#and that might start to make you uncomfortable

[transyonic-iv]

SUPER IMPORTANT imo ty @boytransmission ↓

(PLAINTEXT: under cut and in image description. )

I also think it's very important to remember to be covert about initial question about their flagging. while yeah, flagging does come w the understanding that you will be recognized, and yes, queer progression has gone very far at least in USAmerican culture where flagging tends to be most popular, it still is an implicit indicator of your sexuality due to vulnerability in openly disclosing.

I personally only ask ppl at first/in public/around others abt it in a way that does not imply explicit interest in playing w them specifically, and in very covert ways/not around ppl who may not respond well.

"I like your back pocket" (in a very uh, aesthetic admiration tone? though tone is something I struggle w w autism), and, "what does it mean for you?" are two phrases i use a lot, and so far it's worked well for me in acknowledging other ppl flagging while I'm at work (convenience store in fairly "liberal" USA area. yeah, not the most risky space, but im usually alone with customers, especially if later at night. dont want to put myself at risk if misreading their flagging, or if they are genuinely unaware of the flagging connotation as does happen sometimes, or make another person uncomfortable about being forced to tolerate inquisition of their sexuality while i "restrict" access to food or other purchases from them)

#ALWAYS ask! #If you're seeing someone wearing any color- but especially one in a larger range like green or yellow or blue- ASK! #Please! It is cool to be recognized and asked even if you don't wind up being into their response. Ask after any color though as some color #have different meanings depending* & not everyone distinguishes between color shades in certain groups (i usually see that w grey and red) #Also a personal gripe i've noticed- hunter green hankies (the cliche ones with paisley/etc) sold in hardware/military/etc stores #look very similar to kelly green. The green of a hanky named hunter looks in-between the chart's kelly and hunter #This can be true of many of the colors on this chart- people might wear their light blue as a teal- etc #*depending on what chart they look at online #So! Ask! Always! Get the conversation going! Start the negotiating! Learn something new! Whatever forever!

If you're struggling to find a New Year's resolution, consider learning hanky code and starting flagging

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Your Element

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element.

Notes: This was a request which I very much enjoyed writing, so thank you:

'For Quinn x teacher reader you could do Quinn going to eat lunch with her at school and getting there early on accident and just admiring her teaching and her getting along with her students and then getting home and just telling her how much he admires her and loves her and wants to marry her'

Not me researching Canadian school grades and ages because it is not the same in the UK (Grade 11 is age 16-17, where as year 11 in the UK is age 15-16 and also the final year of secondary for us)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Most days Quinn doesn't get a chance to go and visit you at work and he'd never had the opportunity to sit and eat lunch with you during the school day. After all, you were busy and so was he. You had maybe 40 minutes in a day to sit down and eat, then if he subtracted the time in that 40 minutes you needed to tidy your room, put books out for your next class, write the title on the board, sort your powerpoint out and then pee, plus dealing with any dramas your students brought to your door? Well, you probably had 10 minutes to eat...and he, well, how often was he actually available at that specific time of day? It was like ships in the night sometimes, both having highly busy careers in different ways, but you made it work. Partly by taking any moments that you could find and utilising them, both of you had to learn to be a bit more spontaneous and flexible.

Something that was easier said sometimes than done, but your desire to see each other had a way of making bending easier than breaking. It helped that you'd moved in with him before the season started, so at least he saw you at night and in the early hours of the morning.

Today was different, an odd day where the stars had seemingly aligned. Quinn had a free 2 hours in his day just at the right time for lunch with you and you had a free period after lunch which meant you didn't have to spend all your lunch break sorting stuff out for your next lesson. So, you'd agreed to tell the office he'd be visiting and he agreed to bring your favourite sandwich from your favourite deli along with other goodies for you to snack on.

The problem was Quinn hadn't expected to be 20 minutes early, Vancouver traffic being almost non-existent (which was a rarity) and the deli having absolutely no one inside despite it being lunch time (he briefly considered that the zombie apocalypse might have happened at that point). Being 20 minutes early meant he didn't really have anything to do. At first he assumed he'd have to simply wait in the office, but Maria on reception just gave him his visitors badge and walked him to your classroom, ushering him away from the uncomfortable visitors seats.

Your door is shut to keep the noise of the corridor out of your classroom. From the small window in the door Quinn can see the way your 11th graders sit in various states of focus, you're leant against your desk at the front, hands moving as you talk to them. There's something about how relaxed you are at the front of the classroom, the way you seem to be in your element that hits him. He's never seen you teach a lesson before and it strikes him that it seems right, like it's where you're supposed to be.

Maria knocks on the door and he watches as you pause, telling your students something before setting a timer on the board. Watching for a second to make sure they were all on task before walking to the door and reaching for the handle, your face a picture of surprise at seeing him here early.

"Mr Hughes is here to see you, I thought he could sit in the back or help you with the last little bit of lesson."

"Thank you, Maria I'm sure we'll figure it out." You smile warmly at Maria and it strikes him that you probably know all about her, that you've probably spent time with her at the staff Christmas party and eaten lunch together. It hits him that there are people you see every day that he has no idea about because your worlds simply don't cross that often. You know his team mates but does he really know your colleagues? He suddenly feels very out of place.

"You are early." You give him a look that makes him smile sheepishly at you, raising the bag of sandwiches as if that would solve the problem. Still you let him into your classroom, your students narrowing their eyes at the new face before promptly widening at who just walked into their classroom. Still they don't say anything, like you've taught them better, heads down as they continue writing an answer to the question on the board. A timer ticking down the remaining couple of minutes left.

He drops the bag onto your desk before you point to a spare seat at the back, "You can watch if you want...sorry, it might be boring."

"I don't think anything you could do would be boring." He knows the way he's looking at you is probably a little much for a classroom, he can't help it though. You're so pretty in your teacher clothes, there's a different sort of confidence rolling off you, you own the room and it's attractive, the way you command the room even when you're not overtly doing anything.

A quiet little murmur runs through the class at his statement, a few raised eyebrows and David lets out a little 'ohhhh' that you hush with a sharp look. Even that is hot, the fact a single look from you has a teenage boy shutting up, Quinn's rarely seen you like this, in complete and total control, effortlessly. In your pairing you're usually the one who follows while he leads. He orders your drink at a coffee shop or initiates a kiss, this is a different you.

"Go to your seat, Mr Hughes." The raised eyebrow does it for him as well and he thinks if he had to actually respond he'd have stuttered, instead he choses to follow your directions, trying desperately not to look utterly devoted to you in front of a bunch of teenagers.

He forgot how uncomfortable classroom chairs were, still he uses it as a chance to watch from the back corner. You wander the room, green pen in hand for the remaining time on the timer, writing notes on students' work and giving direction here and there. A few times you give warnings to students who haven't worked hard enough, but there's a general sense that this group of students work for you because they respect you. Even the kids who clearly aren't the most academic seem to try for you.

The timer is blaring when it goes off, some sort of lute sound that you clearly picked because it was mildly medieval and fit the vibe of your history classroom. It's ridiculous but it also describes you perfectly, those elements of quirkiness and fun that fit in even into a classroom where students write paragraphs and complete work. Like you have a balance perfectly set.

"Right, times up, so put your pens down..." You march to the front in quick time, nabbing a flashlight that one of your students was playing with at the front before they could even protest, slipping it into your pocket. It's impressive, the way you seem to have eyes on every corner of the classroom, the way you notice things that Quinn definitely would not have.

The student in question puts his hand up in the air and you call on him as if it was expected, "Yes, Rory?"

"Can I have it back at the end?"

"Yes, Rory, you can have it back at the end." It's interesting, the way that that is enough. That Rory seems to respect that it shouldn't have been out, doesn't try to argue that you shouldn't have taken it, but trusts that he'll get it back enough not to press they issue. Quinn's pretty sure Miller has argued with him more over lesser things before.

"Who can explain to me then how war has had an impact on medical development? Bonus points, potentially getting the bonus point duck for the rest of lesson, if you can give me concrete examples from our unit." He's close to putting his hand up to ask about the bonus point duck when you reach into your desk drawer and pull out a rubber duck dressed as Henry VIII.

It's in that moment that Quinn realises he does not know as much about you as he thought. He knew you. He knew the woman he called his girlfriend who couldn't sleep with her feet outside of the bed covers and absolutely had to have the shower on the highest heat setting, but he didn't know teacher you. Never in his life had you mentioned a bonus point duck, never would he have predicted that that was something you even had in your classroom and it's utterly ridiculous and shouldn't motivate a bunch of teenagers at all and yet, suddenly there were 20 hands in the air, a few calling out as if that would make you pick them quicker.

He watches the way you smile, the scan of your eyes over each, the way you bypass those not meeting your expectations until they correct themselves and then you pick a student that Quinn would likely not have picked, a student he knows his history teacher in school would have avoided.

When he thinks of picking a student to answer there are two modes he thinks of from his own high school career:

The one without their hand up, who doesn't look like their listening, the one a teacher wants to catch out

The student who is clearly a nerd, clearly good at the subject and will clearly given an impressive answer, the easy kid to pick

You pick neither. Instead, you go straight to a girl with her hand up but with thick blonde hair extensions in and enough gum in her mouth that Quinn can hear it smack from here. The stereotypical popular girl who probably doesn't care much about school and would rather be at the mall.

"Angel?"

"Well, it's like when there's a war on like World War One then all the government care about is winning the war, right?"

You nod in encouragement and it hits him that you picked Angel for a reason. That you picked a student who likely doesn't like school, likely gets discouraged but who you know can answer and get a confidence boost. It's smart, he does something similar with rookies, where he gives them a chance to do something so he can boost their confidence, can build a relationship with them. Suddenly captaincy and teaching seem awfully similar, minus the gum and the smell of Lynx Africa.

"So like if they don't improve medicine then all their soldiers just die, right? Either outright or later because of like infection like why they funded Florey and Chain to mass produce penicillin in World War Two or like why people were so into the leg splint thing in 1916. So, the governments put more money into medicine because that means soldiers live longer and can get sent back to war and then they can win the war because they still have men alive, but like if they all die you're going to lose the war, duh."

"Beautiful answer and a few specific examples in there, you have earned the duck," You smile widely at her as you walk to plop the rubber duck on her desk and he can see it, the way she seems to puff up in pride, the way a student who maybe would have hated History is engaged because of you.

He's pretty sure he just fell a little bit more in love with you.

"Yo, Miss?"

You sigh a deep sigh as if this interruption is expected, stopping mid walk back to the front of your classroom and turning on your heel, "Yes, David?" Your voice is mildly amused, not impatient or frustrated like Quinn would expect.

"Why ducks?" There's a beat of silence and Quinn watches the way you just stare at David, eyebrows high on your forehead like your considering whether you'll actually treat the question seriously or not.

Then a big smile crosses your lips like you're laughing at yourself before you even say the punch line to a joke. A silly little smile that is so his girlfriend that suddenly both versions of yourself seem to merge together.

"Because ducks fly together."

"C'mon, Miss! Really? Did you seriously just quote the Mighty Ducks when a hockey legend is in the room?" It's your patience with David that smacks Quinn in the face. You could have given him a detention by now or told him off for disrupting your lesson, but you're not. Like you're confident you can bring it back to the lesson soon enough. It makes him wonder if you'd be that patient with your kids, if he's seeing a little glimpse into a possible future where you're this patient with the kids you have with him.

"Well, maybe we should ask the 'hockey legend' what he thinks of my jokes? Mr Hughes?" You ask him because you know he'll back you up, and it's that sense of being needed that makes him sit up a little straighter in the chair he's in and smile widely like he's scored a goal.

"Hilarious as always, although maybe you need a bonus point orca?"

"Oh, do I? The duck not good enough?" There's a little glint in your eye, the one you always get when you're teasing him, playful. It feels like the rest of the world disappears, falls away, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Seems a little too Anaheim like for my taste,"

"You would say that, no taste." As if you're a Anaheim fan when you are in fact a Canucks fan through and through, but you know the statement will get a little rise out of Quinn. You can see the way his brow twitches at the suggestion that you'd pick the Ducks over the Canucks, the sense of male pride being slighted.

"Miss, stop flirting with Quinn Hughes!" It's David, it's always David. David with a wide grin that shows off his braces, David who's waggling his eyebrows at you, typical teenage boy behaviour really but it stumps you. Quinn can see that it stumps you.

There's a beat of silence, like your brain is trying to process what's just happened, and for the first time you're off your game, flustered, a little taken aback like you didn't expect it to go this far. But, then, Quinn was never in your classroom while you taught, never there for you to banter with in front of students. Quinn had proven to be a distraction, a disruptive presence if you will.

Your choice of tactic is perhaps not the best nor the most smooth, but simply to turn back to your powerpoint plastered on the board and pretend that it simply hadn't happened. To move on.

"Anyway, back to medicine," Your voice is a little unsteady, a little less controlled and Quinn feels slightly bad that he put you off your game, but admires the way you push forward.

You turn the slide on your powerpoint, an old cartoon springing up on the board, "I'm going to give you a copy of this source from 1847 about anaesthetic and I want you to analyse it like we've been practicing. If you can do this properly in 8 minutes then I will let you ask Mr Hughes some questions..." You pause briefly, looking directly at David, "Appropriate questions."

There's a bubble of excitement that sees students volunteering to help you hand out glues and copies of the source before all heads hit the desks, hands moving ferociously across the paper while 8 minutes ticks down on the clock. Just like that you've got them back on track and it is utterly impressive, how you managed to completely save a lesson that he'd accidently ruined for you.

You both survive the few minutes of questions at the end, David only asking a few minorly inappropriate ones which Quinn fields with his usual tactic of say nothing and refuse to answer. By the end he's not entirely sure how you handle being questioned all day by hundreds of teenagers and Quinn's a lot more sympathetic to your reluctance to make decisions when you get home after a long day of teaching. He gets it now.

"Have a good lunch, everybody!" You wave the last of your students off at the door, shutting it the moment they're all out and letting out a massive sigh of relief, shoulders slumping.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." The unspoken is there. That your job is hardwork, that getting kids in the modern age to focus on anything for more than 60 seconds might look easier to the outsider but takes more brainpower and more routines and techniques than you can shake a stick at.

Quinn decides to leave it for the moment, you probably don't want to spend your entire lunch break talking about teaching and he's ultimately here to see his baby, not talk about education.

"Sit, I got your favourite," He's guiding you gently, hands on your shoulders to your comfy desk chair, the one he hasn't seen you sit down in at all. You let him force you to sit down, let him sort out your sandwich placing it in front of you with a napkin and your favourite packet of crisps with your favourite drink to boot. It's a little thing but the way he sets it out in front of you, the way he takes care of you helps ease a little bit of the strain of the day.

"Thank you for coming and having lunch with me," You reach for half of your sandwich, exactly as you like it down to the type of bread used, watching as Quinn pulls one of the desks closer to you so he's not so far away. His own sandwich being pulled from the brown paper bag.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to see my girl, who's looking extra pretty today by the way." You almost choke on the first bite of your sandwich, cheeks warming even as you cough and roll your eyes at him. Feeling decidedly unattractive after nearly choking on bread.

"You are such a suck up!"

"Oh, so I can't compliment my girlfriend now? That's sucking up? I'm just stating facts. The sky is blue, water is clear and my girlfriend is gorgeous."

"Quinn!" You laugh at him and it's the most beautiful thing he's seen all day. The way your face lights up, eyes crinkling as you twist your head away from him because of how ridiculous you think he's being. When you laugh he can't help it, it makes him grin, teeth on show, sandwich half forgotten in front of him.

"And she can't take a compliment to save her life."

The two of you fall into a comfortable sort of routine, taking bites of your lunches while interspersing eating with conversation about his upcoming roadie and what you're going to send to your mum for her birthday.

He doesn't say anything about your teaching, doesn't even bring up the bonus point duck because he doesn't want to take up your few precious non-teacher minutes with it...and also because he's pretty certain 40 minutes is not enough time for all the things he's thinking.

How does one condense down how much they admire their partner? How does he talk briefly about how utterly amazing you are at your job and how he can't wait to marry you, to have kids with you, to see you be just as patient, just as amazing with them? He can't, so he decides to leave it til later.

He doesn't just eat lunch with you before he leaves the school though, Quinn, ever determined to make your life easier helps you tidy up your classroom and fix a display board that you couldn't reach the top corner of. You can't help but admire him as he stretches up up to staple a bit of border roll back in place, the muscles of his back flexing underneath his t-shirt, the way his hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. It's weird seeing him in this environment, your environment but you can't help but think that he fits in it, like it suits him to be helping in a classroom. Maybe in a different life he'd have been a teacher or maybe you were just waxing poetic in your head.

You walk him out to his car once your done, even though you should be using this time to plan, you can't help but try to get as many moments with him as possible, any little bit of time precious.

"I'll see you at home later?" You ask just in case he'd planned something with the team, fingers twined with Quinn's as you stand by his car.

"Yeah, I should be home already when you get in, figured i'd cook dinner tonight." He wants to make it nice for you, special, because he knows you're going to shy away from his compliments, his admiration...but he feels like he has a lot to say. Good stuff, but a lot and he wants you in a good mood, more receptive.

"Mmm, anything good?"

"Your favourite." You think about the spicy noodle dish he's perfected cooking, the little spring onions on top, the warming broth and it makes you feel almost hungry despite having just eaten lunch.

"And what did I do to deserve this treatment?" You tug him closer by the hands, tilting your head back to look up at him with a sweet smile that makes his heart race just a little bit faster. You're so pretty without even trying.

"Just being yourself, baby." Quinn breaches the distance between the two of you, leaning down to close the remaining space, lips pressing to yours gently, once, twice, a third time because he can't help himself, "Have a good rest of your day and I'll see you later, sweetheart"

Quinn presses one more kiss to your lips, a longer one that lingers, a force behind it that almost takes you off guard, your hands reaching up to grip at the edges of his jacket.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, just long enough for Quinn to notice and smirk about it, to find it cute that he can still make you react like that.

"Bye, I love you." You force yourself to pull away, watching as he steps into the car.

"I love you too." You watch Quinn's car roll out of the school car park, wave back at him when he turns to look at you from the driver's seat before he's completely gone, before heading back instead to finish off your day.

The rest of your day goes relatively smoothly bar the incident in which a student decided to swallow a battery he had in his backpack to see what would happen, resulting in him being taken to hospital and your last class of the day being unable to focus on anything but that. Still as days go it was relatively stress free and made ten times better when you walked into the apartment to the smell of Quinn's world famous spicy noodles and the way he'd set up the dining table with some candles just to make things sweeter. The lights in the apartment dim and romantic feeling.

He's stirring the dish when you get to the kitchen area, back to you, but head turned at the sound of your feet padding towards him. You don't hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into the centre of his back. Quinn leans back into you with a hum.

"You've really gone all out, huh?" You mumble it into his shirt, moving with him as he takes the pan off the heat and carries it towards the two bowls already laid out on the side. Shuffling alongside him determined to stay close to his warmth despite how inconvenient it was.

"Wanted to surprise you, now get off me and sit your cute ass down." You do as your told, jumping a little at the light swat Quinn gives to your arse as you move away from him. You turn to glare at him as if you're offended even though you both know you'd let him slap your arse whenever he wanted if he just asked.

Quinn serves you first, placing your bowl in front of you with a glass of your favourite thing to drink at dinner before grabbing his own noodles and sitting across from you.

At first it's quiet, the two of you more focused on eating than talking, but every now and then you look up to see Quinn staring at you as if he has something he wants to say. You choose not to rush him, both of you finishing your dinner before you insist that you put the dishes in the dishwasher since he cooked. Still he doesn't say anything and you don't push him.

It's not until he drags you to the couch, pulling you to curl up next to him while some movie plays in the background that he finally speaks his mind.

"You were amazing today..." You're tucked under Quinn's arm, his hand resting on your arm as you press your cheek into his shoulder, soft eyes looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Mm? What at work?"

"Yeah." You let him think for a minute, knowing he has more to say but clearly trying to figure out how he goes about saying it, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. "I've never seen you like that...so in your element..."

There's a pause in which he shifts, pulling your legs over his lap, other hand gripping your calf. It's the most natural movement in the world, a touch neither of you even think twice about. "The kids love you. You got kids who probably hate school to willing write paragraphs for you and...you're so, so confident in that room, baby..."

"I'm just doing my job..." You hide your face in his shirt for moment, feeling that familiar bashfulness come to the surface. You've never been good at accepting compliments, even from Quinn, and now is no exception even as his words fill you with a giddy kind of happiness.

"I know but...the way you just knew you had it, even when someone was off topic, you knew you could get it back on track, that was so fucking attractive and even the silly things, like the duck!" Your head shoots up so fast at the mention of the duck that you almost knock his chin with the top of your head, the look you give him is nothing short of confused.

"The duck is attractive?"

"Not the duck exactly, but the fact that you wanted to make History fun but also still make sure they're actually learning...and, and it was so you, y'now? So silly but endearing and...I don't know..." Quinn looks away from you, red flush high on his cheeks as he starts to regret ever saying anything, feeling mildly embarrassed about how into you he is. Which he knows is ridiculous because he should be into his girlfriend.

"You don't know? Sounds like you do, you're just embarrassed about how much you love me." You tease him, hand cupping his cheek to get him to face you again, even when he's embarrassed he can't help but lean into your touch a little more, cheek pressed fully into your palm.

"I do love you...watching you teach was like seeing our future."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought..." There's that hesitancy again, flush bright on his skin, lip being bitten between his teeth. It's like he's worried he'll mess up if he speaks his mind, which is ridiculous because you love him so much you're not sure anything he could say would change that.

"You can't put me off, Quinn, if you're worried about saying the wrong thing...i'm too in deep to be put off, so, you thought?"

You wait, oh so patient, while he assesses you, judges whether you're telling the truth. Like he needs to double check that you're correct when you say you're in too deep.

"I was just thinking about how you're so patient with your students and how patient you'll be with our kids, y'know?"

"Our kids?" There's a giddy little sensation of butterflies flipping in your stomach, eyes widening in delight at the mention because how many relationships have you had where your exes refused to even consider children, where they didn't want that with you?

"Well, yeah, I'm going to marry you one day." It's so matter of fact as if he'd just said he was going shopping tomorrow or had a game on Saturday. A statement of objective truth as if there was no other option, no other outcome.

"Oh, you are?"

"If you let me. If you don't? I'm never going to marry anyone." You pull back from him, just enough to look at him, mouth slightly dropped open. He's dead serious, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

"Quinn."

"I mean it. I love you, you're so fucking amazing and I...seeing you in your element today made me realise how impossible it would be for me to fall in love with anyone else, to marry anyone else, to have a family with anyone else. I don't want anyone but you."

You let out a shaky breath, smile watery but pleased, full of love and affection.

"I...I guess it's a good thing then that I want to marry you one day. Can't have you dying alone, that would be sad." You're trying to lighten the mood, but the truth is you're so deeply touched, so in love with him that you hope he means it. If he breaks up with you, you're certain it'll break you for good because you were certain he was it for you too.

"Just to be clear this isn't a proposal, you're getting a proper proposal and it will be a surprise."

"You think you're sneaky enough to keep it secret?" Your arms wrap around his neck as the two of you shift, fingers playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"I think if I want something enough, i'll get it." Quinn's voice lowers in that way that has you raising your brows, cheeks warming as smirks down at you, green eyes peering at you from underneath unfairly long lashes.

"Oh?"

"Oh." You lean back against the couch, lowering yourself flat as Quinn crawls his way over you, arms bracketing your head on the couch beneath you. You reach a hand up to cup his jaw, scruff rough against your palm, the air around you feels charged.

He's the first to move, wasting little time before lowering his lips to yours. A soft press that deepens as your arms drag him closer, fingers curling in his hair tight. You're working on instinct when Quinn's tongue swipes across your bottom lip begging for entry, opening up for him as your legs wrap around his hips.

In that moment you are so very glad that you're never going to have to know what life is like without Quinn Hughes. That you'll always get to revel in the way he presses his whole weight onto you, the way his breath wavers when he pulls back just to catch his breath before diving back into you.

Maybe you're just lucky or maybe fate intervened, but you are so fucking glad you met Quinn Hughes and so fucking glad that he decided a random History teacher was more than enough for him for the rest of his life.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Daddy's Boy

🇺🇸Pairing(s)🇺🇸→ Step Dad Ari Levinson x Step Son reader ⚠CW⚠→ top Ari Levinson, bottom male reader, feminization, reader’s ass is called boypussy, edging, possessive Ari, Ari calls you his boywife, gay, gay-sex, cheating, infidelity, anal sex, anal fingering, thigh fucking, and cross-dressing. Ari makes his fantasy come true and confesses that he always wanted you. 🇺🇸Rating🇺🇸→ Explicit 🇺🇸Requested🇺🇸→ Yes

🇺🇸Word Count🇺🇸→ 1.9k

🇺🇸Summary🇺🇸→ You were caught by your stepdad, Ari Levinson, cross-dressing. The only condition for Ari not to tell on you was for him to fuck you while wearing the dress. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

You secretly wore women’s clothing, whether it was underwear, leggings, dresses, or typical everyday clothes. You felt more comfortable wearing them, and you always thought you looked hot in the mirror. You often secretly buy feminine clothes or try on your mother’s. 

You never told your mother about your cross-dressing, and you definitely didn’t tell your stepdad, Ari Levinson. You feared how both your parents might react, especially Ari. 

Ari Levinson was, excuse the cringe word, an alpha man. He was tall, standing at 6’0 "(182 cm), and muscular. With his chiseled body, as if the Greek God sculpted him themselves, and his bulging biceps, you can see why your mother fell in love with him. He was also very hairy, with bushy facial hair and a hairy chest, especially his happy trail that led down.

Whenever you cross-dress, you usually lock your door. Your mother didn’t care but Ari, on the other hand, did. He would say that you didn’t have to lock your door or that you could trust him. He would stand close to you, his rough hands grazing against your hips. He was weird at times.

You never understood why he acted like that but you never questioned it. 

XXX

Today was going to be a great day, you felt it. Your mother and Ari were both on separate business trips for two weeks. You were finally home alone after a long time, and you decided to use the time to try on the clothes you bought.

Ari was told the mission was called off and told to return home. He groans in annoyance at the waste of time but at least he gets to go home, especially since he gets to see you, his precious stepson. 

He knows he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help himself. He was practically obsessed with you ever since his wife, your mother, introduced you to him. He often touches himself to thoughts of you, using your boxers to jerk off, and other nefarious thoughts. He also prevented any man from ever having a relationship with you because of his mindset that you belong to him.

When he entered the house, he couldn’t hear the usual sounds of you playing games, laughing, or snoring. His loud footsteps rang as he walked towards the master bedroom, seeing that the door was cracked open.

Looking in, Ari’s jaw dropped as he saw you wearing revealing clothes. Tight leggings that hugged your luscious ass and thighs and a small skirt that barely covered anything. Ari’s cock jumps with excitement as he watches you twirl around and check yourself out. He was rubbing his bulge, burly hand rubbing over the tightening fabric, letting out quiet groans. 

You were blissfully unaware of Ari’s presence until two hands grabbed your hips. Already knowing who it was, you started panicking. “I-it not what it looks! It's… uhh.” You stuttered as you tried to explain, but there was no way you could change what was really happening. Your blabbering stopped when you felt something large and thick grinding against your ass.

“There’s no need for that, baby. It's quite obvious what’s going on here.” Ari said in a deep husky voice as his burly hands roamed your lower body before moving to the upper body. He groans as he grinds his bulge against your perky ass. You could feel him breathing down your neck.

“If you don’t want your mother to find out, you’ll do what I say.”

XXX

Your heart was beating rapidly and your breathing quickened. You were in the kitchen, making a simple meal for you and Ari. Following Ari’s order, you wore a skirt with no boxers and a shirt. The cold air was brushing against your bare ass and somewhat erect cock. There should be no reason why you’re getting turned on, but you were. 

Suddenly, you felt those same hands grab onto your hips, the same erection now grinding against your bare ass. You could now feel how big it was and it felt intimidating. “I always imagined you as this.” Ari's husky voice said as he leaned down into your ear. He started pressing small kisses around your nape and licking long stripes.

For some reason, it felt oddly domestic—something that is often between two lovers. You’ve never been in a relationship before, but now you can see the appeal: having someone to wake up to, someone to show you affection, and other special things. You started melting into Ari’s embrace, becoming vulnerable under his touch…

“I knew you cross-dressed. It was quite obvious, I’m surprised your mother didn’t find out. I’m not complaining though since I have you like this. My boywife…” Ari purrs as he unzips and pulls down both pieces of his garments. You can feel your stepdad's large cock pushing in between your thighs. Ari gasps from the warmth and softness of your thighs wrapping around his cock. 

Your breathing quickens with soft moans leaving your mouth. Ari started thrusting slowly, his large cock fucking your thighs. The area around you and Ari was hot, the sensation of sex making you feel like you were floating. The kitchen was filled with a combination of moans and groans. “Should’ve gone with you… you should’ve been with me! Not your mom… should’ve made you my stay-at-home boywife.” 

You could feel your face burning from what Ari said. You didn’t know Ari thought about that or even about you like that. Ari pulled you by the chin and pressed his lips against yours. Both of you melted into the kiss as the older man’s grip tightened, his thrust slowing down before pulling out.

“You taste so good, just as I imagined.” the older man says, pulling back to breathe before continuing. Using his strength, he manhandled you and brought you over to the kitchen counter. Your mind was shutting down from Ari’s actions. The sensation was euphoric; his scruffy beard scratched your chin and his soft lips and dominant tongue found its way into your mouth. 

Ari pulled back causing you to whine. “No need to whine. I’ll give you something much better.” The older man says as he lathers his fingers with saliva. After determining his fingers were wet enough, he slowly started pushing them toward the tight ring of muscle. You gasped as you felt Ari’s thick finger circling your hole before pressing inside.

“A-Ari!” You cried as your ass started clenching around the intrude. Ari groans from his fingers being sucked deeper into your velvety depths as adrenaline rushes through your veins, causing you to grasp onto Ari for support.

“It's okay, baby. I need you to breathe for me. That’s it, such a good boy.” Ari praises you, feeling your body calming down and becoming less tense. He pushed his fingers deeper till your rim touched the base of his digits. When Ari called you a good boy, you felt your body melt into him from the praise, your smaller body pressed against Ari’s much larger and hairy body. 

Your hands roam the older man’s chest, marveling at how muscular the older man was. You could see the skin twitch from your touches while Ari groans. 

Your cock has been neglected and Ari decided to give it the attention it needed. Using his other free hand, he wraps it around and starts stroking it. It was then Ari found the sweet spot and his fingers repeatedly touching your prostate. The house was filled with your moans from too much stimulation; your aching cock being stroked and your ass being stretched open with your stepdad’s thick fingers abusing your prostate.

“D-daddy… Need more.” You whined and whimpered as you began riding his fingers. Ari grins before pulling his fingers out and replacing them with something much bigger. You were confused until you felt something large and thick ram its way into your ass–breaching the ring of muscle as it pushed itself to the hilt and the cockhead pressed against your prostate.

“You feel so good wrapped around me… f-fuck… so tight for me. I could be inside you the whole day.” Ari growls as he aggressively thrusts into your tight hole. The echoes of skin-on-skin slapping and loud squelching rang through the house–maybe even next door because the walls were so thin. 

You instinctively wrapped your legs around the older man’s waist, pulling him closer and feeling his cock go deeper inside you. With Ari’s aggressive thrusts and his cock hitting the prostate, you couldn’t process anything that was going on, not even what Ari said next. “You don’t know how much effort I’ve gone to… To make sure you were untouched so I could be the one to… fucking hell… whisk you away.” Ari groans as he pulls you closer to him. His thrusts were getting sloppier signaling his climax.

Even though you were basically fucked dumb, you still understood, to some extent. Any man that you ever talked to or contacted suddenly no longer wanted to continue. All of them ran away and you went to your precious parents, especially your stepdad, for comfort. 

Despite Ari confessing to ruining your love life, you weren’t mad at him. A loud voice in your head told you to accept this man as your own, pushing aside the fact that he was married to your mother. “Gonna cum… cum with me,” Ari growls as he starts stroking your cock intensely.

You could feel the older man’s cock twitching inside, his heavy balls tightening as cum was pumping through the epididymis. Ari grabbed your head and pulled you towards his lips. At that same time, he gives one final thrust. Your cock was doing the same thing, it was throbbing badly as it was about to explode. 

Your body went boneless. Your aching cock spurts its load all over yours and Ari’s hairy chest. The older man lets out a low groan–his cock pumping thick cum deep inside, filling your stomach with an unfamiliar warmth. Ari pulled back before giving small kisses on your cheeks and forehead.

“Good boy. You’re perfect,” Ari says, pulling his softening cock out of your abused and puckered hole. A loud pop echoed as thick globs of cum oozed out, the counter and cabinets beneath painted white. 

After a few minutes in silence beside the quiet pants, reality set in. You had sex with your mother's husband of ten years, your stepdad. It feels so wrong but right at the same time. While you were having an internal crisis, Ari grabbed some paper towels and started cleaning you.

“Don’t feel ashamed. Your mother isn’t as fateful either. Once the divorce is finalized, I’m taking you with me.”

THE END

A/n: Hello, my strawberries! I hope this is good and congratulations on making it to 2025! Very special thanks to my proofreader @sagethegaywitch

Taglist: @buckyshusband0 @geminiflanagan69 @wolf-knights @sluttyhusband @zamfam4272 @ghostking4m @furiousflowercreation @spnfanboy777

[novaursa]

The Wolf Who Challenged Fire

- Summary: A short story where Brandon Stark steals you and starts the Rebellion.

- Paring: targ!reader/Brandon Stark (The Wild Wolf)

- Note: Lyanna Stark does not exist in this AU.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for the death scenes)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The crowd's roar of excitement feels almost suffocating as you sit upon the high dais, a living ornament of regal grace and Targaryen beauty. The silk of your gown, dyed a deep shade of crimson and embroidered with silver thread, glints faintly in the sunlight. Beside you sits your father, King Aerys II, his nails clawing into the armrests of his ornate chair. His pale hair falls in unkempt strands over his shoulder, and his violet eyes dart between the two knights below with a mixture of irritation and suspicion.

Your mother, Queen Rhaella, sits on the other side, her hands trembling as they clutch the edge of her cloak. She looks far too frail to be attending a tourney, her pallor nearly blending into the ivory silk she wears. Her gentle whispers to you earlier—pleas to keep your head down and avoid catching undue attention—linger in your ears.

But avoiding attention has never been your gift, not when your lilac eyes gleam like polished amethysts beneath the sunlight and your hair catches the wind like a cascade of molten silver and gold. The eyes of the realm are always on you, including, it seems, those of Brandon Stark.

You try not to meet his gaze as he sits astride his stallion, his broad shoulders and wolf's-head cloak making him look every bit the Stark heir that he is. Yet, the air crackles with unspoken words as his gray eyes flicker to you once, twice, before shifting back to his opponent: your older brother, Rhaegar.

Rhaegar looks serene, as always, the perfect picture of a prince. His armor is brilliant in the sunlight, polished to perfection, and his hair silver falls in elegant waves. His hands grip the lance as if it were merely an extension of himself. The dragon and the wolf, facing each other on the field, as if the gods themselves had orchestrated this moment.

“Do you see how the Stark boy stares at you, daughter?” Aerys mutters, leaning toward you. His voice is a rasp, low and sharp like a dagger drawn across stone. “He thinks himself worthy of what is mine.”

Your chest tightens, but you do not answer. You know better than to draw your father’s wrath in public, even though your heart hammers with dread at what he might do later. Instead, you keep your gaze fixed on the jousting field below, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Brandon Stark is a fool,” Aerys continues under his breath, though his tone is low enough that only you can hear. “Like his father. Wolves do not belong in the company of dragons.”

Rhaella shifts uncomfortably beside you, her hand trembling as it rests briefly on yours. A silent plea: endure this.

The herald’s voice rings out, announcing the final tilt. The crowd erupts as Rhaegar and Brandon lower their lances and spur their horses forward.

You grip the armrests of your chair tightly, your breath catching as their steeds charge toward each other. The earth beneath them trembles with the force of their gallop, and your heart clenches as Rhaegar’s lance strikes Brandon’s shield with a deafening crack. But Brandon’s aim is truer. His lance collides with Rhaegar’s chest plate, shattering upon impact and sending your brother tumbling from his horse.

The crowd gasps. You shoot to your feet, your hands clenching the edge of your seat.

“Rhaegar!” you call, fear lacing your voice.

Rhaegar moves almost immediately, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace but no visible injury. Relief floods you as he raises a hand to signal his well-being, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

Brandon wheels his horse around, his expression victorious yet restrained. He dismounts smoothly, handing off his shattered lance and accepting the victor’s crown from the herald. It is a wreath of blue roses, the color vibrant and fresh against the dusty field.

You expect him to crown his betrothed, Lady Catelyn Tully, seated among the northern contingent. But he does not. Instead, Brandon mounts his horse once more, his wolf’s-head cloak billowing behind him as he rides toward the royal dais.

The murmurs in the crowd swell into a crescendo of astonishment as Brandon halts directly before you. His steel-gray eyes meet yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“My queen of love and beauty,” he declares, his voice carrying over the stunned silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and places the crown of blue roses in your lap.

Your heart stops. The world around you seems to blur as the enormity of what he’s done settles over you. This is no simple act of admiration—it is a public claim, a defiance of the natural order. He has passed over his betrothed, and he has chosen you.

“Brandon, no,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible. But it is too late.

Beside you, Aerys stiffens. His nails dig into the armrest, and his eyes narrow with barely-contained fury. “He dares,” he hisses, so quietly that only you and Rhaella can hear. “That wolf dares.”

Rhaella’s trembling hand grips yours tightly, silently urging you to keep your composure. Across the field, you see Lord Rickard Stark rise from his seat, his face pale and drawn. He descends the stairs quickly, presumably to speak with his son in private. But the damage is already done. The crown in your lap feels like a brand, scorching you with the weight of its implications.

Brandon inclines his head slightly, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips as he turns his horse and rides away.

The crowd erupts into cheers once more, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own pounding heart. You glance at Rhaegar, who has remounted his horse. His expression is unreadable, though his gaze flickers to you briefly before he turns his attention back to the field.

Aerys leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. “He has signed his death warrant,” he mutters, his voice laced with venom. “And his father’s. I will see to it.”

You swallow hard, your hands trembling as you clutch the blue roses in your lap. Brandon Stark’s defiance may have ignited the spark, but it is your father’s madness that will set the realm aflame.

Brandon barely dismounts his horse before his father, Lord Rickard Stark, strides toward him with long, purposeful steps. His cloak of gray wool lined with dark fur trailing behind him, and his expression is as cold as the snow of his homeland. The crowd’s cheers fade into a dull hum as Rickard seizes Brandon by the arm, his grip firm but not violent, and pulls him toward a quieter corner behind the pavilion.

“What were you thinking, boy?” Rickard’s voice is low but cutting, the tone that always made Brandon feel like a chastised pup.

Brandon shrugs off his father’s grip, his gray eyes fierce and unyielding. “I was thinking of her,” he says simply, his voice steady but firm. “Y/N deserves better than to be caged in King’s Landing, surrounded by her father’s madness. She deserves—”

Rickard cuts him off with a sharp gesture. “You crowned a Targaryen princess as Queen of Love and Beauty in full view of the court and her father, the Mad King! Do you realize what you’ve done? This isn’t the North, Brandon. Down here, every word, every gesture is a weapon.”

Brandon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “You think I don’t know that? I don’t care. I won today, Father. Me, not Rhaegar. And when I saw her sitting there, looking like something out of a song, I knew I couldn’t let it pass. She’s more than just a Targaryen—she’s the woman I—”

Rickard raises a hand, his eyes darkening. “Don’t finish that sentence. Not here. Not now.” He glances around, his instincts honed from years of navigating court politics. “You may have won the tilt, but you’ve dragged our house into dangerous waters. Aerys won’t forget this, nor will Rhaegar.”

Brandon smirks, a flash of his wolfish grin showing. “Let Aerys stew in his madness. And as for Rhaegar—he knows he’s lost her. That’s why he tilted against me so fiercely.”

Rickard’s expression softens slightly, a glimmer of concern breaking through his stern facade. “Brandon, this isn’t just about her. It’s about the North, about our family. You’ve made enemies today, powerful ones. And you’ve slighted Catelyn Tully in the process. Have you thought of that?”

The mention of Catelyn makes Brandon’s grin fade. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t mean to dishonor her. But I can’t pretend to love someone I barely know, not when—” He hesitates, lowering his voice. “Not when my heart belongs to Y/N.”

Rickard steps closer, lowering his voice as well. “And do you think Aerys will simply allow you to take her? That he’ll overlook what you’ve done today? The man burned his own courtiers for less, Brandon. He’s mad, yes, but not stupid. He’ll see this as a challenge to his power.”

Brandon’s defiance wavers for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. “Then what should I have done? Sit back and let Rhaegar crown her? Let her be his, or worse, left to wither in her father’s shadow?”

Rickard exhales heavily, his hand briefly resting on Brandon’s shoulder. “I know you think you’re protecting her, but you’ve made things more dangerous for her, for all of us. The court is a viper’s nest, and you’ve kicked it. Now we’ll all feel the venom.”

Brandon’s eyes harden again, his stubbornness flaring up. “I’d face a hundred vipers for her. You know that.”

Rickard studies his son for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You’ve always been headstrong, Brandon. Too much like your mother. But headstrong doesn’t win wars, and make no mistake—war is what you’ve invited today.”

“I’ll face it,” Brandon says, his voice steady. “I’ll face whatever comes. For her.”

Rickard doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps back, his gaze shifting toward the royal dais, where King Aerys still sits, his expression unreadable but his violet eyes burning with something dangerous. The old wolf’s instincts scream at him to act, to salvage what he can before it’s too late.

“Come,” Rickard says finally, his voice quieter now. “We need to leave this place before more damage is done.”

Brandon hesitates, his gaze flickering back toward the dais. Your lilac eyes meet his for a brief moment, filled with worry and something unspoken. He nods slightly, a silent promise passing between you.

Rickard notices the exchange and sighs. “The heart of a wolf will always defy reason,” he mutters under his breath. “Let’s pray it doesn’t cost us all.”

With that, he steers his son away from the pavilion, the blue roses in your lap the only lingering reminder of what Brandon Stark has done.

The night is heavy with the lingering scents of spilled ale and crushed flowers, the din of the tourney fading as lords and ladies retreat to their pavilions. You walk alone through the dimly lit garden adjoining Harrenhal’s grand hall, your heart pounding in your chest as you glance over your shoulder. The festival atmosphere still hums faintly in the distance, but here, surrounded by ancient stone walls and shadowed paths, the air is hushed, conspiratorial.

The blue roses Brandon placed in your lap earlier remain tucked into the crook of your arm, their delicate petals bruised from your grip. You press deeper into the garden, past hedges and fountains, until you reach a secluded alcove where the lanterns do not reach. The moonlight filters through the overhanging branches, casting silvery shadows on the ground. You wait, the stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant murmurs of drunken revelers.

“Y/N.”

The voice is low but unmistakable. You turn swiftly to find him emerging from the shadows, his wolf’s-head cloak blending into the darkness. Brandon moves with a predatory grace, his broad shoulders framed by the dim light as he approaches. There is no hesitation in his stride, no hint of regret in his eyes, only determination.

“You shouldn’t have come,” you whisper, though your voice lacks conviction. “If anyone sees us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupts, his voice steady but fierce. He steps closer, his gray eyes locking onto yours. “I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, but you quickly avert your eyes, clutching the roses tighter. “Brandon, do you have any idea what you’ve done? My father—he’s furious. He didn’t say much, but I could see it in his eyes. He’s plotting something. And Rhaegar—” You pause, your voice trembling. “Rhaegar won’t forget this insult.”

Brandon reaches out, his hand brushing against yours, his touch warm despite the chill of the night. “Let him plot. Let Rhaegar brood. None of it matters.”

You shake your head, stepping back from him even as your heart aches to stay close. “It does matter. You’ve put yourself—and your family—in danger. My father is mad, Brandon. Truly mad. He’s burned men alive for less than what you did today.”

“I’d do it again,” he says without hesitation. “A hundred times over. I won that tilt, and I wasn’t about to hand that crown to anyone else. You deserve better than this—better than being paraded around as some prize in a mad king’s court.”

“Better than being the reason your father and brothers suffer?” you retort sharply, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. “Do you think Aerys will stop at just you? He’ll find a way to punish all of you for your defiance. And me? He’ll—he’ll—” Your voice falters, and you look away, tears threatening to spill.

Brandon’s hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes despite your best efforts. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he says softly, his voice steady but laced with unyielding resolve. “Whatever comes, I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

“You can’t make that promise,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re just one man, Brandon. You can’t fight a king.”

“I’ll fight a hundred kings if it means keeping you safe,” he replies fiercely, his grip on your cheek firm but tender. “You’re worth it, Y/N. You’ve always been worth it.”

Your resolve crumbles under the weight of his words, and you lean into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re a fool,” you murmur. “A brave, stubborn fool.”

“And you love me for it,” he says, a hint of a grin breaking through his intensity.

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of the world fades. In the moonlight, he looks like the wolf you’ve always known him to be—wild, fierce, and unrelenting. Your lips part to respond, but before you can, he leans in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that is both tender and desperate.

The roses fall from your arms, forgotten, as you cling to him, your fingers tangling in his cloak. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he can shield you from everything beyond this moment. The kiss deepens, a silent promise of love and defiance, of everything you wish the world could allow you to have.

When you finally part, both of you breathless, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a whisper. “Say the word, and I’ll take you away from all of this. Tonight. Now.”

You shake your head, tears spilling freely this time. “And where would we go? My father would hunt us to the ends of the earth. Your family—your brothers—they’d pay the price.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Then what? Do we just keep sneaking around like this? Hiding in shadows?”

“For now, we survive,” you say softly, placing a hand against his chest. “For now, we love in secret. Until we can find a way to be together without bringing ruin to everyone we care about.”

His hand covers yours, his warmth grounding you despite the chill of the night. “Then I’ll wait. For however long it takes.”

You nod, your voice trembling as you reply, “And I’ll hold you to that.”

The two of you linger a moment longer, stealing what little time you can before the weight of the world presses down once more. Then, reluctantly, Brandon steps back, his eyes lingering on you as if memorizing every detail.

“Go,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Before someone sees us.”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the wolf’s-head cloak tighter around him as he slips back into the shadows. You watch until he disappears, your heart aching with every step he takes away from you. Only when you are certain he is gone do you stoop to pick up the blue roses, their petals crushed but still fragrant.

As you make your way back to the hall, the weight of his love and your fears settles heavily on your shoulders. You know this affair is dangerous, reckless even. But you also know that for Brandon Stark, you would face every shadow in this world.

The journey to King’s Landing was supposed to be routine—a formality, Lord Rickard Stark had said, though there was tension behind his words. Aerys had summoned them to court after Brandon’s brash actions at Harrenhal moons prior. The blue roses, the crown, the whispered conversations in shadowed corners—it had all led to this.

Brandon Stark, the Wild Wolf of Winterfell, had ridden alongside his father with his jaw clenched, his mind racing. He had not shared his full plan with anyone, not even his father. But now, as the Red Keep loomed like a blood-red sentinel in the morning sun, he knew there was no turning back.

The Red Keep’s air was stifling, heavy with the weight of unseen eyes and whispered schemes. Servants scurried about like mice, their heads bowed, while guards in Targaryen black stood like statues, their hands resting on their swords. Brandon walked alongside his father, his cloak trailing behind him, the leather of his boots scuffing against the cold stone floors.

"Keep your head down," Rickard muttered under his breath, his voice low and firm. "This isn’t the time for your pride, boy."

Brandon bristled but said nothing. He wasn’t here to grovel, not when so much was at stake. The thought of you—your lilac eyes filled with fear as you clutched your stomach, your voice trembling as you begged him to leave you behind—gnawed at him. He had promised to protect you, and this was the only way.

As they turned a corner, Brandon's steps faltered, his hand brushing against the hilt of his sword. He glanced over his shoulder, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of pursuit.

"You’re distracted," Rickard observed, his voice sharp. "What have you done, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated, his heart pounding. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, piercing and unyielding, demanding the truth. But he couldn’t tell him. Not yet.

"Nothing you wouldn’t have done in my place," Brandon replied cryptically, his voice tight. "Just trust me, Father."

Rickard frowned but said nothing, though his suspicion was visible.

It wasn’t until they reached the small chamber set aside for them that Rickard cornered his son. The room was sparse, the only furnishings a table, two chairs, and a narrow bed. A single window overlooked the city, its sprawling streets winding toward the distant horizon.

Rickard shut the door firmly, his face grim. "Out with it. What madness have you brought upon us this time?"

Brandon leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression defiant. "I did what needed to be done."

Rickard’s patience snapped. "Stop dancing around it, boy! What did you do?"

Brandon pushed off the wall, his voice rising. "I sent her away."

Rickard’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening. "You what?"

"I smuggled her out of the Red Keep last night," Brandon confessed, his voice steady but his heart racing. "She’s gone, safe, far from here."

Rickard took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And where, exactly, have you sent the princess of the Seven Kingdoms? With whom?"

Brandon shook his head. "I won’t tell you. It’s better if you don’t know."

Rickard stared at him, his disbelief turning into fury. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Aerys will see this as treason! You’ve not only defied him but stolen his daughter from under his nose. You’ve doomed us all."

"I had to," Brandon said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don’t you understand? They would have hurt her. Or worse."

Rickard’s anger faltered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "Hurt her? What are you talking about?"

Brandon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "She’s with child."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking like a stone into the air. Rickard’s face paled, his breath catching. "By the gods… Brandon, is it—?"

"Mine," Brandon said firmly, meeting his father’s gaze. "The child is mine. And I wasn’t going to let them use her—or our child—as pawns in their games."

Rickard staggered back a step, his hand gripping the back of the chair for support. "Do you know what this means? Aerys will burn us for this. Both of us. And when he finds her—"

"He won’t," Brandon interrupted, his voice steel. "She’s gone, and no one will find her unless I want them to. I made sure of it."

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, his anger rekindling. "You arrogant fool. You think you can outmaneuver a king? Aerys will burn the North to ash to get to her."

"I couldn’t leave her here!" Brandon snapped, his voice echoing in the small room. "Not when I knew what he’d do to her. Not when I knew they’d take our child—use them, hurt them. I won’t let that happen, Father."

Rickard stared at his son, a mix of anger, disbelief, and something resembling admiration flickering in his eyes. He shook his head slowly, his voice heavy. "You’ve set the realm on fire, Brandon. And we’ll both pay the price for it."

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes unwavering. "I’ll pay whatever price I have to. But I won’t let them touch her—or my child."

A knock at the door shattered the moment, and a guard’s voice called out from the other side. "Lord Rickard, Prince Rhaegar requests your presence in the great hall. His Grace awaits."

Rickard straightened, his face hardening as he turned toward the door. "This is it," he said quietly, his voice tinged with resignation. "We’ll die in that hall, you know that."

Brandon squared his shoulders, his wolfish defiance returning. "Then so be it."

Rickard hesitated for a moment, then nodded, opening the door. Together, they stepped into the corridor, the sound of the guards’ boots echoing around them as they were escorted toward the great hall—and their fate.

The great hall of the Red Keep is a cavern of shadows and firelight, its high vaulted ceiling seeming to echo the weight of the accusations hurled across the chamber. Rows of courtiers, guards, and lords line the walls, their faces painted with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and malice. At the far end of the room, the Iron Throne rises like a jagged mountain, its ominous blades reflective in the flickering torchlight.

Seated atop the throne is King Aerys II, his frail frame nearly swallowed by the massive seat of power. His silver hair falls in wild, tangled strands around his gaunt face, his violet eyes blazing with an unholy fire. His nails, long and yellowed, tap erratically against the armrests, the sound reverberating in the sinister silence.

At the base of the throne stands Prince Rhaegar, his expression carefully composed. His indigo eyes flicker to Brandon and Rickard Stark as they are led into the hall, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Brandon walks with his head high, his wolf’s-head cloak draped across his broad shoulders, his jaw clenched in defiance. Beside him, Rickard Stark’s face is a mask of stoic calm, though his eyes betray the storm brewing within. They are the embodiment of the North—unyielding, proud, and unbroken.

Aerys leans forward on the throne, his voice slicing through the silence like a dagger. "Rickard Stark," he hisses, the words dripping with venom. "You come before your king as a traitor. As a thief."

Rickard steps forward, his voice calm but firm. "I am no traitor, Your Grace. I have come to answer your summons and to demand justice for my son."

Aerys’s laughter erupts, high-pitched and manic, echoing through the hall. "Justice? Justice? You speak of justice, yet your wild wolf has stolen what is mine!"

Brandon steps forward before his father can reply, his gray eyes blazing. "She is not yours!" he snarls. The words reverberate through the hall, causing a ripple of gasps from the gathered courtiers. "Y/N is not a prize to be kept in a cage. She’s free now, far from your madness."

Aerys’s face contorts with rage, his nails clawing at the armrests of the throne. "You dare defy me, boy? You dare steal my daughter and think there will be no consequence?"

Rhaegar’s expression tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he says nothing. His eyes, however, flicker briefly to Brandon, a flicker of suspicion passing through his gaze.

Rickard steps forward, his voice rising over the chaos. "Your Grace, I came to King’s Landing in good faith, to answer your summons. My son’s actions were not sanctioned by me. I demand trial by combat, as is my right."

Aerys’s lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes alight with glee. "Trial by combat, is it? Very well. You shall have your combat, Stark." He gestures to the pyromancers standing by the walls. "Bring the wildfire."

The room erupts into murmurs as pyromancers begin to move, fetching the green liquid that glows with a sickly light. Rickard’s calm demeanor does not waver, though Brandon stiffens beside him, his fists clenching.

"You call this justice?" Brandon spits, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is madness!"

Aerys’s laughter cuts him off, a shrill and terrible sound. "Madness, you say? No, boy. This is power. This is the price of treason."

Two guards seize Rickard, dragging him toward the pyre set in the center of the hall. The wildfire is poured into the brazier, its noxious fumes filling the air. Rickard glances back at his son, his eyes calm and steady. "Brandon," he says quietly, his voice firm. "Do not lose yourself."

Brandon shakes his head, his voice breaking. "Father—"

The guards tie Rickard to the pyre, stepping back as the wildfire is lit. Green flames roar to life, climbing hungrily around Rickard’s form. The heat is unbearable, the air thick with the stench of burning flesh. But Rickard does not scream. His eyes remain fixed on his son, unyielding to the very end.

"Father!" Brandon roars, his voice raw with anguish. He surges forward, but guards grab him, forcing him back. Aerys gestures with a flick of his hand, and a noose of Tyroshi rope is brought forth. It is looped around Brandon’s neck and tied to the brazier.

"Let the wolf choke on his own defiance," Aerys says with a sneer.

The guards begin to tighten the rope, pulling it taut. Brandon fights, his hands clawing at the noose, his boots skidding against the stone floor as he struggles to reach his father. His face turns red, veins bulging as the rope cuts into his neck.

Through the haze of pain and fire, Brandon’s gaze finds Rhaegar, who stands motionless at the base of the throne. His lips move, a whisper barely audible over the crackling flames and Aerys’s mad laughter.

"Y/N," Brandon whispers, his voice hoarse. The name carries through the hall like a ghost, reaching Rhaegar’s ears.

Rhaegar’s eyes widen, his composure cracking for the first time. He takes a step forward, his gaze flickering to his father, who is too consumed by his triumph to notice. The name lingers in the air, a spark in the dry kindling of the North’s fury.

Brandon’s struggles slow, his strength ebbing away as the noose tightens. His vision blurs, the last thing he sees the green flames consuming his father. With one final, ragged breath, he collapses, his body limp against the restraints.

The hall falls silent, the only sounds the crackling of the wildfire and Aerys’s quiet, satisfied laughter.

Rhaegar’s fists clench at his sides as he stares at the lifeless form of Brandon Stark. The name whispered in death echoes in his mind. Y/N.

The North will not forget. And neither will he.

The gates of Winterfell groaned open as Eddard Stark rode through, his grim face framed by the gray fur of his cloak. The chill wind of the North cut through the courtyard, carrying whispers of his return as servants hurried to greet their lord. His bannermen followed close behind, their horses weary from the long ride. At the center of the company, wrapped tightly in thick furs, was the child.

The infant stirred, his small cries barely audible over the clatter of hooves and the rustle of banners. Eddard held him protectively, his jaw clenched, his expression as cold and unreadable as the snow-dusted landscape around him.

At the top of the stairs leading into the great hall, Lady Catelyn Stark stood waiting. Her auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her gown. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her husband dismount.

The sight of the bundled infant in Eddard’s arms was like a blow. Her heart sank, dread pooling in her stomach as the truth dawned on her. A bastard. He’s brought a bastard into our home.

When Eddard finally reached her, the tension between them was palpable. He paused, cradling the child, and looked into her eyes. “Catelyn,” he said softly, his voice steady but distant. “We need to talk.”

Her gaze flickered to the child, then back to him, her expression tight with fury. “You dare to bring him here? After everything?”

“Not here,” Eddard said firmly, nodding toward the doors of the great hall. “Inside.”

The warmth of the great hall was nothing to the frost in Catelyn’s glare. She stood rigid near the hearth, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as Eddard laid the baby in a cradle brought by a servant. The child, with dark hair and pale skin, cooed softly, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

Catelyn’s voice trembled with barely contained anger. “You bring this… this boy into my home, and you expect me to accept him? To raise him among our children, as if he were one of them?”

Eddard turned to face her, his expression unreadable but resolute. “He is my blood.”

“Your blood,” she repeated bitterly, her voice rising. “A bastard! Do you know what they will say, Eddard? What they will whisper behind my back? They already called me the jilted bride of The Wild Wolf. Brandon’s betrayal humiliated me before the realm, and now this?” She gestured toward the cradle. “Another Stark disgrace for me to bear?”

Eddard’s face hardened, his voice sharp. “I will not let this child suffer for the choices of men.”

“Choices you made!” she snapped, her voice echoing in the hall. “What of me, Eddard? What of your wife? Did you think of me when you lay with another woman? When you fathered a child out of wedlock?”

Eddard flinched, but his resolve did not waver. “You know nothing of what I’ve done,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken pain. “And you never will.”

Catelyn stared at him, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. “You owe me more than that, Eddard. I am your wife. The mother of your heir.”

“You are,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “And I will never dishonor you again. But Jon is here now, and he will stay. He is innocent in all of this.”

“Innocent,” she repeated bitterly, her gaze flickering to the cradle. “And what of Robb? What of our son? What will he think when he grows older and learns his father brought a bastard into his home? How do I explain this to him?”

Eddard sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You will tell them the truth—that Jon is my son. That he is their brother, no matter the circumstances of his birth.”

Catelyn shook her head, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “You ask too much of me, Eddard. Too much.”

Eddard stepped closer, his gray eyes meeting hers. “I ask only for your kindness. For the sake of the boy.”

Catelyn’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms. “You’ve already asked for my forgiveness. Don’t ask for my kindness too.”

Eddard’s face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of sorrow. He nodded once, then turned back to the cradle, his hand resting on the edge as he looked down at the child.

“This is Jon,” he said softly. “He will be raised as a Stark. And I will ensure he knows he is loved, no matter what the world says.”

Catelyn turned away, unable to bear the sight of her husband and his bastard child. The pain of betrayal cut deep, the wounds still raw. She knew she had no choice but to endure, for the sake of her family, but the bitterness in her heart was a cold comfort.

As Eddard stood by the cradle, the weight of his decisions pressing heavily on his shoulders, Catelyn left the hall, her footsteps echoing through the empty corridors of Winterfell.

[plutoniumcollectors]

helloooo transmasc system with complicated gender here !! we personally identify as tmasc even though our singlet-sona is technically generfluid just for simplicity sake , but we do go by he/him pronouns collectively so fuck it we ball ya know . s VERY common for systemhood to fuck with your gender I fear . before we even knew of the existence of genderfluidity our gender was all out of fucking wack and it didn't help when the NAMES we used started feeling uncomfortable so it wasn't a very great experience , but to impart a bit of knowledge: our experience with gender got a lot easier when we stopped giving a shit . who CARES if theres five cis men in front I wanna wear a skirt so thats what we're wearing (unless it makes anyone dysphoric/genuinely uncomfortable) style . this probably doesn't help a whole lot because I know a lot of people care about representing their gender -- not only for the euphoria but so that people just call them the correct pronouns in public (which is also fine !!) -- but this is just whats worked for us so I figured I'd share . we don't . really know what the fuck our gender is half the time . we're in co-con constantly so half of our alters are stuck in the questioning stage of their existence still becasue they can't tell if they're gender belongs to THEM or to someone else in front , and thats fine by us . we figure shit out eventually ya know ? if it means a lot to you though I think the best course of action would be to just . think on it . like it might take a long ass time , but if you think about it hard enough shit is bound to come up , right ? get into microlabels those are fun too . s YOUR gender . fuck around , find out , and have fun while you do it . don't let it make ya miserable .

DID is fucking with my gender rlly bad and my friend said I should reach out so. Trans systems with complicated genders reblog so I know ur out there???

I would love to hear ur experiences bc I’m getting my ass kicked by gender

[mejaemin]

baby - lee donghyuck

wc: 0.5k

summary: caramel!hyuck helping you to bed, lulling his baby to sleep ♡

warnings: fluff, not proofread

an: it’s been a minute since i wrote for caramel hyuck… im sorry for the drought and i KNOW this isn’t a lot to make up for it but im feeling lowkey uninspired rn… also,, reminder that i reopened my requests !!! go fill my inboxxxx

(caramel masterlist here! ʕ ᵔⰙᵔ⠕ʔ )

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

donghyuck carries you from your couch all the way to your bed, laying you down gently with his hand behind your head. it’s just been an off day for you, and you didn’t even have to say anything before he was at your side, tending to your every need. feeling extremely lazy and overwhelmed, he let you nap away and was now putting you to bed. you watch with a soft pout as he goes through your dresser, pulling out one of his shirts for you. he returns to the bed, sitting on the edge with a hand on your thigh.

“do you want me to do it for you?” he asks, referring to your change of clothes. his thumb rubs against your skin lovingly, awaiting your answer.

you hum, nodding your head as you reluctantly move to sit up. he leans forward a little too eagerly to help you up, lifting your arms to remove your shirt, followed by your lounge pants. he then removes your bra, and he tries keeping his eyes up but of course fails and you catch him every time his eyes fall back down to your chest. he looks away, cheeks slightly pink, now pouting as he puts his shirt over your head.

he perks up, personality changing like a switch was flipped as he lays down with you, pulling the blanket over your bodies. cupping your face in his hands, he cooes, kissing your lips and cheeks all over before finally letting you settle into his arms.

“awe, mama, you look so cute in my shirt, all sleepy ‘n stuff.. now, do you wanna watch something or just go to sleep?” he asks, running a hand over your hair.

“sleep…” you mumble, burying your face deeper into his chest. the feeling of his hand against your head nearly lulled you to sleep, and when it ended you reached behind you, lowering it to your back, prompting him to continue his movements.

he catches on immediately, giggling before pinching your cheek. he keeps from teasing, choosing to rub your back lovingly to aid you in falling asleep. you relax into his body, letting out a sigh of relief at the sensation. you lay in silence, the room dark save for your hello kitty lava lamp leaving a dim pink glow over the room. it isn’t the kind of silence that’s uncomfortable, triggering your tinnitus, rather the kind that feels peaceful, and you can almost fall asleep to it.

eventually donghyuck starts humming, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. it’s not something he lets out often, but you’d argue that it’s the most attractive thing about him (aside from his skin, of course). after a few minutes of tiredly listening you recognize the song as one of your favorites, a slower, more comforting song that you usually play when sleeping. you don’t ask often but having his voice and presence there to lull you to sleep was nearly your favorite thing in the world.

if it were any normal day you’d refrain from letting out the childish whine that escaped your lips but hyuck is just making you feel so comfortable, so sleepy, and it’s then that you decide you’re really no better than him. truthfully, you might just consider acting like him more often if it gets you to be babied like this.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

[bigbrosfriend]

My cousin, Tanner, grew up fast. He’s only 15 but he’s already more muscular than his dad. I had to spend the night there. We’ve always shared a bed when we would go on trips or had sleepovers, so it was just a given this would be the same. But now he is just so big and he is growing hair.

I walked into his room and was greeted by a bo smell that rivaled the pungency of the locker room. His dirty laundry was all over the room. The door slammed and Tanner was standing there. His pits were rank.

“I want to give you a heads-up for sharing a bed. If boners make you uncomfortable, you might want to sleep on the floor.”

I glanced down and his cock was tenting up in his sweatpants. It was huge. “I think we’ll be fine, we’ll just have face different directions heheh.”

As we slept, I felt him roll over. He started spooning me. His cock was pressing in to my back. “You awake?” I stayed silent, I wasn’t sure what he was doing. “Good…” he pulled my waistband down. I felt his bare cock press against my hole.

[strawb3rry-saturnzbarz]

☆Lighter Lorenz x Reader★

Summary: Lighter invites you to a New Year’s Day party which sounds like fun… but you were so excited that you completely forgot that one of your biggest triggers will be there.

A/N: I had this idea a few nights ago and HAD to do something with it immediately. I haven’t written since around 2021 so I’m very rusty, bear with me pls (´ ∀｀;)

(I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible, but there is an instance where Lighter refers to the reader as a girl.)

dividers by @rookthornesartistry

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drunk people, kissing

Notes: sfw, comfort + reassurance, confessions of feelings

You are currently in Lumina Square running some errands, minding your own business when you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

“Hey, y/n. What brings you here?”

It was Lighter, the man of your silly, lovesick dreams. Ever since you were introduced to the Sons of Calydon, you've struggled to ignore the feelings of attraction he sparked within you. It was completely hopeless; you were absolutely smitten.

Doing your best to ignore the rapid beating in your chest, you tell him you just came to run some quick errands, and he nods his head.

“Ah, same here actually. It’s my turn to get the gang’s groceries this week.” He says, feigning annoyance with an eye roll.

“By the way, if you’re interested…” Lighter starts, adjusting his shades a bit, “the Sons of Calydon are hosting a New Year’s Day party tonight to celebrate the start of another exciting year. There will be drinks, snacks, music, dancing, all the good stuff. You up for it?”

You pause and think. You were never the type to go out and party, but this was a special occasion and you happened to like lighter… a lot.

As long as he’s there, I should have fun, right?

And so of course you agreed to go. Why the hell not?

“Oh, yeah sure!” you bob your head dumbly, the only thought in your mind being how much fun it must be to party and dance with him.

“Great, I look forward to seeing you there.”

Lighter gives you the time and place, giving you a playful fist bump and wishing you safe travels before you both parted ways.

You spend a considerable amount of time making yourself look presentable, showering and putting on a pretty yet still comfortable outfit. While stepping outside to unlock your car, you message Lighter.

“Hey, i’m omw :) meet at the entrance to Blazewood?”

“Sure thing. See you around ;)”

You smile at his message and turn the keys to start the car, all the while imagining the fun you and Lighter will have together. Maybe you’ll share some snacks and chat, perhaps you’ll dance and flirt. All of the possibilities start flooding the forefront of your brain, almost making you loose focus of the road.

Once you arrive and park at the entrance to Blazewood, Lighter spots you walking towards him and waves. He leads you inside, offering an arm out of courtesy which you accept without hesitation. You can’t help the stupid grin that slipped through your lips at his handsome charm.

Once inside, Lighter leads you to a less crowded bar, sitting down beside you and bumping your elbow playfully as he calls the bartender over.

“What do you say y/n, you wanna start with some shots?”

Oh…

You had completely forgotten that you had a strong hatred towards alcohol, not to mention its effects on people. You were so consumed with your own attraction to Lighter that you didn’t even consider the possibility of feeling uncomfortable at the party.

You stumble over your thoughts, trying to form a response instead of leaving him hanging.

Do I lie and have a few? Or just…

“Uh… i’m okay. Sorry… I might just get a soda or something.”

Shit, how embarrassing. The love of your life offered to buy you a drink and all you have to say is no?

Lighter just nods and smiles softly, ordering a soda for you and a beer for himself. He didn’t plan on getting shit-faced drunk, especially with you here to see him, but he wanted to let loose a bit tonight.

You occasionally take small sips of your soda, starting to feel uncomfortable from the already hammered people beginning to crowd the bar. The loud music was becoming increasingly overwhelming, and the smell of beer on everyone’s breaths was not making things any better.

“This was supposed to be fun,” you thought. You came along to dance and have a good time with Lighter, not sit and be overstimulated by the drunk guests’ slurred singing and clumsy stumbling behind you.

“You feeling hungry? Want something to eat?” Lighter asks, leaning a bit closer so you could hear him over the crowd. His voice grounds you to an extent, but you can’t help the consuming feelings of guilt and humiliation building within yourself.

How could you forget about that? Fucking idiot. You’re too in love with him to even think twice.

You shake your head, fiddling with the little aluminum tab on your soda can.

“I’m okay, thank you.” You mutter, disguising your growing discomfort with a feeble smile.

The sounds and smells of the guests around you are becoming even harder to ignore as they call out to the bartender for more shots. The inconsiderate woman in the stool next to you keeps elbowing your arm, and she reeks of beer and cheap perfume, making your nose wrinkle.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

He picks up on your subtle shift in attitude, and swivels his barstool to face you. You are typically happy and talkative towards him, not quiet and withdrawn; if anyone knows when there’s something amiss, it’s Lighter.

“Hey, what’s the matter? You seem a little quiet…” Lighter asks softly, but loud enough for you to hear him, as he places his hand on your shoulder carefully.

And that’s when you crumble. His gentle touch and genuine concern is so touching, and you are so overwhelmed with emotions that they begin spilling out for the whole bar to see. Albeit, most of the guests are too wasted and distracted to notice, but not Lighter.

Fuck, i’ve ruined the whole night. This was supposed to be fun, and I ruined it, all because i’m too fucking naive and infatuated to think before i speak.

By now, Lighter is beyond concerned, setting his drink down to gently take your hands in his.

“Hey it’s okay, look at me…” his voice is so soft, it almost feels like a comforting hug. “Do you want to step outside real quick?”

Great. Now he’s worried and you’re a pitiful, crying mess.

You try looking up at him, but it’s no good; the intense shame and embarrassment of killing the mood keeps your head hanging down. Hiding your face in your hands, you nod your head and cry, mumbling through timid sobs.

“I’m sorry Lighter, I’ve ruined everything…”

He stares at you dumbfounded and worried, trying to decipher what could be going on inside your pretty little mind.

“What do you- Here… let’s go somewhere else for a bit, okay?”

He stands from his barstool and offers you a gloved hand, wrapping his other arm around your shoulder as you walk back to the entrance of Blazewood.

Once you’re far away from the party he sits you down on his parked bike, kneeling down onto his knees as to not tower over you. Carefully, Lighter takes your hands into his and gazes up at you, waiting for anything you may say or do.

“What did you mean? About ruining everything?” His voice was gentle and non-demanding as he watched you patiently.

Through sad hiccups you manage to speak, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

“I wanted to have fun with you at the party, I really did, but I got overwhelmed and ruined everything by crying- I’m sorry Lighter, I-I can’t do it.”

Ah, so you were overwhelmed… that explains why you seemed so zoned out.

His thumbs gently brushed against your knuckles as he murmured words of reassurance. “You haven’t ruined anything. It’s not your fault that you feel overwhelmed, it happens to all of us sometimes yeah?”

“I know, but I should've known what I was getting into.” You sigh and do your best explain your deal with alcohol and how you’ve never enjoyed drinking or watching others drink.

And now it’s Lighter’s turn to feel guilty. He had been sitting there right next to you sipping from his beer the whole time, totally unaware that he was part of the reason you were uncomfortable. His eyes widened slightly as he squeezed your hand apologetically.

“Oh y/n, I had no idea… I’m so sorry if i made you feel uneasy. I would have ordered something else if i had known better…” His grip on your hand loosened as he continued rubbing your knuckles while you cried. “You wouldn’t have hurt my feelings by saying something before the party or by rejecting my offer. Your comfort is my top priority. You know that right?”

Lighter’s words mixed with the soft feeling of his gloves on your skin causes your heart to flutter.

“I know… I was just so excited to come hang out with you that I completely forgot about how I might react to everything.”

Lighter grins, somewhat flattered by your statement. “Well, I’m touched to receive such high praise, but please don’t push yourself for me in the future, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, wiping the last of your remaining tears away. “Okay..”

Lighter raised an eyebrow, knowing well enough that you tend to be a people pleaser, even more so towards those you love. “Promise me?”

“I promise.”

“Atta girl.” He carefully patted your hands as he stood up from the ground, opening his arms hesitantly and offering you a hug.

Closing the distance with a small step, you wrap your arms around his back, his own finding their way around your waist. His thumbs stroked gentle circles on your sides as he held you close, savoring the warmth of your embrace.

“Can I take you to a spot that I like to visit?” His voice was soft and airy against your hair, easing any leftover guilt you may have felt for making him drag you out of the party.

After feeling your short nod against his chest, he eased out of your grip and sat on his motorcycle, patting the seat behind him.

As you swung your leg over the seat and got comfortable, he offered you his helmet. “Here, you need this more than me.”

You smile softly at his consideration for your safety, and with your arms wrapped around his warm body you drove off to his private quiet haven.

The blue night sky was filled with stars, it was absolutely mesmerizing. The further you drove into the countryside, the more hills and trees there were, the soft moonlight hitting each blade of dry grass. Lighter pulled up to a small pond surrounded by trees and tall grass and propped his bike against one of the large trees. It was a remote and quiet little spot, the only sounds being your combined breaths and the crickets hiding in the grass.

Lighter lent you a hand as you hopped off his bike, and led you towards the water to sit down and relax.

"I like to come here sometimes, when I just need to get away for a bit. Sometimes I'll splash around in the water if it's really hot out," he mentioned with a slight chuckle as he crossed his legs.

You crack a smile and look around, taking in nature's beauty whilst fiddling with a tall strand of grass beside you. "It is a very pretty spot."

"I'm glad you think so too."

A brief moment of silence passes before Lighter turns to face you, patting your knee. "You feeling any better now?”

Although you did feel lees overwhelmed, you still felt guilty for making him worry to the point he left the party.

"Yeah, I just hate that I made you worry about me… I wanted you to have fun tonight.”

Your words broke his heard. Did you really think he saw your struggles as a burden?

He took his shades off to look into your eyes, folding and setting them on the dry grass as he took your hands into his again.

“I’m always going to worry about you, I can’t help it. I don’t need to be at a loud party with drinks to have fun, I was just happy that you showed up.” Lighter’s voice sounded warm and sincere, and that made you all the more emotional. “I care about you a lot, y’know? You’ve always been there for me when I needed someone to lean on, the least I can do is be there in return.”

“You’d better stop or you’ll make me cry again,” you joked with a light laugh.

Lighter snorted as he shook his head in amusement, his grip on your hands tightening a tad as he clears his throat.

“Listen, I’m really sorry if i made you feel uncomfortable back there. I would never do something like that to you on purpose.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment. “I know you wouldn’t, Lighter.”

Your affirmation means the would to him, shows that you trust him, and he can’t keep his feelings to himself anymore. To Lighter, you’re the kindest person with the sweetest heart he’s ever seen, your love makes him feel all mushy inside, and you deserve to know.

“I um… I don’t know if this makes you feel any less guilty, but I love you, a-and I always want you to be happy. Truth is… you’re my favorite person. I really enjoy your company, and I always want you to be happy. So… if that means driving you away from a loud party, then that’s what I’ll do for you.”

…This isn’t happening is it?

Lighter’s confession hits like a slap in the face, earning him a stare of bewilderment. Did he seriously just admit that you’re his number one? A new warm feeling fills your chest as his words sink in, soothing every fiber of your being. Your heart races in your chest as your cheeks warm from his honest declaration of love, and you aren’t sure to what to say.

And he can tell. As he sits with you patiently waiting hand in hand, the gears in your mind start turning, allowing you to speak again.

“I love you too… I always have.”

Not only do your words stir something within him, but it also brings him immense satisfaction knowing you feel the same. He starts feeling a bit bold, shakily bringing your hand up to kiss the back of it while he gazes up at you through his messy bangs.

The feeling of his soft lips on your skin nearly sends you into shock, and the stupid smile that graces your lips only causes his pulse to quicken even more.

Lighter scoots a bit closer to you, his hip pressing against yours as his arm drapes across your shoulders. The awkward, romantic tension in the air is almost palpable as he kisses your hand again, slower and less timid this time. Once his hand lets go of your hand, it travels to your jawline, his gloved thumb rubbing your warm cheek gently.

“May I kiss you?” He whispered, his deep voice floating through the air and into your ears.

Despite how taken aback you are, you nod without a second thought, leaning into his side as you gaze up at him. Lighter’s head tilts a bit, allowing him better access, before leaning in and closing the distance.

The feeling of his soft, warm lips on yours is everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and you can’t get enough of it. He feels you smiling shyly into the kiss, making his heart leap with joy as he gently threads his fingers through your hair.

After a short moment of kissing, he pulls back just enough to admire the dopey grin on your flushed face.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that…”

It’s nearly impossible to stop yourself from smiling at his sweet remark, and it just makes you want to kiss him again, and again, and again.

And so you do until the moon reaches its peak, signaling the late hours of the night. Lighter flashes a heartfelt grin before offering a hand to help you up, walking you over to his bike to drive you back home.

The night had taken quite the unexpected turn, but who knows what opportunities await for you and Lighter now that your feelings are out in the open?

[seoulmatez]

𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉

suna has been acting a bit strange and you're determined to find out why.

suna rintaro x reader ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ♡

“Where are you going?”

The unexpected voice makes your shoulders jump in surprise. When you turn around in the direction that it came from, the bathroom door that was closed just minutes ago is now open, steam from the shower seeping out. Suna stands with a towel wrapped around his hips, patiently awaiting your answer.

He’s been doing this a lot the past few days—catching you when you’re on your way out the door and insisting he tag along. You thought you might be able to sneak past him while he was in the shower. Seems like he has some sort of sixth sense that allows him to tell when you’re on the move. “Just to the convenience store down the road.”

You have an idea what his next question will be.

With water dripping from the ends of his dark hair, he asks, “Should I come with you?”

Just as you thought.

“To buy a coffee to bring right back here?” You grin at his implied loyalty. Accompanying you on a fifteen minute trip is a sweet gesture but far from necessary—especially when he was planning on calling it a night. “No, that’s okay. Besides, you’re not even dressed.”

You gesture to his practically naked body and Suna looks down, as if he forgot that he had just stepped out of the shower only a minute ago. When he looks back up at you, there’s determination glowing in his light eyes. “I can get dressed. Two minutes—max.”

He starts on the short path to your shared bedroom but you stop him, resting your hand on his shoulder. His skin is soft and warm beneath yours—a far cry from his usual temperature. 

“What's up with you lately?” you ask.

Suna shakes his head. “Nothing.”

You snort at that. What a lousy liar. “You’ve been clinging onto me like a koala. Waking up earlier so we can have breakfast together, joining me on trips to get groceries. You even went to the gym with me yesterday—after you already trained for the day. Since when do you ever do that stuff?”

Having been presented with your evidence, Suna has no defense. His silence makes you tilt your head. “So?”

Suna's lips poke out in a pout. It’s almost as if he thought you wouldn’t notice how different he’s been acting the past few days. “I can’t tell—it’s my new year’s resolution and a secret. It won’t happen if I spill.”

“You do that with wishes, not resolutions,” you explain, though a smile pulls at your lips with his misunderstanding. But, even if you had let it slide, you’re still more than curious about what he has committed to for the new year that so heavily involves you. “And either way, I think I have a right to know when it’s directly impacting me.”

Suna frowns at that. An uncomfortable silence fills the hallway for a moment. “Am I bothering you?”

“What?” You find yourself frowning too. Did he think you were accusing him of being overbearing? Your eyes widen as you consider the possibility and you shake your head frantically. “No! I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Relief washes over Suna’s features but he still seems apprehensive.

You let your hands slide down his bare arms, hoping the touch is gentle, encouraging. “Tell me—please.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. He planned on carrying this out silently without you knowing but he supposes he came on a bit strong. It’s not that it’s anything to be ashamed of—far from it, really—though, admitting it out loud strikes Suna as the tiniest bit embarrassing. If his actions haven’t turned you away, hopefully, neither will his words.

“I just want to spend more time with you,” he admits.

That’s all?

How innocent. And cute. And totally not worth keeping a secret over.

You don’t tell him any of that though (he’s bashful enough as is, if his rosy cheeks are any indication), just silently take it in and let it warm your heart. Something about his slip-up earlier is even cuter now—him wanting to ensure that he’d be able to spend as much time with you as possible by keeping his intentions a secret.

“Well, get dressed then.” You jerk your head in the direction of your room with a smile. “You have two minutes before I leave you.”

Suna rushes away to put on some clothes. You giggle at his sense of urgency but lean against the wall, not bothering to keep track of time. You’ll wait for him regardless.

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[beatlebvm]

wet dream

summary: after a long night of intense activities, aegon targaryen falls asleep in the arms of his sweet and pretty niece visenya not knowing that in the morning there will be a surprise waiting for him.

pairing: aegon II targaryen x visenya targaryen (rhaenyra's daughter)

word count: ~1.6k

warnings: not proofread, 18+ mdni, language, smut, just filth and little fluff if you squint at the end, oral sex (m receiving), it's con — basically waking him up with head :P. ugly ending :/. ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE!!!

author's note: this might be the last and only thing i'll ever publish in my life since i still have traumas from my wattpad era of 10 years ago lmao. i feel super insecure about this, it sounded nicer in my head but i hope you like it too!

maybe it was a dream.

such a beautiful dream — as the ones you don't want to wake up from, the ones you want to live through until the last second, the last bit. and it was so good.

too good to be true. visenya's mouth was so warm and welcoming, soft and wet just as aegon liked, and her lips moved eagerly and confidently, playing and sucking him off with the only ways she knew. aegon sighed, his hips shifted and he could already feel himself harden in his state of semi-unconsciousness, between wakefulness and a deep slumber.

her sultry gaze was fixed on him, a mischievous smirk lingered on her pretty lips and aegon just wanted to tear it away with an harsh thrust of his hips, wanted to feel her gag around his cock. but visenya just chuckled at his weak attempt to. gods, why was she so warm? why did it feel so real?

aegon shifted again, the dream was starting to get uncomfortable, his cock was rock hard and borderline painful and he couldn't bear it for any longer. plus, a strange stickiness between his legs seemed to grow and the targaryen was pretty sure that he might've spilled on his bed sheets with just that dream. a fucking dream. how embarrassing if someone found out that he wetted his bed at the modest age of twenty?

he shifted again and again, until the maddening image of visenya sucking his cock vanished in a blurry corner of aegon's mind, much to his displeasure. he could've stayed like that forever. but the discomfort and the wetness didn't leave, his cock still hard.

and the sounds too.

wet sound after wet sound, a few soft sighs and aegon was pretty sure that it wasn't just a dream anymore, and when finally sleepiness was slipping away and he was finally back into the real world, his eyes opened — visenya was there.

laying on his bed, her body still bare in all of its glory and naked from the night before when they indulged in their pleasurable and greedy company, her head dipped on to his lap. but she wasn't supposed to be there. not at that time — weak sunlight penetrated the windows of aegon's chambers, shades of orange and yellow sealed the dawn just creeping over king's landing and also aegon's full attention on the girl in front of him.

it wasn't just a dream. a wet dream. visenya was there, her lips really moving on him and the smirk on her face widened as she realized that her uncle finally awakened up. “good morning.”

good fucking morning indeed.

aegon blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes until his vision was clear just to make sure that his sweet niece was really there, and a rush of pleasure crossed through his body when visenya’s tongue teased and pressed on the slit of his dick. she shouldn’t have been there — by dawn visenya should’ve sneaked out of his chambers and gone back to her own to avoid unpleasant encounters within the halls of the red keep, unpleasant questions about her strange presence at such late hours in those corridors, or why the daughter of rhaenyra targaryen was just coming out of prince aegon’s chambers.

“w-what the fuck are you doing here?”, aegon asked, his voice low and raspy from a deep sleep which sent a shiver down visenya’s spine. but despite his harsh words, aegon wasn’t displeased by visenya’s presence, at all.

he wanted so bad to fuck that pretty face, thrust his hips up her mouth and claim her throat just like they both needed to, but aegon’s body was still heavy and stiff from his slumber — his hand found visenya’s silver hair and gripped them in a weak fist, guiding and following the motions of her head down his cock but not forcing her, jut telling her silently to not stop and continue with the superb and lovely job she was doing.

“isn’t that obvious?”, visenya teased, her voice hoarse too but holding that suggestive tone that always characterized her everytime she was in aegon’s company. her hand stroked him gently, not wanting to overwhelm him and leave him without attention as she spoke at the same time.

aegon whined, his fingers tightened around visenya’s wavy strands as he watched her mouth engulf him once again and swallowing him whole in her warmth. fuck, she was so good, too good to him. he was an asshole, and sometimes he felt he was just using her, taking advantage of her need for him — it was so wrong, sharing the bed and getting his cock wet from who aegon considered a bastard hs entire life, even if her hair were silver and her eyes of pale purple, her other features didn’t lie. but he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t pull away, even if visenya was rhaenyra’s daughter. “you shouldn’t be here.”

visenya cocked an eyebrow up, the idea of leaving didn’t even cross her mind when aegon’s protest sounded and came out of his lips more lighthearted than he wanted. he didn’t want for her to stop, she could read well the signs of his body well, no matter how weak they were: the slightest twitch of his hips, the way his hand seemed to push her head down more and more. “do you want me to stop?”

aegon didn’t reply in that moment, a moment of silence followed and only interrupted by the soft sighs and grunts leaving his lips and visenya’s mouth wet sounds. his body reacted once again, his hips weakly buckled up searching for more pleasure — which visenya didn’t give to him, and aegon couldn’t simply take it anymore. he needed her, needed that release. “n-no, fuck—”.

and his sweet niece didn’t need any more words, resuming her motions and giving aegon the good morning she planned to gift him and he was glad to take everything, feeling any resistance leave his body the moment pleasure settled in completely. not that there was some actual resistance. the farce was pathetic as much as aegon’s pretense that it was just sex between him and visenya, that there was no actual feeling growing for his favorite and only niece.

the obscene sounds of visenya’s mouth only grew louder as she doubled her efforts, her cheeks hollowed around him and the sight alone was almost enough to make aegon come on the spot — he couldn’t wait to fill that mouth with his seed, claim it and see her swallow his cum like the greedy and good girl visenya was. he shutted his eyes, and his mind was soon filled with memories of previous night, when visenya rode his cock like her life depended on it and with her pretty tits bouncing everytime their hips met, her moans echoing in the four walls of his chambers.

fuck, it couldn’t be already it… and yet visenya noticed aegon’s body tensing up, his balls tightening up under her warm palm, and she knew that in a matter of seconds and a few other gags around his cock ropes of his cum would paint her throat. and she couldn’t be more ready for it, more eager to taste him and not waste a single drop. “vis, i—”.

and just like visenya predicted, it took aegon a few moments to completely shudder and let the bliss overflow his body and mind, coming and spilling into her welcoming mouth with a single and beautiful moan that made visenya quiver too. aegon seemed to lighten, he buckled his hips up a few times, the tip of his dick kissed the back of visenya’s throat and spurts of his warm cum marked her as his, and he made sure that no drop went to waste. aegon could’ve died right in that moment and he would’ve been the happiest man in the whole world — no better awakening than that one could’ve existed and aegon couldn’t have felt better than in that moment. he was so fucking lucky to have her, he couldn’t believe it.

sadly, to aegon’s displeasure and reluctance the peak didn’t last as much as he desired and the effects of it inevitably subsided but he couldn’t help but groan again as he felt visenya’s thighs straddle his hips and her settle on top of him once again. just like last night. with a satisfied sigh and a greedy lick of her lips, visenya hid her face in the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his torso, leaving a few sloppy and lazy kisses on the pale skin of his throat. aegon sighed too, his arms doing the same with her and let himself enjoy the warmth that her sweet embrace brought. he could’ve done that every morning and never got tired of it — fuck anybody’s suspiciousness.

a weary smile creeped on aegon’s lips as he nuzzled his nose against her soft hair, his heart swelling with content as he heard visenya chuckle lightly at his gentle tickle. his fingers caressed her kindly, with a sweetness that rarely characterized aegon and that he never showed in public, but for a reason or another, it felt right to act around visenya like that, almost unconsciously even. he brought his lips to her hair, tilting her head to kiss her forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks and eventually her lips with chaste but sweet pecks. aegon could briefly taste himself on her soft lips and it almost spurred him on and made his cock to stiffen but he held back, wanting to savour the moment with visenya.

“good morning indeed.”

[oliversrarebooks]

tw: forced drugging, kidnapping, what do you expect from the sedation vending machine really

You press the button for "syringe filled with 'silent night'". The machine takes your money and there's a clunk as something falls behind the door. You hesitate for a minute before putting your hand behind the door and feeling around -- you hope the syringe has a cap on it or some other container, or else you might pass out in front of the sedation vending machine, which is really bad etiquette.

Just as you lean over, someone grabs you from behind and jabs you in the neck with a needle, which you really should have expected. There's an uncomfortable cold sensation as a drug is injected into you.

"Hey, what are you --" Your sentence hangs unfinished in the air. You try to scream as you struggle with your assailant, but no sound comes out of your mouth. You can breathe, and your throat doesn't hurt or feel swollen, but no matter how hard you try, you can't make any noise.

"Interesting effect, isn't it?" A smartly dressed woman in a lab coat comes into view. "That's why we call it 'silent night.' First you go silent, then you go night-night!" She laughs.

You don't find it nearly as funny. You want to demand who these people are and what they're doing to you, but of course you can't. And then you're slammed with a deep, irresistible urge to sleep, your head pitching forward and eyelids fluttering even as you try to fight the person restraining you. Your vision blurs and dims as the woman moves closer and looks you in the face.

"Looks like that's kicking in nicely. Good work. They'll make a good specimen."

Specimen? Your adrenaline spikes, but it's no match against the drug that's trying to push you under. Your arms and legs feel like lead now, and any hope of escaping slips away. Now, you're fighting just to stay awake, as a drowsy stupor washes your mind away. Once more you try to cry out, but it's no use.

"Let's load 'em up," says the voice behind you. Through heavy eyelids you see that you're being tossed into the back of a black van. You're not restrained, but you're so dazed and drowsy that you can't even turn around before the doors shut with a slam.

The van is moving, and your stomach lurches. You close your eyes briefly, and have to fight hard just to crack them open again. You're so, so tired.

The people with you in the van are laughing about something, but you can't seem to comprehend anything they're saying. All your mind wants to do is sleep, sleep, sleep, and the voice that tells you that you need to try and stay awake is growing so quiet. You can't help closing your eyes again, and you immediately start to drift away, the noise of the van and the voices fading as you slip into a deep slumber.

sedation vending machine (holiday edition)

it sees you when you're sleeping it knows when you're awake it knows if you've been bad or good so be good for goodness' sake

[azrielmasterlist]

His Shadows & Their Starlight

Storyline:-(Ver.2.0) Azriel is sitting next to Elain as you sit by the fireplace reading. You've been staying with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand for the past two months in Velaris. You're a mortal but Rhysand says you have different abilities that no mortal should be able to have. For example, winnowing or teleporting. Azriel is in love with Elain Archeron even though Elain already has a mate.

Word count:- 1.3k

Warnings:- Insecurity, Lonliness, Jealousy, Angst.

Series:- Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 3: A Mortal's Heart

Isla's POV

I didn't realize how lonely I had been until I started feeling like I wasn't anymore.

The Night Court was not an easy place to belong. Everyone here seemed to have a purpose, a role carved out of fire, magic, and history. They were warriors and dreamers, protectors and rulers, each of them larger than life in ways I could barely fathom. And then there was me—a mortal girl who had stumbled into this world like a leaf blown in by the wind.

Rhysand had a way of making me feel at ease, though. There was a kindness to him, a patience that never felt patronizing. He spoke to me as if I were an equal, even when I doubted I ever could be. Feyre, too, was warm and inviting, her smiles carrying the same quiet strength that seemed to define the Night Court itself.

But Azriel... Azriel was different.

He was always watching me, though he seemed to think I didn't notice. His gaze lingered in ways that made my skin prickle—not out of discomfort, but out of something I couldn't quite name. It wasn't just the way he looked at me, though. It was the way he didn't look at me, too. The way his attention would flicker away, as though he were fighting something within himself.

I could see his pain, even if he tried to hide it. It was in the tension of his shoulders, the careful way he moved, as though he were always ready for a battle that might never come. It was in his silence, in the way his shadows curled around him like armor.

But those same shadows—they didn't act that way around me.

They moved differently when I was near. Softer, gentler, like they were reaching for me, offering something unspoken that I didn't fully understand. At first, I thought I was imagining it, that I was seeing things that weren't there. But the more time I spent in Velaris, the more certain I became.

It wasn't just the shadows. It was Azriel, too.

I didn't know what it meant, but I couldn't ignore the way he seemed to be drawn to me, even as he tried to keep his distance.

One evening, after dinner with the inner circle, I found myself wandering through the halls of the House of Wind. It was quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, as though the walls themselves were listening.

I didn't realize where my feet were taking me until I stepped out onto a balcony overlooking the city. The view was breathtaking, the lights of Velaris shimmering like a sea of stars. But I wasn't alone.

Azriel was there, standing at the edge of the balcony with his back to me. His wings were partially unfurled, the faint moonlight catching on the dark, leathery expanse.

I hesitated, unsure if I should interrupt. But his shadows shifted, curling around him before stretching out toward me, as if they were inviting me closer.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked softly, stepping up beside him.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Something like that."

The silence between us was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt like a conversation in its own right.

"You're always watching," I said after a moment, my voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel's gaze flicked to mine, sharp and searching. "And you're always noticing."

There was something in his tone—an edge of curiosity, maybe even amusement.

"I can't help it," I admitted. "You're... not easy to ignore."

He let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. "That's not usually a good thing."

I turned to face him fully, my heart pounding in my chest. "It's not a bad thing, either."

Azriel didn't respond right away. His shadows shifted around him, curling and uncurling like restless creatures.

"You don't belong here," he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "This world—it's not meant for mortals."

The words stung, but not because they weren't true. They were. I knew that. But hearing him say it—it felt like a rejection, even if I knew he didn't mean it that way.

"I know," I said, my voice steady despite the ache in my chest. "But I'm here anyway."

Azriel's gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw and unguarded.

"You're stronger than you realize," he said quietly. "Stronger than most of us."

The words caught me off guard, and I didn't know how to respond.

Before I could say anything, his shadows moved again, brushing against my arm like a gentle caress. The sensation was strange but comforting, like a warmth I hadn't realized I was missing.

"Do they always do that?" I asked, nodding toward the shadows.

Azriel's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Not usually."

I didn't know what that meant, but I didn't press him. Instead, I let the silence settle between us again, the weight of the moment sinking into my bones.

As the days turned into weeks, I found myself spending more time with the inner circle. They were kind to me, in their own ways, and I began to feel less like an outsider and more like... something else. Not quite one of them, but not entirely separate, either.

And Azriel—he was always there, hovering at the edges of my awareness. He didn't speak much, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

It was in the quiet moments, though, that I felt closest to him. The moments when his shadows would reach for me, offering a silent kind of comfort that I couldn't put into words.

I didn't know what it meant, this bond that seemed to be forming between us. But I knew it was real, even if neither of us fully understood it yet.

One night, as I lay awake in my room, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about him. About the way his shadows moved around me, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long.

I didn't know what to do with these feelings, these thoughts that seemed to consume me. But I knew one thing for certain: Azriel was more than just the sum of his pain and his shadows.

And maybe, just maybe, I was more than just a mortal girl trying to find her place in a world of immortals.

Maybe we were both something more.

Taglist:-

@donnadiddadog

[drdemonprince]

I think think about your piece How to Go Places Alone And Not Feel Like A Freak Looser (or something to that affect) quite often.

While it is uncomfortable, tiring, nerve wracking, to feel like or be the odd one out, I am at least used to the feeling. It takes nerve but (especially as a kid/teen) have always gone to things alone and, once I get over myself, enjoy not caring what anyone thinks about my presence.

As an (ever transsexualizing >:) adult, I am getting back into doing & dressing however I want in public (embarrassing yourself is inevitable, might as well enjoy life!). This is a funner, freer, outlook, but I hoped being more myself would help me find my people.

I’m used to the awful feeling of being an alien freak looser (real or imagined) so I can hype myself up to be in my own world when I’m out. But I wonder if doing this, and choosing events based on interest instead of demographics or friendship, reinforces my felling of disconnect with people. It’s easier to accept, and dress like, I’ll always stick out (be alone) than it is to imagine mimicking those around me.

I went to an explicitly cruisey new years night and instead of studying the crowd intensely trying to fit in, wore my shiny platforms, smiled at people, and danced just for the fun of it. Feeling good about myself and enjoying my experience requires an ‘eh fuck ‘em’ attitude. I can enjoy being in public seeing all my fellow earthlings but it does not feel social. And I realize, my time there felt anything but sexy. I wasn’t about to walz into the darkroom (let’s walk before we run), but I hate that I couldn’t feel comfortable in this place I’ve always wanted to be.

I return to the same questions everywhere I go: I can exist, but how am I supposed to learn the codes of a space when I can’t study (ruminate) from afar?

How could I ever be social when (even joyous and embodied) I can’t get out of my own head?

How do you know when it’s time to listen to your gut and when to play into a social game?

I understand what you mean about the duality between doing your own thing in your own little alien bubble and actively placing effort into connecting with the people around you (which often feels like it requires masking).

But, from my perspective, both of those are strategies for dealing with social overwhelm -- one is more dissociative, and the other's more compensatory. Both of them reflect a discomfort with the people in the space. And they're both perfectly reasonable ways to deal with such feelings! But the way to move forward, at least in my experience, is to continue attending events until you attain enough familiarity with them that you actually start feeling more comfortable.

You said you didn't feel sexy at this cruisy party, and certainly weren't ready to venture into the dark room. That's fine! You can work your way up in whatever order of activities is least intimidating to most intimidating to you.

The first few times that I go to a club, I need anywhere from a few minutes to an hour to get warmed up enough to really dance on the floor and take up a ton of space and make weird gestures. I spend a lot of time lurking in the corner or reading a book at the bar at first. After I've been there a number of times, I know the deal of the space better, recognize a few people, maybe have developed a rapport with the door guy or a regular, and it gets easier to branch out and feel more at ease in my skin. People intuit this and approach me more often when I'm feeling more comfortable, and my reactions have fewer exit ramps built into them (one of my protective instincts is to throw out a lot of conversation-enders that make people feel rejected, lmaoo good one me).

The same general principles I've described here can apply to any new social challenge, including a bar with a backroom where people are fucking. Show up again. Do your thing. Maybe find a spot to post up and observe, since you mentioned an interest in doing that. Bring a book or some knitting if you want, and wear whatever outfit helps you feel comfortable and good with yourself. The first few times you do all this, people may get strong "I'm Doing My Own Thing Leave Me Alone" vibes from you, as they often do from Autistics, and that's fine. You're still learning and acclimating from being there. After a couple of tries, head into that back room. It's not as exciting as you think it's gonna be. You might get to watch some fucking or you might just see a bunch of guys pacing around who are just as awkward as you feel that you are. But then you'll know what it's like. And then you just keep showing up, and observing and participating in small ways (watching is participation in a sex club!), and you'll get steadily more involved in the space and connected to the people each time that you do.

I've been going to pet patrol nights for a long time and I've only just now gotten to the point where I can chat up random people and get into hookups relatively easily, instead of just standing around mutely hoping someone will approach me. Bringing friends has helped a ton to relax me and make me seem more approachable to others, too, so you could try that!

for anyone wondering here's the full piece

[linosaurus-ikuklk]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ SKZ - On Track: I Know I'm a Fool

Summary: After that cold night in the street, where Hyunjin had confessed what he really felt for you, a dense atmosphere had begun to form between the two of you. You thought that he might only be infatuated.

Genre: Romance, Comedy

Trope: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn (kinda), School Love

Word Count: 6.9k

Notes: This fanfiction is inspired by SKZ's song "바보라도 알아 (Mixtape: On Track)" and its music video. So, this is the part 2! And I think I had it inspired by Horimiya by the tiniest bits lol! You'll see HAHA.

.° ༘🎧⋆🖇₊˚ෆ -바보라도 알아 (Mixtape: On Track)

⟡ ݁₊ . Pt. 1 ⟡ ݁₊ . Part 2

It's so quiet in the office, maybe since the night of the premiere. Awkward atmosphere never seemed to be lifted from the air. You sat there in the uncomfortable silence, your foot twitching as you sat with your legs crossed. The article you're holding is what keeps your eyes and attention occupied even when you've read it 10 times already. And the only sound was the muffled music from Jisung's headphones which spares him from all this unease.

You've been feeling Bangchan's eyes on you since he came in and started editing sounds on his laptop. And now you could tell that he's just staring at you because he has stopped moving from your peripheral vision. Someone coming into the room gains your attention, it is Hyunjin, who immediately catches the atmosphere. He goes to the desk across the room, his cautious eyes glancing at all three of you, especially on you.

You instinctively roll your eyes because that just adds to the guilt that's suffocating you right now. With the laptop closing on a thud that makes you all turn your heads, Bangchan calls your name. “You wanna explain to me what happened after dinner?” You blinked at him a few times before sighing, setting the article aside, you leaned in with your elbows resting on your lap.

He waits for you to speak with that knowing look on his face. Sometimes you would just forget that Bangchan is older than you which he takes advantage of to discipline you. “So…? Care to explain what that was all about?” Bangchan inquires, his eyes searching yours for any clarity. “Jeongin and Seungmin won't tell me anything either, saying that it's best if it'll come from you.”

Your eyes wandered for a bit, wanting to have a break from Bangchan's intense gaze and in doing so, you met Hyunjin's. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes tugged at your chest. A lump formed in your throat as you quickly turned back to Bangchan. He wants to know everything that's happening between all of you so that he will know when to step in. He wasn’t just a leader; he was a cornerstone—the pillar of the group, and you're lying to yourself if you didn't see him as a father figure. Not to mention that he has a soft spot for the girls of his group—you and Jaein, being the girl dad he is.

“Jaein and I already talked about it… right after dinner. I…” Your voice faltered, and your eyes betrayed you again, flickering back to Hyunjin. He wasn’t looking this time. Instead, his focus was on the papers in his hands, his jaw tight, as if distancing himself from the weight of your words. “I really liked Minho,” you continued, the words heavier than you expected. “I didn’t think he’d be in a relationship with Jaein. And when I found out… I felt heartbroken.” The admission lingered in the air, raw and unguarded.

Bangchan’s expression softened, his worry now edged with compassion. The warmth in his gaze was almost too much, and you forced a small smile, trying to reassure him—and yourself. “But we’ve talked. Jaein and I… we’re fine now. I’m working through it, one step at a time.” 

He nodded slowly, taking in your words. Then his hand reached out, resting gently on the top of your head before ruffling your hair. His touch was light, but his voice carried a quiet strength. “You know,” he said, his tone soft but steady, “it’s okay to feel this way. Heartbreak doesn’t just disappear because you talked it out—it takes time. And it’s okay to take that time. You don’t have to rush to be okay.” His words hung in the air for a moment, grounding you in their sincerity. “You’re stronger than you think,” he added, his gaze holding yours with unwavering support. “And we’re all here for you—me, Jaein, the others. Whatever you need, don’t forget that, alright?”

The knot in your chest loosened, if only slightly, and you managed a small nod. His smile returned, warm and reassuring, as his hand gave your hair one last affectionate ruffle. 

And as if he hadn’t been breathing for the past thirty minutes, Jisung finally let out a dramatic exhale. His headphones were off in an instant, clattering onto the desk as he shot up from his seat. Stretching his arms high above his head, he let out a loud, almost primal scream that echoed through the room, startling anyone who hadn’t been paying attention. “Finally! I can move again!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with exaggerated relief. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his phone and stuffed it into his pocket, practically bounding toward the door. “Bye!”

He didn’t even bother looking back, his energy bouncing off the walls like a released spring. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room in stunned silence for a beat before a quiet chuckle escaped from one of the others. “That guy,” Bangchan muttered, shaking his head, but there was no hiding the amused grin spreading across his face.

But the uneasiness still clung to you and it doesn’t seem to go away. Your eyes drifted again, this time landing on Hyunjin, who was sitting on the other side of the room. He looked like a painting—one of those broody, artsy types people would analyze for hours—but instead of depth, it was clear his brain was caught in some train of thought that had probably derailed three stations ago.

Not being able to handle the dense atmosphere between the two of you anymore, you excused yourself and exited the room in a fuss. ~~

You spent your afternoon with Jaein, just the two of you navigating the fairgrounds like it was old times. Today was the last day of the fair, and you both decided—almost telepathically—that it was the perfect excuse to step out of your heads for a bit. And honestly? It helped. The smell of fried food, the distant laughter of the other students hanging out, and the clinking of carnival games seemed to peel away some of the heaviness hanging in the air.

Jaein was over the moon to see you loosen up. You could tell by the way she kept stealing glances at you, her smile just a little too wide, like she was making sure it wasn’t an act. And maybe it wasn’t quite the same yet—maybe it would take a while for that effortless closeness to come back—but there was something comforting in the effort itself.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Jaein said as you both sat on a bench, sharing a paper tray of greasy fries. The sun was beginning to set, painting the fair in warm golden hues, and for a moment, it felt like the world had pressed pause. “Me too,” you admitted, plucking a fry from the tray. “I didn’t think we’d get here so quickly, though. I mean, after that night…” You trailed off, unsure if you were ruining the mood.

Jaein sighed, leaning back against the bench and watching a group of elementary students run by with cotton candy bigger than their heads. “Yeah, that night was… rough,” she said, her tone soft but steady. “But I think we handled it, didn’t we? Like, mature adults and everything. Who knew we had it in us?” You laughed, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “Speak for yourself. That was the most adult thing I’ve ever done in my life. I half expected balloons to drop from the ceiling in celebration or something.”

Jaein chuckled, nudging you with her shoulder. “See? Growth. We should be proud. Look at us—handling feelings and not making a total mess of things.”

“Not yet, anyway,” you quipped, biting into another fry. She tilted her head, her smile softening. “But seriously, I’m glad we talked. I’d hate to think of losing you over… all that.” Her voice dipped just slightly, enough to tell you she meant every word. You looked at her, the weight of her words settling in. “Same,” you said simply, because sometimes a single word was enough.

The fair buzzed around you—laughter, music, the hum of rides—but between you and Jaein, there was a quiet kind of peace. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and for now, that was enough.

~~

You didn’t even notice it at first, but somehow, a week had already slipped past you. Time felt strange—too fast when you were distracted, too slow when you were alone with your thoughts. With Jaein’s help, you’d manage to loosen up around Minho. It wasn’t exactly effortless, but it was progress, and you were proud of that in your own quiet way.

The film club had gone silent, with no projects or meetings to fill the gaps. Midterm exams loomed on the horizon, casting a shadow over everyone’s schedules and making it harder to run into the others. Yet, amidst all the absences, there was one you couldn’t quite adjust to.

Hwang Hyunjin.

During your afternoon class, you would catch glimpses of him in the courtyard. He was always perched somewhere quiet, sketchpad balanced on his knees, pencil flying across the page like it held the answers to every question in the world. Sometimes, his gaze would flicker toward your classroom window. But when your eyes would meet, he gave nothing away. No smile, no wave—nothing. He would look away, as if you weren’t even there.

It confused you. Maybe even offended you, though you wouldn’t say that out loud.

There were times you’d see him with Minho and Changbin too, their laughter spilling through the halls like everything was perfectly fine again. The tension between them was gone, leaving behind the easy camaraderie they’d always shared. And you were happy for them—genuinely, you were.

But when it was just you and Hyunjin, even in a crowd, something shifted. When your group gathered at the gates, his guard went up as if he’d been expecting an ambush. He stayed at a deliberate distance, avoiding your eyes and keeping his words clipped and impersonal. And there you’d be, standing beside Jaein, the confusion thick in your chest as you watched him retreat into himself.

And that wasn’t all. There was something else lingering beneath the surface—a guilt you couldn’t quite name, a longing you didn’t want to admit.

His words echoed faintly in your mind, as if carried back to you on a stray breeze. “I can’t lose someone again. I can’t lose you.” He’d said them with so much weight, so much sincerity, that you still weren’t sure how to carry them. And yet, you’d left him standing there on that cold street, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to feel.

The doubts had crept in like shadows. Hadn’t he just liked Jaein a week or two before that? Wasn’t it possible that you were just a placeholder, the only person who happened to be there when he needed someone? Maybe it wasn’t you he wanted at all—maybe it was the idea of not being alone.

But if that were true… why was he avoiding you now?

You couldn’t shake the questions that gnawed at the edges of your mind. Why couldn’t he even bear to look at you for more than a second? Why did he keep himself just outside your reach, like the distance between you was the only thing keeping him afloat?

You needed to know. You needed to understand the reason behind his sudden distance, the way he seemed to shrink away from you like you were the one who might break him. Or worse, like he thought he might break you.

~~

“Come on, please! I need someone to look after my nephew!” For the past twenty minutes, Jaein had been clinging to you like a koala on its favorite tree, tugging at your arm with increasing desperation. She was relentless, her big, pleading eyes boring into yours as if sheer willpower alone could make you change your mind. 

“Jaein, I already told you, I can’t,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone gentle, as if she were a fragile porcelain doll. She may have been younger and undeniably cute, but that didn’t mean she could get away with everything. “Why not?!” she whined, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now. “You’re literally free all day! What else are you going to do—stare at the ceiling and mope?”

Your deadpan expression didn’t falter. “It’s called self-care, Jaein.” She groaned dramatically, throwing her head back as if the weight of the world had been placed on her shoulders. “You don’t even like staring at the ceiling!”

“Exactly,” you replied dryly, crossing your arms. “That’s how serious I am about not babysitting your nephew.”

“But it’s Minho,” she said, shaking your arm again like an overexcited puppy. “I finally got him to ask me out, and you’re just going to let me cancel because of a four-year-old who likes dinosaurs and doesn’t even throw tantrums?!”

“Jaein,” you said, fixing her with a pointed look, “Junho doesn’t throw tantrums because I do when I’m left alone with kids. It’s self-preservation.” She pouted, her lips forming the kind of exaggerated frown that might’ve worked on a parent—or a more gullible friend. But you weren’t falling for it. Not this time.

“Please, please, please! I’ll owe you for the rest of my life! I’ll do your laundry! I’ll buy you coffee every day for a month!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jaein, I don’t even drink coffee every day.”

“Then I’ll… I’ll buy you a cake! Or noodles! Whatever you want!” She was practically vibrating now, it could almost break your tough facade. You stared at her, weighing your options. On the one hand, you really didn’t want to babysit because babies aren’t really your forte. Heck, you’re scared you might even kick them out of annoyance. On the other hand, the idea of helping them actually brings a smile to your lips. And the fact that you could actually ask them back for a favor—like letting Minho handle the essay papers he’s all too familiar with, it may not be a bad idea at all.

“Fine,” you muttered finally, throwing your hands up in defeat. “YES!” Jaein cheered, jumping up and down before tackling you into a tight hug. “I knew you loved me!” You just muffled a laugh on her shoulder, actually loving the way she seemed so bubbly.

She pulled back, grinning from ear to ear. “I promise you won’t regret it. He’s an angel. A literal angel.” You raised an eyebrow. “If he’s an angel, why are you so desperate to pawn him off on me?” She laughed nervously, already backing toward the door. “Gotta go! Minho’s waiting! Thanks, you’re the best!”

“Alright, enjoy!” And with that, she was gone, leaving you alone in your living room with a growing sense of dread—and the realization that you had absolutely no idea what you’d just signed up for.

~~

By the afternoon, you finally dragged yourself out of the house, wearing a loose shirt and black sweatpants. You didn’t even bother fixing your hair—after all, it’s just a four-year-old kid. You grabbed some bread you knew the kid would like and headed to Jaein’s house, just a street away.

When you got there, you noticed a pair of unfamiliar slippers by the door. You guessed they might belong to Minho, already making himself comfortable. The thought of feeling jealous that he was with Jaein made you laugh—it was just the usual best friend and boyfriend dynamic.

You quietly entered, took off your own purple slippers, and as you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks. You blinked, almost dropping the bread in your hand. It wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. It was Hyunjin.

*+:｡.｡ Earlier

"Have you ever wondered what tissue paper tastes like?" Minho teased, chasing Hyunjin around the apartment with five sheets of tissue in his hand, a mischievous grin on his face. Hyunjin’s eyes widened in panic, and before anyone could react, he dashed across the room. "Yah! Stop it, it’s not funny!" Hyunjin shouted, his voice rising in fear as he hid behind furniture, trying to escape. For the next ten minutes, the two of them ran around the apartment, weaving around the coffee table, jumping over the couch, and almost knocking over a lamp. Whether you were Hyunjin, out of breath and barely holding it together, or just a helpless bystander, it was exhausting to watch.

"You’re not going to convince me to babysit if you keep chasing me with tissue paper as your weapon!" Hyunjin crouched behind the couch, shielding himself from Minho’s next move. After a moment, he dropped his arms and sat down on the couch, still holding the tissues. He wore his signature : ] smile, looking way too pleased for someone who’d just put his best friend through such madness.

The half naked guy raises from the ground with his guard still up, eyeing the murder weapon on his friend’s hand. “It’ll only be until eight,” Minho offered casually, as though the past ten minutes hadn’t happened. “Eight?” Hyunjin echoes. “Aren't Jaein’s parents at home?” The cat shakes his head at that.

Hyunjin bites his lower lip, shooting a skeptical glance between Minho and the tissues. “I’m not gonna feed you anymore tissues,” he raised his hands up in the air and the younger friend cocks an eyebrow at that. “Or ask you to bathe my cats.” Minho added, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting back a grin. Hyunjin sighed, finally reaching for his shirt, which had been unceremoniously abandoned on the floor during his escape attempt. “Fine. But you don’t get to bully me—” 

Before the sentence could leave his mouth, Minho struck. In a flash, a wad of tissues was stuffed into Hyunjin’s mouth, and Minho’s triumphant, diabolical laughter filled the entire apartment.

*+:｡.｡

“So… this is why you’re here too,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words hung awkwardly in the air, as if neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge them. Hyunjin nodded, but his eyes stayed on Junho in his arms, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing the fabric of the child’s tiny shirt. “Yeah,” he replied after a beat, the corner of his lips twitching in what was probably meant to be a smile. Instead, it looked more like a grimace. The laugh that followed was strained, thin enough to make your stomach twist with unease.

Junho tugged at Hyunjin’s sleeve then, mercifully cutting through the tension. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, grateful for the distraction. The boy’s wide eyes wandered to the piece of bread in your hand, and he reached out with both hands, his focus so determined it almost made you laugh. You handed it to him, and he took it gingerly, mumbling a barely audible, “Thank you.”

Something softened in you at his words. Hyunjin’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, and his lips curved into a faint smile that felt more sincere this time. “Polite, isn’t he?” You nodded, watching the boy nibble on the bread with a concentration that seemed almost comical. “Yeah,” you murmured. “He’s proving me wrong.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “About what?”

“About not wanting to babysit him,” you admitted with a half-shrug, hoping to sound casual and not let the lump in your throat strain your voice. “I thought he’d be a lot harder to handle.” Hyunjin let out a small laugh—this one genuine, light, but still tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s actually pretty easy. Way easier than Minho’s cats.” The mental image of Hyunjin chasing after Minho’s perpetually moody cats teased the corner of your lips but the smile never formed. “That’s not saying much.”

“Nope,” Hyunjin replied, a grin flashing briefly across his face before his attention returned to the boy. “But still. He’s a good kid.” There was something tender in the way he spoke, the way his hand rested lightly on the boy’s back, steadying him as he leaned forward to grab another piece of bread from the tray between you. It was rare to see Hyunjin like this—calm, patient, and utterly present.

For a moment, you simply watched them, your earlier reluctance fading into something softer. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Junho glanced up at you then, crumbs clinging to his cheeks, and offered you a shy smile. “You’re nice, auntie” he said, his voice so earnest it caught you off guard. You blinked, feeling a warmth spread through you as you returned his smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, kid.”

Hyunjin laughed again, a quiet sound that felt more like a sigh of relief. And as the three of you sat there, the earlier awkwardness melting away, you realized that sometimes, even unexpected situations could turn into something surprisingly comforting.

When the boy finally fell asleep in Hyunjin’s arms, his head tucked against his chest, Hyunjin stood carefully. “I’ll put him to bed,” he murmured. You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the small room down the hall.

Left alone, the silence felt heavier again, wrapping around you like an unwelcome blanket. Your thoughts swirled—questions you hadn’t asked, feelings you didn’t want to face. Now’s the opportunity for you to confront him, even the anxiety that you’ve been carrying won’t be enough to weigh you down and stop you from knowing what happened between the two of you. By the time Hyunjin returned, you’d already sighed more times than you could count.

He closed the boy’s door gently, his movements careful as he rejoined you on the couch. The seat beside you dipped slightly as he sat down, his quick glance brushing yours before darting away again.

You swallowed hard, biting your lower lip. The words you’d been holding back threatened to spill over, but you didn’t know where to start. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice quieter than you intended. “Did you tell them?” Hyunjin frowned, turning to look at you fully. “Tell who what?”

You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers twisting together in your lap. “Jaein and Minho,” you clarified, your tone unintentionally sharper this time. “About… us. About whatever this is.”

The moment the words left your lips, you saw it—the slight flinch, the flicker of guilt that passed through his eyes like a shadow he couldn’t quite hide. His shoulders slumped as he shook his head, his gaze briefly falling to his hands. “I didn’t say anything,” he admitted quietly, the defensiveness you expected nowhere to be found. Instead, his voice carried a weight that matched your own. “They probably just… noticed.”

You blinked, his response hitting harder than it should have. “Noticed what?” you asked, the frustration you’d been trying to suppress breaking free. Your words came faster now, tumbling out before you could stop them. “That we’re barely even talking? That everything feels off? That we can’t even be in the same room without—”

You stopped yourself, your voice catching. Without what? Without feeling this ache, this unspoken tension that seemed to grow every time you were near him? Without pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t?

Hyunjin winced as if your words physically hurt, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck—a habit you recognized all too well. “Yeah,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough, and the hollow ache in your chest swelled, threatening to consume you. You shook your head, exhaling sharply as you leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “That’s it?” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched unbearably, thick with everything you both refused to say. When he finally spoke, his voice was unsteady, like he was trying to hold something together that was already cracking. “What do you want me to say?”

The vulnerability in his tone made your heart lurch, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. You sat up straight, meeting his gaze head-on. “I don’t know, Hyunjin. Maybe… maybe just tell me what you’re thinking. Because I’ve been trying to figure this out on my own, and it’s exhausting.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say something, that he might finally let you in. But then his lips parted, only to press together again in a thin line. His silence was deafening, and it made your chest tighten painfully.

“Forget it,” you said, standing abruptly, the motion sharp enough to make him flinch. “If you can’t even talk to me, then what’s the point?”

“Wait,” Hyunjin said quickly, his voice desperate now as he reached out, his hand brushing your wrist before you could move further away. “I—” He hesitated, his fingers trembling slightly against your skin. “I’m scared, okay?”

You froze, his words catching you completely off guard. Slowly, you turned back to him, your expression softening despite yourself. “Scared of what?” Hyunjin’s hand dropped back into his lap as he looked away, his jaw tightening. “Of saying the wrong thing. Of making this worse. Of losing you.” His voice cracked on the last part, and he exhaled shakily, his shoulders hunched as if bracing himself for a blow.

Your anger ebbed away, replaced by a wave of something much heavier, much harder to ignore. “Hyunjin,” you started, your tone gentler now, but he cut you off, his voice rising slightly. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his eyes finally meeting yours. They were glistening, his raw emotions laid bare in a way that made your chest ache. “But I don’t want this to be it. I don’t want us to just… fall apart.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost unbearable, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. But as you looked at him—really looked at him, with all his flaws and fears and everything that made him Hyunjin—you realized that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to fall apart either.

“I’ve been scared since the night you left me on that street,” he confessed, his voice trembling as the words spilled out, raw and unguarded. The pit in your stomach grew, heavy and twisting as the memory resurfaced. “I tried to act like it didn’t matter, like it was just another moment, but it wasn’t. You walked away, and it felt like… like you took a piece of me with you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as your mind raced. You remembered that night, the way you’d walked away from him with the weight of your emotions bearing down on you, unsure of what else to do. It had been easier to leave, to avoid confronting the feelings neither of you seemed ready to face.

“I didn’t know how to reach you after that,” Hyunjin continued, his voice breaking. “Every time I tried, it felt like I was making it worse. So I stayed quiet. I thought… maybe you didn’t want me to try.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours, and the sheer vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you. “But I never stopped wanting to.”

Your heart clenched painfully as you took in his words, the depth of his emotions, the way his voice cracked like he was unraveling right in front of you. “Hyunjin…” you started, but your voice faltered. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the storm of emotions he was laying bare.

He shook his head, his grip on your arms tightening as if afraid you’d slip away. “I don’t want you to say something just to make me feel better,” he said, his tone desperate yet firm. “I need to know, even if it hurts. Do I have a chance? Or is this… is it already over before it even started?”

The question hung heavy in the air, the weight of it pressing down on you like a tidal wave. You wanted to answer him, to give him the clarity he deserved, but your thoughts were a tangled mess of emotions—fear, doubt, longing, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, and the pain that flashed across his face felt like a knife twisting in your chest. “Hyunjin, I’m scared too. I don’t know how to handle this, how to handle us.”

He exhaled sharply, his hands falling to his sides, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. But then he nodded, as if steeling himself against the heartbreak. “I can handle being scared,” he said softly. “I can handle not knowing. But I can’t handle losing you without even trying.”

The raw determination in his voice made your breath hitch. He wasn’t giving up—not on you, not on whatever this was between you. And as you looked at him, his face etched with pain and hope all at once, you realized that maybe you didn’t want him to give up either.

“I’m not ready to lose you either,” you admitted, the words escaping before you could stop them. They hung between you, fragile but sincere, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a start. A small, tentative step toward something neither of you fully understood but couldn’t bear to let go of.

Hyunjin nodded again, his lips pressing into a faint, trembling smile. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice steady despite the tears that still lingered in his eyes. “Together.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the past still heavy on your shoulders but the promise of something new lingering in the air, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you could.

~~

By 8 pm, Jaein and Minho had already returned home, both practically buzzing with excitement from the day spent together. It was as if they hadn't seen each other for weeks, even though they spent nearly every moment of the day in each other's company. The thought of coming home to find you and Hyunjin in the same space, perhaps finally working things out, thrilled them both. Jaein, in particular, had a feeling that if anything was off between the two of you, you'd never let it drag on. You’d confront it head-on, and she knew you were getting your chance tonight. And she was right.

When Minho opened the door for Jaein, the sound of laughter drifted through the house, light and carefree. The couple exchanged a knowing glance, their smiles both playful and victorious. The sound of you two together was the answer they’d hoped for.

“Told you it would work. You’re welcome.” Jaein murmured with a satisfied grin, nudging Minho with her elbow. Minho chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her, rolling his eyes as he gave her a squeeze. “Alright, alright, but you’ve got to admit, the timing was a bit perfect.”

Their playful conversation faded as they neared the kitchen, the warmth of the laughter growing louder. They peeked around the corner, and the sight before them made them pause. You and Hyunjin were standing by the counter, the kitchen a chaotic but homey scene of flour, mixing bowls, and baking sheets. There was no denying the bond that had developed in the brief span of time since they’d left—Hyunjin was laughing as you scolded him for some baking mishap, his expression full of lightness and amusement.

But what caught their attention was the little boy, Jaein’s nephew, who was sitting at the kitchen table, happily munching on a cookie you’d apparently just finished. He had flour all over his face, but the grin he wore was pure joy, a reminder of the innocence and simplicity of childhood. “Hey, I told you to pour it slowly!” you exclaimed, trying to stifle your laughter but failing miserably. “I did!” Hyunjin protested, though the trail of flour down his sleeve suggested otherwise. “This bag just hates me, okay?”

“Uncle is not good at cooking, you shouldn’t marry him,” the boy comments at Hyunjin, a wide grin present on his cookie dusted mouth. Hyunjin gives him a playful glare, a pout that could make you want to kiss him is present on his lips. “How dare you?”

Jaein coughed to announce their presence, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Looks like you three are having fun.” Both of you froze, turning to look at the couple in the doorway. Hyunjin quickly tried to dust off his hands, though it only made the mess worse, while you reached up to brush some flour off his hair, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment—or maybe something else.

Junho jumps down from the table with the help of the chair and runs toward Jaein and Minho. He greets them with a joyous smile that makes it obvious that he enjoyed being with you and Hyunjin. Minho picks up the kid in his arms and he ultimately clings onto his aunt’s boyfriend. “Hey,” you said, your voice a mix of nervousness and excitement, as if you’d just been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. “You’re back early.” Jaein raised an eyebrow. “It’s 8:30. That’s not exactly early.” Her gaze flicked between you and Hyunjin, her smirk widening. “But I’m glad to see you two… working things out.”

Minho chuckled, slightly swaying . “Yeah, this is definitely better than the ice-cold tension from these past few weeks.”

Hyunjin rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “We, uh… talked. And played, then we got hungry. And then…” He gestured to the mess around you. “This happened.”

“Looks like you’re making memories instead of dinner,” Jaein teased, her tone playful but warm. You rolled your eyes, tossing a balled-up paper towel in her direction. “We’re making cookies, thank you very much. They might not look perfect, but they’ll taste amazing.” Minho nodded approvingly. “Good to know you two are finally channeling your energy into something productive.” You only glared at him with your expression scrunching up, making not only Minho but also Junho laugh.

Jaein stepped forward, plucking a spoon from the counter and sampling a bit of the dough. She hummed in approval, her smile softening as she looked at you and Hyunjin. “Keep this up, and you might just make us proud.”

The weight of her words lingered, a subtle but meaningful reminder of the support she and Minho had always shown you. Hyunjin’s hand brushed yours briefly, and you glanced at him, catching the slight curve of his lips—a silent acknowledgment of how far the two of you had come in just one evening.

~~

Things started to feel more natural after that day, the tension between you and Hyunjin easing with each passing moment. The awkwardness that once clouded every interaction was slowly replaced with a sense of ease, a quiet understanding. Conversations flowed more freely, no longer burdened by the weight of unspoken words. There was a shift—subtle but real—as you both began to adjust, to learn the rhythms of each other’s company.

You found yourself smiling more, especially at the small, fleeting moments you once might have overlooked. The way Hyunjin would playfully nudge you when something amusing happened, or how he would laugh at your offhand comments, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Whenever you’re hanging out as a group, he would always be by your side, looking when Changbin or Jisung would crack a joke just to see you laugh. He would even have this hand on your back since you’d tend to lean so far back when you’re laughing, eventually losing your balance.

You loved how he didn’t rush things between you and would do things that would make you fall for him bit by bit. Whenever you’d study together, he’d slip a small sketch of your face between the pages of your notebook. He would take you to places that he knows you’d love to take photos of. Not to mention the slow dancing to the jazz when you’d forget about the assignment you were working on.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Enough to make you believe, even if just for a moment, that maybe this could work. You and him, figuring it out one step at a time. Both of you seemed less guarded, as if the walls you had built around yourselves were finally crumbling, piece by piece.

Jaein and Minho continued to check in on you two, their teasing only lightening the mood. They were so sure things would turn out okay between you and Hyunjin, and with time, you began to agree with them. But it was a slow process—every day, another small piece of understanding, another little shift in the dynamic between you.

~~

Hyunjin couldn’t have been more content, sitting there with you. You were his quiet reminder of everything love should be—patient, kind, and unassuming. His elbow rested on the table, his chin propped on his palm as his eyes traced every detail of your face while you slept as if re-tracing it like one of his many sketches of you. The soft rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes kissed your cheeks, and the faint crease in your brow—all of it captivated him.

A few strands of hair had fallen across your face, and he reached out to gently tuck them behind your ear, his fingertips brushing against your skin. The sunlight pouring in through the window threatened to disturb the serenity of the moment, casting a golden glow across your features. Without a second thought, he raised his hand, shielding your face from the intrusive rays, his fingers splayed like a delicate barrier.

Your eyelids fluttered open, stirred awake not by noise or movement, but by the quiet weight of Hyunjin’s gaze. Your drowsy eyes met his, and a soft smile crept onto your lips, the remnants of sleep still evident in your expression. “How long did I fall asleep?” you asked, your voice husky from the nap, as you rubbed the back of your hand against one eye.

“Not too long,” he murmured, his voice impossibly tender. His hand lingered near your face as if reluctant to pull away. Pretending to brush away an invisible speck of dust from your cheek, his touch lingered just long enough to send a faint warmth through your skin. “Maybe 10 minutes.”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair and stretching. “Sorry for dozing off. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging.” Hyunjin shook his head, his smile deepening. “You didn’t,” he assured you. “Watching you sleep... it felt like time stood still for a while.” His words were soft, but there was a vulnerability in them that made your breath hitch.

Your cheeks warmed at his admission, and you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his as you rested them on the table between you. “I guess I should thank you, then. For blocking the sun. And for being here.” Hyunjin’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand, his gaze dipping to your joined hands before meeting yours again. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

The weight of his words hung between you, the air charged with an unspoken depth. Slowly, you leaned forward, your free hand reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear this time. “You’re too good to me, you know,” you whispered. Hyunjin caught your hand as it lingered near his face, cradling it gently. “I just want to take care of you,” he said earnestly. “If that makes me ‘too good,’ then I’m fine with that.”

The moment stretched, intimate and unhurried. Your eyes locked, and without thinking, you leaned closer, your foreheads nearly touching. The sound of your breaths mingled, the world outside forgotten. Hyunjin’s hand slid to your cheek, his touch featherlight but deliberate, as if afraid to shatter the fragile perfection of this moment.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though the words were meant only for you and the universe.

You smiled softly, your heart racing in your chest as you closed the gap, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was as tentative as it was electric. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic—just a quiet, heartfelt affirmation of the connection that had been growing between you.

When you finally pulled back, your cheeks flushed and your breaths shallow, Hyunjin rested his forehead against yours, a blissful smile curving his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe. You laughed lightly, your hand still entwined with his. “Me too.”

And in that quiet moment, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, the weight of all you had been through settled around you—not as a burden, but as a testament to how far you’d come. Every awkward silence, every misunderstood word, every moment of doubt that had once seemed hopeless now felt like pieces of a story you were both learning to cherish. As Hyunjin’s thumb traced soft circles on the back of your hand and his forehead pressed gently against yours, it wasn’t just the promise of a beginning—it was the quiet triumph of two hearts finding their way to each other.

~~

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud."

1 Corinthians 13:4

Soooo, that's it!! Idk why but I feel like this one is a little rushed and I think that's because I wrote this during the New Year's LOL. I'm not really confident about the emotional depth this time RAAHH!

And I'm also starting on a new fic which is inspired by another song of SKZ but this one might be a little long—a few chapters longer than On Track: IKIAF. I'm gonna try to finish it before I go back to school huhu.

Happy New Year everyone~!

[herwrittenuniverse]

The Bedtime Befuddlement

Callum smiled - a true, genuine grin. Rayla’s happiness was his happiness. There was so much that happened just today alone - passing the banishment Ritual, the reunion between Ethari and Runaan, and getting to return to her childhood home - that he was beyond thankful everything ended on a positive note. 

It was in this little moment of reflection when Callum realized two distinct pairs of eyes were staring at him.

He turned, and saw both Runaan and Ethari studying him with very different expressions on their faces.

Runaan’s was a look - a stern face, crossed brows, and lips drawn in a straight line that Callum thought his face might actually crack. Ethari, on the other hand, was the complete opposite - he lovingly cradled Stella, grinning at Callum’s obvious expression of befuddlement as he caught his eye.

Alright. He could deal with this. At least only one of Rayla’s dads wanted to kill him.  

“So…” the young man started uncomfortably. He hated silence, and if he was going to spend some time here, he may as well make a good first impression. “Nice…uh…place you got here.”

He took in the humble living area before him. The room was open and airy, but rather small - a simple wood-fire stove burned in the corner, and a rustic dining set accompanied it. Other than that, the space was rather bare - nothing like the sprawling palace he grew up in. 

And Runaan seemed to pick up on exactly that thought. 

“Well, it’s no castle, that’s for sure,” Runaan quipped, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 

“Of course it isn’t - -” Callum started, and then realized his comment could be taken as rude . “I mean -  you know -  why would it be?” Shit, that’s worse! “But, uh, it’s nice! So nice!” He glanced around, taking in all the rustic charm. “It’s homey. It actually reminds me of my winter home - the Bather Lodge.” 

Now Runaan’s eyebrow shot up in question. There was a beat, and then, “You had a second home?”

Callum’s stomach dropped.

Read all about the unscripted, unfiltered experiences of Callum, Rayla, Runaan, and Ethari as they navigate their new relationships with one another! Tune into The Fantastical Phases of the Silvergrove only on AO3!

[dwntwn-strnlo]

ELEVATE. 01 {stuck}

── ⟡˙ ̟ business!matt x ceo!reader

↳ synopsis. — all good rivalry starts in an elevator.

↳ a/n. — YES for the chapter reader has a name, but it's only going to be for the 3rd person chapters. all first person chapters reader will go by a nickname or nothing at all

↳ cw. — 3rd person, crude language throughout, fear

slamming the door open, lizzie hannah stumbled into the large lobby in a desperate attempt to run. but her pace quickly faded as she looked around, getting lost in the architecture of the building.

it was extravagant, really. the gold trim on the ceiling, the black velvet couches, even the mints in a pristine bowl on the service counter. it was the most insane thing she had ever seen. and that's saying something.

the room itself was so wonderful that she almost forgot that she was running late to a meeting. her meeting. it was her first meeting ever at this new company. and it was all for her arrival. only thing is, it starts at three.

looking down at her watch, she finds the clock ticking. it's 2:58. 

"fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-" she mumbled under her breath, fixing her skirt and readjusting her bag before making an utter break for it towards the elevator.

she pays no mind to the suited man in there, staring down at his phone. that is until her internal clock starts ticking, and the doors start to shut.

frantically, the girl waves her hands, almost falling straight to her knees once again. "hey, hey! wait!" she gasps, clutching her purse like her life depended on it.

the man looks up from his phone, locking eyes with the frantic girl. she looked absolutely crazy. "uhh" he spits out, trying to figure out what to do.

run? maybe. scream? no...

hold the door?

oh.

he quickly steps out to stop the retracting elevator door, putting a foot and hand in front of the steel.

lizzie runs in, breathless. "thank you-" she gasps, stepping into the elevator with relief. "thank you."

"careful there, might break a heel." the man smiles, chuckling lightly. he steps back to exactly where he stood before, pulling his phone back out. "also might wanna button that up before the boss sees."

she stares at him confused before looking down at her shirt. finding the top 4 buttons unclasped. "oh shit." she mumbled, growing embarrassed.

buttoning the shirt back up is a struggle. her face turns hot and her fingers become useless as they shake.

the door closes, and they both check the time. 2:59.

standing restlessly, lizzie shifts back in forth between her feet as the elevator starts to move upward. "thank you, for holding the door open, i appreciate-"

her words are cut off when the elevator comes to a screeching halt, and the beaming lights flicker off one by one.

the man's eyes fly open as he looks up from his phone. "oh no, oh no-" he exasperated, stepping up to the door. trying to shove it open. trying to pull it apart. trying everything he can to not possibly be stuck in here. "i knew i should've taken the stairs, oh my god- oh my god-"

"are you kidding me?" the girl groans, stepping up to the elevator door, trying to help pull it open. "open the door! come on open it I have somewhere to be." 

the tall brunette flicks his hardened gaze in her direction, but only momentarily when he remembers how absolutely terrified he is. trying to get the door open just like she had demanded.

"i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die, i'm gonna die." he whispers frantically, now at this point having given up on opening it, bangs his fists on the stainless steel.

she laughs. she laughs. the man snaps his head back to look at her. his piercing eyes staring right through the girl. 

immediately as if being scolded by a parent, she stops laughing.

"why are you laughing." he huffs, giving up completely on escape.

again, her face flushes. skin growing uncomfortably hot. "sorry." she giggles again. throwing a hand up to her mouth to stop herself. "it's just-" she snickers, having to look away. "you don't seem like you'd be scared of elevators."

he looks her up and down with a harsh stare. thinking of what to say. he readjusts the prada bag on his shoulder. unsure of what to do in this situation. a pretty girl laughing at him, and being stuck in an elevator? every rich white boys worst nightmare.

only now as he looks at her with such disdain fear, lizzie gets to admire him. she smiles weakly, "hey i mean we're all scared of something," she rubs at her chin. "i'm scared of butterflies."

his eyes widen and he bursts out into laughter. he nearly doubles over, putting his hands on his chest to try and bring his breath back. the brunette laughs, tears brimming his eyes. "butter-butterflies?" he giggles, wiping at his eyes.

"yeah, so what?" she furrows her brows, crossing her arms over her chest. too, readjusting her bag. her brand? dior.

"you seem a little... sleezy to be an assistant." he says, poking her white bag. eyes flicking up to hers. his reflection darkened in the sunglasses atop of her head.

she scoffs, "assistant?" her grip on her bag tightens. "what makes you think that's what i am?"

he smiles softly, "just a guess, was hoping you'd bring me some coffee. would you like my order now... or?"

"you're a real dick, you know that?" she looks him up and down. almost forgetting about what's going on as she drinks in his tall, dark figure.

his teasing grin drops as the words fall past her lips. "yeah." he frowns. glaring down at her. "you know, i have a real important meeting with the new ceo that i'm already late too, and your not putting me at ease."

the girl looks up at him, raising a brow. "really." she scoffs, "what's you're name?"

furrowing his brows, he ignores the sound of the breaker turning on, and the doors scratching open. "matthew," he smiles, "matthew sturniolo."

"good to know," she smiles back, stepping around him and off the elevator just in time for the doors to close again. 

"what's your name?" he calls after her, turning around to step off the elevator.

"lizzie hannah." she calls out. not glancing back until the door is almost closed.

only then it hits him that the new girl, started the same day as the ceo. and there is no assistant. it's just lizzie, the ceo.

he stares at her in shock as the doors start to close, forgetting that this is his floor.

"i like white mochas, by the way."

xoxo HARLEY . . .

----- guys this one's not gonna flop i swear im not a flop