#why he be looking a little too fine though

[kiszjuli]

MY GIRL .ᐟ

✸ shy!mark x fem!reader | genre. fluff. | w.c 2.2k | ♡

↳ synopsis. in which mark has apparently claimed you in his heart, and to no one other than his friends. hiding his feelings thinking that he didn’t have a chance, he gets extremely jealous when someone tries to ask you out for valentine’s day. you’re his girl.

↳playlist. designer - nct 127, just the way you are - bruno mars, can’t take my eyes off of you - frankie valli, when im with you - nct dream, night poem - nct dream, can’t help falling in love - elvis presley.

the student lounge was buzzing with laughter and chatter, the sounds of friends catching up and making plans for the upcoming 3-day weekend. mark sat at a corner table with his group of friends, jeno, donghyuck, and jisung. but his gaze and attention kept drifting to you. you were seated at a nearby table with your own group of friends. you were always effortlessly surrounded by people, your laugh ringing in his ears like his favorite song. mark had always admired how easily you lit up every room you entered, how everyone seemed drawn to your warmth and energy. and how-

“earth to mark,” jeno’s voice broke him from his thoughts, and Mark blinked, seeing his friends hand waving in front of his face. he looked up at his friend with a forced smile.

“huh? oh, yeah, sorry,” he mumbled, fixing the hat on his head, trying to look more engaged but failing.

jisung raised an eyebrow, noticing the direction mark was looking. “you good, man?” he asked, his voice casual but with an underlying hint of curiosity.

nodding quickly, mark then shifted in his seat. “yeah, i’m fine. just… trying to focus, you know?” He waved his hand brushing them off, though his eyes couldn’t help but flick back to you for a moment.

donghyuck catches where his eyes dart, and a knowing look forms on his face. “you sure? you’ve been staring at her all afternoon,” donghyuck added with a grin.

mark immediately blushed, feeling heat rush to his face. “what? no! i wasn’t staring,” he protested a little too quickly, tugging his hat lower to hide his face. “i just—uh, i’m just lost in thought.” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

jeno smirked. “uh-huh, sure. if you say so. but you’ve been acting kinda weird lately. you sure there’s nothing going on?”

mark swallowed hard, his heart racing at the thought of you. He had always admired you from a distance, but you were popular, way out of his league. his friends knew about his little crush on you, but he didn’t think they understood the full extent of it. he wasn’t even sure you saw him as more than a mere friend.

“i-idon’t know,” mark muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “it’s just… she’s always so surrounded by people, you know? she’s pretty much got everyone’s attention all the time.”

jeno leaned back, a teasing glint in his eyes. “she’s definitely got yours” his comment earning a laugh from the other two.

mark’s face flushed deeper, and he slumped in his seat. “no guys, seriously,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “she’s just… i don’t know. she’s popular, and i’m just… me.”

“yeah, well, ‘just you’ is exactly why you’ve got a shot,” donghyuck said, his voice light but encouraging. “you think she doesn’t notice? she does. she’s not blind, mark.”

“exactly,” jisung added, leaning back in his chair. “you’ve been acting like a nervous mess every time she’s around. maybe it’s time you do something about it, yeah?”

mark shot a small glance toward your table, his heart skipping a beat as you caught his eye for a second. he quickly adverted his gaze, pretending to be interested in something in front of him.

jeno chuckled and patted him on the back. “mark, you’ve got this. you just have to take a chance. she’s not some unreachable goddess. if you really like her, go for it. stop hiding behind your ‘I’m fine’ act.”

mark gave him a small, unsure smile. “maybe. i’ll think about it,”

but deep down, mark was terrified. he could never imagine you looking at him the way he looked at you. you were popular, funny, and effortlessly charming. he was… well, just mark.

as you laughed from across the room, mark’s heart gave an involuntary flutter. maybe his friends were right—maybe it was time to stand up and stop pretending he didn’t want more. more than to just watch you from afar. but for now, he stayed where he was, silently watching, unsure if he’d ever have the courage to tell you how he truly felt.

—

classes were now over, and small groups of people were in the large theater, helping set up for valentine's day. your school was hosting a valentine's day fundraiser, where the campus would raise money for local charities. this year's theme 'music for the heart'- likewise, the main attraction was the music appreciation raffle.

you were there of course, running the “song dedication booth” where students could pay a small fee to have a song dedicated to someone during the open mic. you decorated the booth yourself: choosing some white fairy lights to outline the sign, with red heart balloons all around, and of course some cut out music notes that you had done earlier.

“okay, so you want ‘can’t take my eyes off you’ for your girlfriend? great choice,” you said with a smile, writing the request onto the list. “she’ll love it.”

mark watched you from the edge of the stage, where he was tuning his guitar for his performance later. he could hear your cheerful voice as you talked with students, helping them pick the perfect songs. the way you talked about music, your passion shining through every suggestion and question, made his chest tighten.

“she’s really into this,” jisung remarked from behind the drum kit, glancing between mark and you. “you’re playing tonight, right? finally gonna make your move?”

mark glanced over at his friends—jeno adjusting his bass strap and dongkyuck pretending to help. he quickly averted his gaze, nervously strumming his guitar. “i don’t know,” he muttered. “she’s got so much going on. she’s busy.” he made excuses.

donghyuck rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “she’s running a music related booth, mark. if there’s ever a chance to make conversation, it’s right now.”

hesitant, he glanced back at you as you laughed with another student. “but what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” he said quietly.

“dude, she smiles at you differently than anyone else,” jeno chimed in. “i don’t think you realize how obvious you are. she’s into you too, but you can’t wait forever.”

the idea of putting himself out there, of confessing how he felt in front of everyone, made his palms sweat. he just couldn’t.

“why not dedicate your song to her?” jisung spoke up, his voice softer

mark’s heart pounded knowing that his song was already dedicated to you, having thought about it for weeks beforehand. he was going to perform ‘just the way you are’ by bruno mars.

mark glanced up, and his heart nearly stopped when he saw you looking his way, the fairy lights illuminated your features in the best way as you gave him a small, bright smile. he awkwardly waved back, his stomach flipping as you returned your attention to the students walking your way.

“smooth,” donghyuck muttered, biting back a laugh.

“shut up,” mark mumbled, his face heating up.

—

the lights in the theater dimmed, and the crowd hushed as mark stepped onto the stage, his guitar slung over his shoulder. you stood near the back of the room, watching as he adjusted the mic, his hands trembling slightly. you felt a smile creeping to your face.

“this one’s for someone special,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

your best friend, winter nudged your shoulder and you glared at her with a laugh. she always teased you about your slight crush on the boy.

as the familiar chords of “just the way you are” filled the room, your heart skipped a beat. mark’s voice was soft yet filled with emotion, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

when he sang, “her eyes, her eyes make the stars look like they’re not shining,” you felt your cheeks flush. feeling like you were looking too much into it, you shook your head slightly and glanced down at your shoes.

by the final verse, everyone was entranced by his voice. when the song ended, the applause broke the spell, but mark’s gaze lingered on yours, his lips curving into a shy smile.

—

the rest of the fundraiser went extremely well. the crowd winding down and now you found yourself starting to pack up your things at you booth.

“hey,” a voice interrupted, making you glance up.

It was a guy from one of your classes, holding a small bouquet of roses in his hands. he looked nervous but determined as he stepped closer to your booth.

“oh, hi!” you greeted warmly, taking a pause from packing up.

mark saw it from across the student center—the way the guy nervously walked up to you, clutching a small bouquet of flowers, his face tinged pink, your kind but still friendly smile. frozen in place, his chest tightened. he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he didn’t need to. the way the guy was smiling at you and the way you politely smiled back made it clear what was happening. but you were his girl. even if that guy didn’t know it yet.

of course someone else would ask you out. he knew it was going to happen at some point, always surrounded by people who admired you. and mark? he’d spent months hiding his feelings, thinking you’d never look at him that way.

but now as he sees the guy walk away from you-missing the slight frown on his face-he can’t stop his own two feet from moving towards you. his mind was racing. did you say yes? were you off limits now? labeled as someone else’s girl?

as he approached, you were gathering the last few things from your booth. you noticed him and looked up.

“oh, mark?” you asked tilting your head, still with bright eyes.

“hey,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing as his voice cracked slightly. “i, uh… i saw you talking to that guy just now.”

you raised an eyebrow, catching the uncertainty in his tone. “huh? oh yeah, he was just—”

“did you—did you say yes?” the words spilling out before he could stop them, and he winced as soon as he realized how frantic his voice sounded.

you blinked in surprise. “what?”

“to, uh… whatever he asked you…” mark said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushing. he was getting more and more choked up by the second. “i mean, obviously it’s fine if you did..it’s probably none of my business and- he seemed nice. i just…” he trailed off, his words stringing along as he avoided your gaze.

you stared at him for a moment before realizing what he was getting at. a soft laugh escaped your lips, and mark’s eyes darted to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “what’s funny?”

“no, i didn’t say yes,” you said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “i told him i wasn’t interested.” you said looking up, your grin still lingering on your face.

mark felt relief wash over him as a small smile tugged at his lips. however, disbelief still clouded his mind. “you..didn't?”

shaking your head you spoke. “nope,” your smile was warm yet teasing as you say his rosy cheeks darken a little. “i think i’d rather wait for someone i actually want to say yes to,”

mark just blinked, not knowing how to react. what did that mean? could you be talking about him? or was it someone else? why would you-

“mark,” you called out, breaking him from his thoughts. “if..you have something to say, now would be the time,” you said softly, stepping a little closer.

“well, i-i have been wanting to say something for a while now,” he started, taking a breath. “i like you a lot, like- a lot..but i just didn’t think i had a chance..”

your smile widened feeling a small heat rise to your cheeks too. “you always had a chance mark,”

relief mixed with disbelief washed over him. you felt the same way the whole time? he let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders finally relaxing. “so, does this mean i can ask you out now?”

“i think you just did,” you teased, your fingers fiddling together, as your heart beat a little faster.

mark grinned, his confidence growing. he reached out for your hand, still shaking but sure. “well, then… will you be my valentine?” he wanted to ask ‘will you be my girl?’ but this would do for now-slow steps, he told himself.

“i’d love to,” you replied, your eyes sparkling as you smiled at him.

“y/n! can you come here for a sec?” winter called for you from the studio room. she apologized later once she found out was was happening, but you brushed it off saying it was okay.

you looked to mark and stepped closer. you softly pressed your lips to his cheekbone and pulled away slowly. “come find me later?”

he nods with a hum, too star struck by you to form a sentence, or even a word. you smiled and walked off, now knowing that you finally had the guy you wanted. and mark walked back to his guitar to his teasing friends with a dopey, cheesy smile knowing that you were his girl.

and in that moment, mark felt that every doubt, every little hesitation, had been worth it.

—

⁀➷⊹ ࣪ ˖~ THE LA LA LOVE SERIES .ᐟ

taggies(open) ↳ @kittydollzz @huffnpufffckk @completelyjae @lovesuhng @nae-vm @ayibdorrt @chocoriki @yowmaman @yukisroom97

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I find myself unable to stop thinking about fae Sirius, so here's another drabble about him as sort of a continuation to the first :)

cw: brief, vague allusion to sex

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

You’re scanning the earth for small, white flowers when there’s a rustle in the bushes nearby. You turn, expecting the orange streak of a fox vanishing into the brush or a bird taking flight, but you see nothing. The forest is quieter today, as it has been for you lately. Stiller. The sort of place with secrets. 

You draw in a breath as arms snake around your middle, catching you in their snare. 

“Hello, my little naïf,” says a familiar voice, smooth and lovely as the rock in your pocket. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”

You turn in Sirius’ arms. He grins down at you, and you press your smiles together in a gentle kiss hello as your own arms wind around his middle. He likes spending a lot of time pressed close together like this; you didn’t know you’d enjoy it so much until you did. 

“I’m looking for chickweed,” you answer him. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. Like most of him, they’re beautiful, finely shaped things; you reach up to trace your finger underneath one. Sirius very dignifiedly does not preen over it. “You’re not looking for me?” 

You shake your head, though you both know it’s a lie. You’ve always enjoyed this particular forest, but you visit twice as often since you met him. You’re never not thinking about Sirius, finding things for him, wishing to see him. It’d be embarrassing if he weren’t the same. 

“I was looking for you,” you confide to appease him. 

He tuts softly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. Sirius loves when you’re plain about your feelings for him. He doesn't always return the courtesy, but that’s alright; you can tell that they’re there whether he does or not. He wouldn’t have given you his name otherwise. 

“And what have you brought for me today, lovely thing?” 

“Do I always need to bring you something?” you ask, teasing. “Am I not enough by myself? You never give me anything.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicker with amusement, because this too is a lie. Sirius has given you many, many things. He’s taught you how to listen to the moods of the wind and shown you how to entice butterflies to rest in your palm and brought you unimaginable pleasure one long afternoon by the creek. Not least of all, he’s given you his devotion, proven in a thousand tiny ways. 

You’re unable to conceal your smile as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the rock you picked up this morning. It’s oval, worn to perfect smoothness by the rushing waters of the river you found it near, and a grayish blue that reminds you of Sirius’ eyes (when they stay still for a while, that is). 

Sirius takes the rock from you, studying it. He rubs his thumb across the top. “This is pretty.” 

“It is,” you agree, basking in your own private pleasure. You think he’d still say the same thing even if he did know why you chose it for him, but you enjoy keeping this to yourself. Sirius’ eyes slide to yours like he can tell you’re keeping secrets, but he doesn’t push. 

“Not,” he says, “as pretty as you, however.” His hold tightens without warning, drawing a surprised giggle from you as your bodies come flush together. “You’re more than enough of a gift.” 

You hear the sincerity in his tone and repay it in kind, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know.” 

Sirius’ eyes squint the way they tend to do when you particularly delight him. Just before he calls you strange or silly or my lovely little oddity. He doesn’t say any of those things now; only, “You won’t find chickweed around here, you know.” 

You frown. “If I knew, why would I be looking?” 

Sirius heaves a great sigh and presses his lips to your temple before loosening his hold on you. He guides you away from your little patch of bushes by your hand, moving with otherworldly grace. “There’s chickweed by the meadow. We’ll find it for you there. Do you use it for something?” 

You nod. “Pesto.” 

His brow furrows. 

“It’s food. I’ll bring some for you to try.” You give him a sweet look. “Thank you for showing me where to find it.” 

A low hum. “What would you do without me?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never have to find out.” 

“No,” he agrees, fingers winding between yours like vines, “you won’t.” 

[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

[gongyoosgf]

nam-gyu as your bf!!

warnings: namgyu is his own warning, smoking, possessiveness, fluff, smut at the end, choking, control kink, lowkey hand kink, slapping, overstimulation, praise, degrading, blowjob, unprotected sex, aftercare, uhh yeah all that stuff

an: i wrote this in an hour

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who wants to act tough, even though he knows you have him wrapped around your finger. he tries to keep up a cool, unbothered attitude, but the second you tease him or show him affection, he gets all flustered. if you compliment him out of nowhere? he’ll scoff, subtly covering up how his ears turn red.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets jealous way too easily. he won’t admit it, but the second someone gets too close to you, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and glaring at them until they get the message.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who secretly loves it when you “baby” him, even though he huffs and complains. “i don’t need you to fix my shirt,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t move away when you do it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who melts the moment you play with his hands. he watches quietly as you trace over his fingers, spinning his rings around (because he definitely has one of those spinny fidget rings).

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who refuses to sleep unless he’s holding you. if you shift away even a little, he’ll instinctively pull you right back with a grumbled, “where do you think you’re going?”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts like he doesn’t care, but is secretly the biggest worrywart. “text me when you get home,” he says casually, but if you forget, expect a passive-aggressive “did you die or something?” text.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who always lets you steal his hoodies, even though he complains about it. “why do you even need it? you have your own.” but he never actually takes them back, and if he sees you wearing one, he won’t shut up about how good you look in it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who secretly loves it when you mess with his hair. if you randomly start running your fingers through it, he’ll roll his eyes but lean into your touch, completely betraying himself.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who teases you constantly, but the second you fire back, he gets all pouty. “that’s fucking rude,” he says after spending the last ten minutes roasting you.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets distracted whenever you talk because he’s too busy staring at you. when you call him out on it, he just shrugs. “you’re cute when you talk, that’s all.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who is actually really sentimental. he keeps little things you’ve given him. notes, random trinkets, even a receipt from a place you went together. he won’t tell you, but if you ever find them, he’ll get all embarrassed.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts like he’s fine when he’s upset, but the way he clings to you says otherwise. he won’t say anything, just bury his face in your shoulder and hold onto you a little tighter than usual.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who never says “i love you” first, but always finds ways to show it. pulling you closer when you least expect it, keeping a hand on your knee when you’re sitting together, or letting you take the last bite of his food (even if he really wanted that last bite).

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu whose hands are always freezing. without warning, he’ll press them against your neck or slip them under your shirt just to hear you yelp. but if you try to warm them up by holding them, he gets all quiet and lets you, secretly loving the attention.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who likes to act like he’s too cool for couple stuff, but secretly loves it. he’ll roll his eyes if you suggest matching outfits, but later, you’ll notice he’s wearing the same color as you without being asked.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who has the best laugh when he’s high, usually because something random happens, and he just starts giggling uncontrollably.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who always acts like he’s not paying attention, but notices everything about you. the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, the way you tap your fingers when you’re bored, he picks up on all of it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts all grumpy when you wake him up, but if you stop talking to let him go back to sleep, he mumbles, “keep talking… i like your voice.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who never shuts up about you when you’re not around. thanos so tired of hearing about it, but he doesn’t care. thanos will just be like, “bro, we get it, you’re in love.” and he’ll just smirk, “yeah, and?”

nsfw below!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves pulling you into his lap. sometimes it’s innocent, but most of the time, his fingers press into your hips just enough to make you squirm on his bulge. he tilts his head, amused. “something wrong?”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to toy with you, whispering things like, “you have no idea how much i wanna fuck you right now. all i can think about is getting you alone, but you’re making me wait.” his lips brush against your earlobe, lingering just a second longer before pulling away.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s fully aware of the effect he has on you. when you try to act innocent, he whispers teasingly, “don’t try to act like you don’t want this as much as i do.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves messing with your patience. when he’s teasing you in public, he’s not afraid to keep it going, fingers brushing against your neck, his thumb pressing softly over your pulse point, making you want to squirm, but he won’t let you. “you can’t touch me yet,” he says in a low voice, but he can see how badly you want to.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets real handsy when you’re both alone. one moment, he’s playing it cool, and the next, he’s pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss, hands gripping your waist tightly, pressing you flush against him. “did you miss me that much?” he teases, even though it’s clear he’s just as hungry for you.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to make you beg for him, but in his own way. he’ll be so smooth, so casual about it, but when he sees you getting desperate, his smirk widens. “not yet, sweetheart. you need to earn it.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves watching you fall apart beneath him. whether it’s just his words or his hands, he knows how to make you unravel completely, to the point where you forget everything but him. “look at me,” he groans, as his lips hover over yours. “don’t fucking look away.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s got a kink for control. he’ll put you in a position where you can’t escape, whether it’s pinning you down on the bed or holding your hands behind your back, he wants to be the one to make you squirm. “you don’t get to decide tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with authority. “i’m going to do what i want with you.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who knows exactly how to rile you up by whispering dirty little things in your ear while his hands roam under the warmth of your clothes, making you ache for his touch even more.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets a thrill out of slowly undressing you, his cold hands brushing over your body, making you ache for more while he watches the way you shiver under his touch, not allowing you to rush a single moment.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who lives for the power he has over you. when he makes you beg for more, when he sees the look in your eyes that says you're completely lost in him, there’s nothing hotter. “say it,” he demands, his voice rough and low. “say what you want.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who can’t get enough of how you tremble when his cold fingers slide under the waistband of your pants, letting them hover just before touching your skin, feeling your anticipation rise with each passing second.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pushes you to your knees, taking control of the situation as his hands grip your hair, forcing you to take all of him as he fucks your mouth, groaning with pleasure as you give him exactly what he wants.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to trap you under him, using his hands to pin your wrists above your head while he kisses his way down your neck, his lips rough against your skin, but his body heating you from the inside out.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who can’t resist the sound of your moans. he’ll slow down just to make them louder, smirking when your grip tightens on his shoulder, your breathing shallow. “i love hearing you like this,” he says, his lips brushing against your skin. “don’t hold back for me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who presses you into the sheets, holding you in place as he moves over you, making sure you feel every inch of him against your skin, loving how you beg for him with every breath you take.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’ll slap your thigh, forcing you to gasp as he grins at the reaction, loving how he can make you lose control under him.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves making you beg for him, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves against you, his touch demanding and possessive, making sure you know who’s in charge while he’s lost in the raw intensity between you two.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls your hair to tilt your head back, his cold fingers digging into your neck while he kisses down your jaw, marking you with his rough, needy touch, as if reminding you that you’re his in every way.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who slams into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pushing you into the mattress with each thrust as he watches you unravel beneath him, your moans spurring him on until you’re both completely lost in the passion.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who grips your hips tightly, his voice a growl, “you like this, don’t you? being fucked like you’re nothing. you’re mine to use however i want.” he slams into you again, making sure every word stings with possessiveness.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who enjoys hearing you scream his name, his cold touch trailing down your spine as he makes you shiver with each movement, knowing exactly how rough to be to make you ache for more, all while keeping you at the edge of your pleasure.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you close, “say it, fuck, tell me you want me.” his thrusts become relentless, his voice dripping with hunger, “i need to hear you beg for me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you into his lap, hands wrapping around your neck as he forces you to ride him, his grip tightening as he controls every movement, making sure you’re completely at his mercy while he watches you fall apart.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s not satisfied until he’s made you cum at least twice before he’s done, making sure every thrust hits deep as he relentlessly fucks you, knowing exactly how to get you to the edge. “you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? i’ll fill you up, make you mine completely.” his voice is rough, each word a command, “don’t even think about running. you’ll stay with me until you’ve given me everything I want.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who grits his teeth and looks up at you as he’s about to cum, his hands gripping your throat just enough to make you dizzy, before he fucking loses it, cumming so deep inside you that you both feel every intense wave of it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who doesn’t let you stop, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he makes sure you’re shaking with pleasure, not stopping until he feels you come undone.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who, after he’s finished, pulls you into his arms, his cold hands caressing your skin gently, brushing your hair out of your face as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, “you did so well for me… just rest now.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who lights up a joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke before leaning back, pulling you into his chest. “just relax with me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who, after you’ve both come down from the high, gives you the blunt, watching you take a drag as he smiles softly. “i love seeing you like this… at peace. let me take care of you.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you into a slow, lazy kiss, holding the blunt lazily between his fingers, the smoke mixing with your breath.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s already high, his body feeling relaxed as he pulls you onto his lap, lazily stroking your back, tracing over the curves of your body.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who makes sure you’re hydrated, giving you water and taking the time to sip it with you, making sure you’re feeling good after everything, “i’m so proud of you.” his voice is gentle as he takes care of you in the most thoughtful way.

- - - - ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

uhh taglist: @kouzih @cybrasigilism @222hyunju

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis. 

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles. 

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now. 

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training. 

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes. 

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted. 

He misses you every second. 

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now. 

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you. 

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most. 

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings. 

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago. 

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis. 

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it. 

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain. 

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head. 

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it. 

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end. 

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning. 

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races. 

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems - 

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general. 

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger. 

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness. 

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again. 

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in. 

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you. 

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either. 

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully. 

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place. 

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things. 

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death. 

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way. 

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is. 

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs. 

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want? 

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life. 

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again. 

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him. 

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him. 

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone. 

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them. 

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all. 

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed. 

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside. 

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long. 

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him. 

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs. 

You. 

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed. 

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense. 

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home. 

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable. 

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment. 

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it. 

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all. 

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down. 

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

[wemlygust]

I imagine this as the result of Danny reaching such heights of terror of the GIW, and such frustration with the Amity Park Police Department that never did anything to help and instead just went along with whatever the GIW asked, that he has come out the other side of the terror, landed firmly (at least for now) on the "fight" side of the fight/flight/freeze/fawn dice, and become a police officer out of sheer spite even though this objectively puts him at greater risk of discovery. After the initial impulse wears off a bit, the fear starts to sink in again, but at the same time - this is letting him feed his protection obsession ALL THE TIME, even when he's human, and it's so satisfying and nice, and he's been able to help so many people who were caught by corrupt cops - even if sometimes he has to do it by straight-up grabbing them out of jail as a ghost in the night. He just phases in, grabs them, and phases them out again, without ever even letting them see him. It scares them, but it keeps him safe, it keeps them safe, and then they're free. Then he transfers from his Illinois Police Department to Gotham, because for some reason this move will appease the eyeballs into leaving him alone for 2 seconds, and because he'd like a change of pace (he doesn't expect his bosses to be any LESS corrupt in Gotham, but at least maybe they'll be new and interesting forms of corrupt, and at this point he'll take that). His new supervisor is liminal as hell and very weird, though. Which is great, actually - this means he can afford to be a little less careful about hiding his ghostliness around the guy. After all, he's liminal enough the GIW would disappear him too. So they've established an unspoken agreement not to mention it, and it's going great. Even though he can't figure out why Officer Wayne keeps staring at him when he thinks Danny's not looking, or why he often asks blatantly stupid questions. Maybe it's a method of trying to signal that he knows what Danny is and knows Danny knows what he is and agrees they have the unspoken agreement? In which case, shut up, guy, you're just drawing attention to us! Unspoken agreements need to be UNSPOKEN! Or maybe he's actually as corrupt as the rest of them, and Danny's stuck in an "enemy of my enemy" situation... It's starting to put Danny on edge. But he's got shit to do. Why the fuck does the GPD keep letting everyone break out of Arkham? He doesn't want to deal with that himself, but he's starting to think the Joker might be liminal at the very least, if not outright a ghost, and the LAST thing he needs is for the local bat colony to realize that and join up with the GIW, or even - Ancients forbid - bring the Justice League down on his and his peoples' heads... The weird supervisor can deal, for now. And Danny can deal with the weird supervisor. It's fine. Probably.

Rookie

Dpxdc Prompt #37

Dick has always considered himself an extrovert, able to make friends with anyone he sets his mind to. He has a way of making people comfortable around him; friends, family, classmates, strangers, and coworkers just to name a few.

Well, maybe not that last one.

The Bludhaven Police Department is the most corrupt workplace he's seen. Ever. And Dick grew up in Gotham City.

Of course, Amy was a doll and the two worked together to try and clean out the place, but when corruption is rooted in that deep there's nothing you can really do except start from scratch. The higher ups would never approve of that though, so the problem kept on growing.

Which is why, when Dick was assigned to supervise a newbie he was, understandably, dreading it.

He was fully prepared for a bigot who wanted to use the power of the police to boss civilians around. He prepared slightly less for someone who wanted to do genuine good, but would probably be driven out of the force within a couple of months.

What he was not prepared for was the whirlwind that was rookie Officer Danny Fenton.

[sukeruton-san]

A Coffee Heart pt 2

First Next

There's a coffee shop in Gotham that allowed him way more caffeine than Amity allowed. . .

He likes it here he can have 21 shots of expresso and all he got was an eye roll with some grumbling about a guy named Tim and twins, it's great!!

_______________________________________________

___________A table in the far corner______________

Do I have a twin. . .

No seriously does he have an unknown twin cause standing at the register is a guy that looks so much like him, but not exact enough to be a clone.

We both have pitch black hair the same thick and soft kind but his is infinitely more fluffy and wild like his Red Robin look, bright blue eyes with analytical intelligents and slightly unhinged but his are more icey in color and somehow more dead inside,both our body types are small soft and lean with muscle, small waist, and rounded in the hips, shoulders in mid range, but he has more curves with his shape he's also worriedly more skinny to an unhealthy degree even in my standards, face shapes similar but his are little more angle too it, hell even our voices are similar his being softer and a little deeper than mine

What made me really catch my attention was the fact that he's coffee intake is just as death inducing as mine maybe even more deadly. Hes eye bags are worse then mine from what I can see from here which is across the fucking room.

So I have reasonably concluded that he is my twin. I mean there was a popular rumor that Janite was pregnant with twins and gave one up to adoption as soon they came out with how big she got. Maybe it was true when I am look at someone who has to be related to me.

Though this begs the question where he has been the entire time, He may be visiting with how he has an Midwestern accent but he also holds himself like an Gotham native.

hnmmmmmm. . .

What's he doing?. . .

He's comING OVER HERE ABORT ABORT ABO-

_______________________________________________

"Um you mind if I sit here for a little all the tables are full"

Why he look familiar? Have I seen him before? . . .

Wait that's Timothy Drake-Wayne Co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises, I only know him because of the research binge for the Gothampedia and Tucker's fanboying.

He probably wants some privacy. . .

Probably to relax a little bit and be normal if he's just drinking some coffee in the back corner, alone. He looks nervous as hell too probably don't want any unwanted attention brought to himself, I sure as hell know the feeling

" No it's fine you can sit here "

Is it just me or does he look a little eager

" Cool I'm Danny by the way " sitting and taking a sip of his coffee he notices that Tim seems to be in some sort of dilemma with himself finally he asked

" So you happen to be around and about here often?" He drinks his own coffee

" No, just found this little shop" he cringed a little "I was draged here because my parents wanted to work on something here"

Tim Slightly invested slightly worried " What are they working on?"

" They uhh want to 'help make Gotham more prepared for dangers that may arise in the haunting world' their words not mine"tilting his head slightly to the left "to be fair I think the bats have all that covered, no need to interfere and cause more problems than what it's worth" grumbling under his breath " Don't want them to get on the bats radar cuz they are doing reckless shit and I have to clean it up"

_______________________________________________

Tim is slightly panicking now who are his twins adopted parents and why are they wanting to 'prepared for dangers that may arise in the haunting world'?

What does the haunting world mean?

What does he mean by causing more problems?

Are his parents escaped midwestern rouges or something?

Does he need to do a welfare check on him as Red Robin?

Also he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that last part but that's just making him more worried.

How reckless can they get?

How many times has he had to clean up their messes?

What does he do. . .

(Thank you for helping me with the idea for the next chapter @ghostlysuitnight )

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.10): get a room - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

warning/an; kinda? implied smut/sexual content. i think real real smut is coming in ch.12... AFTER midsummers

part 9 - part 10 - part 11

you pull into tannyhill, the headlights cutting through the driveway as you park. the drive from the chateau was quiet, the kind of calm you didn’t realize you needed until you finally had it, especially after almost being caught with jj.

sarah’s already out of the car and heading toward the front door, phone in hand. "need to grab a few things before dinner," she says without looking up. you just follow her inside, not even bothering to answer. you can hear her moving around in the kitchen as you take off your shoes and toss your bag onto the couch.

it’s quieter than usual. too quiet. you glance around, the house emptier than you’re used to.

"where’s everyone?" you ask, scanning the room.

sarah doesn’t even glance up. "wheezie day. ward and rose took her out."

you nod, not needing any further details. you’ve learned enough to know the deal with wheezie and her little trips.

you don’t ask about rafe, though. "oh, i think he’s with topper at the club," sarah adds, clearly not caring enough to offer anything else.

you just shrug. it’s whatever. not like you’d want to hear any more about them tonight.

dinner’s laid-back, comfortable. nothing extraordinary, just easy chatter and the usual back-and-forth. it’s simple. you laugh, maybe share some stories. by the time you finish eating, you're full and content, ready to crash.

you drop sarah back off at tannyhill after dinner, settling into your bed as soon as you get home, scrolling through your phone. the house stays quiet, though you can hear the crashing waves outside and the occasional sound of footsteps outside. at some point, you hear the front door open. voices—muffled, indistinct. you figure topper and ruthie are back, a little earlier than usual— 10 pm. maybe drunk and stumbling, but then the voices fade, and you don’t think much of it.

until you hear it.

a sound. a very specific sound.

your brow furrows. you sit up, listening closer.

moaning.

you immediately groan, flopping back onto your bed. ugh. topper. gross.

it wouldn’t be the first time. he and ruthie were shameless, and unfortunately, the walls in this house weren’t soundproof. you sigh and grab your phone, fingers already moving before you can think twice.

you put your phone down, staring at the ceiling.

it’s fine. you don't care. it’s just rafe. and sofia.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does.

you do not care that rafe is here. you do not care that he’s with sofia. you are completely indifferent.

that’s why you go about your normal night. that’s why you act completely normal as you brush your teeth, change into your pj's, and definitely don't press your ear against the wall to see if you can still hear them.

(you can. you hate it.)

when you get into bed, you try to go to sleep, but your brain is racing. you grab your phone.

sarah doesn't text back after that, probably falling asleep.

you should do the same. but you don't.

the next morning, you wake up early, which is unusual for you. but you refuse to let last night make you weird. you go downstairs to get coffee and pretend nothing happened.

and then you see them.

rafe is sitting at the counter, staring into the void, looking like he didn’t sleep at all. sofia is standing in front of him, digging through the fridge like she owns the place, casually sipping from his water bottle.

topper and ruthie are there too, sitting at the kitchen table, lost in their own world as they eat breakfast. topper’s half-asleep, shoveling eggs into his mouth like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, while ruthie scrolls through her phone, nudging him every so often to show him something. they don’t even glance at you when you walk in.

which is fine. you don’t need them to. you just need to get your coffee and go.

you grab something from the fridge, acting casual, pretending that nothing about this morning is off—that nothing about this bothers you. you brace yourself for something nauseating, some gross display that’ll make you want to walk into the ocean. but then you actually watch them.

sofia’s hand trails over rafe’s shoulder. he doesn’t even react.

she leans in, saying something in his ear, probably something flirty, and he just nods absently, barely paying attention.

when she kisses him, he doesn’t even move forward. it’s all her.

you shouldn’t be, but you are. you’re happy. overjoyed that he could care less about sofia—but it feels so wrong to think like that.

you snap out of it, grab your drink, and practically skip out of the kitchen, knowing sofia is just a stand in. for who? you don't know. but some part of you, a feeling buried deep inside, wishes for it to be you.

tags: @italk2god @angelicameron @marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43 @idiotussupremus @sereneera @yesshewrites1 @inlovewithchriss @ethanthequeefqueen @amterasuu @popou61 @drewsstars @yannew @anothertimegirl @flvredcas @yootvi @mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial @cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa @6r4cie @adalia-lovelace @bee-43 @drewrry @masongetinmybed @defnotayonna @lcversvoid @my-name-is-baby @lolasangelz @polli05927 @laniirackssss @rafecameronswifeyy @starsval @hypnotizedstarkey

[bithcisweartogod]

it’s not that cheng xiaoshi doesn’t trust lu guang. he does, probably more than anyone. him and qiao ling are the closest people he has. hell, he willingly trusts lu guang with his life on a daily, blindly allowing the guy to lead him in every dive, never once doubting that with lu guang in charge everything will be fine. 

yet sometimes he can’t help but wish he would tell him more. not that cheng xiaoshi feels like he’s hiding something. he just wants to know more about lu guang. cheng xiaoshi himself has never been a particularly secretive person. he likes to share bits and pieces of himself with others, but only those that hover on the surface, not allowing too deep of a look into his mind. sure, he also doesn’t tell people everything. why would he? but lu guang barely shares anything at all.

those little crumbles of him that cheng xiaoshi managed to gather over the years either came as a result of pure observation or accidents. sometimes, if cheng xiaoshi asked, lu guang would tell him about the books he reads, or show him movies he likes, share songs he listens to. but that’s about it. cheng xiaoshi’s grateful for what he can get, but is it so wrong to want to know more about your partner? 

and yeah, maybe lu guang’s lack of desire to share stuff about himself comes from the fact that cheng xiaoshi can and will tease him about it but come on. that’s what friends are for! something, he has to share something! like, childhood memories, for instance. it doesn’t even have to be something deep or anything, cheng xiaoshi doesn’t expect lu guang to get into the heavy stuff like he’s in a therapy session. something light and funny though, maybe a little silly, that should be fine, right? everyone has these kind of stories! yet whenever cheng xiaoshi and qiao ling dive into this topic lu guang just observes them quietly, all small smiles and stifled laughter. 

qiao ling brought an old photo album one day. she found it during a major cleaning up session at her parents’ house. despite being her family’s photo album, it had lots of pictures of cheng xiaoshi, so she knew she had to bring it to the photo studio.

and there they were, the three of them seated on the sofa, looking through the photos. the pictures were really wholesome. little qiao ling holding little cheng xiaoshi’s hand at an amusement park, both of them smiling widely. she cooed at the image, and then, in the same sweet voice as before, she said: “remember how you threw up after that one ride that we told you not to take?”, leaving cheng xiaoshi frozen and lu guang laughing up his sleeve.

so that’s how it went. whenever cheng xiaoshi appeared in a photo qiao ling would add some details about its backstory, making embarrassing ones even more so. like, here’s a picture of cheng xiaoshi with mustache drawn on his face in black marker. he’s showing off, posing like a character from a movie.

“a few seconds after that he showed us the marker he draw those with and mom told him it’s permanent” qiao ling deadpans.

“and i took it very well” boasts cheng xiaoshi, crossing his arms over his chest.

“you cried like a baby” 

“did not” 

“i think you did”, intervenes lu guang, who had already turned the page, discovering a follow-up photo, that, although smudgy, showed a wailing cheng xiaoshi. so no, he did not, in fact, take it well. cheng xiaoshi’s ears turned red.

“you took a picture? i was standing there crying and you just took a picture?” he exclaims.

“sorry, sorry” says qiao ling, laughing. “it was too funny”.

cheng xiaoshi, of course, saw that as a challenge. he flipped through the pages of the photo album and then stopped, smiling in that manner of his that meant he’s up to no good. 

“look who we have here” he said melodically.

qiao ling scoffed. 

“it can’t be that bad, let me see— oh god”.

the picture showed little qiao ling, up close, definitely an attempt of hers to take a selfie on her parents’ camera. but the angle wasn’t the worst part. the makeup. what was going on. bright splotches of blue eyeshadow covered her eyes, her eyebrows looked like she got inspired by cheng xiaoshi’s mustache and drew them with a sharpie, her lips were over-lined with pink lipstick, and, as a cherry on top, glitter. it was everywhere. but little qiao ling seemed proud of herself, while the current one looked like she was holding back tears. she’ll definitely ask who and why decided that it would be a good idea to put this picture in the album when she comes home. 

meanwhile, cheng xiaoshi was laughing uncontrollably, less from looking at the photo and more from seeing qiao ling’s reaction. lu guang was covering his mouth, trying to hide a smile. 

“don’t worry, qiao ling-jie, your skills definitely improved” he tried to placate her. 

“i sure hope they did!” screamed distressed qiao ling, looking as flabbergasted as she was before.

she turned the page to try and change the subject. suddenly, a blurred something caught cheng xiaoshi’s attention. 

“what’s that?” he asked, pointing at the photo. 

and now it was qiao ling’s turn to laugh. 

“idiot, that’s your butt!” 

cheng xiaoshi looked at her, bewildered, then back at the photo and then the recognition finally sank in. 

“what the hell is it doing in your family’s photo album?” he tried to snatch the album away but qiao ling grabbed it first, quickly passing it to lu guang. with the way his palm covered his mouth it was hard to tell whether he’s laughing or genuinely concerned. 

“why— who even decided to develop it?” cheng xiaoshi looked over lu guang’s shoulder, not trying to hide the photo anymore now that he’s already seen it. instead, he buried his face into the fabric of lu guang’s shirt, mortified. 

“actually, you did” answers qiao ling, smiling from ear to ear. 

“what?!” 

“yeah! you were the one who brought it to us! you thought that the scar you got was super cool, so you decided to take a picture of it, and then asked aunt shao to develop it. and she did”. 

memories were coming back to cheng xiaoshi, the way his mom laughed and immediately agreed to his request. she sure had an interesting sense of humor. he looked at the photo again, more intently this time. 

“but you gotta admit…it does look cool. like a lightning…”

“wanna put it in a frame?” lu guang suggested, earning a loud snicker from qiao ling and a death glare from cheng xiaoshi.

they bickered over the photos, competing in who can make the other more embarrassed, but despite all the noise they made over this album, it felt good to revisit those memories. to look back on their past and laugh. to share it with lu guang. 

later that day, when cheng xiaoshi and lu guang were already in their beds, slowly dozing off, cheng xiaoshi decided to ask something. 

“lu guang? you asleep?” 

after a short period of time a muffled answer comes out 

“no”

a beat. cheng xiaoshi hesitates. 

“it’s just…you never showed us any pictures from when you were a kid. or any pictures of your parents” or any pictures at all. for some reason he felt unsure. like he’s stepping into a territory not yet open for him. “i wouldn’t be too surprised to find out you were born an adult” a quiet laugh. an attempt to lighten up the atmosphere. 

“i can just see you saying ‘thank you for carrying me all those nine months, mother’ and bowing to the doctors” he blabbers, trying to continue the joke, which earns a low stifled laugh from lu guang. 

“you’re ridiculous” he says, and cheng xiaoshi can hear him smiling. warmth spreads in his chest. after remaining silent for some time, lu guang speaks again.

“it’s nothing special, really. my parents just never liked to take photos. i don’t have anything to show, that’s it” 

it made cheng xiaoshi sad, the fact that he’d never get to see lu guang little. was his hair always white? was his attitude always so quiet and stoic? did he ever do any of the embarrassing things he and qiao ling were up to when they were kids? 

“you’re disappointed?” lu guang asks suddenly. damn, he’s uncannily good at reading his mind.

“don’t be silly” comes out cheng xiaoshi’s immediate response. then, turning to the side, he ads, “i have you here now. that’s all that matters”.

and that’s true. whatever past lu guang had, whatever things he’s purposefully hiding away from him…he’s here, with cheng xiaoshi. and, as lu guang himself said, he’s not going anywhere.

next day qiao ling comes into the photo studio again. in her hands there’s…a book? she places it on the counter, smiling happily. a book turns out to be a photo album. a brand new one, all pages empty, waiting to be filled. 

“it just hit me suddenly, after i left yesterday. it’s so stupid. we don’t have a photo album of our own! at the photo studio! absurd”.

and just like that, they started piling up a history of their own, capturing time in the pages of the album. a picture of lu guang on the sofa, fallen asleep in the middle of reading a book. sunlight dances on his skin. he scrunches his nose in his sleep. a picture of qiao ling pulling cheng xiaoshi into a hug. he tries to look annoyed but his smile betrays him. cheng xiaoshi with a braid. it looks a little messed up since his hair’s not long enough, but pretty nonetheless. lu guang patting a stray cat near the photo studio. qiao ling and xu shanshan hitting cheng xiaoshi with pillows. qiao ling smiling brightly as cheng xiaoshi scrubs the floor behind her. he lost a bet and was supposed to clean up for a month. lu guang eventually agreed to help him (he always does) and ended up taking the majority of cheng xiaoshi’s cleaning duties upon himself. lu guang with a pissed off expression, huge coffee spot on his shirt. he accidentally spilled it and cheng xiaoshi had to capture the moment as evidence that lu guang does in fact fuck up sometimes. lu guang smiling. lu guang posing with an awkward peace sign. lots of lu guang, actually. because cheng xiaoshi, unlike lu guang’s parents, likes taking photos. especially photos of lu guang. 

it’s not that cheng xiaoshi doesn’t trust lu guang. he does, probably more than anyone. so he knows that lu guang would tell him more when he’s ready. there’s no rush. he likes it even more like that - getting to know him, gradually, bit by bit. 

[urmum-lovesme]

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P15

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: After all this time... the day has finally come.

warnings: mentions of trauma/ptsd, mentions of s/a, drinking, smoking, bad father son dynamic, mentions of passed mother, making out, panic attack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late in the afternoon, the sun setting lazily through the windows, casting a golden glow over the room. The scent of Chinese takeout filled the air, and the sound of casual chatter and laughter bounced off the walls of Topper’s living room, the space was a little disorganised, with empty cans and wrappers scattered around. A large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall was showing the game, though no one was really paying attention to it, Topper and Kelce were passing a joint between the two of them, the smoky haze rising into the room. The four of them were sprawled across the room in a relaxed mess, Topper had claimed the armchair in the corner, feet up on the coffee table, while Kelce was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-finished bag of chips. Rafe was lounging on the couch, his legs stretched out, and Y/n was beside him, leaning against the armrest with a smile. The evening was winding down, the laughter and chatter flowing smoothly in the room. Everyone had gathered around on the floor now, a few beers in hand, as the familiar buzz settled in. The music played low in the background, mixing with the sound of ice clinking in glasses. Topper, who’d been leaning back lazily on the couch, now suddenly straightened up with a playful grin. 

"You know what we need? A game,"

Kelce perked up at the suggestion. "Truth or dare?" he said with a laugh, throwing a half-empty bottle of beer into the air and catching it. 

"Yeah, let’s do it,"  he said, a mischievous glint flickering in his expression. Rafe leaned forward, intrigued, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Are we really doing this?"

"You bet we are," Topper said, his smirk spreading wider. "It’s been too long and I know you’re all way too competitive to say no."

"I’m in, whatever. Let’s get this over with."

Boys will be boys I guess...

Y/n rolled her eyes dramatically, but a smile tugged at her lips. She turned her gaze to Kelce, giving him a look. 

"Alright, you’re first," Topper said, pointing to Kelce, "Truth or dare?"

Kelce looked around, clearly weighing his options. “Dare,” he said confidently, with a grin. Y/n’s eyes lit up with mischief, 

"Alright, Kels, I’ve got one for you," she said, the playful tone evident in her voice. "I dare you to take a shirtless mirror pic, then post it on your main with the caption 'Feeling cute, might delete later.'"

The group looked at each other before Topper broke out in a loud cackle, waiting to see if Kelce would actually go through with it. Kelce groaned and ran a hand over his hair. 

"That’s... that’s gotta be the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever dared me to do."

Rafe leaned forward, grinning, "Come on man, it’s just one post. You’ll live."

"Alright, fine" 

After a moment of hesitation, Kelce sighed dramatically. He pushed himself up off the floor, walking over to the mirror near his front door. Y/n leaned over on the floor slightly to see the boy through the doorway. He lifted his t-shirt and placed the cotton fabric between his teeth, hands on his phone as he took the picture. Y/n started giggling loudly and Topper couldn't help but lean over to where she was, curious of what she was seeing. The moment his eyes landed on Kelce’s reflection in the mirror, he laughed loudly, hand coming to rest on his stomach. Kelce groaned again as he walked back to them muttering under his breath, he held up the phone to them, showing how he pressed the ‘post now’ button. The room burst into laughter, and even Kelce couldn’t help but shake his head, 

"Happy now?"

“You’re so sexy Kels” Y/n teased as she winked at him.

"Best thing I’ve seen all year," Topper said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "You’ve been humbled."

This shit's gold

As the game of truth or dare continued, the mood was light, filled with laughter and playful teasing. Shots had been taken by everyone now, and the alcohol was starting to make everyone feel a bit bolder, their embarrassment slipping away with each round. Truths from 'worst hook up' to 'best hook up' were thrown around, and dares of prank calls all merged together as they wiped away tears from the corners of their eyes. The guys were watching intently as it moved onto Rafe's turn.

"Alright, Rafe, truth or dare?" Topper asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Dare" 

Topper nodded as he continued "Alright so-" he said, looking at the boy, but was suddenly cut off when Kelce slammed his beer bottle down onto the table and blurted out loudly. 

"We dare you to kiss Y/n."

What-

What-

The room went quiet for a moment. Even though everyone had been playing lightheartedly, the sudden tension was unmistakable. Y/n's eyes widened slightly, her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She could feel the weight of Rafe’s eyes on her, that familiar spark in his gaze making her stomach flutter. Kelce smirked, clearly enjoying himself far too much. 

“And if you forfeit,” he added, dragging out the words with a slow, teasing lilt,

“you have to call your dad and tell him you wrecked your Rover.”  

Seriously?

Topper watched the two guys who were not intensely staring at each other, eyebrows raising a little at the harshness of the punishment, yet he didn't say anything; he wasn't going to deny that he had been waiting for something like this and after all, he was a little tipsy so who was he to state his opinion. Rafe rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose as he leaned back slightly. 

“Seriously?” he muttered, shooting Kelce a look that was equal parts annoyed and unimpressed. Kelce just grinned, shrugging. 

“Rules are rules Cameron, you wanna be a bitch about it...?”  

Asshole

Rafe let out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, waiting, expecting, but the only gaze that mattered was hers. He glanced at Y/N, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes- something hesitant. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable, and that alone made Kelce’s little dare piss him off even more.  

This is a bad idea

Y/N swallowed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The tension between them, the unspoken things lingering in the space they carefully tiptoed around, had just been shoved into the spotlight. And now, there was no easy way out. Rafe took a slow breath, his gaze locked on hers. He could see it- the slight apprehension in her eyes, the way she held herself still, like she wasn’t sure what to expect. That tiny hesitation, almost imperceptible to anyone else, was enough to make his decision for him.

So at the last second, he shifted course.

Instead of capturing her lips, he leaned in just slightly to the side, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. His lips were warm against her skin, his breath fanning gently over her temple as he pulled back. The moment was fleeting, but it sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine all the same.

Oh

The guys immediately groaned in disappointment. 

"What was that, man?" 

Kelce scoffed, laughing as he looked at the brunette boy wide eyed. Y/n blinked, a little taken aback by how fast her heart was beating, her hand instinctively coming up to touch her cheek where his lips had been,  before pulling her hand away quickly, however from the corner of her eye she realised that Topper had seen the action. The warmth lingered on her skin, and she couldn’t help but push down a smile. Rafe pulled back, looking completely unfazed by the reactions. Without missing a beat, he shrugged. 

"What? You didn’t specify where."

The guys erupted into more groans and playful complaints, Topper calling him an "asshole" under his breath, but Y/n was still processing the moment. She looked at Rafe, her smile soft but teasing. 

"Guess that works" 

She said, her voice carrying a hint of laughter to cover the sudden rush of emotions she was trying to sort through. Rafe just smiled back, before leaning back against the sofa, speaking out eager to move on.

"Alright, next question" 

Even though the boys were devising their next challenge, Y/n was still feeling that lingering warmth from his kiss. As their voices became a distant blurr, the game continued, her mind wandered back to that moment, trying to focus on something- anything- else. Laughter drew her from her daydream, Topper shifting in his space on the floor as Y/n’s turn came. 

“Truth or dare Y/n” 

She hesitated for just a moment, the tense energy in the room swirling around her. Her eyes flicked from Rafe to the others, and then, with a small smile, she said, 

“Dare.”

Kelce let out a low whistle as the guys exchanged glances, clearly pleased by her choice. Topper leaned forward, his eyes eager. “So I think-” he started, but Kelce cut him off once more,

“I dare you to kiss Rafe- on the lips.”

Again are they being for real right now?

The moment the words left his mouth, her brows drew down into a small frown, the two boys sitting opposite them looking between Y/n and Rafe, their faces a mix of emotions. As the dare was thrown out, Rafe rolled his eyes again, leaning back into the bottom couch, 

"Are you guys being for real?" he muttered, his voice laced with disbelief. 

"What is this, high school?"

I'm friends with literal children

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up, the weight of the dare pressing on her. She glanced at Rafe, then at Topper and Kelce, who were giggling like schoolboys. The idea of kissing Rafe made her stomach swirl, and she wasn’t sure why it felt more intense than it should. The lingering thoughts of what had happened on halloween flashed through her mind, and she hated it. She didn’t want to back out, but her body was already tensing, fighting the unease. Topper and Kelce, already a little more drunk than them, having just downed another two shots of tequila, egged her on. 

"C'mon, Y/n," Kelce teased, "Don't be a pussy."

"We know you want to. . ." Topper added on, eyebrows raising up and down suggestively.

The girl hesitated, but before she could even think of what to do next, she found herself moving a little closer to Rafe, instinctively shifting toward him. Her heart rate quickened as her face was just a breath away from his. Her hand rested against his shoulder and she could almost feel the warmth of his skin from under the fabric, the tension building between them. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks as looked down to her, hand which was resting against the couch behind them curling into a fist slightly. And then, like a weight settling in the pit of her stomach, an unwelcome thought crept in- shadows of the past flickering at the edges of her mind. The memory of him, of what he did, tightened around her chest like a vice. It was sudden, uninvited, pulling her back and before she could stop herself, she froze.

I can't- 

Rafe noticed immediately. He saw the way her shoulders stiffened, the subtle shift in her eyes as if she was lost in thought. His gaze softened, a subtle shift in his expression as he realised her dissociated expression. He pulled his head back slightly, suddenly clearing his throat, his gaze flicking to his phone on the couch behind them as he picked it up. He muttered, his voice low and urgent. 

"My dad just messaged me. I need to head out."

I know lying is bad but-

Topper and Kelce groaned in unison, slumping back dramatically onto the couch, non the wiser of the made up excuse. "Ah, man, you’re no fun," Kelce whined, clearly disappointed, Topper’s hand came out patting him on the back as he rested his head on the couch behind them as well. Rafe stood up from where he was sitting, phone still tight in his grip, glancing back at the group, his hand still holding his phone. He looked at Y/n, catching her eye with a slight hesitation before speaking up.  He asked, his voice soft, but laced with that familiar edge of concern.  

"Do you need a lift home?"

Y/n felt her stomach twist. The attention suddenly on her made her cheeks heat, and she quickly averted her gaze, staring down at her hands instead. She didn’t trust her voice not to waver, so instead, she just gave a small nod, barely perceptible, before shifting slightly in her seat.  

Jesus, what is wrong with you?

Rafe watched her for a second longer, then gave a quick nod in return. He turned to the two guys on the couch, who were now passing a joint between them again, already leaning back in a flurry of laughter. With an easy grin, albeit slightly forced, he clapped each of them on the back. 

"Catch you later" 

Y/n, feeling a little awkward as she watched Rafe walk out of the room, she soon heard the front door shutting. She stood up and made her way toward the door, turning to Topper with a small smile. 

"Thanks for inviting us Top" she said, moving in for a brief hug as the boy wrapped his arms around her, giving her a grin that spoke volumes about his carefree nature.

"Yeah, yeah," Kelce laughed as he watched the two next to him, his voice a little slurred from the drinks.

"We know you guys are gonna make out in the car now, so whatever." 

Y/n rolled her eyes at him, giving him one last look before turning and heading out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe settled into the driver’s seat, exhaling slowly as he pulled out his phone. The dim glow of the screen illuminated his face, and as he glanced at his notifications and his jaw tensed slightly, the message from his dad was a lie to get him out of there but now, well it wasn't a lie at all.. 

Dad  :  What do you mean you don't know where you put those papers? 

Dad  :  I’ve got more important things to deal with than your screw-ups sort yourself out Rafe don't make me tell you again.

Rafe scoffed under his breath, his grip tightening around the phone. He should’ve expected nothing less. But just as he was about to lock the screen, his eyes caught the last line of the message.  

Dad  :  your mother’s anniversary is tomorrow

. . .

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw twitched. His fingers curled around the phone so tightly it was a wonder it didn’t crack under the pressure. Of course, he would throw that in at the end, like an afterthought. Like it wasn’t the one day that still made his chest ache, that still made the anger bubble up so easily, as though he hasn’t been dreading the day for weeks now. His knuckles whitened as he shoved the phone into the cup-holder, leaning back against the headrest with a sharp exhale. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to push down the frustration clawing at his chest.

But it was no use.  

Because now, all he could think about was tomorrow.

Y/n could see Rafe already in the car waiting for her, the night air felt cool against her skin, and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, her thoughts swirling. As she approached his car, guilt bubbled up inside her. She'd been terrified when Rafe leaned in, when their faces had been so close. The thought of kissing him had sent her into a spiral- she was ashamed of how she’d hesitated, how she'd pulled back. She hadn’t meant to, but her body had reacted before her mind could catch up. 

Rafe caught her eye as she approached, and she immediately dropped her gaze, feeling exposed. She couldn't bring herself to look at him fully. He must have sensed something in her as she climbed in, trying to focus on anything but the overwhelming guilt. Rafe started the car and shifted it into drive, the sound breaking the silence that had settled in the air. He didn’t push her to speak, though. He didn’t really want to speak anyways, not after those messages. He just let the hum of the engine fill the space.

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, staring out of the window, a quiet battle going on inside her. She knew she shouldn’t have frozen like that. 

Is he mad at me?

Does he think I’m scared of him?

She could feel Rafe’s presence beside her, he’d been so calm and understanding since everything had happened, but now he seemed uncomfortable. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes locked on the road ahead, but she could see the frustration there- felt it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the way his thumb tapped restlessly against the leather of the wheel. Rafe didn't say anything for a while, but he could feel Y/n glancing at him.

“What?” 

He suddenly snapped out, breaking the silence. Y/n blinked at his sudden outburst, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. 

What?  

“Oh- umm, sorry, it’s nothing,” 

She mumbled, shaking her head, retreating into herself. She could feel the tension rolling off him, thick and suffocating, and she didn’t want to make it worse. Rafe let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on the wheel.

C'mon she's not done anything wrong

His patience was thinner than usual, stretched by the weight of his father’s messages and the lingering frustration in his chest. He wasn’t mad at her- he wasn’t- but everything about tonight felt like a mess, and now she was looking at him like he was the one making it worse.  

“Yeah, well, doesn’t seem like nothing,” 

He muttered under his breath, his voice taut. Y/n frowned, shifting uncomfortably. She could feel it brewing- whatever storm was building inside him, whatever was making his shoulders tense and his words clipped.  

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me right now,” she finally said, her voice quiet,

“I’m sorry I didn’t want to kiss you- I just-”  

“Well I didn’t want to fucking kiss you either.”  

The words hit like a slap, ringing out louder than anything else in the car. Y/n’s brows raised slightly at his words, she just stared at him for a second, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded, barely perceptible, before turning her head back toward the window.  

Right

Why the fuck did you say that what’s wrong with you-

Rafe pulled the car to a stop outside her house, the engine cutting out with a low hum. The headlights illuminated the dark road in front of them, but the air inside the car felt heavier than the night outside. Y/n, quietly unbuckled her seatbelt and swung open the door before Rafe could say anything. He hadn’t expected her to just get out like that, but as she moved, he could feel the space between them widening and he suddenly blurted out.

“Y/n, please—”

I can't do this again-

She turned to face him, her eyes soft yet guarded. She was already halfway out the door ready to shut it, her fingers gripping the frame. She wasn’t sure what to say to him either, but the frustration and confusion had built up too much inside her.

“I didn’t kiss you, Rafe,” she started, her voice wavering just slightly, “because- because when you got close to me it-... it’s just hard for me.”

She sighed, hand coming up to scratch her cheek slightly, feeling slightly uneasy under his heavy gaze. She didn’t know how to explain it, how to put into words the way it felt when someone was too close- when all she could think about was the way she couldn’t escape. Her body would freeze, memories she didn’t want resurfacing. It didn’t happen all the time but when it did it felt like someone throwing a bucket of ice water over her.

“I know it’s stupid,” she added quickly, shaking her head, “but sometimes... I just freeze when people get too close because- because of what happened. It’s not about you, it’s just... I can’t help it.”

Her voice cracked slightly, and she wiped her face with the back of her hand, trying to push away the lingering tension.

“So, yeah...”

Rafe watched her as she stood there, her hand still resting on the car door. His mind raced, words tumbling around in his head, but he needed to say something. He couldn’t leave things like this.

You're such a dick, you're such a asshole I can't believe you said that to-

“I— I know you freeze up,” he started, his voice softer now, more hesitant.

Oh?

“I realised it and that’s why I pulled away. I… didn’t want to make you feel worse.”

She looked at him then, her gaze locking onto his eyes. His words hung in the air, and for a moment, then Rafe continued, shaking his head slightly, his tone apologetic.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” his fingers picked at the skin on his thumb as he spoke,

“It was rude, and I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

 “It’s okay” 

No it's not

Y/n looked down at the ground for a moment, shaking her head as if to brush off his words. Rafe nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. There was an awkward silence between them, the weight of their conversation lingering in the space. He cleared his throat, trying to fill the silence, but the tension still felt thick. She finally sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she started to take a step back from the car door.

“I’m gonna go in now…” 

She said quietly, her words soft but final. Rafe nodded, his hands tightening around the steering wheel as he sat back in his seat. He replied, but the word felt heavy on his tongue, as if he didn’t quite know how to let go.

“Right”

“Have a good night, Rafe,” she said, offering him a smile.

“Yeah, you-” he started, his voice being cut off as the door clicked shut, “-too.”

It felt weird, being so distant after being so close for the past few weeks. Rafe watched as the girl walked up to her front door, opening it, glancing back at his car one last time before pushing it closed behind her. As he stared at the lights switching on in the window on the second floor, only one thing floated around in his mind.

Kelce, fuck you man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was thick with heavy, grey clouds rolling in slowly, swallowing the last traces of blue. The air felt dense and humid, like the entire town was holding its breath, waiting for the downpour of storm Audra which had been looming for the past few days. A breeze rustled through the café’s outdoor seating area, yet the air was sticky, carrying the faint scent of rain on the horizon.  

Y/n sat at a small table with Kelce and his girlfriend, the condensation from her iced coffee dripping onto the napkin beneath it. The usual buzz of the town carried on around them- clinking silverware, low conversations. Y/n had gone into town to collect something her mom had ordered when Kelce suggested she meet with him and Phoebe, now he’d stepped inside to grab the girl a blueberry muffin, leaving Y/n alone with his girlfriend. She liked Phoebe, she wasn’t like most of the other snobby Kook girls. The girl sitting opposite her studied her for a moment before leaning in slightly, a knowing look crossing her face. 

“So… Kelce told me what happened yesterday” she began, her voice light but curious.

“What’s up with you and Rafe?”  

Big mouth

Y/n nearly choked on her iced coffee, shifting in her seat, she said quickly, placing teh glass back down onto its plate. Phoebe raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. 

“Nothing”

“Oh? I just thought—”  

“Well, you thought wrong.” 

Wow, that was bitchy

Y/n cut in, sharper than she meant to. A brief silence fell between them before she sighed, shaking her head slightly she raised her hand rubbing her forehead. 

“Sorry. That was rude.”  

“It’s okay don’t worry” the blonde girl reassured her, mixing her iced matcha, waving a hand dismissively after. “I get it, you don’t wanna talk about it.” But then, after a pause, she tilted her head slightly, her voice turning softer. 

“You know, a lot of girls would kill for a guy to look at them the way Rafe looks at you.”  

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Y/n let out a short, almost nervous laugh, shaking her head.

“So… what are you waiting for?”  

I... I don't know

Kelce’s girlfriend smirked. Y/n hesitated, swirling her straw around in her drink before she admitted, eyes down on the caramel coloured liquid in the glass.

“I’m just… scared” 

“Why?” Phoebe asked, genuinely curious. “You don’t think he’d reject you, do you? I mean, he’d have to be an total idiot.”  

Y/n let out a small breath, smile pulling at the corner of her lips, glancing down at the table once more, hand coming out to fidget with the white napkin in front of her. “It’s a little more complicated than that,” she muttered. 

“We’ve kind of already… almost… like-”  

“—OH MY GOD”

Jesus-

Kelce’s girlfriend gasped loudly, eyes widening as she slapped her hands over her mouth in shock, leaning forward excitedly whispering out. 

“SHUT UP! Almost? Like what—?”  

Y/n’s own eye’s widened in surprise at the girl's sudden reaction but before could say anything else, she caught sight of Kelce returning, his hand balancing a white plate with a muffin perched on top. Panicked, she kicked Phoebe under the table, making the girl wince but go silent. Kelce narrowed his eyes at them as he set the plate down in front of the blonde. He asked suspiciously, looking between the two girls.  

“What’s going on?” 

His girlfriend barely hesitated before shrugging innocently. “Oh, you know, girl problems.”  

“Riiight” 

Thank fuck for that

He drawled, sipping his drink as he studied them, Kelce gave them both a look, clearly not buying it, but eventually, he let it go. Y/n just shook her head, exhaling softly as she reached for her coffee again, pretending to be invested in anything other than the amused smile on Kelce’s girlfriend’s face. Kelce leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head as he lazily glanced around. 

“So, is Rafe coming as well?”  

At that, Phoebe, mid-bite into her muffin, suddenly choked, sputtering out a laugh as she tried to swallow. Kelce reacted immediately, patting her back with a mix of amusement and concern, brows drawn down a little at her weird behaviour. 

“Babe, chill. What is going on with you today?” He paused, then continued, “are you on your period or something?”  

She shot him a glare before slapping his arm, making him wince. “Ouch!” He rubbed the spot dramatically, pouting. 

“Alright, alright—sorry, sorry.”  

Y/n shook her head at their antics, a small smile playing on her lips before she reached for her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen as she checked her notifications. Nothing. Not a single text from Rafe all morning, and it was already creeping into the afternoon. Her stomach twisted slightly, but she ignored it, slipping her phone back onto the table.  

Is he still mad at me for yesterday?

“Yeah, um… I don’t think he’s coming. Sorry, Kels.”  

Kelce shrugged, waving it off. Y/n exhaled softly, absentmindedly stirring the ice in her coffee with the straw. The quiet chatter around them was interrupted by a sudden, high-pitched squeal from a table nearby. She glanced over at the sound, her gaze landing on a little boy sitting on his mother’s lap. His hair a little tousled, and he beamed happily as he held a cookie in both hands. His mother, blonde, had her arms wrapped around him, pressing a playful kiss to his cheek as he giggled against her shoulder. Y/n’s breath hitched slightly as something clicked.

Her stomach dropped.  

It’s June’s anniversary…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wind howled against the windows, rattling them in their frames as the storm outside picked up. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed, debating whether she should shower now or wait until the storm passed. She hated storms in the OBX- how unpredictable they were, how they made the whole house feel just a little too empty when she was alone. Her parents were out of town on a business trip, again, meaning she was completely by herself. Normally she didn’t mind, but nights like these- when the sky was dark and heavy, and the rain came down in thick sheets- it made the house feel too big, too quiet.  

With a sigh, she flopped onto her bed instead, stretching out on her stomach, her phone in her hand. The screen lit up as she swiped to her messages, her fingers hesitating before tapping on Rafe’s contact. She stared at the empty message bar for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. The rain was coming down heavier now, pounding against the roof in a steady rhythm that only made the anxious energy in her chest worse.  

She started typing.  

Hey, are you okay? 

No

She deleted it immediately and she tried again.  

I know you probably don’t want to talk  

Another immediate delete.  

With a frustrated groan, she threw her phone onto the bed and buried her face into her pillow. After a moment of her head laying against the soft silk material, she pushed herself up, shaking off the feeling.

Shower?

That would clear her head. She grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom, trying to ignore the way the thunder rumbled in the distance. Y/n stood in the bathroom, the soft hum of the vent mixing with the distant rumble of thunder outside. Steam curled through the air, fogging up the mirror as the hot water poured from the showerhead. She gripped the edge of the sink, staring down at the swirling patterns of condensation on the counter, her mind torn.  

Maybe I should just call him

Just to check

Just to make he’s okay 

Her fingers twitched at her side, turning back to look at the phone she’d left on her bed. She exhaled sharply, shaking her head at herself. Overthinking wasn’t going to get her anywhere anyways. With that, she turned away, shutting the bathroom door behind her before stepping into the shower, letting the warm water wash over her, drowning out her thoughts.

A sharp knock at the door made Y/n freeze, her heart lurching into her throat.

Then came the doorbell, ringing through the house, making her pulse quicken.

She had just stepped out of the shower, her hair damp, a towel wrapped tightly around her, water droplets still lingering on her skin. The storm still raged outside, wind howling against the windows, rain lashing at the glass. Who the hell would be coming to see her at 22:38 in the middle of a storm?

A flicker of unease crept up her spine.

Slipping her feet into her Ugg slippers, she hesitated for only a second before heading to the spare cupboard, her fingers closing around the handle of her brother’s old baseball bat. If this was some psycho showing up at her door in the middle of a storm, she wasn’t about to answer unarmed. Another knock- this time a little more urgent, Y/n swallowed, gripping the bat tightly as she crept to the door. She pressed her eye against the peephole, her body coiled with tension.

And then- just like that- all the tension drained from her body.

Her grip on the bat loosened, her shoulders lowering as she exhaled, leaning the bat against the wall beside her. But as relief settled, her brows furrowed.

What the hell?

Y/n swung the door open, and there he was.  

Rafe stood in the rain, completely soaked through, his clothes clinging to him, droplets running down his face. He didn’t have a jacket, not even a hoodie to shield himself from the storm. The sight of him made her stomach twist.  

“Rafe?”

Her voice was full of concern. “What are you doing here?”  

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes a little lost, a little distant- until they slowly dragged over her. That’s when she realised,  

The towel-

Heat rushed to her face as she quickly stepped aside, opening the door wider as her hand gripped onto the towel wrapped around her. She prayed to whatever higher power that it didn’t suddenly fall off her. 

“Come in,” she said, voice softer, “you’re gonna catch a cold.”  

He didn’t say anything- just stepped inside, water dripping onto the floor as he did. He was still looking at her, and the weight of his gaze made her self-conscious as she fidgeted on the spot before she suddenly blurted out, arms crossing over herself protectively. 

“Right well, uh—I need to get changed. Come on, let me get you a towel first.”  

Rafe just nodded, his silence making her uneasy. She led him to her bedroom, the warmth of her house a stark contrast to the storm outside. As she grabbed a fresh towel from her drawer and glanced at him. He was standing in the middle of her room, water pooling slightly at his sock clad feet, his jaw tight. She handed him the towel, then quickly grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom to change. Her mind was racing.  

What is he doing here?  

By the time she came back, dressed in a comfy oversized T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, Rafe was sitting on the edge of her bed, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. He still looked tense, his movements slow, almost absent-minded. Y/n hesitated for a second before walking closer, arms crossing as she studied him with worry. 

“Are you okay?”  

Rafe just nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. She sat down next to him slowly, close but not too close. The only sound was the rain hammering against the windows, the occasional crack of thunder in the distance. He was staring down at the towel in his hands, gripping it tightly.  

And then- his shoulders started to shake.

Fuck-

Y/n felt her chest tighten when she saw he was crying. His shoulders trembled, his grip tightening on the towel in his hands before one of them came up to cover his face. He let out a shaky breath, mumbling, over and over again, like he couldn’t stop himself. 

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” 

“Rafe…” 

She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Without thinking, she moved, standing in front of him and reaching out, her hand brushing over his back in slow, gentle strokes. He tensed at first, sucking in a sharp breath, but then something in him gave way. Before she could say anything else, he reached for her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her in close. He buried his face into her stomach, his body shaking against hers, and she felt the damp heat of his tears seeping through her t-shirt. Her heart ached at the way he clung to her.  

“… it’s okay, Rafey…” 

She murmured, her fingers threading through his wet hair, brushing over his scalp in soft, soothing motions. He gripped the fabric of her t-shirt in his fists, holding onto her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. His breathing was ragged, uneven, and she could feel his heartbeat racing against her. Y/n didn’t say anything else.

She just held him and let him cry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The storm still raged outside, but inside, everything was quiet. The only sound was their breathing, slow and steady, the occasional rumble of thunder rolling in the distance. They lay in her bed now, the weight of earlier still lingering but no longer suffocating. Rafe’s head rested on her shoulder, his body warm beside hers, his arm draped loosely over her waist. He had stopped crying a while ago, but his grip on her hadn’t loosened much- almost as if he needed to feel she was still there. Y/n let her fingers trail absentmindedly over his arm, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above them. 

“Do you remember that one time we all went to the fair?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“And your mom spent almost fifty dollars trying to win you that stupid stuffed shark.”  

You remember..?

Rafe let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against her shoulder, “She was convinced I needed it.”  

“You did,” Y/n teased. “You were so upset when you couldn’t get it yourself.”  

“I was not upset.”  

“Rafey, you were like- on the verge of tears and I’m pretty sure you were pouting.”  

He huffed, but there was amusement in his eyes as he shifted slightly, getting more comfortable. He liked this- talking about his mum, remembering the good things.

And he liked that Y/n wanted to remember with him, no one else did.

Wheezie and Sarah never understood, maybe they were too young when she passed, and his dad- he certainly never spoke of her. Her name never passed his lips. A beat of silence passed before he exhaled, his voice quieter now. 

“I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day… I just—”  

“You don’t have to apologise,” Y/n cut in gently.

“I get it, I know what it’s like, Rafe. It’s okay.”  

He shifted his head then, resting it against the pillow next to her’s, as he looked at the girl. His blue eyes softened, taking in every detail- the way her lips were slightly parted, the curve of her nose, the dip of her cupids bow, the way her hair framed her face, the way she was content to simply just lay here with him.  

She’s so beautiful

He listened as she kept talking about his mom, about small things others would have seen as irrelevant- her laugh, the way she would hum while she cooked, the way she used to fuss over her like Y/n was her own child. He nodded along, holding onto every word that left her lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe must’ve been around ten, all scraped knees and sun-kissed hair, sitting at the kitchen island while his mom chopped strawberries humming softly to herself. The scent of fresh fruit filled the air, mingling with whatever candle she had burning on the windowsill. He started, dragging out the word as he propped his chin on his palm.

“Mooooooom”

“What is it baby?”

June hummed, not looking up from her cutting board. He hesitated as he picked at the crumbs on the counter, still trying to work out his thoughts. 

“How do you know when you like a girl?”

That made her pause. She turned to him then, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh?” she teased, leaning against the counter. 

“And who’s got my boy all flustered, hmm?”

Rafe groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Mom.”

She laughed, that warm, soft sound which felt like a hug. “Alright, alright,” she said, ruffling his hair before perching on the stool next to him, looking to her son.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He glanced at the floor, fighting a blush and his hands played with the string on his hoodie. “I dunno. She’s just... cool. And Funny. And she doesn’t get mad when I mess up her stuff—” He trailed off, feeling self-conscious. 

“Sometimes... when she smiles at me, my stomach does this weird thing?”

“That sounds like a little crush to me, sweetheart.”

June’s smile softened. She reached out, brushing his hair back gently, the way she always did when he got worked up over something. Rafe squinted up at her. 

“But what if she doesn’t like me back?”

The blonde woman tilted her head, thoughtful. “Well, that’s the tricky part about feelings, baby. You never really know unless you ask.” She booped his nose, making him scrunch it up. 

“But if she makes you feel all warm inside, like you swallowed the sun, then I’d say that’s a pretty special feeling to have.”

Rafe thought about that, rolling the words around in his mind. Swallowed the sun. Yeah. That’s exactly what it felt like. He frowned, still a little unsure, but his mum's words were like a balm to his nerves. She leaned closer, a sly grin creeping up her face as she spoke in a hushes whisper.

 “So, do I know this special girl?”

“No! No, you don’t,”

He replied quickly, a little too quickly his heart stuttered. Rafe shifted uncomfortably, his face burning, and he quickly shook his head. June raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reaction. 

“Hmm, alright then.”

But Rafe could see the twinkle in her eye. She knew. And he wasn’t ready to admit it just yet—not even to his mum. So he kept his secret, tucked away deep where no one could find it. Not even her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lying beside Y/n now, listening to her talk about his mom, Rafe swallowed past the lump in his throat. He turned his head away from her slightly, looking at the ceiling illuminated by the dim light.

Still feels like swallowing the sun.

Y/n sat up slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she watched him. The tension in the room had melted, but there was still a softness between them that hadn't been there before. She stretched a little and pulled her oversized t-shirt up her shoulder as it had slipped off.

“How about I make you a raspberry tea… ?” 

Rafe nodded slowly, a hint of a smile on his lips. She stood up, slipping her slippers on, and moved toward the door of her bedroom. 

"Okay, I'll bring it upstairs in a minute—"

"-Y/n, wait."

Huh, I thought he enjoyed the raspberry tea last time-

She froze, turning back towards him. Rafe was standing, walking toward her now, pushing his lightly damp hair out of his face. His eyes were fixed on her, and she caught the way his gaze softened as he took in the natural beauty of her face, unmade up and fresh from the shower. There was something raw in the way he looked at her that made her heart race a little. The boy stopped right in front of her, still unsure, his voice barely a whisper. 

"I just... I-"

She raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering across her face, "Is it the tea? Do you not want raspberry? I’ve got other kind of tea, you know. I think maybe you'd like-"

"-No!"

Jesus take it down a notch-

He quickly shook his head, a little too forcefully, "I mean, no, it’s not the tea."

Rafe shook his head, his hands slightly trembling. His eyes locked on her, and his voice caught in his throat before he finally spoke, 

"When my mom, well, before my mom died, I— I know I was still really young, but she told me that I could be impulsive sometimes, I mean she wasn’t wrong. Anyways um- she said that, uh... I needed to find someone who could... ground me when I'm... when I'm not; whatever, that's not the point."

What is going on. . .?

He paused for a moment, as if trying to steady himself, hand coming up again to push his hair out of his face before continuing, the words almost tumbling out. 

"And when she passed, we did the reading of the will she... she left us all letters, and I-"

His voice cracked slightly, and he took a shaky breath. Y/n’s heart clenched seeing how emotional he was getting, she could tell his hands were trembling slightly by his sides and it gave away his nervousness.

"Rafe, it's okay," she whispered softly, stepping closer to him, her hand hovering as though she wanted to reach out but didn’t want to crowd him. 

"Breathe."

I am, I am-

"No, I need- I just need to tell you this." 

His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezing shut in frustration, as if fighting to push back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. 

"I need to get this out, Y/n."

"I'm not going anywhere, it’s okay take your time."

She nodded gently, her expression softening as she looked up to the boy. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his eyes as though to clear away the tension, and when he opened them again, he started more slowly, his voice steadier but still raw. 

"She left Wheezie this book," he said quietly, "and she left Sarah a... I mean, this doesn’t really matter, it-" He cut himself off, his breath hitching again. 

"She left me something too."

Rafe's hand trembled as it went to his pocket, and he pulled out a small, delicate silver ring. The diamond in the centre gleamed even in the dim light of the room, its edges catching the light in a way that made Y/n’s heart race. Her eyes widened, and she felt a lump form in her throat as she stared at it.

What is... what is going on-

Rafe held it up between them, the weight of the moment settling between them like a tangible presence. Y/n’s heart began to thud in her chest, and her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure what to say- her emotions were tangled, swirling around in confusion. Rafe’s eyes now flickered between the ring in his hand and her face, his fingers absently toying with the silver band, as though trying to figure out what to say next. His voice was thick with emotion when he spoke again, the words tumbling out in a rush, raw and vulnerable. 

“She wrote in my letter that when the time is right, I’d know who to give it to,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the ring once more. His fingers tightened around it, as though it were both a comfort and a burden. 

"And I... I’ve been such an ass to you."

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as she whispered his name, her voice barely audible as she shook her head to him, the weight of what he was saying starting to come down onto her. 

Please don't-

“No, no, no—” he rushed out, shaking his head vigorously. “I’ve been a dick. I pushed you away, and I—" He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching in frustration. 

"If I’d never pushed you away that day at the hut... you... you wouldn’t have gone through any of this. None of this would’ve happened. You would’ve been with me on Halloween. It would’ve been us, in a matching costume.”

He stopped, his words hanging in the air as he looked up at her. His heart nearly stopped when he saw her eyes- wet with silent tears, the faint shimmer of them threatening to break him. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the dryness almost unbearable.

“When I was younger...” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he stared down at the ring again, his hands now trembling, “I didn’t know what my mum meant in that letter. I read it over and over, trying to understand, but I just... I didn’t get it.” He paused, biting down on the inside of his cheek, his voice quieter now. 

“But now… now I know what she meant.”

I'm gonna be sick

His eyes finally met hers again, her face streaked with tears. Without thinking, his hand reached out toward her, his fingers brushing against her cheek gently, the touch almost tentative. "I-" he said, the words tumbling out with a weight that seemed to shift the world around them. 

"I love you Y/n… more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I even thought I could love someone." 

She stiffened as the boy’s words passed his lips. His voice faltered, then hardened, as if the vulnerability of what he was saying left him raw, bare; there was no going back now.

Oh my god-

 “And it’s terrifying. Because you’re fuckin’- you’re my best friend, and I’m so scared of fucking this up, but I can’t not say it anymore.”

His chest heaved as he took a shaky breath, the pressure of the moment threatening to break him. Y/n’s legs felt weak, she felt like they were about to give out at any moment now.

 “I think she knew... before I did. She knew who I’d be giving this ring to. And I—" He stopped, his voice cracking again, and he took another breath, his eyes shining with emotion. 

"I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time pretending I didn’t feel this way. I wish I’d realized it earlier. Because Y/n all I want is you. I love you. It’s always been you.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, both of their hearts pounding in their chests as the weight of his confession settled between them. The confession that had been festering for weeks, for months- year’s even. Tears streamed down face, her breath coming in shaky gasps as she looked at the ring held between his fingers. Her whole body was trembling, overwhelmed with emotion, and she couldn’t even begin to process what was happening. 

She’d been waiting for this moment, her whole life, it seemed, and now that it was here, she didn’t know what to say. 

Please say something-

The words felt stuck in her chest, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of it all. Rafe, watching her with intense eyes, gently lifted her hand, his fingers brushing against hers. With a careful movement, he slid the silver band onto her finger. The diamond caught the light as it settled, and she couldn’t help but let out a sob, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth. It fit perfectly, like it had always been meant to be there, and the weight of everything she’d been holding in finally broke free.

"I—" She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat, and she cried harder, unable to contain the emotions flooding through her. 

"I love you, Rafe, I—"

I love you too angel

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped her face, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"I’ve loved you since we were kids,"

She whispered through the sobs making her body tremble, her voice trembling. His forehead pressed against hers, the closeness of their bodies grounding her in the moment.

"Since you came up to me when I was under the tree in my princess dress..." 

She let out a small, happy, yet bittersweet sob at the memory, her hand shakily reaching up to touch the ring with her other hand, needing to feel it under her own fingers to ensure it wasn’t just an illusion her mind had conjured. Rafe just stared at her with so much love in his eyes, his expression so tender it nearly made her rumble. His gaze dropped to her lips for a moment, his breath quickening as he fought to keep himself together. She lifted her hand to wipe away more tears, her fingers brushing over her cheek, and then brought it to his. Her thumb traced along the curve of his jaw as she gazed at him with a deep, soul-baring look in her eyes.

"I love you, I—" She choked on her words, overwhelmed by the truth she was finally allowing herself to say.

 "God, I don’t even know how to... It’s always been you. In every life I could’ve lived, it’s been you. I don’t- I don’t ever want anyone else."

The room felt impossibly small around them, the air thick with the weight of everything unspoken finally being said. Rafe leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers as they were inches apart now. She could feel his warmth on her skin, the heat of his lips just within reach, but neither of them moved. She whispered, barley audible,

"You have my heart… you... you have my soul Rafe."

She could feel his heart racing against hers, their chests so close together, the two of them connected in a way that was deeper than words could express. Y/N’s chest tightened as she searched his face, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his cheek, a silent plea in her eyes. She had waited for this for years, waiting for him to see her the way she’d always seen him. All those years of unspoken feelings, of longing, of keeping their distance… and now, standing here, so close, she couldn’t believe this moment was real. Rafe finally closed the gap, his breath a warm whisper against her lips.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against hers ever so gently at first, testing the waters like he couldn’t believe it either.

It was soft. 

So soft, as if they were both afraid to ruin it. 

But it wasn’t tentative- it was the culmination of everything they’d both held inside for ages. Their lips moved together, almost shy at first, as if the kiss itself was a question.

Then, slowly, he deepened it, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck, his fingers sliding to the nape of her neck. She melted into him, pressing closer, and it was as if every cell in her body recognised his touch, finally in the way it had always been meant to be.

The kiss grew more urgent, a desperate need filling the space between them, an understanding that this was the moment they’d both been waiting for. She parted her lips, and he followed her, his tongue meeting hers with a passion that sent a spark shooting through her spine. He tasted like warmth, like everything she had ever wanted, and she couldn’t hold back anymore. She kissed him with everything she had, hands wrapping around his shoulders pulling him closer, every moment of longing, every stolen glance, every bit of the love she had kept locked inside was now let go of.

Rafe's hands moved to her waist, pulling the girl into him, his body pressed against hers in a way that made her breath catch. There was nothing else- just him- just the fire between them that had been simmering for so long.

Y/N tangled her fingers in his hair now, tugging him closer eagerly, and he responded in kind, his kiss growing more desperate, more consuming, teeth clashing as if they couldn’t get enough. Their lips colliding with a fierce urgency that only years of unspoken yearning could fuel. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them mounting, hands roaming in frantic discovery. Rafe’s grip tightened on her waist, pulling her even closer, and Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, other slipping over his t-shirt, fisting it in her hand, tugging him deeper into the kiss. Every second felt like it was tearing down the walls they’d built up over the years. He moved with a kind of fluidity, and as they stumbled toward the bed, his hands slid beneath the back of her T-shirt, sending a shiver across her skin as his fingers traced the soft, exposed curve of her back

But then, suddenly, it was too much.

Too much heat. Too much closeness.

Y/N’s chest tightened, the weight of his touch becoming suffocating in the most visceral way; her pulse pounded in her ears, and something inside her snapped. Panic flooded her, the sudden intensity of the moment triggering a flood of memories she wasn't prepared for.

Stop stop stop-

Rough hand's over her body which she had tried to forget. She pulled back violently, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. Her eyes were wide, glassy with shock, and she shoved him back, her hands pushing hard against his chest.

"Wait-"

She gasped, the word barely making it past her lips. She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling the rapid, erratic thudding of her heart, as though it might burst out of her chest at any second. Rafe’s eyes went wide with concern, his mouth still half-open in shock at the sudden shift.

“Hey, hey what— what’s wrong?”

He asked, but his voice felt miles away, muffled by the rush of panic that swarmed her mind.

She was trembling, her whole body on edge as she stumbled back, her calves hit the end of her bed causing her to sit back onto the bed; her eyes unfocused as she tried to breathe. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t push the heavy weight from her chest. Her fingers clawed at her skin as if trying to tear away the suffocating feeling that enveloped her. The room was closing in, the air too thick, too hot. The panic built like a tidal wave, each breath more shallow than the last, until it felt like she might drown in it. She shook her head, frantic, eyes darting to the side.

"I—I can’t breathe"

She gasped, her voice coming out choked, feeling dizzy. Her hand trembled as she reached for her chest, pressing it over her heart in an attempt to steady herself, but it only made things worse. It felt like her chest was being crushed, like the walls were closing in, suffocating her. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, drowning out everything else, and her breath came faster, more desperate. She was drowning in her own fear. Her fingers curled into a fist against her chest, and she bit her lip to try to hold back the sobs threatening to break free. Rafe reached for her gently, his voice filled with concern.

“Y/N… hey, look at me. You’re safe. You’re safe, just breathe angel-”

But it didn’t matter.

It felt like everything was spinning out of control. The room was spinning, the walls pressing in on her, and all she could feel was the tight, suffocating panic taking over, she shook her head erratically.

“No, I— I can’t. Please, I can’t…”

Her voice trembled as she finally looked at him, her eyes wide and frantic, tears streaming down her face as she tried to speak, but no words came out. She couldn’t explain it, couldn’t make sense of it herself. It was like a flood of memories had come crashing back in, and she couldn’t hold onto reality.

The feeling of his hands, so warm on her body, had triggered something she wasn’t ready for-something from the past, something that she couldn't control. Rafe’s heart ached at the sight of her so broken, his hands hovering around her as if afraid to touch her the wrong way. “Y/N,” he whispered again, his voice low, trembling with emotion. He crouched down in front of her, his hands came out to rest on her knees but he stopped himself, instead coming out to rest on the mattress next to her.

“You’re okay. I’m right here. Just breathe with me, okay? You’re safe.”

She shook her head again, a sob catching in her throat, her chest constricted painfully, the air growing even more elusive. Rafe hesitated but pushed the doubt aside as his skin touched against hers, hands were gentle but insistent, resting softly on her arms, guiding her attention back to him as he rubbed slowly circles on her arm with her thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice steady but filled with love and fear, “breathe with me. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

She could barely focus on him, but slowly his voice cut through the chaos in her mind. She stared at him, her chest still heaving, tears streaming down her face. He kept his hands steady on her, grounding her, as he gently coaxed her to focus on him. In between hyperventilating breaths, she whispered,

“I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

And as she said it, another sob broke free, wracking her body as she trembled, shaking from head to toe.

Rafe didn’t move away, he simply leaned in, wrapping his arms around her gently, pulling her close but not too tight, and her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.

I've got you

His hands slid up to her waist, his grip firm but patient, and before she could process it, he was shifting. With effortless strength, he pushed himself up from his crouch, lifting her just enough to move. Then, he sat back onto the edge of the bed, bringing her with him. Her breath hitched as her legs instinctively parted, knees settling on either side of his thighs as she straddled him. Her fingers fisted into the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the room. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her uneven breaths hot against his skin as she fought to steady herself.

Rafe exhaled slowly, his arms wrapping around her, one hand pressing against the small of her back, the other slipping over her hair. She let out a shuddering breath, her body still trembling against his. His grip tightened just a fraction, his lips grazing her temple in the softest reassurance.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here with you, okay? You’re okay.”

She nodded, still trembling, but slowly, the pressure on her chest began to lift as she focused on his voice, his warmth. It didn’t go away all at once, but the panic started to ebb, little by little, until she could breathe steadily again. Her body shook with the aftershocks of the storm, but she was slowly finding her way back to herself.

Rafe stayed holding her, whispering softly to her, his hands stroking her back calmingly. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, his warmth wrapping around her like a protective cocoon. She felt the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear and allowed herself to truly lean into it, absorbing the comfort of his presence.

“I don’t know why it… why that happened,” she whispered after a long silence, her voice a fragile, hesitant tremor.

“I just—I'm sorry.”

Rafe’s grip tightened, pulling her closer as if he could erase the memory, his thumb traced shapes on her back, slow and soothing.

“There’s nothing to apologise for,”

He said, his voice firm but gentle. She pulled back from the crook of his neck, head still resting on his shoulder angled just enough to meet his gaze. Her heart skipped at the tenderness she found there- no judgment, simply understanding. She reached up, her fingers trembling as they ran over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath her fingertips.

“Thank you,” she murmured, the words heavy with meaning, “...for being patient with me.”

Rafe’s gaze softened, and he leaned into her touch, his own hand coming up to run over her forearm, palm pressed against her skin. He spoke eyes never leaving hers.

“You don't have to thank me for that,” his voice low and steady as he moved forward slightly, nose brushing against the skin of her cheek as she sat up slightly. “I’ll always be patient with you.”

In that moment, the air around them seemed to shift. She looked at Rafe, as he searched her eye's for unspoken words. His thumb moved over her cheek, wiping away a single tear that had slipped down, and his smile was everything she needed to see as he murmured, his voice brimming with nothing but pure affection.

“I love you angel. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

"You will. . .?"

"S'just you and me."

She knew it was true. They didn’t need to rush anymore, there was no more pressure, no ticking clock telling them what to do.

You're my Angel baby

You're my Angel baby

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89 @bellaed1t @user381953 @lovemanheim @loves0phelia @yourcrackleflame @kundaquarius @matthewswifeyy @pillowprincess4him @lilithblackkk @sunny1616 @slut-4-gojo @louxmcl @stelleduarte @p0gue420 @maybanksgirl69 @godharryz @sinnerrsworld @rafe-cameronswife @chillgal135 @moneybaby07 @mrsdrewstarkeyy

[cybermcdel]

— 𝔖𝗨𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗠𝗢𝗗𝗘𝗟, rafe cameron . . . ⋆ ࿔｡  

⌗ pairing: ❪ rafe cameron x plus size!fem reader ❬

⌗ summary: ❪ dinner with rafe’s friends don’t go the way you expected… ❫

⌗ tags: ❪ angst, fighting with rafe, cursing etc! ❫

⌗ a/n: ❪ i just want come on here and say, your beautiful and so is your body. so go eat that snack that you’ve been craving. ❫

— ( 💿 ) 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 —

❝I don't see myself

Why I can't stay alone just by myself?

Wish I was comfortable just with myself.❞

Rafe had invited you out with his friends for dinner, insisting it would be fun. You weren’t exactly thrilled about it—his friends could be a lot, and not always in a good way—but Rafe wanted you there, and if he wanted something, you usually gave in.

The restaurant was one of those upscale casual spots—nice enough that you wouldn’t show up in sweats, but not so fancy that you needed a reservation. You felt good in your outfit, your confidence high as you walked in beside Rafe, your hand tucked securely in his.

At first, things were fine. A few laughs, some inside jokes you didn’t entirely get but played along with for Rafe’s sake. But then, the teasing started.

It was subtle at first. Little comments. Snide smirks. Looks.

You were sipping your drink when Topper leaned back in his chair, nodding toward your half-empty plate. “Damn, you’re really going in on that pasta, huh?”

The comment was laced with something sharp. You stiffened, glancing at Rafe, but he was too busy scrolling through his phone to catch it.

Kelce chuckled, adding, “Yeah, we just got the food, and you’re already halfway done. You weren’t, like, starving all day or something, were you?”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “I just eat at a normal pace, unlike you guys who act like you’re allergic to chewing.”

“True,” Sarah chimed in, sending you a supportive smile, but it wasn’t enough to stop the way Topper and Kelce exchanged glances like they were amused by you.

“Relax, we’re just joking,” Topper said, though his smirk told a different story. “You’re just a little more into your food than the rest of us. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

You clenched your jaw. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what he was saying.

Rafe finally looked up then, his gaze flicking between you and his friends. He didn’t say anything—maybe he didn’t even realize what was happening—but his arm moved to rest along the back of your chair, his fingers brushing your shoulder like he could feel the shift in your mood.

Then, it got worse.

When the waiter came back to check on your table, you ordered dessert—a slice of cheesecake, because you wanted it. But the moment the waiter walked away, Kelce let out a low whistle.

“Man, you’re still going? Gotta respect the commitment.”

“She’s bulking,” Topper snickered, nudging Rafe’s arm. “Right, Cameron?”

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t even what they were saying—it was the tone, the way they were looking at you, like you were some joke they were all in on.

And Rafe? He laughed.

It was a small chuckle, almost absentminded, but it was enough.

Something in you cracked.

You shoved your chair back, the sound scraping against the floor as you stood up.

“Yeah, you know what? Fuck this,” you said, grabbing your bag. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you guys act like I’m some fucking sideshow act for your entertainment.”

Rafe’s head snapped up at your tone, his amusement vanishing instantly. “Baby—”

“No,” you cut him off, glaring at his so-called friends. “You guys are pathetic. Like, seriously. Sitting here laughing at me like you didn’t all get your asses handed to you in that stupid beer pong tournament last week.”

Kelce scoffed. “What—”

“And Topper,” you turned on him next, voice dripping with venom, “you wanna talk about eating habits? You were the same guy who cried over his macros being off when you didn’t get enough protein at that party. Grow the fuck up.”

Topper’s face turned red.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” you finished, shoving your chair under the table, “I’m gonna leave before I waste another second of my time with this bullshit.”

You turned to walk away, and for a second, you thought Rafe would just let you go. But then, his chair scraped back, and before you even reached the door, his hand caught yours.

“Hey, hey, baby,” he said, pulling you to a stop. His voice was softer now, lower. “Wait.”

You yanked your hand away. “For what, Rafe? So you can keep laughing with them? So I can keep being the punchline?”

His jaw clenched. “You know that’s not—fuck—I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

Rafe exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Then, without a word, he turned back to the table.

“Yo,” he said, his voice dangerously calm as he leaned against the edge. “You guys wanna tell me what the fuck that was?”

Kelce blinked. “Dude, come on, it was just—”

“I don’t care what you think it was,” Rafe cut him off, his tone cold. “That’s my girl you’re talking to like that. My girl, who I brought here, and you think you can sit there and clown her like she’s some fucking joke?”

Topper raised his hands. “Rafe, man—”

“Nah,” Rafe shook his head. “Nah. Y’all are dumb if you think I’m letting this slide. You wanna make jokes? Fine. Just don’t expect to sit at my table while you’re doing it.”

Silence.

Kelce shifted uncomfortably. “Dude, we were just messing—”

“Then mess with each other,” Rafe snapped. “Not her. Never her.”

You stared at him, your heart twisting, but you didn’t let your guard down. Not yet.

Rafe turned back to you, his expression softer now. “Baby, I swear I didn’t mean to laugh. I wasn’t thinking. But I should’ve said something immediately, and I didn’t. That’s on me. I fucked up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yeah, you did.”

He sighed, stepping closer. “I know. And I hate that I made you feel like I was one of them just now. But I promise you, I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything, still holding your ground.

Rafe hesitated, then, in a low voice, added, “Please don’t go. Let me fix this.”

You exhaled, tension still thrumming through your veins, but… fuck. He was trying.

After a long moment, you sighed. “You’re paying for my cheesecake.”

Rafe’s lips twitched, relief flooding his face. “Obviously.”

And when he reached for your hand this time, you let him.

[billiesbabygirleilish]

Billie and the reader have been friends since childhood and Billie has a huge Crush on the reader but the reader has a boyfriend her boyfriend is like super possessive and abusive like won’t really let the reader go anywhere without him and doesn’t like when the reader hangs out with Billie because he know that Billie likes the reader

Billie and her family/friends know that the reader is being abused but every time that try to talk to the reader she always brush it off and tells that they are over reacting and she’s fine one day the reader is hanging out with Billie while her boyfriend is out boyfriend come home and see Billie after Billie leaves the reader and her boyfriend get into a fight the reader the reader ends up going to Billie

I don’t know how to end this but Billie and the reader end up together

Fractured Love

⚠️Mentions of abuse/abusive relationship. Please don’t interact with this post if these themes make you uncomfortable⚠️

╭.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*╮

╰.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*�� The scent of lavender and old books always calmed you. Billie’s childhood bedroom, with its mismatched posters and overflowing bookshelves, was your safe haven. You stretched out on her bed, absently tracing the pattern on the worn quilt while Billie fiddled with her ukulele in the corner. 

“He’s out of town for the weekend,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the tightness in your chest betrayed you. “Said he had to… help his dad with something.”

Billie strummed a discordant chord. "Right. ‘Help his dad.’ Like he ever does anything remotely helpful." She didn’t look up, but you knew what she was thinking. You knew everyone knew. The strained smiles, the subtle glances, the way Maggie hovered a little too close whenever Liam, your boyfriend, was around – it was all a silent testament to what they saw happening to you.

“He just gets… jealous,” you mumbled, twisting a stray thread on the quilt. “He just cares about me.”

Billie’s head snapped up, her blue eyes flashing. “Caring doesn’t look like telling you who you can and can’t see, who you can and can't talk to. Caring doesn't look like…” she trailed off, her jaw clenched.

You rushed to fill the uncomfortable silence. "It's not that bad, Billie. You guys are just overreacting." You forced a laugh, though your voice wobbled. “I’m fine.”

Billie slammed the ukulele down on the floor, the sound reverberating through the small room. "God, why do you do this? We just want you safe! He’s isolating you, (Your name), are you blind?"

You flinched. “Don’t yell,” you whispered, your voice catching.

Billie’s anger deflated, replaced by a deep, aching worry. She sat beside you on the bed, her hand hovering over yours. She didn't touch you. Not anymore. Not since Liam had made his feelings about your friendship with Billie crystal clear, with words that still echoed in your head.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Just… I hate seeing him control you like this. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine for months." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small, smooth stone, a piece of sea glass she'd found on the beach. "I… I brought this for you. Said it reminded me of your eyes."

You took the sea glass, its cool surface soothing against your palm. "Thank you, Billie."

Later that afternoon, Billie walked you to your door. As you were unlocking it, Liam’s car pulled up to the curb. He’d come home early.

“Hey,” he said, his voice clipped. He glared at Billie as he approached. “What’s she doing here?”

“Just… hanging out,” you stammered.

“She knows you’re busy. She knows you’re with me.” His eyes narrowed. “Does she even have any respect?”

Billie’s jaw tightened. "I was just leaving," she said, her voice even, but you could see the tension in her shoulders.

As Billie turned and walked away, Liam grabbed your arm, yanking you inside the apartment. The door slammed shut behind you. It wasn't the first time you had been dragged inside. It wasn't the only form of abuse you had endured from him.

The argument started small, a simmering resentment bubbling to the surface. But it quickly escalated, his words sharp and cruel, his grip on your arm painful. You tried to reason with him, to appease him, but nothing worked. He accused you of lying, of flirting, of… who knew what else. Your voice rose as you fought back, tears streaming down your face.

"Just leave me alone!" you finally screamed, pushing him away.

He recoiled, his face contorted with a rage that frightened you. "You think anyone else will want you? You think Billie gives a damn about you? She's just… using you. Playing you for a fool."

The words cut deep, even though you knew they weren't true. The anger drained out of you, leaving you hollow and trembling. You couldn't breathe.

"I'm going to be sick," you choked out, pushing past him.

He let you go, and you stumbled out of the apartment, running blindly until you reached the familiar haven of Billie’s house.

You pounded on the door, tears streaming down your face. Maggie opened it, her expression immediately softening when she saw you.

"Oh, honey," she murmured, drawing you into a hug. "Come in, come in."

She led you to the living room, where Billie, Patrick, Finneas, and Claudia sat, their faces etched with concern. You collapsed on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably.

Billie knelt beside you, her hand finally finding yours. Her touch was grounding, a lifeline in the storm. "What happened?" she asked softly, her voice laced with worry.

You told them everything. The possessive control, the constant criticism, the outbursts, the fear that had become your constant companion. You spoke through sobs, the words tumbling out in a torrent of pain and relief.

When you were finally done, the room was silent. Finneas squeezed Claudia's hand, his face dark. Patrick just nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet fury. Maggie sat beside you, stroking your hair.

Billie’s grip on your hand tightened. “You don’t have to go back there, you know.”

You looked at her, your eyes red and swollen. “But… where else would I go?”

Billie hesitated for a moment, then met your gaze with unwavering intensity. "You can stay here. With us. We'll protect you."

The offer hung in the air, a glimmer of hope in the darkness. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Leaving Liam meant stepping into the unknown, but staying meant… more of the same.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Okay, I'll stay."

The next few weeks were a blur of healing. Maggie’s gentle care, Patrick’s quiet strength, Finneas and Claudia’s unwavering support – they all helped you piece yourself back together. You started therapy, learning to recognize the signs of abuse and to rebuild your shattered self-esteem.

But it was Billie who made the biggest difference. She was there for you, always, a constant presence in your life. Late-night talks under the stars, walks along the beach, quiet moments spent reading together in her room – she created a safe space for you to be yourself, to laugh, to cry, to simply exist without fear.

One evening, as you sat on Billie’s bed, listening to her strum a new song on her ukulele, you realized something had shifted. The fear was still there, a lingering shadow, but it was no longer the defining force in your life. You were starting to see yourself again, to remember the person you were before Liam had chipped away at your spirit.

Billie finished the song, a soft melody with heartfelt lyrics about resilience and hope. She looked at you, her blue eyes filled with something that made your heart skip a beat.

"Do you… do you feel safe here?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "More than I've ever felt."

She reached out, gently cupping your cheek. "Me too," she whispered, her gaze locked on yours.

And then, she leaned in and kissed you. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, but it quickly deepened, a rush of long-suppressed feelings finally breaking free. It was a kiss of comfort, of safety, of longing, of hope.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, you looked at Billie, and for the first time in a long time, you saw a future. A future free from fear, a future filled with love, a future where you could be yourself, completely and unapologetically.

It wasn’t a fairytale ending. There would still be challenges, still be healing to do. But you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your soul, that you weren't alone anymore. You had Billie, her family, her friends - a whole world of love and support to guide you. And you knew, with equal certainty, that you were finally on the path to a life that was truly your own.

[fuctacles]

If you saw the snippets where i fucked up the timeline no u didnt.

<< 16 | 0 | 18 >>

"What's his name?" Steve asks, playing with the bunny's paw. The only time he let go of him since last night was to use the bathroom.

"Frankenbunny," Eddie answers, and smiles when Steve snorts after hearing it. "My grandma made him from fabric scraps grandpa would bring from work. I've made the vest, though." He stretches and blinks his eyes open properly, in time to see Steve's impressed expression.

"Really?"

"Well, Wayne helped," he added. "It's actually made from the same jacket I turned into my vest." 

"Oh, that's so cool!" Steve turns the bunny around to take a better look at the details. The tiny vest even has frayed edges and Dio stitched on the back. "You guys match."

Eddie snorts. 

"Yeah, we're both full of stitches," he points out dryly. 

Steve hums, pressing the toy closer to his face. It's something he's done before sleep, too, but last night Eddie wrote it off as a drunken mirage.

"And both pretty handsome fellas," he says, face half-hidden behind the bunny. He opens one eye, looking from under his eyelashes shyly, trying to gauge Eddie's reaction. 

Which, Eddie would love to know and understand as well.

"Oh, I don't know," he shrugs, reaching out to poke at Frankenbunny's face. "He doesn't have the signature Munson dimples." When in doubt, joke, as the Denial Decalogue says. 

Steve hums. 

"Yeah, I guess he can't hold a candle to the real thing. Not as talkative, for one."

Eddie can't help but stare, still leaning over his friend as he processes what he's heard. 

"You like my constant yapping?" he asks in surprise. Even his uncle seems tired of it, at times. Only his players appreciate his word flow, but that's with benefit to them.

"Of course." Steve focuses his attention back on the toy. "When you talk, I don't have to, I can just listen. And that's good because I tend to say some stupid shit," he says, almost absentmindedly. "This way, I'm not the dumb one in the room for once."

The casual innocence of his voice makes the meaning of his words miss Eddie completely until the air waves hit his other ear. 

"Oh, you little..."

As Steve's cheeky smirk grows, he pounces. 

Frankenbunny falls away, the hands holding him now focused on guarding all the ticklish spots. 

"Eddie!" Steve laughs, trying to grasp his wrists and squirm away. "We need to be quiet." 

"Should have though of it before being a brat!" Eddie grins at him, doubling his efforts and moving to pin him in place. 

Steve makes a distressed sound and writhes under him, bending hard enough it dislodges Eddie off of him but also, off the bed. He falls down with a surprised squeak.

"Sorry!" Steve barely suppresses his laugh when he looks down at him. "You alright?"

"No," Eddie groans, splayed on the floor. "I got back-stabbed."

"The dramatics are intact, you'll be fine," he rolls his eyes and steps over him. Eddie makes an even more wounded sound, but Steve ignores him, choosing to look for something comfy to wear instead. He throws a tshirt that doesn't smell of barbecue at Eddie's face, mistakenly assuming that's it—they are going to leave his bedroom and start on breakfast for the others. 

Wrong.

As soon as he has a pick of clothes in his hand, and is trying to get to the bathroom, Eddie grabs his ankle. He makes an undignified yelp and lands on the other boy. Which, serves him well. 

They roll on his carpet in an impromptu wrestling match, grinning at each other and muffling their laughs, trying to get the upper hand. 

Until Steve snaps his teeth at Eddie.

They freeze, two pairs of wide eyes staring at the other in silence. 

Steve moves first, backing away and almost falling over Eddie's knees. 

"Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he explains quickly, scrambling to get off his friend. Eddie doesn't stop him, just stares openly at the mesmerizing specimen in front of him.

"That was so fucking hot."

"I don't know why I did—what?" Steve sits back on his haunches, eyes even wider as he stares at Eddie. At his wild hair splayed around his head, at his flushed face. The sliver of skin visible where his shirt has ridden up while they were roughhousing. 

"What?" he parrots, licking his lips nervously. 

"What did you just say?" Steve presses, voice turning desperate, pressing. But Eddie seals his mouth into a tight line. Lead by a hunch, he looks for his answer down the line of his body.

"Hey!" Eddie protests, sitting up and pulling his shirt down. But it was too late, the tent in his pants has been seen. "What the fuck, man?!" he hisses, his face red and eyes wide in panic. 

"Sorry, I—" Steve bites his lip. "But I snapped at you? That's weird, right?"

"Well, I'm apparently into weird, so..." Eddie trails off, looking away. Pointedly avoiding Steve's searching eyes. 

"You're into it?" he prods, but all Eddie can give him is a shrug. It's too fresh of a feeling to properly explain. Hell, he hasn't full came to terms with it himself yet. 

"Is it like a... a sex thing?" Steve tries again. 

"Maybe? Probably? I don't know!" Eddie snaps defensively, folding in on himself to hide his thankfully wilting erection. 

Steve's silence is terrifying, and when he looks up, he finds his eyes still studying him.

"Quit staring, man," he mumbles, squeezing his thighs together. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Steve shakes his head. "It's fine, it happens. But just... don't move for a second."

"It happens," Eddie is muttering mockingly, when the rest of his friend's words register in his brain. "What?" But Steve is already too close, and he can't escape. Not that he wants to. "Steve," he says quietly, between a warning and a plea, when warm breath hits his neck.

Steve is sniffing him. At the crook of his neck, where undoubtedly his embarrassment has gathered in a pool of sweat.

He's terrified in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Worried what Steve might smell on him, when his surprisingly cold nose brushes his skin. 

Or maybe it's him running hot with whatever has just transpired. 

Eddie flinches at the touch and Steve moves away, his eyes big and warm with something he can't read. 

"You're fine," he says, and it sounds more like a relief of his own than reassurance for Eddie. "I'm into weird too."

Eddie looks at him quizzically, until he realizes it's not Steve's face holding his answers. He trails his gaze down, and immediately aims it back upward, over-correcting towards the heavens, where maybe he'll get some guidance.

"Shit," he croaks out from his closed up throat. Steve is way too close to him too, from his impromptu sniffing session. Eddie coughs to clear his airways. "Why did you smell me? Is it that bad?" he jokes, but has a feeling Steve won't take the out. Not with the curious way he's looking at him. 

"You smell like want," he answers with painful honesty. "Embarrassment."

Eddie blushes at that one. Well, yeah. Popping a boner in front of your, uh, something, will do that to a man.

"But also joy, affection," Steve continues. "And no fear."

"Why would I fear you? We were just playing around. It's not like you're gonna bite me," he focuses on the safest option. He's not unpacking his feelings for Steve first thing in the morning. Maybe after a coffee. 

It's Steve's turn to go beet red. 

"Sometimes I want to."

"What?" 

He shuffles back sheepishly. 

"Sometimes I see you and I really, really wanna bite you."

Eddie stares at him.

"In like, a werewolf way?" he asks dumbly, earning himself a flat look.

"I think we've established this is not how werewolves are made. I meant in, like, a playful way," he explains. "Like, I'm so excited and happy I can't hold it in anymore, way."

He wants to ask if it's a pack thing, but bites his tongue, not sure if anyone has even taught Steve pack rituals. The guy is going through pure instincts alone, and should be supported in it, so really, there's only one thing he can say.

"Well, why won't you?"

They stare at each other in stunned silence, until a clatter comes from downstairs.

"Steeeeve! The express is doing it again!"

Eddie deflates with a groan, falling back onto the carpet. What the fuck did he just say? He won't survive this crush. Steve will be no help, as he's now hovering over his body.

"We'll get back to this," he says quietly, in a promise or a warning, before clambering upright and out of the room, yelling at Robin.

"Do not press the fucking button!"

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot @dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1 @stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible @bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets @ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight  @eyehartart @ellietheasexylibrarian @im-sam-fucking-winchester

[bookworrm1999]

How Far Away? Part 1

Caleb x Mc Fanfiction

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she’s pregnant.

She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Part 1| Part 2|

Caleb and you usually get along quite well. Ribbing each other, demanding little favors, holding things hostage until the other breaks down in laughter as you keep them in suspense.

This was not one of those days though. He was set to leave tomorrow but all of your emotions about him leaving for 4 months, leaving you behind again with no communication.

It was too much.

You should be better than this, you should be able to just tell him like an adult. But something about Caleb always brought out the dependency in you.

He was the one who danced around the conversation about finalizing what your relationship was.

He was worse than you in this.

So instead of following him to the living room to help him make breakfast one last time before he leaves. You stayed in bed, you didn’t make a peep when he pulled away from cuddling you to go out.

“Baby?” Caleb brushed your hair back but you didn’t answer. Pretending to still be dead asleep.

He sighed affectionately and kissed the corner of your mouth before leaving the room.

Opening your eyes to stare out the window, you let a small tear slide out. But you hastily wiped it away, he was being stubborn. He was the one who refused to communicate and talk out exactly where you wanted to go in life together.

That was your justification to yourself, why you felt like you had to pull away a bit.

A small voice still whined inside to go hug him like a koala and beg him not to leave you. The voice got thoroughly smushed by your inner realist.

It was his job but you still hoped he’d say something, anything.

You sat up and stretched but that brought about a new problem. The world tilted as you instantly felt nauseous.

A bit of bile slid up before you quickly swallowed it. Coughing now, you reached for the water on the side table to soothe your stomach.

“You okay?” Caleb called out to you from the other room.

“I’m fine!” You call back, yeah you’re just peachy.

Sighing once more, you let the melancholy hold you for just a second more before you head out the door too.

“Good morning!” He turns to look at you with a bright smile before turning back to his task of making breakfast.

The smell turns your stomach, your nose wrinkles as you heave a bit into your hand.

He turns at the sound so you quickly assume a neutral face.

You were upset with him still so you didn’t need Caleb to turn on his safety above all else mode.

Knowing him, he’d probably try to keep you in the Fleet’s medical ward and monitor you through channels. Even while he was away.

Stupidly overprotective man who can’t even tell you that he wants you to be his girlfriend.

“Your food is served milady!” He makes an over dramatic bow and places down dishes onto the table.

You sit down thinking that this is where you usually respond with something along the lines of- oh good sir, you flatter me!

Caleb and you usually love to ham it up together, it’s what makes life together so fun.

Staying at his house for stretches of time before going back to your own place for work.

He won’t be here for a while though and everything that reminded you of what you’ll be missing, just made you depressed. So you just sit down at the table silently, picking up a small bowl of rice with your chopsticks. Caleb stares at you for a moment before asking quietly

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you think Caleb?”

He sighs deeply as he takes his seat across from you. The food looks delicious but the smell and the turmoil of it all sent your stomach twisting. You swallowed back a gag but he noticed your discomfort.

“What do you want me to do? I wish I could stay home but-“

“I get it. I’m just tired of you not talking to me. That’s all.”

“Not talking to you? What do you call this?” He flicks his finger between the two of us with a half grin, but his eyes are a little panicked.

“Talking out of your ass is what it is…” you mutter barely audible even to yourself.

“What was that pipsqueak?”

“Nothing!….panty sniffer.” You give him an over the top toothy grin while saying the last part just loud enough for him to hear.

“Hey! That was once!”

“You mean the only time I caught you?!”

“I-I well don’t call me that!”

You sniffed derisively, “Don’t call me pipsqueak then.”

He glares at you a bit for bringing it up in the first place before reaching over and yanking your hair a bit.

“Childish much?” You scoff at him, just nibbling at your rice, not really touching much else.

“Says the one who won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“So the pot calls the kettle black! I did tell you what’s wrong.” He narrows his eyes at you

“There’s more to it.”

“Yeah, you keep avoiding me when I want to talk about our relationship.”

Caleb waves his hand dismissively

“What’s there to talk about? I love you and you love me right?”

“There’s more to this than that Caleb! You’re just scared of something. Are you really that scared of committing to me?!”

“Of course not!”

“Then what’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

He wilts like a flower in the hot sun

“I just can’t.”

“Because of the fleet? Because of the chip? Because of the professor?”

Caleb stiffens with each word you spit at him.

“Do you really think that I don’t know? I’m not stupid!”

“I never said you were.”

“Well you sure treat me like I am. Keeping me in the dark for my own safety. I’m sick of it!”

“Sick of me, you mean?” He’s angry at this, standing up from the table and leaning over it, muscles taut. You can tell he’s not trying to intimidate you because he’s looking at his hands, quivering a bit.

“I never said that.”

“It sure sounded like it to me.” He spits this but not towards you, more to himself. The thought of you leaving has always terrified him.

You didn’t mean to make him feel like that, but it won’t get him out of the conversation you needed to have.

“I’m sorry if that’s how it came across. However, I just want to talk about this. Properly. Please….” You beg him a bit, standing up and laying a hand over his trembling one.

You sit in silence for a minute, just looking at his faraway eyes. He can’t look at you in the face as he says quietly

“I just can’t right now.”

You pull away from him, distraught now. He’s leaving for 4 months and this is how he acts? Fine.

“I can’t do this.”

You walk away, not giving him a chance to reply as you latched the door behind you. Your ears caught the end of a choked sob come through the wood of the door.

Hearing him cry makes you want to cry. You really just want to go out there and hug him, cry it out together. But you know that he would still find someway to weasel out of discussing it again.

Using your sympathy to keep you to himself for the day. Not acknowledging the problem.

So for the rest of the day, you ignored him. Staying in the room. His bag was already packed and in the living room so you never even bothered opening the door.

It hurt your insides but you wanted to be firm about this. But you knew that he’d be leaving early tomorrow. You might not have a chance to say goodby if you don’t go out now.

Your pride keeps you in the room though. Caleb’s presence lingers by the door a few times. Feeling like you could see him through the wood, raising his hand to knock but stopping just before.

The quiet and the sadness stretching long between you, permeating the air of the house.

You don’t break.

Night falls, you can hear him opening and closing another door in the house. Presumably to sleep in another room.

You go to bed that night, heart, head, and stomach empty. Tears soaking into your pillow.

You don’t sleep well, so you can hear the startup of Caleb getting ready to leave. The engines thrumming outside the house.

Wait! You bolt up and skid out the door. Flinging the front door open, you start waving your arms frantically but it’s too late.

He’s already in the air.

He starts to fly away. You don’t know if he glances back to look but you wave your arm as you yell

“I love you!”

He fades into the distance, leaving you alone with a hole in your stomach.

Going back into the house after a minute, you notice a small piece of paper left on the coffee table. Picking it up, you notice his handwriting immediately.

‘I’m sorry’

You fall to your knees, sobs wracking your body. Heaving a bit as the nausea in your stomach hits you with a vengeance.

Please come back safe Caleb.

Let me know what you thought! I’m going to make this a series, it’s also on AO3. Thank you for reading🤗

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22

[midnight-mourning]

Jelly Hearts

💘💘Midnight's DCA Valentine's Day 7💘💘

I FORGOT TO POST THIS AHHHHHHH, my bad all, please enjoy some self-indulgent jealousy hehe

Prompt: also I think that I'd put in a request for some really jealous dca time. maybe they see reader getting some other valentines or hears that they have plans the day of after they're off work and assume that they've got a date (rightfully or incorrectly idk) and they just can't let this happen. y/n is Theirs™️

Word Count: 1750

Read here if you prefer ao3!

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

The flowers on the desk were a surprise, about a week before the middle of February, roughly. You weren't sure where they'd come from or what they were doing there, and found yourself very surprised to find it was in fact, a gift for you. The card stuck inside the bouquet had neat script, and was to the point. 

'Happy Valentine's day! From, Your Secret Admirer'

You'd asked the security guard if they knew anything about who had gifted it, but they had no clue either. It had been a common theme over the past few days, the kids had been gifting you early cards and treats, but this seemed to be a bit more than that. 

"What've you got there, Sunshine?"

You turn, confused smile on your face. "Looks like a gift! From a uh, secret admirer? You know anything about that?" You tease. 

Sun tilts his head sharply, rays and faceplate spinning from the force. 

"Hm, no. Don't think so!"

Your smile falls a bit, mainly because you'd been hoping it was him, and based on his tone he wasn't lying about it to mess with you either. "Oh, gotcha."

"But! I'll keep my eyes and ears peeled just for you, Starlight." He bends down quickly, coming eye to eye with you and booping your nose. "And if I do find out, I'll be sure to let you know."

He stands straight and walks off then, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You probably just imagined the edge to his tone. You shake your head, and glance back down to the vase. 

Huh. The card's missing. It must have dropped somewhere. 

But after a quick search you never did end up finding it. 

Not that it mattered much, as a day or so later you were sent another gift, this time jelly candy hearts and heart-shaped chocolates. Same message as last time, 'Happy Valentine's! Love, Your Secret Admirer'. You sat and enjoyed the sweets during nap time, just to keep from any little hands or pleading eyes from trying to snatch one for themselves. 

As you were snacking, Moon suddenly sat down beside you, hands folding into his lap and head almost snapping to look at you. 

You raise a hand to greet him. "Hey, Moon-man."

"Star."

You cock your head to the side, popping another candy in your mouth. "Need something? Or just come over to hang out?"

"Where did you get that?" He points to the half-opened box in your lap. 

You shrug, lifting the little slip of paper for him to read. "Secret admirer strikes again I guess."

"Seems so." He snarls out.

It surprises you, brows raised as you look at him again. "You alright?"

"Fine." He turns away from you and the card, facing forward to observe the Daycare. 

You don't speak again for the rest of the time. 

Similarly 'issues' arise throughout the rest of the week. Little gifts from that same person being sent your way, not to mention the growing number of cards and the likes from the Daycare kids. 

During all of this, the attendant pulled back from you, you weren't entirely sure why. They were shorter, blunter, not nearly as talkative or teasing with you. You wonder if it was because of all the attention you were getting compared to them, which made you feel awful. They deserved some appreciation too. 

It's not until the day of Valentine's that you realize who your 'Secret Admirer' is after all. Specifically, it was your best friend, who you'd been helping out with getting set up on a date the past couple of weeks. You'd laughed about it once you'd found out, getting on to them for 'leading you on' even though regardless of who your admirer was, your heart belonged to someone else. 

Specifically the two someone's who'd been avoiding you all week long. 

You planned to talk to them about it tomorrow, tonight you had to focus on holding to your promises and make sure your friend's date actually went well. You were going to shadow with another friend of yours to see to it the date proceeded smoothly. 

You sling your jacket over your shoulders, taking one last glance around the Daycare before you head to leave. Just as you turn to head to the door, your face knocks gently against something metal. You jump, stepping back to find that Sun is standing before you. 

"Going so soon, Sunshine?" He tilts his head, eyes uplifted crescents. 

You nod, smiling. "Yup! I have a date tonight—"

"A. Date?" 

You bite your tongue. You hadn't meant to say that at all. "Oh no, I just meant that—"

"You know, I think there's some cleaning up still left to do, friend." Sun takes you by the shoulders, and leads you back into the Daycare, you lose your jacket at some point in the process. 

You try to protest. "I, Sun I really should go—"

"Stay." He states, speech a bit garbled for a moment before uplifting into his usual cheer. "I really must insist! We can't have this place looking less than perfect when the kiddos come in tomorrow now, can we?"

You scan the play area, nothing seems out of place to you, so you say as much. "No offense, Sunny, but everything seems just fine—"

There's a crash to your left, over by the arts and crafts tables. Turning you're bewildered to see Sun lying amongst a disaster of spilled craft supplies, some of which leaks quickly onto the padded floor. You don't even know how he got over there, he was just right next to you moment's before.

You're not able to question it much before Sun's speaking up. "Whoops! I don't know what got into me! Could you lend me a hand with this, pretty please, Sunshine?"

"Of course but are you okay?" You ask, slightly hurrying as you walk over to him. "Don't need to go to Parts and Services or anything?"

Sun makes a noise similar to grinding gears, next words blunt. "No. It was just a simple mistake."

"I, right, right." You offer him your hand, which he takes and uses to help get to his feet. He doesn't let go once he is standing, however. Leaving you no choice but to hold his hand, lest you make this awkward. 

You think for a moment. You should stay and help clean this up, you know how neurotic he—and moon—can be when it came to messes. You did feel bad about not being able to make it up to them regarding their lack of gifts, this could be a good chance. Especially when the opportunity presents itself to you.

"And I'll tell you what, Starshine. If we clean up quick I'll make sure to it'll be worth your while. How's that?" His hand squeezes yours just a little tighter. 

Something about the way he phrases it makes your cheeks heat up. You cough into your hand with a nod. "Yeah, that um, sounds good."

"Perfect."

The next hour or two is a blur. After you cleaned up, the attendant had one activity then the next for you to do together.

Making a last couple of Valentine's crafts before putting the supplies away for the year, making puzzles, reading stories, acting out scenes, dancing to music. From one moment to the next it was something, something, something. You would have expected this out of Sun for sure, but the fact that Moon was just as active a participant was more than surprising. 

In a brief moment of a break, while sitting down to watch a movie, do you think to check the time. 

Twenty minutes before your friend's date. Shoot, you'd lost a lot more time than you'd thought. You peek up to Moon, who's focused on the screen in front of you both. He's got his arms wrapped around you as you sit—practically—in his lap. You think if you try to move you'll get trapped further, so you attempt with words first. 

"Hey, this has been, a lot of fun, but I really need to get going now, alright?" You put your hand on his. 

Moon's faceplate snaps down, hold on you instantly tightening. Not what you wanted in the slightest. "Why? Are they that much more important?"

"I, wait. Moon-man, are you jealous?"

He freezes, then looks away, hold on you slipping as he starts to shrink in on himself. "Yes. No. We both are." His next words are muttered, a mixture of static and, maybe another voice? "It's not fair. We've loved you for so long, but someone else gets to have you instead."

"You, you guys, like me?" You ask in the quiet.

Moon grips the edge of his hat, pulling it down over his eyes. You swear you almost see some of Sun's rays poking out behind his faceplate in the low light. "Not like, love. Too scared to say it until now."

"Even if I told you I cared about you both too?" You twist to face him fully, hands cupping his cheeks. 

He melts into your touch. "Even what?"

You giggle. "Would you still be scared to say it? If I said I loved you too?"

"Maybe, maybe not..." One eye peeks out from the hat. "But, you're taken." And again, that harsh tone comes back, resentment, you realize.

At this you can't take anymore and start to laugh. "No, I'm not. I've been, well not trying super hard, but I've been trying to tell you that since early."

You finally are given the chance to fully explain the situation, including the 'Secret Admirer' part of the whole deal. You watch the tension melt in the bot in front of you, quickly becoming embarrassed and flustered that they'd been jealous over nothing at all. 

Despite that, however, you end up having to text your friends that you can't help out tonight. As you've been told you have a lot of 'making up' to do for your 'awful' behavior. By both attendants, for that matter. 

You're still sitting in their lap, movie long forgotten and lights now raised just slightly. Yellow and blue hands trace patterns into your waist as they hold you tight, seeming afraid to let go despite your whispered assurances. Their rays flutter and faceplate clicks at every sound you make, intentional or not.

As you kiss and are kissed—over and over and over again—there's only one word they murmur back, consistently, without fail. 

"Ours."

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank you @juukai for the request! I enjoy making jealous dca a lot hehe, just feels very fitting to me >:)c

My writing Masterpost

DCA Valentine's Masterpost

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzybee3

[antinousletmehit]

what if. What. What if like. A daughter of Odysseus reader and Antinous had a kid together? How would everyone around them react?

(THIS IS MY FIRST TIME EVER SENDING YOU AN ASK HELLO HI I LOVE ALL OF YIUR ANTINOUS CONTENT THATMAN IS. SOMETHING. SO SORRY IF MY REQUEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE)

୨୧┇thank you!!:3

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Odysseus’ Reaction:

🐗- Absolute, world ending fury. The second he hears the news, he nearly crushes his goblet in his grip. The same man who insulted his home, harassed his wife, and tried to steal his throne is now the father of his grandchildren?

🐗— He storms through the palace, his voice echoing through the halls as he demands to know how this happened. Why did his daughter—his own flesh and blood—choose that man?

🐗—-If Antinous is anywhere in sight, Odysseus grabs him by the tunic and glares daggers into his soul. He probably threatens to kill him on the spot.

🐗—But when the child is born, something shifts. He stares at the small bundle in his arms, and his rage falters. This child has his blood too. No matter how much he despises Antinous, this baby is innocent.

🐗—- That doesn’t mean he suddenly likes Antinous, though. Every time he sees him, he gives him that silent, deadly glare that says “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Penelope’s Reaction:

🧶— When she first hears the news, she sighs deeply and rubs her temples. She loves her daughter, but this? This is going to be a mess.

🧶—She’s not angry exactly—more exhausted. She already had to deal with one suitor problem. Now there’s another mini one in her family?

🧶—- But she’s wise enough to understand that love doesn’t always make logical sense. If her daughter is happy, she won’t interfere.

🧶—-The moment her grandchild is born, she’s one of the first to hold them. She kisses their forehead and whispers, “Poor thing, you’ll have quite the brute for a father.”

Telemachus’ Reaction:

🐺—He is SEETHING. When his sister tells him she’s having Antinous’ child, he almost chokes.

🐺—-“Are you joking? Out of ALL the men in Greece, you chose HIM?”

🐺— He refuses to be in the same room as Antinous for a long time. Every time they cross paths, he looks one step away from drawing his sword.

🐺— He’s insanely protective over his sister, so the thought of Antinous being her husband boils his blood.

🐺— However, when the baby is born, his rage crumbles just a little. He begrudgingly holds his niece/nephew and mutters, “Fine. But if they turn out like their father, I’m blaming you.”

🐺—- He secretly spoils the kid a lot, teaching them how to fight, sneaking them sweets, and glaring at Antinous whenever he tries to parent.

Antinous as a Father:

🍷—The smuggest father in all of Greece. He walks around with his child in his arms like he’s the proudest man alive.

🍷—- He loves rubbing it in Odysseus’ and Telemachus’ faces. “Guess the royal family just couldn’t resist my charm, huh?”

🍷—-If the baby has any of his features, he won’t shut up about it. “See that? My strong jaw. My sharp nose. Clearly, they’re going to be a heartbreaker like their father.”

🍷—-But despite his arrogance, he’s actually super protective. If anyone so much as looks at his child wrong, he’s throwing hands. He adores his partner and kids, even if his parenting style is a bit weird. He lets them get away with too much and encourages their bratty side just to annoy Odysseus.