you?” He asks you, his head tilted to the side as he bites back a smile. “The library has a spell, nobody can remember me outside these walls. But who do you think has been checking your books before you buy them? Giving you personalized recommendations based on the ones you already bought?” He tries to play it as if it’s funny, but you see past his cold demeanor and into his very sad eyes.

“That… that makes no sense,” you let out.

Your brain is spinning and you want nothing more than to believe him, something in your chest is pried open and exposed, like a nerve you didn’t know was there but it’s screaming at you to understand whatever he’s saying.

“Of course it does. Come here,” he extends his hand to help you up.

The second your fingers touch an avalanche of memories flood your brain.

Him telling you about the books he likes. You telling him about your obsession with monster romance. Him offering you some tea and sitting in silence with you as you both read. You talking about your past and your most embarrassing memories as you both laugh...

You remember him giving back your memories every time you touch, and how it grew on you. How he changed the way of introduction everyday… and how he said goodbye every evening when you had to go, eyes sad and a tiny smile playing on his lips.

“Why did you do that?” You ask, breathlessly.

Your brain continues spinning, and feelings you don’t know if you can name start blooming inside of you. It feels like one of those night flowers that close during certain hours just to open up again when the sun sets. He’s the moon rising in the horizon as your heart pulls you to him as if blooming...

He smiles, even more relaxed than before, releasing your hand and playing with the cover of a book that has a monster very similar to him on the cover. “What did I do?” He teases, a tiny smile showing his fangs.

“Why did you erase my memory every time I leave?” You ask, and deep inside your head there’s a memory of you asking something similar already.

And just like last time, he reminds you: “It’s a norm. The library forbids people from remembering me, that’s how’s supposed to be.” He sounds like a broken record when he tells you that, emotionless and bored as if it doesn’t mean anything, but you can see past that.

“Then… Then…” You try to threaten but nothing comes to mind. He’s staring at you with amusement, one eyebrow raised. And then you surprise you both: “Then I won’t leave.”

He stares at you with confusion, his eyebrows raised and his eyes big in surprise. “What?”

“I won’t leave. If leaving the place means forgetting you… I won’t leave.” It seems like the most reasonable solution and you curse yourself internally for not realizing it sooner.

He laughs without humor. “You don’t mean that. You have a life outside. You have things to do, a work to attend to…”

You cut him. “I will figure it out. I’m not leaving you again. I- I… I have feelings for you,” you confess. You don’t know where all this bravado and confidence is coming from, but every memory spinning inside your head screams at you to tell him how important he is in your life.

He moves so fast you barely see him before his hands are cupping your jaw and his lips are over yours. He’s so tall you are on your tiptoes, and in a second his hands are on the back of your thighs and he’s pulling you up against his chest. This angle is so much better and you are teasing his lips with your tongue, asking for permission.

His mouth parts and you are soon exploring every inch of his mouth, running your tongue over his fangs until he’s moaning against your mouth and his hands are massaging your ass. It’s the most passionate kiss you’ve shared with anybody, and the fact that is him, the fact that he’s a cursed demon and you are in his lair… It only makes it hotter. You feel like one of your book heroines, and you know what’s next. Your pussy knows what’s next.

“Make love to me?” You whisper against his lips, pulling back just enough to stare into his deep black eyes. He blinks slowly, and a wicked smile spreads on his face.

He moves his hand to the side and, just like that, you both are naked and pressing against each other. Your back finds the shelves and some books fall around you, but you don’t care, you can’t care when his hands are cupping your boobs and pinching your nipples. His tail curling around your middle and the tip of it finding your clit. To your utter mortification you are more than drenched, and the second his tail touches your clit, you cry out in an orgasm that leaves both of you surprised.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he says with a low chuckle. He looks so smug you want to kick him. Or kiss him senseless, you aren’t sure which one yet.

“Ugh, shut up and stop looking so smug,” you tell him, your hand pushing at his face like an annoying bug. He laughs against your palm, pressing a kiss against it and then against your forehead.

“Do you want me to shut up? Or do you want me to fuck you?” He teases, leaning down to peck at your lips.

You are breathing hard when you answer: “Both.”

His finger travels down your body until they rest against your opening, silently asking for permission before you nod. He kisses you at the same time he pushes two fingers inside your tight channel, making you moan against his lips. He starts a maddening pace, stretching you with his fingers until you are at the edge of a second orgasm and your brain is swimming in a mix of desire and pent up sexual frustration.

“I’m ready, I’m ready, please just fuck me already!” It comes out like a shout, and he chuckles as he pulls his fingers back.

“What my human desires, my human gets.”

He aligns his cock with your pussy, and slowly starts breaching you. He’s big, way bigger than any human you’ve been with, but the spark of pain only makes everything better. Your head is thrown back, and he’s holding you with just one arm as his free hand rubs slow circles over your pointy nipple. You are almost there… You can feel his dick hitting your G-spot… And when his tail touches your clit, you explode into a thousand pieces again.

“I- I’m starting to think your tail is magic,” you joke when your brain comes back from an amazing high.

“It’s not my tail, it’s you,” and with that affirmation he starts fucking you like a powered machine.

You chant his name as he fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow. He holds you to the shelves as the books fall around you, batting some with his hand when they fall dangerously close to your head. He grunts and groans, telling you how good your pussy is and how wonderful you feel around his dick. You are desperate to come again, your body in such need, you can’t even form proper thoughts as he keeps fucking you into oblivion.

“I’m gonna come, darling, I’m so close,” his voice sounds like a plea, and you grab his horns with force, kissing him senseless as you help him bounce you on his cock.

Your third orgasm is nothing like the ones before. The combination of the kiss, his dick and his tail playing with your clit is so good your brain short-circuits and you pant open-mouthed against his lips. His own noises joining yours as he comes deep inside, his release hot and sticky inside your welcoming heat.

You stay like that for a while, your body shivering in aftershocks and his breathing erratic. But reality arrives way sooner than you want it to.

Your brain is spinning in the thousand and one ways it could end wrong. The thousand and one things you should do if you really want to be there with him. But most of all, you need to figure out how to break the curse in the library so you can remember him when you leave. And for that you need to get out and go back home, start researching…

“You have to go, don’t you?” He asks against your neck, his face buried there as he kisses along your jaw.

Your heart is hammering inside your chest before you answer. “I have work tomorrow, but I’ll be back and we’ll figure it out. It’s too late for me to call and arrange for me to start working from home. But I’ll do it. I swear I will.” He doesn’t say anything when he helps you get dressed and walks you to the door. He looks very sad when you leave that day, he doesn’t even try to hide it. “I’ll be here tomorrow and we’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Sure…” He agrees, but you know he doesn’t believe you.

The sound of the door closing behind you leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, but you can’t exactly figure out why...

A/N: I’m sorry for that ending (but lowkey not).