taylor price
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
PR's Tumblrdome
Xuebing Du
NASA
roma★
oozey mess
No title available
Discoholic 🪩
Keni
if i look back, i am lost
Love Begins
Show & Tell
wallacepolsom
todays bird
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from China
seen from Netherlands
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Iceland
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
@cregansgf
𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘨𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
ׂ╰┈➤ House of the dragon ❪ Jacaerys ❫ ❪ Aemond ❫ ❪ Aegon ❫ ❪ Cregan ❫ ❪ Daemon ❫
ׂ╰┈➤ Actors ❪ Harry Collett ❫ ❪ Ewan Mitchell ❫
ׂ╰┈➤ ❪ Kinktober 24’ ❫
I do not approve of my work being re-uploaded on any other site (including tumblr) I don’t approve of any copying or translating either.
TOM TAYLOR as CREGAN STARK HOUSE OF THE DRAGON (2022 - ), dir. ALAN TAYLOR 2X01 "A Son for a Son"
Jacerys Velaryon's tunic with targaryen emblem in House of the Dragon Season 2
‘𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍’ — J. Velaryon
Modern bsf! Jacaerys x Modern bsf! reader
— [While on the way back to your dorm you and Jace find a surprise.]
You and Jacaerys had been dorm roommates since your first year, the bond between you two had grown more and more each day, forming a very close friendship.
You two practically did everything together, you were attached at the hip.
It was night when you both were walking the dark streets, just having finished studying in the library.
You were about to speak when a small squeak filled the air between you both, startling you slightly as you looked around, noticing something small moving in the corner of your eye.
You came to a stop, reaching out and grabbing Jaces arm so he would stop as well. As he slowed you gently made your way closer to the small shadow you seen moving.
As you got closer it squeaked again, only this time it was much clearer.
“Hi there” You whispered softly, crouching down. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” You cooed, gently reaching your hands out.
It took only a moment for the young kitten to crawl into your palms, letting out a soft purr as it nudged its body into you.
“Jace!” You smiled happily, turning to face him, “Can we keep it? Please?”
Jacaerys watched you for a moment before his eyes fell to the kitten, his lips twitching as he struggled to keep the smile from forming. “I get to pick the name.” He spoke firmly.
“You get to pick the name.” You nodded, grinning as the kitten once again nudged you happily.
xoxo moon
Jacaerys Velaryon As Your Soulmate.
Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me use your beautiful dividers 🫶🏻
When He Propose To You.
The moment was so perfect it felt unreal. The Santorini sunset painted the sky in hues of gold, pink, and deep orange, casting a glow over the endless blue of the Aegean Sea. The soft breeze carried the scent of salt and summer, and the sound of the waves crashing below only made everything more surreal.
Jace had been acting a little off all day—nervous, fidgety, but still smiling like he always did when he looked at you. And then, as you stood together on the private balcony of your villa, overlooking the breathtaking view, he suddenly dropped to one knee.
Your heart stopped.
For a second, it felt like the entire world went silent.
Jace was staring up at you, his eyes filled with so much love it almost knocked the air out of your lungs.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for so damn long, I don’t even remember what life was like before you. And I don’t want to. I want you forever. Will you marry me?”
Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes already burning with tears. Your heart was pounding, your breath caught in your throat, and the moment felt so overwhelmingly perfect that for a split second, you couldn’t even speak.
Then you nodded frantically, laughing through your tears.
“Yes! Jace, yes!”
The second the words left your lips, he slipped the ring onto your finger—a stunning diamond that sparkled like the damn Santorini sky—before pulling you into his arms, spinning you around as you laughed and cried at the same time.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmured against your lips, grinning like a lovesick fool.
“I’ve always been stuck with you,” you whispered back, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.
And just like that, under the Santorini sunset, with the waves and the wind as your witnesses, you said yes to forever.
When You And Jace Posted The Announcement Of Your Engagement.
The internet broke.
The moment you and Jace posted the engagement photo—a breathtaking shot of you two in the crystal-clear waters of Santorini—the reactions were instantaneous.
The image was perfectly intimate: Jace, half-submerged in the water, his toned arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, pressing a deep, possessive kiss to your lips. The sunlight reflected off the ocean, making the stunning diamond ring on your finger gleam as you lifted your hand, subtly flexing your fingers in a way that made it impossible to miss.
The caption?
“Forever with him. ☀️💍”
Jace’s post?
“She said yes. My girl, my future, my forever. 💙”
And just like that, chaos erupted.
Jace’s fangirls:
"NOOOOOOOO THIS ISN’T HAPPENING"
"I WAS LITERALLY MANIFESTING MY TURN WTF"
"DOES ANYONE KNOW IF THE SANTORINI OCEAN IS ACCEPTING DROWNED TEARS?"
"HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY ME??"
"DELETE THIS I CAN’T BREATHE"
"'My girl, my future, my forever' YEAH JUST KILL ME THEN"
Your fanboys:
"BRO SHE’S GONE. IT’S OVER FOR US."
"This is pain. Real pain."
"Jace, let’s talk. I just wanna chat. loads shotgun"
"Do y’all think we still have a chance if she loses the ring in the ocean???"
"SHE WAS OUR QUEEN, NOW SHE’S HIS WIFE. WE HAVE NOTHING LEFT."
"Fellas, we lost a soldier today."
Random internet reactions:
"The way she’s flexing that ring while kissing him, she WANTED us to suffer."
"Jace bagged the baddest and made sure we all KNEW it. Respect."
"This is the equivalent of a public execution."
"Santorini tourism just skyrocketed bc everyone’s gonna go cry in the ocean now."
"The way he’s holding her? That man is NEVER letting go."
"This is some movie-level romance, wtf I’m so jealous."
Meanwhile, Jace? Smug as hell. The second the internet started melting down, he was in the comments, liking the most dramatic ones and posting another photo of him holding your hand, the ring on full display, with the caption:
“No refunds, no exchanges. She’s mine now. 💍😎”
And if that wasn’t enough? He posted a story of you two laughing in the Santorini sunset, him kissing your neck before murmuring:
“Sorry, guys. She picked me.”
The internet never recovered.
Jace Family Reaction To Your Engagement Announcement.
The Velaryons and Targaryens had very different reactions, but one thing was clear—they did not see this coming.
Rhaenyra (His Mother):
💬 “My son… engaged? I blinked and he was just a boy. Now he’s posting thirst traps and proposing in Santorini? Time flies…”
—Cue her immediately calling Jace, demanding details, and planning an extravagant wedding before you even had a chance to process everything.
Daemon (His Step-Father):
💬 “Took you long enough, boy. Thought I’d have to lock you two in a room until you figured it out.”
—He acts casual, but he’s secretly proud and already threatening Jace to never mess this up.
Baela & Rhaena (His Step-Sisters):
💬 Baela: “JACE. YOU DIDN’T TELL US YOU WERE PROPOSING?!”
💬 Rhaena: “Omg, she said yes?? Of course she did, but still!!”
—Both of them are spamming your phone demanding pictures of the ring, the moment, and every single detail.
Lucerys (His Younger Brother):
💬 “Wait… does this mean I have to call you my sister now?”
—He’s genuinely confused but happy, liking the post and commenting “Congrats, I guess.”
Aegon (His Uncle & Frenemy):
💬 “Bro, what the actual fuck? You got engaged before me? Oh, this is WAR.”
—Petty. Bitter. Fake mad but lowkey proud. He’ll NEVER admit it, though.
Aemond (His Other Uncle & Rival):
💬 “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
—Says this like he isn’t internally SHOCKED that Jace actually locked it down. He liked the post, but only because Helaena forced him.
Helaena (His Sweet Aunt):
💬 “This is wonderful! You both look so happy! 💙”
—Genuinely happy for you two, immediately asking if she can help plan anything.
Corlys & Rhaenys (His Grandparents):
💬 Corlys: “She’s family now. Make sure you treat her like a Velaryon.”
💬 Rhaenys: “It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for this.”
—They’re quietly pleased, but already discussing wedding venues and guest lists behind your backs.
Meanwhile, Jace?
He’s just grinning at his phone, watching the chaos unfold while pulling you into his lap, whispering:
“Guess there’s no turning back now, huh?” 😏
When You And Jace Posted Your Wedding Video On Internet.
The second the wedding video dropped—Jace walking out of the church, hand in hand with you, his smile so bright it could blind the sun—his fangirls lost their minds.
Jace Velaryon, the golden boy, the sweetheart, the man who had fangirls swooning over his every move, was officially off the market. And not just off the market—completely, hopelessly, obsessively in love with you.
The caption?
“Forever wasn’t long enough, so I married her. 💙”
And with that, Jace’s fanbase entered a collective meltdown.
Instagram Comments Section: A Fangirl Massacre
“This is the worst day of my life.” 😭💔
“WHY DID I EVEN WAKE UP TODAY?!”
“Not Jace grinning like he just won the world. What about US?!?”
“How am I supposed to recover from this betrayal?” 💔
“The way he’s holding her. The way he’s looking at her. The way he KISSES HER. I CAN’T DO THIS.”
Twitter/X Reactions: A Global Crisis
“Jace Velaryon getting married feels like my boyfriend just left me for another woman.”
“His smile. HIS SMILE. HE WAS SUPPOSED TO SMILE LIKE THAT FOR ME.”
“I feel like I’ve been personally victimized by this wedding video.”
“Not only did he marry her, but he looks like he’s thriving while doing it. This is actual pain.”
“Y’all saw the way he lifted her off the ground in that kiss? We lost, girls. We lost.”
TikTok Reaction Videos: Fangirls in Mourning
One girl dramatically closing her laptop: “This is my villain origin story.”
Another girl wrapped in a blanket, chugging wine: “How do you cope when the love of your life marries someone else?”
A group of fangirls watching the video in stunned silence before screaming: “NOOOOOO!”
Someone crying into a Jace Velaryon fan poster: “He was supposed to be OUR husband!”
💔 The Ultimate Heartbreak: Jace’s Wedding Reception Photos
If the wedding video wasn’t enough, the reception photos sent fangirls straight into their graves.
• Jace pulling you into his lap during dinner, his nose nuzzling into your neck.
• Jace kissing your hand with a lovesick expression, completely mesmerized by you.
• Jace dipping you low on the dance floor, his forehead pressed against yours.
• Jace grinning like a fool as you fed him a piece of wedding cake.
• Jace whispering something in your ear that had you laughing, his hand possessively gripping your thigh.
At this point, some fangirls uninstalled social media, some sobbed into their pillows, and some stared at their screens in mute devastation.
The Final Blow: Jace’s Response to the Fangirl Meltdown
Just when the internet was suffocating in despair, Jace himself responded:
@JacaerysVelaryon: “She’s my everything. Hope you all find someone who makes you feel this way someday. 💙”
And just like that, he destroyed whatever hope his fangirls had left.
When You And Jace Posted About Your Pregnancy.
Jace’s fangirls were NOT okay.
The second the post dropped, absolute hysteria erupted across the internet.
The photo? Devastating.
Jace stood behind you, both hands wrapped around your very prominent baby bump, his head tucked against your neck. His smile? Radiant. Proud. Smug. But the next slide? That was the real fatal blow.
An ultrasound.
Three. Embryoss
The caption? Gentle, but absolutely lethal.
“A family of five… and we couldn’t be happier.”
And then—the chaos began.
“THREE??? NOT ONE. NOT TWO. BUT THREE BABIES????”
“I just dropped to my knees in the middle of a grocery store.”
“Oh my god, we lost. Not only is she pregnant, but she’s having THREE of his kids. This is a massacre.”
“I need a support group immediately.”
Some fangirls went into pure denial mode:
“No. This isn’t real. It’s a prank. HAHA, right? Right?”
“I refuse to accept this. The ultrasound is AI-generated. FAKE NEWS.”
“Maybe it’s for a movie? A promotional stunt? PLEASE, SOMEONE, TELL ME THIS IS FAKE.”
Others…? Full breakdowns.
“I JUST KNOW THOSE BABIES ARE GOING TO BE BEAUTIFUL AND IT HURTS.”
“She really secured the bloodline… Three kids… She made sure she was LOCKED IN.”
“I can’t even be mad, she did what needed to be done.”
“This is the equivalent of getting blown off the battlefield. We fought hard, ladies, but we were defeated.”
The fan edits? Exploding. The hashtags? Trending worldwide.
Within minutes, #JaceTripletBombshell was dominating social media. People were analyzing the ultrasound, dissecting Jace’s body language in the photo, and crying over the fact that he had officially left the fangirl market… forever.
Jace Velaryon had just ended his fangirls in one post.
When You And Jace Posted About Your Triplets Arrival.
📸: Jace Velaryon Instagram Post
— A photo of you in a hospital bed, looking absolutely exhausted but glowing, cradling three tiny newborns. Jace is beside you, full-on crying, his face buried in your shoulder while holding one of the babies.
The Caption?
“Our greatest adventure yet. Welcome to the world, my little dragons. ❤️🔥”
And with that, the internet broke.
Jace’s Fangirls:
“I woke up thinking it was going to be a good day… and now I find out HE HAS THREE CHILDREN?!”
“FIRST, THE ENGAGEMENT. THEN, THE WEDDING. AND NOW TRIPLETS? JACE, GIVE US TIME TO HEAL.”
“WHY DOES HE LOOK SO CUTE CRYING??? I SHOULD BE THE ONE CRYING.”
“Do you guys think there’s still a chance? Like maybe in another life?”
“His SPERM WORKS FAST, WTF.”
“My man didn’t just get stolen… HE WAS MULTIPLIED.”
“I just know he sings lullabies to those babies. I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”
Your Fanboys:
“BRO I WAS STILL GETTING OVER THE WEDDING, WHAT IS THIS?”
“I’m so happy for her but also so deeply in pain.”
“Not only did she marry Jace, but she gave him THREE CHILDREN?? I AM SHATTERED.”
“Triplets. She really said, ‘Here’s a family in one go.’”
“Jace is crying, I’m crying, we’re all crying.”
“She’s really in her MILF era now… I can’t keep up.”
The General Public Watching the Chaos Unfold:
“This is the biggest internet heartbreak since Zayn left One Direction.”
“We lost him, y’all. Jace Velaryon is officially a father of THREE.”
“WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?!”
“Triple the babies, triple the heartbreak for the fandom.”
Meanwhile, Jace? He’s still sniffling, rocking one of the babies in his arms, looking at his phone and shaking his head at the absolute meltdown in his comment section.
“Damn… they’re really taking this hard, huh?” he murmurs, wiping his tears while kissing your forehead.
You glance at his screen, seeing thousands of devastated comments. Smirking, you whisper:
“Told you they weren’t ready.”
Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons
Hi! Could I please request another threesome with Cregan, reader and Jace. Maybe they get jealous when they see reader with another men and want to teach her a lesson? Thank you and love your blog!
i get drunk on jealousy.
Modern!AU — After they've ignored you for a week, you were desperate to have their attention back. Flirting with a random guy might not be the best idea.
MASTERLIST
PAIRING — Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader x Jacaerys Velaryon.
TAGS — polyrelationship/polyamorous, m/m/f, smut (p in v, clit play, handjob, oral sex, creampie, spitting, cum eating, male on male action), jace x cregan, use of alcohol and drugs, kind of drunk sex, dom!cregan, switch!jace, sub!reader, jealousy, cursing. If something is missing let me know!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE — Don't expect so much of this fic, I saw this picture, I saw a vision, and basically my horniness wrote this by itself. Not my best work, but fuck it, this is just for fun. Also, this made me realize that I'm unable to write dom!Jace if Cregan is there too, oops??? I guess??? NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE MEN.
I took this request as an excuse to write this fic so... thank you for sending it and hope you enjoy this!🤍
WORD COUNT — 3.1k
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤenglish is not my first language.
Most people on Campus knew about your strange relationship with Cregan and Jacaerys. Some guys would often call you a whore behind your back, while some girls would prefer the term ‘lucky bitch’; it was no secret that the both of them were quite known for being handsome and gallant, almost acting like real life prince-charmings. Every girl would drool for them, acknowledging their chivalry and politeness. Of course, they already knew about the attention that they received from the opposite sex, they knew about how many girls would love to be in your position. Which is why they didn't understand why you were so eager to act like a brat.
Jace tapped Cregan's shoulder as he saw you chatting with some random guy that suddenly appeared next to you on the couch. Neither of them had seen him before, he was probably a freshman or someone that sneaked into the party without invitation. Both pairs of eyes were intently staring at you, watching every move you make. They knew you weren't oblivious enough to not see it; he was obviously flirting with you, and you were clearly enjoying every moment of it. Jacaerys, being the most jealous out of the three of you, tightened his grip around his bottle of beer, his fingertips turning white as Cregan turned to look at him.
“Don't do anything stupid,” he warned him. “She'll deal with us later.”
“But look at her!” Jace snapped, his breathing ragged.
“She's doing it to piss us off,” Cregan attempted to calm him down. “She won't do anything with that guy. Just wait until the party's over and we'll take care of it, okay?”
He looked at him, obediently nodding as he took a long sil out of his beer to calm down a bit. Jace forbade himself to turn your way, ignoring your desperate attempt to make them jealous. Cregan, being a lot less hotheaded than Jace, acted nonchalantly toward your attitude, pretending you were doing nothing wrong, even when he wanted to grab your arm and take you right in that couch just to clarify that you belong to them.
Cregan knew your purpose, you both had spoken about it earlier that day after one of your classes together. They both have been ignoring you, neglecting your needs and spending more time alone — without you. At first you didn't mind it, thinking that they were busy with the final exams and their final projects of the semester; however, when you knew they were using all that time to plan this stupid party you got pissed, almost screaming at him in the middle of the campus, frustrated. Now here you were, sitting with a freshman trying to get in your pants, all while they were still ignoring you.
Both guys spent the rest of the night drinking, playing some games with other members of the fraternity and having a blast while you were standing in a corner, alone and bored; your two lovers out of your sight. Perhaps that was why you couldn't see Jace searching for you everytime he could, unable to control the jealousy that had grown within him. He couldn't find you anywhere around, which made his mind overthink about where you were, and with whom. Cregan would try to calm him down, offering him his blunt which Jace would accept in order to relax.
Hours passed, it was 4am when the music stopped and everyone passed out in random parts of the fraternity house. Cregan and Jace were stumbling their way up to their dorm, the effects of the alcohol still lingering in their bodies as they struggled to reach for their room. They both were holding onto each other until they opened the door and saw you standing in front of the mirror, wiping off your make up and getting ready to sleep. They noticed you had moved their beds together, making a bigger one as you usually do whenever you stayed with them.
They entered the room in silence, and while Cregan was closing the door and turning the lock, Jace stood closer to you almost drooling once he saw you were wearing one of his shirts. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hid his face on the crock of your neck, leaving wet kisses all over your skin and completely forgetting about the fact that he was supposed to be ignoring you.
“You're so fucking weak, Jace,” Cregan scolded him, removing his shoes and shirt, getting ready to bed.
You turned to look at the eldest guy, who just ignored your intense gaze.
“You're mad?” you dared to ask.
“We both are, actually,” Jacaerys murmured against your skin.
“And why would you be mad? I should be the angry one!”
“Oh, really?” Cregan finally turned, stepping closer to you. “Why is that?”
“You know why! We talked about this and you decided to keep ignoring me!”
Stark laughed dryly, his gray eyes getting darker as he narrowed them. “Is that why you've been acting like a fucking whore tonight? Trying to get into a freshman's pants to get our attention. Fucking pathetic.” He took a step close enough to grab your jaw and force you to look at him. You tried to squirm away from him, but Jace's arms tightened their grip around your body, and you had no escape. “Jace couldn't even enjoy the fucking party because he thought you were sucking another guy's cock. You think that's fair? To make him feel like shit the entire night because you were just needy of attention?”
“I- I didn't-”
“You broke my heart tonight, sweetheart,” Jace whispered in your ear as his fingers reached the hem of your shirt. “You need to pay for what you've done…”
“I'm- I'm sorry, I never meant to-”
“It seems like you need a lesson,” Cregan interrupted you, tightening his grip on your face and making you whine. “Something to remind you that you belong to us.”
Jacaerys' hand cupping your core with one of his hands, burying his fingers between your folds and covering them with your growing slick. He giggled, “she's not wearing panties…” he informed, smiling up at Cregan who clenched his jaw.
“Get her on her knees,” he commanded, and the youngest obeyed immediately, letting you go from his firm grip.
You fell to your knees, scratching them with the raspy carpet beneath you. Jace removed his shirt as Cregan started to unbutton his pants until they pooled around his ankles along with his underwear. You whimpered once you saw his cock starting to get hard under your haze, your mouth watering as you leaned towards his side.
“Get on the bed,” he pointed at Jace. You tried to stand up and follow the instructions too, yet he stopped you by gripping the front of your head and pulling it back. “Not you,” he sternly said. “Open up.”
Obediently, you did as you were told, opening your mouth and letting him press his tip on your tongue. He gave it a few taps, teasing before ge finally decided to start fucking your mouth. Cregan grabbed the sides of your head to keep you still in your position, and his hips started to snap against your throat without further warning. You found stability when you placed your cold hands on his thighs, grasping onto them so you wouldn't lose balance as he had no mercy with you.
You looked up teary eyed, gagging and gulping loudly as you heard his moans slipping out of his plump lips. The small eye contact suddenly became too much for him, so he leaned his head back as he closed his eyes. “Such a delicious mouth,” he praised you, “taking my cock so fucking well.”
His grip around your head started to hurt a bit, his fingertips burying in you as he fastened his pace. It wasn't hard for you to become a mess; your own drool was falling down the corners of your lips as you cried out, your whines being muffled by him inside your mouth, and your slick already starting to leak out of you. Your arousal only grew once he buried himself completely in your mouth, grabbed the back of your head and forced you to stay there for a few seconds, with his length fully sheathed in your throat. Your nose brushed against his pelvis as the air started to escape from your lungs.
“Come on now, baby,” he murmured with a strained voice, feeling his cock pulsing inside your mouth. “Take it… take it all…”
He chuckled softly as you started to tap on his thigh, and he quickly let you go. You gasped once he pulled out of your mouth, gasping for the air your lungs desperately needed. He moaned softly once he saw you; tears on your face, drool falling down your swollen lips — you looked so pretty he even thought about letting you go unpunished and just please you, but then he turned to see Jace; his cock was achingly hard, his ruddy tip leaking as he desperately fucked his fist; he had been so good to you, and you made him feel so bad throughout the night; he deserved a reward, and you deserved a punishment.
Before you could react, Cregan grabbed your body with ease, lifting you up from the ground and carelessly carrying you towards the bed. You moaned with his touch, so needy of him that even his roughness made you squirm out of pleasure. He moved your body around as if you were a ragdoll, shifting your position in bed until you were sitting on top of Jace's pelvis, his cock right between your legs. For a second you thought it was finally the time for them to fuck you, but you were so wrong.
“Grab her hips,” he commanded, using that mandatory tone that drove you and Jace insane. “Don't let her move.”
He positioned himself between the boy's legs, leaving you more confused than before. “What- what are you-?”
“I'm teaching you a lesson,” he stopped you before you could finish your question. “You'll see what happens when you behave and when you don't.”
You saw him leaning down, his plump lips wrapping the tip of Jace's cock and making him squirm beneath your body. Your mouth dropped as you looked at Cregan taking him entirely, his haze fixed in you as the frustration in your body grew even more. The youngest had his nails buried in the flesh of your hips, you heard him moan so prettily that you could even feel the slick oozing out of you, even when you were untouched. It was such a sinful image to witness, especially when Cregan's eyes became teary once he gagged around Jace.
“Oh, fuck…” you mumbled, tears of despair gathering in your eyes as your breathing became ragged. “P-please touch me…”
Jace's hand attempted to reach for your throbbing clit, but the older grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “I'll stop if you touch her,” he warned him. All you could do was cry out.
Cregan's ragged breathing would reach your folds, causing shivers all over your spine. You would try to move your hips to at least rub yourself against Jace's skin, but he didn't allow it, holding you down so tightly that you were certain it would leave a bruise.
The moans turned into whines as Jace started to quickly feel the orgasm coming. His skin was burning as Cregan fervently sucked on his tip, using his tongue to clean up the precum spilling from his slit. Whenever you would cry out or move on top of him he would feel closer to the edge, his body burning inside. “I'm so fucking close, baby,” he whimpered, “keep sucking my cock, I'm- I'm gonna fucking cum… f-fuuck.”
You saw Cregan hollowing his cheeks, milking Jace dry as he came inside his mouth. Drops of the pearly seed escaped from his lips and you felt the need to lick them both clean. You needed a taste, anything that would make you feel some kind of relief.
He sat back up, and as soon as he laid his hazy eyes on you, he grabbed your neck pulling you closer towards him. As if it was a reflex, you opened your mouth while you stared at him through your glossy eyes. He let his spit fall onto your mouth, to then pull you close and fervently kiss you. The salty taste of Jace's release lingered in your mouths as you devoured each other, you would whine against his lips, still sobbing as your pussy was already aching for the lack of attention.
That's when the boy beneath you wrapped you between his arms, forcing you to lay on top of his chest. He didn't even let you catch a break before you felt his cock slowly making his way inside of you, and you gasped out of relief. He stretched you out, providing you with that sweet sting of pain that drove you insane. His hands grabbed your thighs, folding you in half as he started to thrust upwards.
“Don't ever forget who you belong to,” he grunted against your ear as you struggled to keep it quiet. Probably the whole house knew what you were doing, and maybe that was their purpose all along. “You're fucking ours, baby. This tight pussy belongs to us, do you hear me?”
Cregan's hand fell hard on your throbbing clit as you remained silent. A whine left your lips as Jace kept bullying your gummy, wet walls with his girth.
“Answer him,” he demanded, getting closer to you and placing his leaking cock on top of your swollen pearl. You felt the room spinning.
“Yes! Yes! I'm- fuck… I'm fucking yours,” you sobbed.
The whole situation became overwhelming, while one was burying himself in the deepest part of you, the other was rubbing himself on your sensitive flesh, searching for his own release as he wrapped his hand around your throat.
“Fuck, you're fucking squeezing me so tight, baby,” Jace moaned, breathlessly as he felt the mixture of your slick falling down his sack. The lewd sounds of your folds getting stretched by his thickness almost making him cum again. “So fuckin delicious…”
“We've just started and we already fucked her silly,” Cregan chuckled. “She's a fucking mess for us…”
A layer of sweat covered your body; you felt the blood burning inside your veins, the orgasm approaching you embarrassingly fast as they were stimulating your senses. Your eyes rolled back, the desperate pleads slipping out of your lips as you were begging them to make you cum. You were shaking, your face covered in tears as the moans were ripped out of your throat.
“So loud,” the older teased you, “gonna wake up the whole fucking house…”
“I- I need to… please, I need to cum!”
Cregan leaned towards you, and Jace instinctively fastened his pace, burying himself deeper and harder; you had a hard time thinking straight as the older’s hands tightened around your neck. “Ow, poor girl, wants to cum. I don't think you deserve it.”
“P-please, Cregan…”
“Work for it,” he demanded. “Make Jace cum and then you're free to do it too.”
Almost as if it was an instinct, you started to move your hips up and down Jace's cock, making the thrusts more intense and deeper. The younger moaned loudly, already feeling overstimulated by your movements and feeling his sack heavy with a new load of his release. He thought about how pretty you would look with your legs spreaded and his seed falling from your weeping hole; that image alone almost made him peak right in the spot.
“Jacey, please!” you whined, already growing tired. “Please, please, cum in me!”
“Want me to fill your pretty cunny, baby? Mhm? Want my cum inside of you?” he teased, and you rolled your eyes as your walls clenched with his filthy words.
“Yes… yes, please… give it to me, please…”
As a spectator, Cregan groaned loudly, quickly rubbing his hands around his shaft with his eyes fixed in the way Jace was filling you up, bewitched by that bulge in your belly that grew each time that he would bury himself deep inside of you, touching your sweet spot over and over until your head feel dizzy and all that left your mouth were incoherent mumbling.
“I can't… I can't hold it…” you sobbed.
“Come on, baby, I'm so fucking close, just wait for me,” Jace whimpered, his movements getting more desperate and sloppier.
“I can't! I can't! F-fuck…”
Everything came to a breaking point once your release gushed out of you, spurring all over them and making a complete mess. Neither of them could hold back after such an obscene view in front of them, and they were quick to follow. Jacaerys finally spilled himself in you, his seed painting your walls and filling you to the brim. Lastly, Cregan stained your shirt and flesh with his pearly drops, moaning so beautifully that it made you feel butterflies in your belly.
You hissed when Jace pulled out of you, feeling your legs shake while Cregan struggled to stand up from the bed and looking for something to clean you up while you laid against the younger’s body, who softly wiped the tears out of your face.
“Shh… it's okay, you did so good for us, my love,” he cooes, so gently. “So, so good.”
“I'm- I'm sorry,” you mumbled while Cregan returned to your side with a towel in his hand. With soft brushes he started to clean your thighs, your belly and the raw flesh between your legs. “I- I never meant to make you two feel bad… I was- I was being so selfish-”
“Hey,” Cregan stopped you, holding your face with gentleness; so different from his previous touch. “It's already behind us, okay?”
Once he finished cleaning you up, your body fell into Jace's embrace as he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him and cuddling with you. He hid his face on the crook of your neck and softly hummed when the remains of your sweet perfume reached his nose.
“We love you so much,” he whispered, “please, don't ever do that to us again…”
You grabbed your face only to see his puppy, brown eyes. A gentle, soft kiss was shared as you felt Cregan laying down behind you and fondling your body, soon you three had your limbs tangled as you kissed and caressed each other without shame. Loving touches that relaxed all of you.
“I'm sorry,” you whispered again to the both of them. “I'll never do that again.”
“Do you promise?” Cregan asked.
“I promise,” you softly nodded.
The Northern boy leaned to leave a soft kiss on your cheek, you both shared a gentle smile which let you know that the anger that was once within him was now fully gone.
follow @by-fairysluna for updates!!
GENERAL TAG LIST — @islandfantasydream @arcielee @bucknastysbabe @zaldritzosrose @rafeism @valeskafics
CREGAN TAG LIST — @purplequxxn @iloveharbingers @jeongiegram @koobratzy @foxyanon
JACAERYS TAG LIST — @iloveharbingers @alynna-m @katharina1111 @simp-aholic
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
Forbidden Desires
Paring: Davos Blackwood x Bracken!reader
Summary: Trapped in a small stone cupboard, you battle the cold, hunger, and discomfort as you wait for dawn. However, when your enemy—the last rescuer you wished for—finally appears in the torrential rain, you regret ever asking for help.
Cw: Davos tells jokes, someone call an ambulance
An: Guess who no longer has a broken arm!
Part 7
The wind howled through the ruins of the castle. The gusts were so violent that, from time to time, they cleared a space for the moon to be seen, though the rain was still so fierce that it seemed to bathe everything in a ghostly light. You could barely make out the lone tree, bent by the wind. The lightning struck in the distance, but the thunder was so deafening that it felt as though it were much closer.
Were it not for the biting cold, the gnawing hunger, and the discomfort of being wrapped in soaking wet clothes, crouched in a cupboard, surrounded by the three remaining stone walls of the once grand structure, you might have considered this a perfect revenge for Davos.
However, the stone ceiling was on the brink of collapsing, and the dry floor, with barely enough space to shield yourself within the crumbling castle, made your predicament even worse.
You had been sitting there for what felt like hours, the passage of time agonisingly slow. You would never find your way back to Raventree Hall amidst this darkness and rain. You would have to wait in this forsaken place until dawn, unless someone came to rescue you, though how likely was that? Elena would be worried, but perhaps Davos wouldn’t even notice—or care—that you had been gone so long.
Earlier, as you had watched a thick curtain of rain descend upon you, you had been both intimidated and thrilled. You had never seen anything like it before. You tried to escape the storm, but had failed.
Barely able to find your way to the ruins of the castle amidst the vast emptiness of an unfamiliar land, you dismounted in disappointment, for only a few walls remained standing, and the area was littered with fallen stones from the ruined structure. A large tree rose where what had once been a courtyard, or perhaps a great hall, now lay in ruins. Carefully, you made your way through the slippery, moss-covered stones, seeking shelter.
The remnants of a staircase should have led to an upper floor, but above there was nothing but wind and rain. You had hoped to find a staircase leading to a cellar, but the rain still poured relentlessly, limiting your visibility. The only thing that seemed remotely suitable was that narrow, doorless cupboard, which, though damp and moss-covered, offered a semblance of shelter and allowed you to rest instead of having to remain perched atop your mare.
About an hour later, you heard the sound of a horse approaching before the faint light appeared. You hurriedly rose, stepped to the threshold of your hiding place, and saw a tall figure, hooded, holding a lantern and guiding his horse towards where your mare was tethered. A great wave of relief washed over you; even if it was someone merely searching for their dog, they could return you to the Blackwood castle and save you from dying out here this night.
“Hello!” you called out.
“Here you are hiding…”
That voice. You would recognise it anywhere, the last person you ever wished to be rescued by. And what the Stranger was he doing here, instead of in his bed?
The thought of getting drenched again horrified you, but you supposed that Davos would not wish to remain here any longer than necessary. So, you said:
“I will come out, but only if you assure me that you can find the way back to Raventree Hall in the dark.”
He did not answer, and you promised yourself not to set any further conditions. You were not eager to step back into that torrential rain unless absolutely necessary, but when he approached and handed you the lantern before returning to the horses, you realised they might not be returning to the castle immediately. You placed the lantern in the far corner of your hiding spot, out of the way.
You went back to the threshold, but it was so dark outside that you could see neither Davos nor the horses. Was he looking for an even larger, untouched room? No, for that he would need the lantern. Perhaps he was unsaddling the horses, but he should have checked the room first, for it was not large enough to accommodate them both.
When he reappeared in the doorway, you stepped back to let him pass. Davos had to crouch to enter the cupboard; the ceiling was so low that his head almost brushed it, and inside, there would be no way for him to straighten up.
He tossed two leather sacks at you, set down a second, unlit lantern by the entrance, and shrugged off his coat, leaving it outside as it was drenched. You noticed how the coat had kept the rain from soaking his clothes, and his hair, tied back in a queue, was mostly dry.
“Are you not going to take us home tonight? You know the way, don’t you?”
“Yes, but it’s dangerous. The ground is sodden, the river has overflowed, and there are deep puddles outside. I’m not willing to take that risk.”
For a moment, you thought he was concerned for you, until he added:
“I’m not willing to put my horse in danger. It could slip and break a leg. We’re lucky we’ve made it this far without that happening.”
Of course, he wasn’t thinking of you at all. You gritted your teeth and waited for him to stay at the far end of the small space, which was too cramped for either of you to move freely.
“Spread the blankets before you take the food out of the sack.”
Food! You hurried to spread the blankets on the stone floor, sitting at the back of the cupboard before reaching for the other sack. Inside, you found a small meat pie and began to eat. He could have sat across from you, but instead, he lay down on one of the blankets, curling up beside you, propped up on an elbow, his head almost touching the wall. His legs were already taking up far too much room!
Before you could protest, you turned to him quickly.
“If you lie down here, there won’t be enough space for both of us.”
“There’s plenty of space. You can lie down too, just snuggle up beside me. I even brought you a pillow.”
You assumed he was referring to his arm, though you were still leaning on it and made no move to shift. It was an uncomfortable situation, trapped in a small space with your enemy. He certainly wouldn’t be pleased about it. And his leg...
You glanced with concern at his left thigh.
“Does your leg hurt? The stitches haven’t come undone, have they?”
“Would you like me to take off my trousers so you can have a look?” You must have had a very surprised expression, for he added: “The wound is well bandaged. And thanks to your care, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”
Was he thanking you? You remained incredulous until he added:
“You can consider this rescue as payment for tending to me. Now you can return home.”
He meant your home, not his, but you no longer felt quite so hungry, so you tried to let the comment pass without letting it sour your mood.
“How did you manage to find me?”
“The dogs led the way.”
“And where are they?”
“Probably still barking at the fox den a little further south. I rode here one summer, and when a sudden storm broke, I took shelter in these ruins. It’s the only refuge in this area, so I thought you might have found the last intact room of the castle.”
You wouldn’t call it intact, but you realised that Davos’s broad frame shielded you from many of the gusts of wind. Was that why he had lain down on the floor? If so, that was rather gallant of him.
“I used one of your garments to track you,” he said, pulling a cloak from the same basket, which you were grateful to see was still in perfect condition to cover yourself with. “I also found this.”
You felt the warmth drain from your face as he placed a small bottle in front of you. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something. You wanted to snatch it from his hands, but you feared he would become suspicious if you did, and that was the last thing you needed right now.
“It’s a medicine my mother gave me,” you replied quickly. “I have trouble sleeping.”
Only then could you take the bottle from his hands.
“Are you sure your mother isn’t trying to kill you?”
“Pardon?” You looked at him as though three heads had suddenly sprouted from his shoulders, and he simply laughed, shrugging.
“Your mother giving you a sleeping potion when you are in the house of her worst enemy is like handing you over on a silver platter.”
He had a point, and upon reflection, you realised you had given him a rather foolish excuse.
“My mother isn’t like my father; she really believes the best in people.” That wasn’t a lie. Your mother was quite the optimist, a true believer in kindness and empathy. “Her last words before she let me go were for me to make you love me so that I could enjoy a good life by your side.”
“So, that’s your mission? To make me love you?”
“I considered it at first, but when I saw you, I realised it was more likely that a dog would love me than you would.” He scoffed beside you but didn’t reply. “Anyway, I’m glad I managed to find this place.”
It was a clear attempt to change the subject, but he didn’t press, though he seemed slightly curious as to why you avoided his gaze.
“In this rain? You must have great eyesight.”
You shrugged.
“With some help.”
“From whom?”
“From witch spirits.” You flashed him a mischievous grin. He snorted, so you added, “When it started raining, I had just passed by here, so it wasn’t hard to turn back.”
“Your maid was frantic when you hadn’t returned from your ride after a few hours. Most of my men are out searching for you. I thought you had finally regained your sense and left Raventree Hall for good.”
In that case, why had he bothered to search for you himself? You thought about asking him, but you imagined it would only spark an argument, and that was the last thing you wanted in such a confined space... You certainly couldn’t leave or slam doors in here!
“At least you’re not in Wendish Town.”
Thank goodness, a neutral topic!
“Are we still in your territory?”
“No. As far as I know, whoever owns this stretch northwest of Riverrun has never occupied or cultivated it.”
“Are you sure?” you asked.
“Actually, no. It’s been several years since I’ve passed through here. It’s likely still under the command of Grover Tully.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Or did you plan to court his granddaughter to unite the two lands?”
“She’s a pretty girl.”
“Then why haven’t you courted her?” You saw him make a face.
“Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean her ideas align with mine.”
“So, she’s stupid?”
“I don’t care about that, I just don’t see her as my wife.”
What a sad thing to say!
“Is that really all you aspire to?” you asked, surprised.
“What else is there?”
“Happiness, love, children…”
“That sounds like something you could aspire to as well.”
“And you can’t?”
“Love is fleeting, just like happiness. Though I would have liked to have children. I just don’t feel the need to rush it.”
“You’re a cynic... or at least not very optimistic, are you? Happiness and love are possible. How long they last depends entirely on you. You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?”
“Both require work,” Davos replied with a grunt.
“More than work, a bit of effort. Or maybe nothing but acceptance. Sometimes, you just have to believe you can reach something in order to reach it.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Are you a philosopher too? You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
You didn’t let his scornful tone unsettle you.
“And as for not caring whether your wife is foolish or not, I very much doubt you’d want your children to inherit that trait. So that statement isn’t true. You would care.”
“I don’t have the chance to find out, do I?”
You tensed. The topic was once again about the two of you, and this was hardly the place to resume such a conversation, especially since you couldn’t move without touching him. Your knees brushed against his body, and his legs were in contact with your right side and hip. You wouldn’t even be able to get out of there without crawling over him. Wisely, you didn’t take the bait. You opened the sack with the blankets, took out two more, and handed one to him. He folded it to use as a pillow and laid his head down. He still had to keep his knees bent; otherwise, the rain would soak his feet.
“Try to sleep,” he said. “Dawn will come in a few hours. And if the spirits wake you up, just ignore them.”
“What spirits?” you exclaimed, your eyes wide with surprise.
“They say spirits roam some of the ruins of these old castles and watchtowers. I’ve never believed it, but you never know…”
“Do these ruins have a reputation for harbouring spirits?”
“I don’t know. But in any case, the spirits are harmless, so no screaming. Screaming gives me a bad wake-up.”
You rolled your eyes; if he hadn’t added that last bit, you might have believed he was being serious. You couldn’t quite figure out what he was up to that night—teasing, telling obvious lies… almost as if he had started to feel comfortable beside you, even while continuing to push you away.
But you didn’t want to lie next to him, even though he had closed his eyes to signal the end of the conversation. And you didn’t think you could sleep sitting up, no matter how much you wanted to. You weren’t cold anymore; in fact, the thought of sleeping next to him started to make you feel warm. But you covered yourself with the other blanket and lay on your side, with your back to him.
You also had to bend your knees because his legs kept you from doing anything else, but there wasn’t enough space on your side to bend them without pressing your backside against his. You were mortified; you hoped he was asleep and wouldn’t notice that you were touching him and that you couldn’t stop shifting to get comfortable, without success.
“If you don’t stay still in the next second, we won’t sleep tonight,” he said. You weren’t quite sure what he meant by that, but you stopped moving immediately. “And I’ll be the one giving you that medicine of your mother’s so you can sleep.”
The last thing you thought before drifting off was how nice it felt to feel his warmth while the wind howled and the rain kept falling outside.
Funny, because he had just threatened to kill you... unconsciously.
When you awoke, you discovered that your limbs and Davos’s were completely entwined. How on earth had you slept like that? You supposed you must have turned towards him in your sleep, for your head was nestled between his arm and his chest; one of his legs was stretched out, his foot peeking out from the shelter, though the rain had ceased. His other leg was bent between yours. You were certain that your leg—the one beneath Davos’s—was completely numb, but you dared not move to confirm it, for you would have been mortified if he woke and found you in such a position: curled against him as though you had sought to sleep in his embrace.
“The noise didn’t wake you.” You closed your eyes, as if that could stop the blush from spreading across your cheeks.
“What noise?” you asked, thinking of the spirits he had mentioned.
“Seems our horses had a fine night.” You weren’t sure if he meant what your mind was imagining.
“You mean they…” He nodded, and your mouth fell open in surprise. When he propped himself up on his elbow, your head slid down to rest on his forearm, allowing Davos to gaze down at you.
“You’re not displeased?”
“On the contrary. I’m glad she found some warmth this night.”
“And you didn’t? For, sprawled over me as you were, one might think you were rather comfortable.”
“It’s not my fault what my body does in its sleep. It’s hardly fair to hold that against me.”
“Isn’t it?” Davos said, tracing a finger along your cheek. “Husbands and wives always find a way to be comfortable with one another.”
“We’re not yet…” married, you meant to say, but he covered your lips with his. You didn’t try to pull away, not when you couldn’t find a reason compelling enough to do so. Soon, you stopped thinking altogether. The taste of him was intoxicating; you parted your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth, your hand sliding around the back of his neck to caress him. Davos’s hand trailed down your neck to one of your breasts, brushing lightly over the nipple, which hardened at once. A delicious shiver ran through you, and only then did he cup your breast in his hand, squeezing gently.
You might have moaned; the touch of his hand was so pleasurable… You might have begged him not to stop, but instead, his kisses grew deeper, more fervent, and his knee slid between your legs, pressing against your core. This time, you did moan, but Davos’s lips swallowed the sound. Yet the pleasurable sensation he had stirred did not fade, and you felt an intense urge to rub yourself against him. Aroused and overwhelmed as he slid his tongue in and out of your mouth and caressed your breasts, you were overcome by an incomprehensible longing. But the cramped space you were in hindered your movements; it kept you from what you desired. You were trapped beneath Davos’s body, though in truth, he could…
Suddenly, the kisses ceased.
“No,” he said. “As much as you may desire it, I won’t do it, for if I did, you’d never leave Raventree Hall.”
It took you a moment to realise that he was boasting of his sexual prowess. He even smiled as he said it! You raised an eyebrow.
“Do you think you’re that good?”
“I’ve been told as much, at least in bed. But in this decidedly primitive place? Perhaps...” he indicated, shrugging nonchalantly.
You felt a strong urge to either laugh or strike him with something. Was he being serious, or was he once again teasing you? His smile suggested the second, and you began to think that perhaps he had started to feel more at ease beside you. Perhaps you had even begun to grow on him. It was a fleeting thought, yet you immediately doubted it, considering everything that had been said and done. Then, you let out a strangled gasp—had he just accused you of desiring him?
“What makes you think I...?”
He placed a finger on your lips to silence you.
“Protesting is useless. I can see it in your eyes, in the gentleness of your touch, but you’re mistaken if you think that will somehow make me love you,” he clarified, sitting up, seemingly preparing to leave.
Furious that such astonishing kisses could end so abruptly, you retorted:
“Well, don’t you dare blame me for what just happened.”
“I’m not blaming you,” he said, “I blame your mare. I haven’t heard two horses mating in a long time. Quite primitive, isn’t it?”
As he said this, he fixed his gaze upon you in a way that mesmerised you. In that moment, the fierce gleam that sometimes flickered in his eyes was not dangerous; it was passionate, and for an instant, you believed that he might desire you. But then, you dismissed that thought entirely, given everything that had been said and done.
He smiled again, but this time, it seemed mocking, as he added:
“It’s clear I wouldn’t mind having you in my bed, but mark my words: I’ll never trust you outside of it. You’ll never find happiness in this place, Lady Bracken. Children, perhaps more than you’d wish for, but nothing else. You’re still free to run.”
Ah, of course. At least, that’s what you thought. Perhaps you should tell him that your brother had threatened to lock you away. Or maybe you should poison Davos, just as your brother had suggested. In that very moment, you were more than willing to do so.
"You're beginning to sound like a parrot repeating the same thing". you replied, holding the cape over your shoulders.
When he left to saddle the horses, you stood up, gathered the blankets into the empty sack, and took the other one. However, you paused and emptied the food sack. You weren’t hungry. You hoped that Davos was.
You had already noticed that the sun was shining; stepping outside to bask in its warmth was simply wonderful. Everything changed when the sun shone; during the night, the landscape had looked so intimidating... but now it appeared lush and beautiful, although large puddles dotted the courtyard.
"I'm glad I found you."
Had you really just heard those words? Since Davos had his back to you while adjusting the girths on the horses, you couldn’t be sure. They suggested something very different from what he had said back in the hideout.
"Why?" you asked, breathlessly.
"Because if you had died in the heath, your family would have gotten exactly what they wanted: a reason to strip me of all my lands, throw me in prison, or hang me."
Quite an unromantic subject. By now, you should know better than to read meanings into his words that couldn’t possibly be true.
But, regarding what he really meant, you replied, "I doubt that. For now, you're a staunch supporter of the princess. The king and she wouldn't allow anyone to take your lands, much less your sister. She seems like she could be quite intimidating when she wants to."
Davos let out a laugh.
"Exactly. That’s precisely why we all know that the king and queen’s hand does not favour our allegiance to the princess. Things could change at any moment, my dear."
"In any case, I appreciate it. But really, why didn’t you abandon the search last night? You must have ridden for hours in the rain."
"Indeed... and I was tempted to do so."
That wasn’t exactly an answer, but he offered his hand to help you mount the mare. He brought you closer, but you ignored the gesture, as you were perfectly capable of mounting on your own. It might not have been the most graceful, but then again, nothing about the situation was graceful.
You placed a foot in the stirrup and asked again, "So why didn’t you leave me behind?" you exclaimed when he placed his hands on your backside and helped push you up.
"For self-preservation, as I’ve just explained," he replied, busy securing the supplies to the saddle.
Once both of you were mounted and moving away from the ruins, you looked back, wondering who might have lived there once.
"Really, you don’t know whose lands these are?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What a shame," you remarked, "it has a lovely view."
“Thank the gods, Lord Blackwood found you,” Elena exclaimed, rushing towards you, her face marked by a mixture of relief and concern. You, who had been standing motionless at the stable entrance, looked at her in silence, the night’s dampness soaking through your clothes. “I was about to send a letter to your family.”
“Do you know what would have happened if you had done that?” you asked, surprised and slightly alarmed. Your eyes reflected genuine concern. “My brothers would have been quick to demand Lord Davos’s death, and not for some love that doesn’t exist.”
“He would deserve it,” she replied, slightly blushing, though her tone remained firm.
You shook your head, letting out a frustrated sigh.
“I’m fine, really,” you said, trying to downplay it. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
Elena didn’t seem convinced but let out a small puff of air.
“Did you manage to change his mind?” she asked, watching you with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism.
You lowered your gaze for a moment, feeling the weight of your words.
“No…” you admitted with a hint of exhaustion. “And it’s getting harder. He still doesn’t trust my motives. It’s as if he overheard the last conversation I had with my brother.” You approached her and, without thinking, pulled the small vial from between your clothes. “He found this.”
Elena furrowed her brow when she saw what you were holding, but before she could make a comment, something in your face changed. You turned your gaze towards the stable’s threshold, and there, in the shadows of the entrance, you saw Davos approaching slowly. A knot formed in your stomach, and you nearly let out a frustrated groan, but then you realised that perhaps he hadn’t heard the whole conversation.
“We need to get rid of this as soon as possible,” you murmured, clenching your jaw. You couldn’t let that evidence fall into the wrong hands—this wasn’t a solution, at least not a peaceful one.
You grabbed Elena by the arm, urgency in your movements, and began walking quickly towards your chambers. However, before you could reach the safety of your room, a figure appeared in front of you: Alysanne.
She stopped dead in the hallway, blocking your way. To both of your surprises, she wrapped you in a sudden, warm embrace, leaving you speechless and paralysed by her closeness.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” Alysanne said, her arms still around you. Then, she pulled away slightly, but not enough to lose contact. With one hand, she touched your face, inspecting you closely as if searching for any hidden injuries.
“Thank you,” you responded softly, almost inaudibly. It wasn’t easy to admit how vulnerable you became in the face of such gestures. “It wasn’t my intention to cause this mishap. I got lost in the woods, and the rain caught me.”
Alysanne nodded slowly, as if those explanations weren’t necessary, as if she already understood what you hadn’t said.
“I know,” she replied, her gaze fixed on you, warm yet sharp. “Your time here has made me understand that it takes much more to make you run.”
Her words hit you like a blow, leaving you speechless. It was something you never would have expected to hear from her, not in a thousand years.
“You hug her, but not me... there’s the affection you have for me.” You felt the presence of Davos behind.
“You’re hard to kill. I’m not worried about you,” she said, but immediately moved closer to envelop him in a strong embrace. “How’s your wound?”
Davos simply shrugged, saying nothing more, and that worried you.
“Let me see,” was more of an order than a question.
“Why are both of you so obsessed with my wound? I’m not going to die,” he responded, as he sat down in a chair, pulling up his trousers as much as he could.
“For the same reason you rescued me. It doesn’t do us any good for either of us to be dead,” you replied.
He had always removed his own bandage until now. The stubbornness added to the previous two moods, and besides, he was almost sitting on top of the bandage. How was I supposed to remove it?
You knew the answer to that question when he leaned on his right foot, not putting weight on the injured leg. You crouched down and removed the bandage before he could change his mind and make the task harder. The bandage only stuck slightly to the wound before the last piece of fabric came off.
After inspecting the wound and the stitches, you were satisfied with the results.
“There’s no redness or swelling; it seems the adventure last night didn’t harm you.”
“That’s debatable. My shoulder hurts a lot from sleeping on the stone floor.”
You ignored that.
“Unless you put your clothes back on, there’s no need to re-bandage it. The air will help the scab harden.”
“And are you going to dress me?”
You stood up and looked at him with an arched eyebrow.
“So early, and already in a bad mood?” you replied.
“A reaction only you provoke, darling,” he shot back.
“Well, what a compliment,” you quipped.
You only stopped when you heard a laugh from behind, catching sight of Alysanne, hands on her hips, a wide smile on her face.
“Anyone who saw you two would think you're a fully married couple.”
The two of you could only roll your eyes and pretend you hadn’t heard any of it.
Masterlist
Some more warm ups while I rewatch House of the Dragon, this time with Aemond! He's still insanely fun to draw.
girlies favorite part of the day
LILACS AND VIOLETS!
pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!fem!reader
summary: “the other night. when you… held me,” he began, his eye leaving the floor so it could meet your gaze, building up the courage to speak. “could you hold me again? please?”
word count: 1,697
warnings: FLUFF, nottt proof read in the slightest, physical touch, cuddling, aemond is a vulnerable cutie patootie, might be slightly ooc but idgaf, etc etc
author's note: listen, i just want cuddles from aemond. also this is lowkey really bad i just wanted to write aemond fluff fr....
taglist: @floweringrott ♡
more aemond targaryen | masterlist | navigation
THE FIRST RAYS OF THE SUN crept in through the curtains of your bedchamber as you stirred awake, your eyes fluttering open—and, the first thing you could feel, was your tall, lithe husband, unconscious on top of your body. His head was tucked away against your neck, soft breaths escaping him, his arms wrapped tightly around your body like he was a snake scoping out its prey, legs tangled like vines strangling a tree branch; you would’ve giggled, but you wouldn’t want to wake him. Even though his eyepatch was wedged uncomfortably against your skin, you did not mind in the slightest. His natural scent wafted up your nose—dragon scales and pine wood, as well as his favourite rosemary oil he often applied to his hair during the late hours of the night. A few songbirds sat on the edge of your balcony, chirping and chattering away as you relaxed against your bed, your fingers gently scratching Aemond’s scalp.
He was a curious character, Aemond. Your husband, yes… But, he was still not accustomed to this whole union. It was arranged, of course, by his grandsire and your parents, allying your House to the Royal Family. A few moons into the marriage, and you both still did not share quarters—However, at times, the Prince would feel comfortable enough to visit you just before you fell asleep.
Last night was one of those times.
A soft knock against the oak of your bedroom door startled you from your book, a quiet sigh leaving your lips since you were already comfortable under the furs of your bed. It was late, the time equating to the Hour of the Eel. You wondered who it could be? Most likely a handmaiden; everyone in the castle would be asleep by now…
“Come in!” you called out, your drowsiness evident in your tone. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up more properly in your bed to maintain ‘proper Princess etiquette’.
Whatever that meant.
To your astoundment, the person standing at the entrance of your chamber was not your handmaiden, but, in fact, your husband—Prince Aemond. In his nightclothes, his eyepatch on, no hair tie keeping his hair back, like he had just left his rooms in a hurry to get to you.
Aemond was a peculiar, little thing. Peculiar in the sense that he was not at all what you had expected him to be. You heard the whispers, how the loss of his eye turned him into some cold, horrible man who was sharp with his tongue and even sharper with his sword. When your father informed you of your impending betrothal with the Targaryen Prince, you did not know what to expect. Would you live the same life as your mother? Forced to birth babies and live in your husband’s ignorance for the rest of your days? You’d honestly rather jump off the nearest cliff—
But then, you met him for the first time.
He was quiet, a man of few words. Respectful, kept his hands to himself. Well-groomed; half of his long, silver locks were always tied back. There was also the eyepatch, made of leather, which remained clasped around his left eye. Rumours always uttered that the Prince hadn’t taken it off since that dreaded night at Driftmark. You, his lady wife, hadn’t even seen what was under it, not even now.
Though, his remaining purple eye was already quite the beauty—the initial colour was truly violet, but if you looked close enough, swirls of lilacs, your favourite flowers, blended in so bewitchingly. It was intense, piercing. You liked it, the way he stared at you when he thought you didn’t notice.
Purple flowers were your favourite since they were synonymous to a sort of hope. Renewal and everlasting. You liked to think the Gods spoke to you through blossoms and cherubs. Like the Gods were reassuring you, saying—“Look! He’s not bad at all, your husband.”
Aemond was handsome, too. You weren’t the only one who thought so. During the courting period of your betrothal, many young noblewomen would giggle and whisper to themselves whenever you walked through the gardens with Aemond—his words were sharp, his sword sharper, but his actual appearance was probably the sharpest out of everything. The Gods of Old Valyria must’ve taken their time with him, carefully sculpting the contours of his nose, his jawline, his cheekbones, pairing them with an even more contoured body. He trained every morning with Ser Criston Cole, his mother’s sworn protector, and it clearly paid off.
“Husband…?” Your gentle voice broke the silence, your eyebrows crinkling, conveying your surprise at the sight of him at your door. You both talked often, but things were still… very new.
The Prince seemed to be surprised with himself, showing up in your chamber like this. He had been abed, though his thoughts were being particularly perturbing in the cold atmosphere of his room.
Your chamber was the opposite. Warm. You were warm.
“Wife,” he greeted, his voice even quieter than yours. He had shut the door behind him, now unsure of what to do. He glanced at you, his eye landing on the book in your lap before swallowing the lump in his throat. “Apologies, are you… are you busy?”
“Not really,” you replied, a small smile finding your lips as you closed your novel, placing it on your bedside table. “I was on the verge of falling asleep, if I’m being honest.”
“Ah,” Aemond nodded, his posture stiff, his arms by his sides. He looked like he was refraining himself from doing something—you wondered what he was thinking, and you wondered why he was here. The candle by your bed was flickering, like it was pushing you to talk to him—bring him closer.
“…Are you alright?” You asked, your eyebrows now creased with concern; perhaps he had a bad dream? You were the only one who he could converse with about them. Aemond didn’t know why he was so open with you. It could be because you were his wife, and it was basically your job to listen. Your duty.
And yet, Aemond knew there was more to it. To you.
“I… would not want to bother you,” he finally responded, lowering his eye to the wooden floors of the Keep. Softened eyes found your expression as your gaze lingered on your husband’s form; he resembled a little boy, his younger, reserved self. You never knew that version of him, but his inner child shone through a lot of the time when it was just the two of you.
“You could never, Aemond,” you reassured, your hands resting in your lap as you nibbled your bottom lip. “What is the matter?” Confliction overwhelmed his countenance, his silver eyebrows knitting together as he struggled to speak—all you could think about was how… adorable he looked.
“The other night. When you… held me,” he began, his eye leaving the floor so it could meet your gaze, building up the courage to speak. You did not interrupt, letting him take his time. A quality, patience, he was glad his wondrous wife had—Aemond felt as if everyone around him never had any time for him these days. His mother, his sister… His brother, too. Though, Aemond didn’t seek Aegon’s company often.
Daeron was a growing man, away in Oldtown; his priorities were elsewhere. Which was why Aemond was grateful for your presence—it might be selfish to think, but he was glad that, at the moment, your only theoretical priority was… him.
“Yes?” you prompted him to continue.
“Could you hold me again? Please?” Aemond’s voice was growing more docile by the minute—not out of embarrassment, but out of shyness. He wasn’t used to this, asking for what he wanted. He would rather die than demand something from you; you were his wife, not a property he owned.
Silence washed over the room, your expression only holding an understanding smile—you said nothing. You only leaned towards your candle, blowing the flame out, Aemond watching it die as you got under your many furs, getting comfortable—
And then, Aemond approached.
You never realised how intricate the patterns of your ceiling were; Maegor Targaryen seemed to have an eye for detail if you disregard his whole… character. The sun was slowly rising and your husband, astonishingly, still hadn’t risen. In fact, you were glad he was sound asleep—he worked like a machine most days, never considering rest for even a second.
Thinking too soon, you eventually felt Aemond shift against your body, his face burying further into the crook of your neck, grumbling quietly at the sight of the sun trying to disturb his slumber. Your usual, soft smile tickled your lips, holding back a chuckle as you took a peek at him, his arms grasping you like a vice—he was warm all over. It was a pleasant feeling.
You couldn’t help but tease him.
“Are you not planning on going to the courtyard this morning?” you asked, your voice encased with a playful tone as you heard him hum against your hot flesh; his lips brushed over your pulse point, purposely or accidentally you did not know. Either way, the action authored an acute flush colouring your cheeks, the most tremendous shade of red.
“Mmm… you’ll have to give me a moment,” he mumbled, a delicate laugh eluding from your soul—you made no move to remove your hands since he quite enjoyed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair.
You enjoyed mornings like this. Mornings like this where your husband didn’t feel pressured to build up a wall just to keep you away. Mornings like this where you could just hold him and have him hold you. Mornings like this where you could just be husband and wife—
Not Prince and Princess of House Targaryen.
In the corner of your bedchamber, the lilacs you had been growing bloomed beautifully in the glass vase your good sister Helaena gifted you on the morning of your wedding. A shrew of violets blended in naturally with your lilac, though you do not remember planting them there.
Perhaps the Gods have spoken to you once more. Renewal and everlasting.
EWAN MITCHELL as OSFERTH The Last Kingdom — 4.06
Jacaerys Velaryon - Sea Breeze
Summary - When the prince stumbles upon her naked in the sea, the encounter sparks an awkward moment between them. Amidst embarrassment and vulnerability, an unspoken bond begins to form. In the silence of shared discomfort, something new may blossom.
Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader
Warnings - None
Word count - 2083
Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.
My horse trotted softly along the shoreline, each step sending gentle puffs of sand swirling into the salty breeze.
The ocean stretched endlessly before us, shimmering in the sun's embrace, a mirror to the azure sky. The rhythmic crunch of hooves on sand mingled with the distant cries of gulls, their calls rising and falling like notes of a forgotten melody.
I gripped the reins loosely, tying them around a fallen branch that had washed ashore, bleached by sun and sea.
My steed whickered softly, the faint sound carried away by the wind. He dipped his head to nibble on sparse tufts of grass, content to linger in this tranquil place. I gave his neck a fond pat, feeling the warmth of his coat beneath my palm.
Together, we had journeyed far, and now, this brief moment of peace felt like a gift from the gods themselves.
I moved ahead, my bare feet sinking into the soft, warm sand with each step. The wind played with my hair, teasing it across my face and carrying with it the tangy scent of salt.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp air. The waves crashed in a soothing, eternal rhythm, their relentless dance a reminder of both change and constancy.
I let myself be carried away by the music of the sea, each swell and break a pulse in the heart of the earth.
The sun blazed above, radiant and golden, draping its warmth over me like a silken shawl. I sank into the sand, leaning back with a sigh, feeling it mould to my body as if cradling me in a gentle embrace.
For once, the world felt uncomplicated, the burdens of duty and expectation slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers.
Time slowed, and I basked in the sheer sweetness of the moment, as rare as it was perfect.
Then, a spark of mischief lit within me. I sat up, glancing around. The beach was empty—blissfully, completely empty. I grinned, the reckless thrill of freedom coursing through my veins.
No eyes to watch, no ears to listen. Only the sea, the wind, and the sky.
With a quick, breathless laugh, I jumped to my feet, shedding my clothes in a flurry of movements—each garment falling away like leaves from a tree in autumn.
The air prickled against my skin, cool and exhilarating, and I shivered, more from anticipation than cold. I stepped forward, tentative at first, the sand firm beneath my bare feet.
The water beckoned, a shimmering expanse of freedom.
The first touch of the sea was a shock, icy tendrils wrapping around my ankles. I gasped, hesitated, and then moved deeper.
The cold embraced me, each step bringing a fresh wave of sensation until, at last, I surrendered myself to its cool depths. I floated on the water's surface, staring up at the sky.
The world became smaller, reduced to the gentle lap of waves, the whisper of wind, and the vast, boundless sky.
Giddiness bubbled up within me, mixing with an overwhelming sense of peace.
I drifted, letting time slip by unnoticed. The sun dipped lower, painting the horizon with streaks of gold and crimson.
Reluctantly, I began to make my way back to shore, each step a reminder of gravity's pull. The water clung to me as I walked, drops glistening on my skin like jewels.
I paused at the water's edge, turning to steal one last look at the sea—a vast, untamed wilderness that mirrored my soul's desire for freedom.
And then, I heard it—a soft shuffling sound. My heart jumped, and I whipped around.
There, standing just beyond the reach of the waves, was Prince Jacaerys. His wide eyes were fixed on me, shock etched across every line of his face. He looked as if he had stumbled upon some forbidden scene.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved, time stretching taut between us. His mouth hung open as if words had failed him.
A strangled scream tore from my throat, and I scrambled to cover myself, pressing trembling hands against my chest.
Jacaerys blinked, his face turning a vivid shade of scarlet as he spun around with such speed that he nearly stumbled. His hands flew up to shield his face, but not before I saw the tips of his ears, red with embarrassment.
"My lady—I—I apologize!" he sputtered, his voice high and panicked. "I didn't—I wasn't—I had no idea—!" He fumbled for words, each one more hopelessly tangled than the last.
"What—what are you doing here?" I demanded, anger and mortification burning through me like fire. I took a furious step forward, water splashing around me.
The motion made me slip, and I yelped, barely catching myself.
Jacaerys instinctively turned back, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you—" he began, but my second scream cut him off. He spun around again, so quickly I half-expected him to topple over.
"I thought I saw—something," he stammered, his shoulders hunching as if he could make himself smaller, invisible. "I was... walking."
He shifted his weight awkwardly, his hands now clenched at his sides.
Heat crept up my neck as I stumbled out of the water, desperately grabbing at my clothes. The damp fabric clung stubbornly to my skin, making every movement awkward and slow.
I was acutely aware of how ridiculous I must have looked—half-dressed, dripping wet, and fumbling like a fool.
"Why—why are you not wearing any... clothes?" His voice cracked on the last word, and he winced, as if wishing the ground would swallow him whole.
"I wanted to swim," I shot back, the words sharp and defensive. My hands trembled as I pulled my tunic into place, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. "I didn't want to ruin my clothes."
"Of course," he muttered, nodding stiffly. "Completely reasonable." His voice was strangled, each syllable a battle against his own flustered state.
An agonizing silence stretched between us, each of us shifting awkwardly, unable to meet the other's gaze.
The air felt heavy with unsaid words, the kind that lodged themselves in throats and made breathing difficult.
He cleared his throat again, the sound rough and awkward, as if he hoped it might puncture the weight between us. His face remained a brilliant shade of red, a colour that betrayed every ounce of discomfort he was trying—and failing—to suppress.
His eyes stayed resolutely fixed on the sand at his feet as if the intricate patterns left by the waves were the most fascinating thing in the world.
I wondered if he felt as unsure as I did—whether he was struggling with the same dizzying mixture of mortification, vulnerability, and absurdity.
He shifted uncomfortably, shoulders tense, as if torn between staying rooted to the spot or making another bumbling attempt at a retreat.
I imagined him weighing his options, each one more awkward than the last.
I clutched my damp clothes tighter to my chest, acutely aware of how exposed I still felt, even partially covered.
The wind picked up again, cool and unkind, reminding me of my precarious state. I wished desperately for the moment to dissolve, to simply wake up and find it was all a fever dream.
But reality had no such mercy. The silence stretched further, taut as a drawn bowstring. And then, he spoke.
"How... how did you get here?" His voice was strained as if he were forcing himself to speak in measured tones. He cleared his throat again as if hoping to chase away the nervous tremor.
The effort was futile; it cracked and wavered all the same. "There's... no one else around."
"A horse," I blurted out, the words coming too quickly, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape. I gestured vaguely toward where my steed was tied. "I rode here."
My voice sounded thin as if someone else were speaking through me. His brow furrowed slightly, as though my answer required deep contemplation.
He nodded slowly, the motion mechanical, as if he were piecing together a complicated puzzle.
"Ah," he said, drawing out the syllable as though it held profound meaning. "The same horse I saw run past me just moments ago?"
My mouth fell open. "Oh." It was all I could manage, my mind scrambling to comprehend the implications.
"Yes," he added, his gaze darting sideways before snapping back to the ground. "Quite majestic. Impressive gallop."
I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the grit of sand sticking to my wet skin. Mortification prickled over me, and I bit back the retort that nearly escaped.
"Well," I muttered, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, "thank you... for the commentary."
A beat of silence passed between us, so thick and heavy I thought it might crush me. I almost wished it would.
Instead, he ran a hand through his dark curls, the motion both hesitant and desperate.
"I, um... I will walk you back." His words were hesitant, as though he was giving himself—and me—every chance to refuse. "It's getting darker. Best not to be out here alone."
My instinct was to protest, to reject the idea of walking alongside him, prolonging this already excruciating encounter. But a glance at the horizon revealed the dimming sky, the sun's last light stretching thin and fragile across the water.
Night was creeping in, and I knew he was right. Reluctantly, I nodded.
"Fine," I said, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "Thank you."
We started walking, each step an exercise in restraint. The only sounds were the crunch of sand beneath our feet and the relentless murmur of the waves.
My clothes clung to me, sodden and heavy, making each movement feel like wading through syrup. I focused on keeping my eyes straight ahead, willing the heat in my cheeks to subside.
Minutes passed. I could feel him glancing my way, every turn of his head a palpable pressure against my skin.
Eventually, he cleared his throat again, the sound so familiar now that I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.
"I didn't see anything," he blurted out, words tumbling over themselves in their haste to escape. "I mean, I did not... I didn't see... anything. If that helps."
I stumbled, nearly tripping over my own feet. "Uhh..."
"No, I mean," he stammered, waving his hands in front of him as if trying to erase the words from the air. "I saw you had a—" He stopped abruptly, realization dawning on him, and his face darkened several shades. "You have a... a great..."
I stared at him, a mix of mortification and astonishment coursing through me.
His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides, and he looked like he would rather be struck by lightning than continue speaking. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath audible in the growing quiet.
A rush of wind swept past, sending a fresh chill through me, and I shivered involuntarily.
He noticed instantly. Without a word, he shrugged off his cloak, the gesture both hesitant and determined. He stepped closer, holding it out with trembling hands.
"Here," he said, his voice soft, stripped of its earlier tension. "You're... cold."
I stared at the cloak for a moment too long, pride warring with gratitude. The cold won out.
I accepted it, wrapping the heavy fabric around my shoulders. It was warm, comforting, and faintly scented of salt and sun—and him. I drew it tighter, feeling both exposed and shielded.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I kept my eyes on the ground, afraid of what I might see in his expression. Afraid of what he might see in mine.
He nodded, and we resumed our walk. The silence between us felt different now—fragile, but no longer suffocating.
Our steps fell into a quiet rhythm, and I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His expression was unreadable, a mix of worry, embarrassment, and something else I couldn't quite name.
As we walked, I clutched his cloak tighter, the fabric grounding me. For all the awkwardness—and there was plenty—I couldn't deny a small spark of comfort in his presence.
Neither of us spoke again, but the quiet that stretched between us felt like an unspoken promise.
Perhaps things would remain awkward, perhaps they would grow even more complicated.
But for now, beneath the cloak and the weight of all unsaid things, there was a shared understanding—a fragile sense that, somehow, this too would pass, and something new might be forged from the ashes of this mortifying encounter.
A/n - Tb to that class trip 4 years ago when the fire alarm went off and ofc I had just gotten out of the shower wrapped in a towel half naked and had to walk to the fire assembly point (it was a building with those self locking doors in an emergency so I couldn't even run and try to get dressed cause I was quite literally exiled from my room)🥰 my friend literally had to give me his hoodie and stand there shirtless mind you in the FREEZING Irish winter weather 😭
i wanna ride Jacaerys Velaryon while he sits on the Iron Throne just grabbing my ass
Would thou spare a mere peasant a moment??
Imagine Targ!reader visiting the wall with Cregan (similar moment he had with Jace, and maybe Jace is there too, it’s up to you)
And reader forces her dragon to go beyond the wall by jumping off the top of it
I’ll leave the rest to you 😚❤️
jump scare - Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader
summary: you and your twin Jacaerys follow Cregans invitation to the wall. As your Dragon refused to fly over the wall he sees a glimps of your temper. At that moment he knows that you, as the future Lady Stark, will bring trouble into Winterfells halls.
words: 2.691
warnings: kissing, Cregan has a crush (but he doesn´t know it)
a/n: Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with black hair and purple eyes// no use of Y/N// English is not my first language // not proofread
I love this idea so much, soo thank you anon🧡, but I had a hard time writing this, so it´s a bit short and I not completely like how it came out
anyways I hope you like it.
Have fun and be kind 🧡
requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist
Cregan shifts from one foot to the other as the elevator slowly jerks up the Wall. The brothers of the Night's Watch and Castle Black grow smaller beneath him. His breath forms white clouds in the cold air. The Warden of the North tries to get rid of his inner restlessness. He wishes the elevator would go faster, while at the same time hoping this ride would never end.
At the top of the wall, he will soon meet the Prince and Princess of the Seven Kingdoms again, of course with their two dragons.
Jacaerys and you landed in Winterfell's courtyard a few days ago with Vermax and Veraxes. And you brought war with you. At the thought, Cregan's insides twist.
Jacaerys made him an offer on behalf of his mother: Cregan and his men would ride south for the queen and support her claim, in exchange for a marriage with the princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen gives him her only daughter as a wife.
Cregan knows he can't refuse such an offer. Nobody turn down a Targaryen offer.
And he could have done worse.
He doesn't like the thought, but he knows he could have done worse. His future wife is beautiful. Long black hair that stands in stark contrast to your pale skin, delicate features, and those sparkling eyes. There is something in it, Cregan can't quite put his finger on it yet. You have a fire, a wildness behind your eyes that Cregan has never seen before.
A woman like you is actually worth his entire army. Cregan would theoretically have to arm every man, woman, and child in the North and send them south to redeem his debt.
But he can't.
He can only send 2,000 men, Greybeards. Cregan cannot spare more, he needs his men here for the coming winter. And like his House words are saying: winter is coming.
That's the reason why you are here, that's the reason for Cregan's invitation to the Wall. You and your brother need to understand why he can't send more men. You both need to see it. Before Cregan takes you as his wife in a few days at Goodswood of Winterfell and thus seals the pact of ice and fire.
"It is an honor for me to be able to fulfill my duty, and Winterfell is very beautiful. I look forward to making it my home."
More than that, you haven't said about your marriage. Cregan doesn't know if you really mean it or if you have memorized these words, because your mother told you so. He hopes you meant it.
He can't figure you out. In the past few days, Cregan was able to spend a little time with you, but he hasn't really gotten to know you yet. Also because Jacaerys was present at each of your meetings, of course Cregan would never do anything that would endanger your honor and reputation. He is a Stark, a man of honor. That's why you two always have your brother as achaperone.
What Cregan has learned in the short time is that you are definitely not a little princess who needs to be rescued from a tower.
You train with swords, fly almost daily on your dragon, can curse like a sailor, and are not too shy to give your brother a piece of your mind everytime he gets on your nerves.
On the other hand, you have a razor-sharp mind, smile kindly at Cregan, dance skillfully and make every move with an elegance that only a Targaryen princess possesses.
You attract him like light attracts a moth. Your attractiveness has captured him, and the fragments of your being that you show him only make him more curious about the rest. He wants to get to know you, everything about you. Cregan can hardly think of you without his thoughts and feelings swirling around inside him like a storm.
A loud crack next to him makes the Warden of the North flinch and snaps him out of his thoughts. Cregan looks to the side. Veraxes slams his claws into the ice of the Wall with full force, her body crashs against it, and the Wall seems to tremble under the impact. Cregan hears you curse loudly in a foreign language, high valyrian, he is sure. Jacaerys' laughter rings out above him and Vermax flies over him before the dragon lands on the wall, noticeably gentler than Veraxes.
Cregan takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He pushes all thoughts of you and your future marriage aside. One step at a time. First he must show you what the Night's Watch and House Stark do for centuries, protecting the realm before the dangers beyond the Wall.
The elevator stops at the top, the doors open. Cregan allows himself two more heartbeats to gather himself, then steps outside onto the Wall.
Immediately, the cold wind whips around his ears, but apart from a brief shiver it doesn´t bothered him.
Veraxes climbs the Wall, her claws break off large pieces of ice that fall down. Cregan hopes that no one gets hit. You and your dragon arrive at the top and you place Veraxes next to Vermax. You slide down her wing and land next to your twin brother, snow swirling around your boots.
Cregan's gaze shifts from you to the dragons. Vermax and Veraxes, twin dragons you told him on the first evening, both dragons hatched from the eggs in you and your brothers cribs.
The dragons make whistling sounds, turning their heads. They seem nervous. The young Lord finds his own thoughts ridiculous in the next moment. What could possibly make dragons nervous?
Cregan has to swallow and takes the last steps towards his royal guests. The siblings are completely engrossed in their usual bickering.
"I told you she wouldn't fly over." laughs Jacaerys, you jab him in the stomach and then jump two steps to the side so his counterattack doesn't hit you.
"She'll do it." you say as you look over the edge of the Wall.
"Please don't go so close to the edge." the prince's voice sounds alarmed.
"Don't be such a coward, Jacey."
"Don't call me that. I'm not a little kid anymore." the prince snaps.
"Then don't act like one." you say dry and still don't take a step away from the edge. On the contrary, you push your feet a little closer to the edge, the tips of your boots no longer have any grip.
Cregan cleared his throat to get your attention. "My Lady, your brother is right. You shouldn't stand so close to the edge of the wall."
You tilt your head slightly, a hint of a smile dancing on your full lips. "Good thing you'll only be my husband in three days My Lord and only then you can give me orders." you say, your cheerful tone doesn´t match your bitter words.
Cregan feels as if you had hit him in the stomach and looks helplessly at Jacaerys, but he just shrugs and gives him an apologetic smile.
Suddenly, the dragons move. Cregan manages at the last second to prevent himself from flinching as Vermax's claw strikes the ice beside him. The dragons make whistling noises again, Veraxes restlessly lashes her tail back and forth.
Cregan looks at the twins. "Is something wrong with them?" he can't manage to suppress the concern in his voice.
You look at him, smile again as if your last comment had never been made. "Do you know the story of Queen Alysanne Targaryen?" you ask instead of answering.
Cregan tries not to show his confusion about your behavior and nods. Everyone knows the story: The queen wanted to fly over the wall with her dragon, the dragon refused. That has never happened before.
"My dearest sister here thought she was better than Queen Alysanne and wanted to fly Veraxes over the Wall."
"I didn't think I´m better than Queen Alysanne." you interrupt your brother, but he simply ignores you. The prince turns directly to Cregan.
"You saw how well the attempt worked."
Cregan furrows his brow. "So the dragons refuse to fly over the Wall?" he asks just to be sure.
"Obviously. They don't like it here." you say, again your gaze goes over the edge downwards. "7000 feet, right?"
"Yes, My Lady," Cregan confirms. He doesn't know if his uneasy feeling comes from the fact that you are half leaning over the edge of the Wall or from the fact that the dragons refuse to fly over it. It doesn't matter right know. The young Lord has to swallow and suppress the urge to go to you and pull you away from the wall.
The dragons also lean further forward, but their noses never go beyond the edge of the Wall. You and Jace watch your monsters closely as they move. While Jacaerys looks worried, you are curious.
Cregan seizes the moment and looks at you. The winter sun shines on you, makes you glow, and gets caught in your dark braids. Your cheeks and nose are slightly reddened from the cold up here. Cregan's fingertips tingle slightl as the desire arises to caress the soft skin of your cheek.
Would you lean into his touch? Or slap his hand away? Cregan has no idea, but he's eager to find out. Again, he has to pull himself together to come back into the moment. Again, he reminds himself: one step at a time.
"Forget it, sister. Silverwing didn't fly over the Wall, Veraxes will do it neither." Jacaerys sounds annoyed. Cregan sees out of the corner of his eye as he shifts his weight slightly forward, ready to catch you if you trip.
"Just because you can't get Vermax to do it." you say, the challenge clear in your tone and the way your eyes sparkle. Cregan has the feeling that you are hatching something, and the way your gaze goes from him to your brother tells him that it won't be anything good.
"Veraxes won't fly over it either." Jacaerys insists.
A mischievous grin appears on your face, your intentions now clearly visible. "Bet?" you ask, turning to your brother. You say something in high valyrian that Cregan doesn't understand.
The next second you wink at him, spread your arms and let yourself fall backward from the Wall.
Cregan's heart stops for a moment, Jacaerys calls your name, his voice trembling. Both men run forward, but of course, neither of them manages to hold onto you anymore. Cregan looks over the edge and sees you falling quickly. His entire body tenses up in fear. Not only is he watching you fall to your own death, but it's happening under his watch as well. The Dragon Queen would probably turn the entire North to ashes if she hears that her only daughter has met her end in the North.
And he would never hear your melodic laughter again, Cregan immediately gets annoyed by this inappropriate thought.
Suddenly, he is caught by a gust of wind and almost falls off the wall himself as Veraxes flies just a few centimeters past him and throws himself after you. The dragon lets out a cry that sounds angry and desperate. The sound reminds Cregan of a mother weeping for her frozen baby.
"I'll kill her." Jacaerys murmurs quietly next to Cregan as they watch your dragon catch up with you, fly under you, so you land on her saddle. Cregan is sure that must have hurt.
Veraxes spreads her wings and catches her fall, the Lord of Winterfell isn't quite sure how much space there is left to the ground but from up here it doesn't look like much.
He has to take a deep breath, relief flooding through him. Thank the gods you're not dead.
You turn your dragon vertically and fly steeply up the wall. As you shoot past Cregan, he flinches a step back but can't take his eyes off you.
You throw your head back and laugh a loud, joyful laugh. The wind tousles your braids, and the winter sun makes your eyes sparkle. And there it is again, that freedom, that wildness in your gaze. Cregan's heart skips a beat at the sight. By all the gods, he knows in that moment that you are fearless, maybe a little insane, but definitely fearless. You will fit well in the North, you will fit well with him.
Cregan is impressed, he can't help but stare at and admire you as you let your Dragon land right next to Cregan at the edge of the wall. You are still laughing.
Veraxes stands so close that the sulfur smell rises to his nose and he feels the warmth of the dragon. Your dragon blows hot air from its nostrils, accompanied by a rumbling noise from its throat that makes Cregan's neck hairs stand on end. Her tail crashes against the ice on the other side, causing the ice under his feets to tremble. You are sitting on her back and sticking your tongue out at your twin.
"I told you so." you say, still laughing at Jacaerys and his shocked face.
"I swear to you if mother..." begins the prunce, but you raise your hand to interrupt him.
"You're just angry because you lost the bet." you say. "And besides, in a few days I won't be Mother's concern anymore."
Jacaerys opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes from his throat. Then he looks at Cregan, and his neck turns slightly red.
"My Lord future husband." you break the silence with a gentle voice, and Cregan immediately turns to you. "A helping hand?"
His feelings are completely mixed up, still he steps closer to Veraxes without thinking, extends his hand to you and helps you dismount from your dragon. Even though you all know that you don't need help.
You land right in front of him, so close that he can make out the different shades of purple in your eyes. Your pleasant scent envelops him, for two heartbeats Cregan forgets everything around you. He recognizes that wild sparkle in your eyes again, and before he can react you stand on your tiptoes place your hand on the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. When your lips meet, the brief moment of surprise is dispelled by a hot shiver that runs through his body. Instinctively, his hand reaches for your hip and he pulls you closer to him. Your soft lips move perfectly against his, and his heart begins to beat faster at the sensation.
You part breathlessly from each other, for a brief moment you look deeply into his eyes. A smile dances around your lips. Cregans can't help but smile with you, this time it's him who winks. He is rewarded with a radiant smile from you. Cregan blinks, and the moment is gone.
While you turn back to your brother, Cregan has to take a deep breath to calm his heartbeat.
"Brother. It was nice to beat you again." you spit at Jacaerys and lift your chin. But when you turn back to Cregan there is a soft smile on your face, which makes his heart stumble again. "My Lord. Please excuse me. I want to look at the rest of the Wall." you nod to him and then turn away.
The Lord of Winterfell can do nothing but stare after you as you walk along the wall. You don't even have to call Veraxes, she takes off again and flies north of the Wall beside you.
Cregan looks at the prince again, fearing for a heartbeat that Jacaerys will now burn him with Vermax. After all, Cregan has dishonored his sister.
The prince, however, appears more annoyed than angry. Jacaerys bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head slightly. "Good luck with her, Lord Stark. She only causes headaches." he says then.
"Aye, probably." says Cregan, but can't suppress a grin. Yes, you mean trouble, but Cregan is ready for this journey. He is looking forward to it.
EWAN MITCHELL As AEMOND TARGARYEN | House of the Dragon 2x05 | Regent.
