#hope this means this next year will be kind to me!!

[iamgonnagetyouback]

I’ve read every single one of your works, and I am absolutely obsessed! The way you write and capture emotions is beyond amazing—it’s pure magic. I really hope this isn’t too much to ask 😭, but I just adore your writing so much. If you’re not comfortable with this request, though, please don’t hesitate to ignore it. Thank you so much!

Could I request a James Potter x Reader story? The plot starts with James pursuing Lily Evans, but along the way, he realizes his feelings for her were more about the excitement of the chase. In contrast, with the reader, he feels truly at ease, able to be himself without pretending or changing for anyone. I’d love for Lily’s perspective to be included—how she starts to desire James after noticing how much he’s 'matured' in his relationship with the reader, but she can only stand by and watch as James and the reader create their beautiful love story.

chase ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ james potter x reader where he realizes who he truly loves

warnings: fluff overload, mild angst

word count: 1,836 words

author's note: omg stopppp you’re making me blush ‹𝟹 this is the sweetest thing ever, and i’m so honored you enjoy my writing!! ♡

navigation┆ james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter had been chasing Lily Evans for years. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it—how he’d flash his most charming smile, throw an arm around her shoulder with a wink, and dramatically proclaim his undying love. It was all in good fun, of course. At least, that’s what he always told himself.

Lily, ever stubborn, had always rebuffed him. At first, she detested his arrogance. Later, she simply rolled her eyes and dismissed his advances, treating him as little more than a particularly persistent house elf. James didn't mind. The chase was half the fun, after all.

"She'll come around, you'll see," James would say after every rejection, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Mate, she's been saying no for three years," Sirius pointed out, sprawled lazily on the Gryffindor common room couch. "At what point do you consider the possibility that she's actually not interested?"

James gasped, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. "Not interested? Padfoot, please. That’s just what she wants me to think."

Remus sighed from behind his book. "Or perhaps she genuinely means it. You ever consider not making a public spectacle every time you ask her out?"

Peter snickered. "Yeah, Prongs, maybe if you stop serenading her in the Great Hall, she'll stop running the other way."

"That was one time!" James protested. "And I thought she’d appreciate the gesture."

You, sitting cross-legged by the fire, smirked. "James, darling, even I was embarrassed for you, and I usually live for the drama."

Sirius grinned. "See? When even our dear, theatrical doll here cringes, you know you’ve gone too far."

James huffed, crossing his arms. "You lot are supposed to support me."

Remus finally set his book down, giving him a small smile. "We do support you. We just also support your dignity."

James groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll try… a different approach."

The boys exchanged glances, and you patted his knee sympathetically. "That’s the spirit, Prongs. Maybe next time, just… don’t propose in front of McGonagall again."

James groaned even louder as the Marauders burst into laughter.

But somewhere along the way, the chase had stopped being fun.

It had started with you.

You, the one he never really had to chase. You, who laughed at his antics but also scolded him when he was being too reckless. You, who had a quick wit but also a kindness about you that softened his rougher edges. You, who never needed him to be anything but himself.

It hadn’t happened all at once. There was no lightning strike, no grand revelation. Just little moments that wove themselves into something undeniable.

The way you tucked a stray curl behind your ear when you were reading, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. James had watched you do it a hundred times before realizing how endearing he found it. The way you argued with Sirius about the best way to sneak into Hogsmeade, eyes alight with mischief as you held your ground against the self-proclaimed master of rule-breaking. The way you always had a spare quill when he inevitably lost his, rolling your eyes fondly as you handed it over with a teasing, "Honestly, James, do you even own quills?"

There was the way you leaned against his shoulder after a long cold day, sighing. "James Potter, you are a human furnace. Please continue existing exactly as you are."

There was the way he found himself seeking you out first—before Remus, before Sirius, before Peter, before anyone else—whenever he had good news to share. The way his jokes felt funnier when you laughed at them. The way his name sounded different coming from your lips, softer somehow, like it belonged there.

One night, after an exhausting Quidditch practice, you had met him outside the changing rooms with a chocolate frog in hand. "For your heroic efforts," you’d said with a mock bow, pressing it into his palm. He had laughed, shoving it into his pocket, but the warmth in his chest lingered long after.

James Potter had always thought he wanted a grand, all-consuming love. He had spent years chasing something he thought would make him whole. But standing beside you, teasing and laughing and existing so effortlessly together, he realized something else.

Maybe love wasn’t supposed to be a chase.

Maybe it was supposed to feel like home.

Lily noticed the shift before James did. It crept up on her, subtle but undeniable, like the slow changing of seasons. He still ruffled his hair like a prat, still laughed too loudly with his friends, still turned every moment into a grand performance. But there was something quieter about him now, something settled in the way he carried himself. The endless pursuit that had once defined James Potter—the grand gestures, the dramatic declarations, the unrelenting chase—had stopped. And he hadn’t even noticed.

At first, she felt relief. She had spent years pushing him away, certain that his attention was something fleeting, something she didn’t want. And now, finally, he had listened.

Then she felt something else.

She caught herself watching him more often. Noticing the little things. The way his grin softened when he looked at you. The way his hand found your wrist when he pulled you toward him in the common room, like it was second nature. The way he listened when you spoke—really listened, with an intensity that made it clear you had his full attention. She had never seen that look on his face before. Not when he looked at her.

And suddenly, she found herself wondering. Had she been wrong about James Potter?

Had she spent all these years dismissing him without ever really knowing him? Had she mistaken boyish bravado for immaturity, mistaking the show for the substance beneath it?

But it didn’t matter.

Because James wasn’t looking at her anymore.

The realization hadn’t struck James like lightning, not at first. He hadn’t woken up one day and thought, Oh, I love her. No, it was something slower, quieter—woven into the fabric of every moment he spent with you.

It was the way you sat beside him in the common room, curled up with a book, the firelight casting flickering shadows across your face. The way you absently played with the hem of his sleeve when you were lost in thought. The way you saw him—not James Potter, Quidditch Captain, mischief-maker, the boy who never stopped chasing—but James. Just James.

And for the first time, he found that was all he wanted to be.

He didn’t need to impress you. He didn’t need to chase you. He could just exist with you, and it was enough.

There was a night—one that stuck with him, long after it had passed—when he had finally put words to the feeling.

You had found him on the Astronomy Tower, shoulders hunched against the cold, lost in thoughts he hadn’t even realized were weighing him down. You didn’t ask what was wrong. You just sat beside him, close enough that your knees touched, close enough that he could feel your warmth.

“You ever think about who you are without all the noise?” he murmured after a long silence.

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

James hesitated. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent so much time being—being James Potter, you know? The one who’s always got a joke, the one who’s always chasing something. But with you…” He trailed off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t have to be anything but me.”

You blinked, taken aback, before a small smile curved your lips. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

James let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Yeah, it is.”

You nudged his shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I like just you.”

And that was it.

Not a grand confession. Not a dramatic moment. Just quiet understanding.

Just home.

Lily saw it all unfold. Saw James fall in love without the fanfare, without the spectacle. And for the first time, she saw him—not the boy who had chased her, but the boy who had finally stopped running.

And it wasn’t for her.

It was too late.

Then came the grand gesture.

James Potter did nothing in half measures, and asking you on a date was no exception. If anything, he seemed almost nostalgic about the whole ordeal—like he had spent so many years planning elaborate schemes for Lily that now, finally asking the right person, he wanted to do it justice.

So, naturally, it started with fireworks.

Not just any fireworks, but ones that spelled out your name across the sky in brilliant, shimmering letters, crackling above the Quidditch Pitch where half the school had gathered after dinner. Then came the enchanted banners floating midair, reading: 'WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?' in flashing gold and red, trailing behind a very enthusiastic Sirius, who had volunteered to fly them around on his broom. A charmed choir of singing toads croaked a love song (Remus’ contribution, because, according to him, ‘there needed to be some class in this spectacle’), and Peter had somehow gotten his hands on a bouquet of flowers that smelled like sunshine.

James himself stood in the center of it all, hand on his heart, eyes locked on yours, waiting.

The crowd turned to you, hushed in anticipation. Lily, standing off to the side, watched with wide eyes, an unreadable expression on her face. There was a time when she would have scoffed at something like this, dismissed it with a roll of her eyes.

But you—

You were grinning.

Dramatically clutching your chest, you gasped, staggering back like a swooning damsel in distress. "Oh, James Potter! Whatever shall I say? This is all so sudden!"

James, without missing a beat, fell to one knee. "Say yes, my darling star! For I have loved you since the dawn of time—or, well, since fourth year at least, and that’s practically the same thing!"

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. "Hmm. I don’t know, Potter. It’s an awfully big commitment."

James shot to his feet, grabbing your hands, eyes wide with mock desperation. "I shall spend every day proving myself worthy of your love! I shall carry your books! Share my sweets! Defend your honor against Slytherins and bad hair days alike!"

You sighed deeply, then beamed. "Well, in that case… Yes! A thousand times yes!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, Sirius fist-pumped midair, and Remus groaned into his hands. James, triumphant, swept you up in a spin, laughing so hard his glasses nearly fell off.

Lily watched it all unfold, and for the first time, she felt the weight of what she had lost. Not because she wanted James, not really. But because once upon a time, it had been her he was chasing.

But James Potter had finally stopped chasing.

Because he had already caught what he was looking for.

© iamgonnagetyouback ⋆.˚ please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work.

[importantpuppystarfish]

Sibling desire by Wonyoung

Male reader x Wonyoung

Warnings: Incest, totally blood related siblings, pissing (if u dont like the fantasy, simply dont read)

As I walk into my room, I see my sister Wonyoung lying on my bed. Her hair tied up and her smooth legs dangle playfully off the edge of the mattress. She looks over at me with a smile and pats the open space next to her. "Come here, I've got something to show you." She purrs. I feel my heart rate pick up as I make my way over to her. What could she possibly want to show me?

Wonyoung swipes through some images. My eyes go wide seeing the series of provocative pics she took - closeups of her lips, chest, the curve of her hip. She watches me closely.

"Do you like them?" She asks with a flirty wink. My mouth goes dry as my eyes drink in the sight of my gorgeous older sister posed so temptingly. I manage a weak nod in response as she never showed me like this.

"Mmm I took them just for you." She confesses, leaning in close and wrapping an arm around me. My heart pounds in my chest. This can't be real…but it's happening!

"I bet you've got quite the reaction going on under there huh?" She teases, reaching down and giving me an affectionate squeeze.

Wonyoung and I no longer have the chance to spend as much time together as we used to, especially since she’s been so busy with her career in IVE. She’s changed a lot over time, and it’s clear she’s grown taller and become even healthier. She’s no longer the same Wonyoung I once knew as her brother.

Swallowing hard, I gather some courage and lean in closer to her, whispering "You look…so beautiful sister…" My fingers trace lightly over her exposed leg.

Wonyoung giggles. "You're so cute when you blush like that." She bites her lip, her eyes searching mine. "You know…you're grown pretty handsome yourself." She lifts her chin, inviting my gaze to drop lower to her lips.

"Say something…say I'm hot." She whispers breathily.

Even though I know I'm not the most attractive guy, Wonyoung's words send a flutter through my chest. I can see the genuine affection in her eyes as she looks at me. She really does think I'm…cute…

She shifts, moving closer until our noses almost touch. "Come on, say it…say your big sister is hot!." Her voice is soft but commanding. I nod mutely, my throat dry. "Y-you're hot, sister…" I croak out.

Wonyoung leans back and asks "Hey, btw this question got me wondering…" She says slowly, her voice low. "What do you think a typical brother and sister relationship should be like?"

She watches me carefully, head tilted expectantly, waiting to hear my opinion on something much more profound than normal sibling dynamics. Her eyes are curious yet almost flirty.

I nod dumbly, not knowing what else to say. "Loving and…trusting," I murmur, feeling like those words don't quite capture the complexity of sibling bonds.

But Wonyoung takes my response and runs with it. She slides closer, her hip brushing against mine. "Mmmm loving and trusting…"

"Maybe…more than just loving?" "A brother and sister who really…connect."

"What do u mean?" I asked.. Wonyoung swallows hard before explaining. "What I mean is…in the most ideal, close-knit family, the brother owns the sister completely. And the sister owns the brother just the same."

She reaches out and strokes my cheek gently. "No limits, no holding back" Her words make me blink in surprise, where did she develop this kind of mindset from throughout these years?

"I should be your first.. No outside partners allowed." She declares firmly.

Wonyoung gazes at me hopeful yet serious, clearly laid out her vision for us.

Wonyoung puts her hand upon my shoulder trying to hug and then kiss me. I held back as I say "Sister what are u doing!!!?".. Wonyoung pouts when I protest, but keeps holding me tighter. "Shhh…" she whispers against my lips before planting a soft kiss there. "Didn't u say our bond should be of loving and trusting?."

She pulls back just enough to speak again, her breath hot on my face. "You're my brother…and I'm your sister. Isn't this loving between us?" She tries coaxing, hand trailing down my chest.

Wonyoung seeks to reassure as she leans in again, more insistently this time. I can feel her want, yet the wrongness of it all makes me hesitant.

Before I can react, Wonyoung crashes her lips onto mine in a deep, demanding kiss. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as she takes control. The kiss is aggressive, all tongue and teeth. Unable to deny her any longer, I give in completely in the kiss. My lips part eagerly beneath hers, savoring the intoxicating sweetness of her kiss. One hand rises to grip her waist tightly as the other tangles in her hair, pulling her closer.

She tastes like everything I've ever craved without knowing it. I surrender completely, losing myself in the dangerous allure of this twisted intimacy between us.

"Huh? U liked it right…" Wonyoung says.

Wonyoung smiles victoriously against my mouth, pleased she's gotten me to respond. "Mmm…good boy…" she whispers, running her fingers through my body. Her hands begin working at my shirt buttons, trying to remove it impatiently.

"You're already mine aren't you brother?" Her voice is low and sultry, her eyes shining with delight at having me under her spell.

She tugs at my shirt again insistently, waiting for me to obey…

She pushes my shirt open, exposing my chest.

"Shhh…" she hushes me again, biting her lip as she palms me through thin fabric. "Do you like that sis…is making you feel good?"

She shrugs off her shirt first, tossing it aside carelessly as she unhooks her bra next. It falls away, releasing her flawless form completely to me. She shakes her hair out, gazing down at me expectantly.

Her tits were perfectly proportioned, small medium sized yet supple. Her bosom is a delicate handful, delicate pink nipples starts to make my mouth watery & hungry.

"Well?" she asks coyly, fingers releasing me just long enough to begin shrugging out of her pants next. "Are you going to watch your sister strip?" Her voice drops another octave, daring me.

My eyes widen slightly when she fully reveals herself to me. I never dreamed this scene totally in my lifetime.

"Do you like it, brother?" She breathes, hands coming to rest on her hips. She pushes slightly against me, seeking contact. "Tell me…" she asks demandingly.

"Come now, get on your knees." Wonyoung orders. She wants me low before she grants me any further privileges.

She takes her own swaying breast in hand and guides it towards my mouth.

"Suck" she commands, voice rough yet compelling. I part my lips obediently and she presses forward, my tongue meeting the stiff peak. She gasps at the contact.

"Yes that's it…" she praises, running fingers through my hair again as I begin to suckle eagerly. Her sweet nectar coats my tongue, sweaty flavors making me thirsty for more. I lose myself in the sensation - it smells and tastes so good. Her skin, the weight of her supple figure in my mouth.

"Mmm yes, keep going, make them feel good…" Wonyoung crooks a leg behind me, pulling me closer until I'm fully engaged between her thighs. Releasing her tits from my mouth, I glance up at Wonyoung with a silent question. She nods eagerly in response.

"Taste me brother…" she purrs, guiding me lower.

I settle between her thighs, inhaling her heady aroma before diving in. I take and deep breathe and start licking her clit. She cries out, hands gripping the sheets as I lose myself in bringing her pleasure.

My senses are overwhelmed, the salty-sweet musk of her, the velvety give of her pussy lips against my tongue, the rhythmic pulsing against my tasting buds as I relentlessly stoke that bundle of nerves. Wonyoung gets so wet and squirts over my mouth as she moans.

"Yes…just like that!" sister gasps out, bucking against my mouth as I drive her wild. Wonyoung grabs my head and pushes me more deep inside her.

Wonyoung squirts more inside my mouth as I swallow it all. My jaw aches from her insistently grinding on my tongue but I don't care - I want to obey, to make her cry out louder.

"Don't stop! Make me come on your tongue!" she cries.

Now the most extreme part, without warning, I feel a hot stream splash across my face and into my mouth. Wonyoung releases a surprised laugh as I'm suddenly showered in my own sibling's piss warmth.

"Well well, did you like your sibling's taste?" she asks teasingly, still catching her breath. I genuinely replied her I loved it because why not? It tasted so delicious yet taboo. She reaches down and wipes out the dampness from my face by licking me with her tongue.

"There now, all cleaned up." She grins.

``will continue if the readers like it😁''

[idkyetxoxo]

Gwayne Hightower - A Chance Encounter

Summary - A mother's fear for her son's safety leads to an unexpected encounter with a charming stranger. A subtle connection sparks revealing deeper layers of grief and the promise of new beginnings, a delicate flirtation unfolds, offering a glimpse of hope and romance.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2063

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"Doran, get down this instant!" I snapped, my patience fraying as the young boy clambered higher into the sprawling branches of the ancient oak tree.. 

The wind rustled the leaves, and my heart pounded in my chest, torn between anger and fear.

"If you fall, I'll have to kill you myself!" I shouted, my voice cracking as the fear clawed at my throat. My fingers curled into fists at my sides, my knuckles turning white as I struggled to contain the swirling storm of panic and frustration. 

Each second Doran remained aloft felt like a personal assault on my sanity.

Doran glanced down, his bright eyes widening in realization as he saw just how high he had climbed. His small face twisted with fear, and he clung tighter to the branch.

"I can't!" he cried out, his voice quivering as he looked down at me, trapped between the height and his own bravado. 

I pressed a hand to my forehead, scanning the empty surroundings for help. Of course, it had to be deserted now that I needed someone.

"Alright, sweetling, just hold on tight. I'm going to find Ser Merrick," I reassured him, stepping backwards but keeping my eyes fixed on his trembling figure above.

My back collided with something solid, and I spun around, startled, only to find myself face-to-face with a broad chest.

"I apologize!" I blurted, looking up to meet the amused eyes of a strikingly handsome stranger.

"No need," he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking up to the tree. "Seems someone's in a bit of a predicament."

"Yes," I sighed, grateful for the unexpected help. "Please, my lord—"

"Ser Gwayne," he corrected, his eyes twinkling with kindness. The corners of his mouth lifted in a reassuring smile that somehow eased the tension in my chest, if only slightly.

Without hesitation, he began climbing the tree with the grace and confidence of someone used to such feats. Watching him move with such ease was oddly reassuring, and I found myself holding my breath, mesmerized by his fluid movements.

When he reached Doran, he lifted him down with effortless strength. Doran ran to me, wrapping his small arms around my legs, his face streaked with tears but otherwise unharmed. I knelt, pulling him close, my heart swelling with relief.

"You shouldn't worry your sister like that," Gwayne said gently, crouching to Doran's level. Doran looked at him with watery eyes, then glanced back at me.

"She's my mommy," he said, his little hand clutching my dress. Gwayne's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the revelation.

"My apologies, my lady," he said, standing up and bowing his head respectfully. I waved off his apology, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

"It's quite alright. Thank you for helping," I said, pulling Doran close as he nestled against me.

"Next time you fancy climbing a tree, perhaps ask your father to help you up," Gwayne said lightly, trying to ease the tension with a chuckle. 

The remark hit me like a punch, and I saw his smile falter as he realized his mistake.

"Doran, sweetling, go find Alicent or Helaena for me," I instructed gently, nudging him away. Doran hesitated but eventually scampered off, leaving us alone.

"Did I misspeak?" Gwayne asked, his tone laced with genuine concern. I exhaled slowly, my eyes momentarily clouded with sorrow.

"Doran's father passed when he was just two summers old," I explained quietly. Gwayne winced, visibly remorseful.

"I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's alright," I interrupted, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "It's been three years now." I turned, the ground beneath my feet feeling oddly firm as if anchoring me back to reality. 

As I made my way toward the path, Gwayne fell into step beside me, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel.

"You mentioned Alicent and Helaena. Are you familiar with them?" he inquired, his tone curious, but there was something guarded in the way he spoke, as though measuring his words.

"Yes, I am," I replied carefully, eyeing him with mild suspicion. He hadn't used their titles, and I wondered why.

"Alicent is my sister," he revealed, and I stopped, realization dawning on me.

"So you're the brother she spoke of—visiting from Oldtown."

"Yes," he said, inclining his head. "I am Gwayne Hightower." He extended his hand, and I took it, surprised by the gentle brush of his lips against my knuckles.

"And you are?" he asked, his gaze lingering on mine.

"I am a close companion of the Queen," I said, meeting his eyes. The unspoken understanding between us seemed to deepen, creating a bridge of shared recognition.

"What brings you to King's Landing?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I've lived here for the past three years," I explained. "After my husband passed, Alicent asked me to stay with her for a while to heal, and I never left."

"Your husband?" Gwayne inquired, picking up on the weight in my voice.

"Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne," I said, watching his eyes widen in recognition.

"So I just rescued the young Lord of Sunspear from a tree?" he mused with a light-hearted laugh, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"No," I clarified. "Doran will not succeed his father. Qoren's brother took the title with my blessing. I did not want that burden placed on my son at such a young age. Should he wish it one day, the doors of Sunspear will always be open to him."

Gwayne nodded, thoughtfully absorbing my words just as Ser Merrick appeared, breathless and flustered. "My lady, I am so sorry! I only turned my back for a moment—"

"It's alright, Ser Merrick," I assured him. "Ser Gwayne was kind enough to help."

Gwayne inclined his head, modestly deflecting the praise. "It was my pleasure."

"Well, Ser Gwayne," I said, feeling the pull of duty and motherhood calling me back. "I must take my leave. Doran is likely off finding new trouble as we speak."

"Of course," he said with a soft laugh. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"And you as well," I replied, feeling a warmth in my cheeks as I turned away, my heart lighter for the first time in a long while.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A week had passed since my unexpected meeting with Gwayne, and it seemed our paths were fated to cross with remarkable frequency. Whether by sheer coincidence or some twist of fate, Gwayne always appeared just as I was going about my daily routines, even when I was not in the company of his sister, Alicent.

This particular afternoon, I was with Alicent in the garden when a sudden, startled gasp escaped my lips. 

"Doran!" I exclaimed, seeing him emerge from behind a shrub, covered head to toe in thick, clinging mud.

"What happened?" I asked, crouching down to his level, my concern evident in my voice. 

Beside me, Alicent's laughter rang out, a melodious sound that contrasted sharply with the dishevelled state of my son.

"I fell," Doran explained with a sheepish grin, and despite my best efforts, I couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at my lips. 

Just then, the source of much of the mud and mirth appeared, Gwayne, emerging from the same shrubbery, equally plastered in muck. His flustered expression only added to the absurdity of the scene, and I couldn't hold back the laughter that escaped me.

Gwayne stood before us, looking both embarrassed and amused, while Doran beamed with pride at the state of his new companion. 

"And what happened to you?" Alicent asked, her eyes dancing with amusement as she regarded her brother, who was struggling to contain his own laughter.

"Doran and I had an... unplanned fall," Gwayne admitted, his voice tinged with a barely restrained chuckle.

"Silly boys," I said affectionately, reaching out to ruffle Doran's muddy hair. His giggles were contagious, and soon, we were all caught up in a moment of light-heartedness.

"Come now, darling," Alicent said gently, extending her hand to Doran. "Let's get you cleaned up." 

Her voice was soothing, and the way she looked at my son showed the deep affection she held for him. It was clear she cherished the innocence and kindness he embodied, qualities she longed to see in her own children.

"I must apologize," I said as I stood up, turning to Gwayne with a wry smile. "I assume Doran is the cause of this muddy predicament?"

Gwayne looked down at his muddied attire with a sheepish grin. "You could say that," he said, trying to brush off some of the dirt with minimal success. "But it was worth it to see him so happy."

I shook my head, still smiling. "Well, thank you for your... enthusiastic supervision."

"Of course," Gwayne replied, his gaze meeting mine with a warm glint of camaraderie. "It was a pleasure, even if it was rather messy."

As Alicent led Doran away to be cleaned up, Gwayne lingered for a moment, his eyes reflecting a quiet appreciation for the simple joy he had shared with my son. I couldn't help but feel a sense of ease in his presence, a comfort that was becoming increasingly rare in my life.

"Well, it seems our paths continue to cross," I said, my tone light and friendly.

"It does seem that way," Gwayne agreed, his smile widening into something more personal and intimate. He took a moment to glance around, then fixed his gaze back on me with a thoughtful expression.

"It seems we're destined to find each other in these delightful messes," he said with a playful lilt, his eyes sparkling with mischief. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his boldness.

"Destined, you say?" I replied, my voice carrying a hint of amusement. "That's quite a romantic notion. I suppose it's one way to look at it."

"Indeed," he said, taking a step closer, his smile growing warmer. "And if our paths are to continue crossing, I wouldn't mind it at all, especially if it means having the chance to get to know you better."

A mixture of surprise and shyness flitted across my face. "You're quite forward, Ser Gwayne. I didn't realize you had such an interest in our... unexpected meetings."

"Why not?" he said with a teasing lift of his eyebrows. "After all, it's not every day you encounter someone so... breathtaking."

The compliment made my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red. I tried to maintain my composure, but his words stirred a blend of warmth and embarrassment within me. The gentle flirtation in his voice was both thrilling and unsettling, stirring emotions I had long kept in check.

"Careful now," I joked, trying to lighten the moment. "You might give the impression that you are quite fond of me."

"Perhaps I am," he murmured, closing the distance between us with a confident stride. His nearness sent an electric shiver through me, the space between us charged with unspoken possibilities. 

My pulse quickened, a delicate dance of anticipation and hesitation unfolding in the closeness of his gaze.

In that moment, I struggled with the remnants of grief for my late husband. The thought of moving on felt like a betrayal, yet I was reminded that he was gone. 

How long would I allow myself to be anchored by the weight of my sorrow?

Gwayne's presence offered a glimpse of something new and hopeful, but the conflict within me remained. I wanted to embrace the possibility of new beginnings, yet the shadows of the past loomed large.

"Ser Gwayne," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly as I searched for the right words. "I must admit, this is... unexpected. I'm still navigating through my own complexities."

"Of course," he said gently, his eyes filled with understanding. "I didn't mean to rush you or make you uncomfortable. I merely wanted to express that, should you find yourself open to it, I would be delighted to explore what might be between us."

His words were a balm to my conflicted heart, and I found myself both relieved and intrigued.

"I appreciate your honesty," I said, allowing myself a small, tentative smile. "And I am grateful for your company, however unexpected it may be."

Gwayne's smile softened, and he took a step back, giving me space but still holding my gaze with a warm intensity. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be here. Until then, I look forward to the next time our paths cross."

"Me too," I said, feeling a delicate flutter of hope amidst the uncertainty. 

As he took his leave, I watched him walk away, a part of me eager for what might come next, while another part remained gently anchored to the past.

A/n - I'm so fascinated by Dorne I wish there was more we got of it both in HotD and GoT, I also have a whole completed fic written about this oneshot I just need the motivation and energy to post it!

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan @callsign-blue

[13atoms]

The Morning After the Night Before (Declan O'Hara x Reader)

My first Rivals fic! Big shoutout to @stellamarielu and @rivalsispunk, who’s work I wholeheartedly recommend and was, inevitably, inspired by when I decided to join in writing about Declan! <3

Summary:

Bff’s dad!Declan x Younger!Reader

As a friend of Taggie’s from college, you’re invited up to the Priory for the Venturer party. By the next day Taggie and Maud have both vanished, you don’t want to leave Declan alone in that big empty house. [5k words]

Contains: Exposition, feelings, then a bit of smut. Exhibitionist!Declan, big age gap, post!Maud rebound sex, lots of foreplay, Declan is a fiend, 90% exposition, priory!sex

The Priory was quiet the day after Maud left. It was the first day of a new era, of Venturer, rung in with hangovers and that bittersweet feeling of a moment to celebrate passing by unacknowledged.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t go anywhere else. Taggie had invited you up from London for the party, and then promptly been distracted by an MP with a sharp jawline and foul jokes, only to disappear with Seb at the end of the night. With her departure Taggie left you with the sense you were living in a haunted house, filled with Maud’s books and earrings on sidetables and the leftovers from the party to snack on whenever you could bring yourself to eat. Patrick and Caitlin had found friends to crash with. You knew why they couldn’t come back. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t leave.

Sometime in the early afternoon you had heard movement upstairs, and made yourself scarce, hiding in the lounge, tidying what you could and drifting along the spines of the novels which lined the O’Hara’s huge bookshelves. You’d picked up something that could’ve been Maud’s or Declan’s – you weren’t sure. It didn’t look well-worn. You’d been meaning to read The Shining for years, now seemed as good a time as any to sit at the end of the O’Hara’s sofa, and try not to think about what you had seen the night before.

“I didn’t realise you’d be staying.”

A hundred pages had passed before you heard that thick Irish lilt, rich with that kind of blunt hospitality which had to be imported from Dublin. You knew it sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, particularly in this passive-aggressive pocket of privately-educated England. You liked it.

He looked startling similar to the Declan O’Hara you were used to watching on TV. Not much like the Declan O’Hara who would pick Taggie up from club nights and sleepovers, waving with a sly, knowing smile from the car and asking if you’d be able to get home safely.

“Taggie invited me for the long weekend, but…”

You gestured around with the book at his empty living room. His empty house. There were streamers stuck in the rafters, too high up for you to grab and shove into a bin liner.

“Apologies for my daughter’s lack of hospitality,” he sighed, and sat down heavily in the armchair adjacent to your sofa, face in his hands for a moment.

He rubbed the skin of his forehead aggressively, and when he looked away his face was marked red, his hair thrown into chaos.

“That’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be back. The quiet is nice, after last night.”

Declan hummed, and spread his arms along the back of the chair, reclining. For once, spreading out didn’t make him look any bigger. He was wearing jeans and a smart white shirt, but it obviously hadn’t been ironed.

“You’re reading Stephen King?”

“Oh,” you closed the book around your fingers, showing him the cover, though he already knew, “yeah. A borrowed copy, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Please, borrow or eat or steal whatever takes your fancy. It’s the least I can do to make up for this shitshow. And my daughter’s forgetfulness…”

You chuckled, and looked anywhere but Declan. He had such an intense gaze, you wondered how anyone stood their own against him across an interview stage.

“It’s really fine. I’m glad she seems happy, or at least excited…”

Declan huffed, stared at the ceiling, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. His hands came together and met his lips like a prayer.

“Have you read The Shining?” You asked quickly.

He was a master of awkwardness, and of silence and question evasion, but you didn’t want to pressure Declan in his own home. If he were one of your friends, you’d already be crushing him in your arms, letting him break down against you in the fiercest hug you could imagine. Instead, he was Taggie’s dad, who you’d never been able to bear to look at too closely, and watched obsessively whenever he appeared on television. You’d even watched him judge a pagent, for God’s sake, crammed around a kitchen table with your housemates complaining and a VHS Taggie had sent whirring away in the player.

You felt a swoop of pride when he perked up at your question, a glint of white teeth visible as he leaned forwards to take the book from your hands, your page number lost. You’d find it again later, in exchange for that dry brush of his fingers against yours. Declan flicked through the pages, eyes moving quickly.

“I have. That’s my copy, in fact. I don’t think the girls ever ended up reading it.”

Something on the page caught his attention, and he hummed as he skimmed the prose.

“Oh, room 217, gives me the shivers even now,” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you frowned, tilting your head.

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say anything. He has a lovely time in room 217.”

He was joking, and you laughed to be polite. Declan looked drained. Exhausted, hungover, sad.

“Can’t wait,” you replied dryly, as Declan dropped the book onto the coffee table between you.

“I had to stop reading it in bed,” he admitted, glancing from side to side, as though his secrets might be revealed to some unwanted intruder, “I started waking Maud up, talking in my sleep about a ghost in the room.”

You laughed, again it was because Declan wanted you to – wanted to keep the mood light – but you never quite found the right pitch and volume. Maud. He seemed to remember then, talking about her, what had happened.

“I’m sorry you had to see that fiasco yesterday,” he had shifted his voice, and become formal again, like he was introducing his show.

You remembered his falling face, Maud telling him to beg, bag in hand. You remembered Taggie, putting on a mask after the tears had fallen, and the hollow way she imitated the cheeky eyebrow raise you’d exchange over schoolgirl crushes and flirting in clubs, before she sought out a man old enough to be her father. She’d been crushed.

“No, it’s… don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t need to say what for. He shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling. The house was so, so quiet. Declan’s breathing was quiet, but you could see how laboured it was in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you think she’ll come back, after rehearsals?” you dared to ask.

“I don’t think she’ll come back after the run’s done, to be honest.”

There wasn’t anything to say. You looked up at the fireplace, ancient and beautiful. In the long centuries the house had stood, you wondered if it had seen any sadder sight than this.

“She’s a fucking star!” he announced, voice too loud and his hands flying up, up, before crashing back to his thighs.

You froze, watching him cautiously. He cleared his throat, and made fleeting eye contact as he glanced at you, suddenly appearing sheepish.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

You murmured that it was fine, but in truth you had no idea if you actually said anything. Declan was panting. Tears or rage seemed equally likely, and he looked at you beseechingly. You wished there was anything you could do to answer him. To help him. The silence went on for longer than you wanted, but there was nothing to say. What could you offer?

Not that ‘there would be others.’

Not that ‘she never deserved him’, handsome and sharp and so, so damn principled it made you ashamed.

He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could see it, the muscles flaring and thinning. Your heart pounded in sympathy, something hot and nauseating darting around your stomach, and when his eyes met your sympathetic gaze, you couldn’t bear it. You watched the floor by his feet.

“I knew she was cheating on me. This time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

Declan sighed, and rolled his head, stretching out his neck. You wondered if he’d been drinking, if he was still drunk. You could smell him, aftershave and sweat, but no whiskey. His eyes were clear and sharp, there was something so controlled about him. He was always in control of the frantic chaos around him. Action and madness had always circled around Declan.

“I’m just sorry for the girls. They deserve better than a father who can’t keep their mother. Or a job. Or a house,” he laughed hollowly, and fell back into his sofa again, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Mr O’Hara…”

He smirked at you from where he was collapsed, a twitch of his upper lip hidden by his moustache. You could really see his amusement in his eyes, sparkling. You thought of evenings spent at their London house, Declan making the family roar with laughter over a takeaway while Maud was elsewhere. He was always doing something, when he was with his kids. Inventing clever games and telling stories and beating you all at cards. He was a man in control of every room he entered.

“Please don’t sound like you work for me.”

“Sorry,” you teased back, “but don’t half those people last night work for you now?”

He groaned, head in hands, but it was teasing this time. You knew he was joking. Declan kept his eyes uncovered, checking your reaction.

“Christ knows. I’ve no idea who does and doesn’t. Maybe I work for them? It’s all on my head if it goes tits up, though. That’s the main thing.”

“That doesn’t sound stressful at all,” you collapsed a bit in sympathy, pressing your face to your forearm, laying against the arm of the sofa.

“No,” he groaned, “selfish as it is to say, a runaway wife is the last thing I need right now.”

“At least she’ll be happy,” you ventured, and froze as his stare fixed on you, heart catching in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you rambled, “as in, she’s doing what she loves. Not… not that you made her…”

He stayed quiet, and watched you. It was a poor thing to say and a misstep and suddenly you froze. You’d overstepped, lying on his sofa and reading his books and joking with him like he wasn’t Taggie’s bad.

“I just meant, it might be easier, not worrying so much. That she’s making her own choices, and you’re not to blame for whether she’s happy.”

“Maybe I did make her unhappy.”

“Declan…”

He ignored your plea, his gaze fixed firmly on you, warm and intense and melted-chocolate brown. It was far too much, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“I thought we were doing well. Not, well, per se, but well enough. Well enough that she wouldn’t leave me for London the first chance she got.”

You had no idea what to say. You let him speak.

“Everyone else in this fucking town seems to cheat at their heart’s content – God knows Corinium has herpes in the sofa cushions – and yet… I thought she wouldn’t. They all seem to pretend to be happily married, but my crime? Working too much? With the rate Maud burns through money, there’s no other choice. Venturer was all so I could finally stop being at someone else’s beck and call. She’d have supported that, back then. When we first met.”

When Declan stopped speaking, and let the room fall into uncomfortable silence, you realised you could hear your own heartbeat. It was pounding in your ears. Your pulse was thumping in your throat, and it hurt where your chin dug into your arm. The Priory was old and thick-walled and it absorbed all sound, so the quiet between you was absolute.

It wasn’t right, or any O’Hara home to be quiet. They were the loudest family you’d ever heard.

Finally, when it seemed like Declan was never going to speak again, you could bear to look at him again. He was still staring, but you weren’t sure he’d realised you were in the room. He looked so morose; you couldn’t bear it.

“I think Maud might never have been happy here. No matter what you did. If all she wanted was to be on-stage, what else can replace that?”

“She wants attention,” Declan sighed, “that’s what Maud’s always wanted. To be adored. Maybe she didn’t feel adored enough.”

“I think a lot of women would feel lucky, I mean, watching you with Maud… it was obvious how you felt for her.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, and rest his head against the arm of the oversized armchair, mirroring you.

“I’ve often wondered if she needs too much for any one man to give,” he speculated, the gentle rhythm of light-hearted teasing was back in his voice.

You were surprised to realise how much you’d missed it. Still, you weren’t sure what to say.

“She needs hundreds,” he continued, “fawning over her every night, cheering and throwing flowers. And maybe someone to watch her in the odd play as well.”

You laughed, sincerely this time, and it made Declan laugh too.

“God, that’s terrible,” you played at scolding, but had no heart for it.

Declan was smiling, indulgently, watching you sideways with half of his face pressed into his armrest and forearm. He was flexing his hand out absentmindedly.

“True, though,” he scoffed, “I always wondered what you must have thought, when you girls got all dressed up to go out and Maud showed up, all miniskirts and cleavage. You must’ve thought she was a nutter, trying to outdress her own daughters.”

“I actually asked her if she wanted to come out with us once,” you remembered fondly, “I was sure Taggie was about to murder me with a curling iron.”

Declan chuckled. Lethargic and curled up on an armchair, the fierceness of two decades in entertainment melted off him. You could see his frownlines when he raised his eyebrows to listen to you, but they soon smoothed again. Was this how he had looked when Maud first met him, gentle, relaxed?

“I was always glad she had you,” Declan admitted, “I was glad to see you, on the nights you’d all go out together. Knew that meant there’d be someone to look out for her.”

Something had changed, and he was talking to you as a peer. Dissecting a time when you’d been younger, known less. Maybe seeing his wife walk out on him qualified you to speak on equal terms.

“I think Taggie’s the most sensible person I know, I’m not sure she ever needed me.”

Declan sighed, and gestured into thin air, and you remembered how the two of you had ended up alone in the house. The hours of tears over Rupert Campbell Black, a small fortune in phone bills that Declan had paid silently, as penance for bringing his family to the Cotswolds.

“She’s got a good heart. Not sure I’d say sensible.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew Declan adored his kids above all else.

“With their genetics, I’m afraid all of them were going to end up brash. Emotional.”

“Clever, though. And kind. Isn’t that what matters?” you weren’t talking about Maud, and Declan knew it.

“They’re already better people than we ever were,” was all he offered.

You had been completely enraptured by their new house when you visited, and privately fascinated by the ‘countryside’ version of Declan. You had hoped he’d be less stressed, but from what you’d gleaned about his business ventures, nothing could be further from the truth. Nonetheless, there was something different about him.

About how he watched you.

Something self-assured, despite Maud and his kids abandoning the house. Perhaps it was your imagination, but it looked as though Declan was trying to work something out.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“Hang out with you, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

You remained silent. Declan read people for a living, and he knew that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“I suppose I’m meant to wait for her to come back,” he sighed, “and beg again, perhaps. Try not to catch crabs off whatever actor she’s under.”

You couldn’t help it – you winced.

“Sorry – I shouldn’t say shit like that. Tag would tell me off. I just… I’m not sure how many more times I can take it. It’s humiliating. Pathetic.”

“You’re taking the high road, I suppose…”

“Ah, fuck the high road!” he interrupted you, and threw his head back against the back of the sofa, “I’m tired of the sodding high road. There’s no one there, at the end of it, saying ‘congratulations on keeping your wedding vows while your wife fucked another man’. I know Maud. She’ll fuck around in London, and if it goes badly she’ll crawl back, and mope until she finds another ‘casting agent’ to fuck. If it goes well, I’ll never see her again, and if Venturer ever makes a profit she’ll divorce me to get it.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and when Declan’s brown eyes met yours past the forearm he’d thrown over his face, you realised his eyes were glassy.

“Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear all that. Christ.”

“No, I… I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Declan… I can’t imagine.”

“Do you know what isn’t fair? What really isn’t fair? For all that talk about being abandoned and lonely and bored, I’d come back after work, or sneak back on my lunch break, and it was always ‘not now, Declan’. Every single time. ‘Neglected’ my arse.”

When you froze, it felt like a prey instinct. Declan was talking about his sex life. To you. His lack of a sex life. Christ. The way Taggie complained about her parents, you’d imagined something very different from Declan. You’d imagined Declan a lot, in fact.

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

You weren’t sure if it was your swearing, or your sentiment, but Declan’s face cracked into a grin.

“You’re telling me!”

“God, if I had a man in my gorgeous house, sneaking back on his lunch breaks…” you broke off with a laugh, and looked anywhere but Declan.

“You’d what?”

Was he closer? Declan’s voice was serious, and you had to glance towards him to realise he’d leant forwards, elbows on his knees.

“I’d take every chance I could get,” you finished quietly, and the words seemed to linger in the room forever.

“Atta girl,” Declan murmured.

Fuck. You could hear the shifting of his clothes as he fidgeted in his seat.

For a long time, you remained in silence, wondering if the heat you felt would suddenly dissipate. The air had become molasses thick, and you couldn’t look at Declan. He wasn’t far away, a few feet, when he leant forwards. Finally he slumped back into his armchair, legs spread obscenely far apart.

“Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

You wanted to laugh. In disbelief. In embarrassment. Your clothes felt too tight against your heated skin. Instead, you murmured a no.

“Good. Not a damn man in London good enough for ya.”

The silence played out a little longer. You wondered whether Declan cared about fidelity at all. If he was going to move at all. For a while you just watched him. Forced yourself not to look down, top see if he was as turned on as you felt. It was obscene, how exhaustion and stress and misery still couldn’t hamper his good looks.

There was something more than look about Declan, though. Something in his mannerism. The intensity he watched you with. The way he catalogued every little time you’d interacted. The way he was letting his eyes sweep across you, his gaze hot and searching.

“I don’t want you to regret this, I’m not…” he began.

“I know what a rebound is.”

Your voice was so hollow, it turned bitter, and surprised you. His lust-drunk eyes widened suddenly, and the tension returned to his face. You could feel your own body respond, growing tenser, startled.

“I don’t know what you take me for, sweetheart, but I’m a damn sight older than the boys you’re used to. I wouldn’t know how to ‘play games’ if I tried. I swear. This is the first chance I’ve had to fuck you, and if you’ll let me take it, you’ll have a good time. I promise, the greatest thing about you is that you’re not my wife.”

He paused for breath, and seemed to struggle for a moment. You noticed his hand gripping his thigh, stopping it from shaking.

“You’re kind, and patient, and you listen to me, and you’ve read bloody Stephen King from my bookshelf without me begging you to care about what I care about.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gorgeous. As soon as Taggie brought you here, I knew you’d ruin my fucking life. You used to ask me how every show went, do you remember? Back at the BBC? Not even my damn wife did that.”

He held a hand out for you, but you weren’t sure what to do with it once you took it. Fingers entwined, you climbed onto his armchair, straddling his lap. Declan groaned, and latched onto the exposed column of your neck, his free hand enormous as it found your waist.

“Oh, your ego likes me? Is that it?”

“Him too,” Declan murmured, and shifted, so that you suddenly realised you could feel him, hard against the crotch of your jeans.

“You’re too young for me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Who cares?”

He laughed, and you knew it was what he’d wanted to hear. Declan pulled more of your weight onto him until you were practically crushing him, thighs on thighs and chest to chest, and then he kept squeezing until his closeness began to hurt.

You rolled your hips and ground down against his lap, hoping to distract him, and Declan groaned, bassy and gorgeous.

“Tag can never know,” you breathed, and felt Declan’s hand move further up your torso in response, clutching the underside of your breast.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

When you wrapped both hands around his face and detached him from the underside of your jaw, Declan only released with a grotesque, went smack. You missed the feel of his tongue, skin chilled where his mouth had been, but it was far more important to pull him to your lips. He went willingly, head heavy in your control, looking up at you with glazed hazelnut eyes.

Declan groaned when he kissed you, matching his hands to your face as he took control.

“Do you know how fucking glad I was to see you yesterday?” he groaned against your lips, migrating across your face until he could return to the sensitive join of your jawline and neck, “and I couldn’t even admit to myself why. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Honourable,” you mumbled, “I think it’s honourable.”

His hands were back on your body, groping until he could shove your bra up, pinching at your nipples through your clothes.

“You’re not gonna think I’m very honourable after tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

You were grinding on Declan, desperate for the flashes of friction you could find against the seam of your jeans. He kept getting distracted, groaning when you found an angle he could feel.

“Think I might make you cry, I wanna see if I can make you tell me to stop. You ever been eaten out?”

When you didn’t respond, he squeezed your breast hard, making you yelp. You could feel the jolt from the pain between your legs. He cooed as he rubbed the pain away.

“Sorry baby, didn’t realise you were so sensitive,” he was mocking you, and it was making your entire body thrum.

A laugh shuddered from you, and Declan finally slid a huge, warm palm beneath your shirt and across your stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs, and we can get these clothes off, hm? Unless you want people to see.”

He slid a hand to the back of your neck, just firm enough to keep you facing down towards him. With his other hand, he began pulling your shirt up, until it was peaking above the mess he’d made of your bra, flesh spilling out obscenely.

“You’re right opposite the window, you know love, that big driveway. Anyone could be coming up to the house… and see you like this. All mine.”

Even lust-addled, you gasped, and tried to look up, but Declan’s grip on your neck stopped you, forcing you to stare down at him.

“You want me to make you cum here, right in from of anyone? In front of Tony? Or Rupert? The postman? My wife might walk back in right now…”

“No!” you gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of him kneading at your exposed breasts, your bra cutting a tight line across them, “please, Declan…”

“You’re sure? I don’t care,” he told you, glib, as he toyed with whether he could reach his mouth to your nipples, a wet tongue snaking across your skin.

“Declan!”

Finally, you wriggled away, and he gave up the moment you resisted him. You glanced up at the gravel driveway, exhaling shakily at finding it empty. Declan was chuckling to himself, pulling your torso closer again so he could mouth at your flesh.

“I did ask if you wanted to go upstairs, I think you were distracted.”

Finally, you could bring yourself to laugh breathily, pulling your shirt down despite Declan’s wandering hands fighting you.

“Upstairs!” you demanded, and pulled Declan to his feet.

He was walking differently, from how hard he was, and you palmed over his crotch, desperate to feel him. Declan groaned, and reluctantly tugged your hand away, adjusting himself.

“Before you get too mad at me,” he returned to your neck, and spun you in front of him, forearms bracing across your chest and stomach, forcing him against you.

You realised then he was framing you against a mirror, forcing you to look at how ravaged the pair of you looked. And the clear view Declan had of the driveway behind you.

“You’re a bastard, Mr O’Hara.”

Declan laughed, but you could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the gulp which moved his Adam’s apple.

“I told you you’d say that.”

“I’d assumed for better reasons than that,” you teased.

You wrapped your fingers around his belt, and began moving the leather to undo the buckle. Declan groaned and it caught in the back of his throat, rising to a whimper.

“C’mon, old man. You’ve made me some big promises.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep them,” he admitted, “if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s okay,” you ran your hands along the inside of his waistband, feeling his stomach muscles twitch at the contact. “I know it’s been a while. How about you put that silver tongue to use first, yeah?”

“Christ,” Declan groaned, as you finally undid his fly. You stroked across the fabric of his underwear, and Declan threw his head back. His eyes were clenched shut, and his wandering hands had finally fallen to his sides.

“Do you think you’ll make it up the stairs?” you teased, “or should I just go up and finish this off on my own?”

Finally, he opened his eyes, and encircled your wrist with his fingers, pulling you away from him.

“Don’t say shit like that, love,” he went for your ear again, teeth grazing the skin and his lips salving where he’d been, “I’ve imagined that enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh yeah?”

You drifted your hand across his shaft one more time, and Declan let you, loosening his grip on your wrist.

“Come on then,” you teased, and took off.

He was slow, slower in his current state, but you let him chase you, up the stairs and across the landing, his breathless, deep laugh following you as he gave pursuit.

“I’m not that old,” he insisted, as he finally caught you on the upstairs landing, wrapping his arms around you from behind and briefly pulling you from the ground.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re really making me work for this,” Declan growled, sliding a hand down the front of your jeans. You laughed, safe in his grasp.

“I was just worried we’d never get up those fucking stairs.”

He chuckled, and pulled you against the bannisters, fighting with the button of your jeans. You laughed, and let him struggle, until the moment he succeeded, and his fingers met your clit, slippery and swollen.

“Please, just pick a room,” you begged.

“C’mon, love. Give me one here.”

You realised his gaze was out, across the fields, on the path where any one of the bastards in this village might see the pair of you. They wouldn’t, of course, but that was far from the point.

“Declan!”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Make it quick,” you conceded, and gasped as he let his finger slip fast over your clit. You could see the bliss on his face in the reflection of the window.

“That’s up to you, love. Think you can be good for me?”

“You’re the one,” you gasped, as he changed pressure again, experimenting, “you’re the one fingering me, Declan.”

He kissed you, suddenly, sweetly, on the cheek, fingers still working quickly over your clit. Despite the pressure building in between your hips, you laughed.

“What?” you asked him, catching him grinning to himself in the glass.

“I can’t believe I just heard you say that.”

[suugarbabe]

Lovely lovely Sab, I have another thought for you 🫡

Imagine kind, loving, sweet Enzo getting super pissed and lashing out at Snape in class after he's said something really mean to reader. And Snape's actual low key scared because we all know sweet Enzo is the actual psycho of the group and his quite, direct anger is terrifying coming from someone so sunshine-esque ✌️

Enjoy the day dream love, and happy belated new year 😘

hi keke my love my darling i love you. I struggled a liiiiittle with how to make enzo seem psycho but also not too far from how i normally write him so i did kind of go for like a threatening menacing psycho versus physical violence towards a professor. i hope this is good enough if not please tell me i suck <3

Lip held between teeth your do your best to continue concentrating on the order you're supposed to add your ingredients. Potions was your worst class. Not for lack of knowledge; or even lack of ability. Outside of the classroom you would almost be labeled of proficient, rivaling even that of Blaise Zabini.

But in the potions classroom you might as well be a squib. What was the difference you ask? That would be one Professor Severus Snape. He glides in front of your and Enzo's table just as you're adding the infusion of wormwood. You knew this particular potion called for four shakes exactly. Any more and there would be an explosion of smoke.

Snape's piercing black eyes watching you had your hands shaking. Enzo's placed his hand on the small of your back in a soothing gesture, trying silently to help you stay focused, to breathe. But Snape continued to watch. Each agonizingly slow shake you made his eyebrow rose higher, a low humming noise in the back of his throat.

And it's that noise that has you losing count of how many shakes you've already added, leading to you adding just one too many. You can see the potion start to turn the wrong color, and the top begin to bubble in the wrong way. Enzo has a grip on the back of your robes like he's about to pull you down under the table for protection.

But Snape is quick to correct your mistake more as a means to not have to clean his classroom, or his robes, because of your error than really any care for you. "You're lucky I knew you'd fail. If I weren't prepared your mistake would've destroyed part of my classroom," Snape looked down his long crooked nose with a look of disdain. "I should deduct house points for your incompetency. A sure disgrace to the pureblood you're supposed to be."

Enzo's hand on your back quickly fisted the material. A surefire sign he was angry. "Careful how you talk to them, professor. They're technically ranked higher than you in society, isn't that what you believe?" Enzo's tone wasn't loud. Purposely not drawing attention to anyone else in the class who were still working diligently as to not be Snape's next victims.

Snape straightened at Enzo's statement, hands still behind his back as though he were not truly bothered by the teenager in front of him but there was no missing the flair in his nostrils, "I have no knowledge of what you mean, Berkshire. But if I were you, I'd watch how you talk to a professor."

Enzo's head tilted slightly, a smirk of a grin forming on his lips that you only ever see when he's going to go for a kill. "Well you're a half blood, aren't you professor?" Enzo's biting his lip as his grin is growing; Snape is glowering. "Wouldn't that make you...below them?"

Snape slams his hands down on the table in front of you, causing you to jump back slightly and a few others to look your way. "Eye's on your own cauldrons," Snape spat, everyone's heads quickly turned back to their own work.

He leaned in closer towards Enzo, a raging whisper spitting from his lips as he spoke, "How dare you speak to me that way, boy. Do you forget who I am?"

You've not seen it personally too many times, but you've heard about it from Mattheo and Theo. The switch that sometimes flips within Enzo when he's getting angry. Around you he's usually good at controlling it. But for some reason Snape must have struck a nerve.

The switch was palpable in the air, in his energy that shifted. Enzo placed his hands on the table opposite his professor, leaning forward to shorten the distance. Even though it was a whisper, his voice was still coated in the thickness of what seemed like a threat, "Do you forget who I am? I've seen you at those meetings professor."

A snarl overtook Snape's features, "You don't know what you are talking about, boy." Enzo let out a low laugh, eyes casting down to the table as his tongue ran over his teeth with a smile, "Oh I know exactly what I'm talking about, Professor. I know more than you think; am being taught more than you think. You created a spell when you were a student, didn't you?"

Snape stayed silent, eyes darting back and forth with Enzo's who's seemed to get darker by the moment. "Curious to find out what spells I've come up with? Wonder if they're just as...dangerous."

"Enz!" you whisper shouted through your teeth, "did you just threaten a professor?" You were getting nervous, but Enzo never appeared more confident than in this moment. He picked up some extra ingredients in his hands, "Don't worry love, nothings going to happen. Snape here is actually going to excuse us early from class."

"And why...would I do that," Snape was doing a poor job at keeping his composure, arms now crossed as he responded through gritted teeth. Enzo dropped the billywig wings into the cauldron, "Because in about twenty seconds that little...mistake of mine is going to coat anyone within a five foot radius in sticky black smoke. So we're going to have to leave early to change for our next course."

By time he finished speaking the potion began bubbling once more, Snape hurrying to back away as Enzo held you still in place. With a loud pop and a few laughs from peers you and Enzo now found yourselves coated in a thin black sludge.

"Eugh, gross," you shook your hands towards the floor, plops of essence of your potion hitting the dungeon floor with a splatting noise. Enzo simply wore a devilish grin, keeping a challenging eye contact with the professor.

Snape pointed a long and boney finger towards the door, "Out! The both of you. Go clean yourselves up and get out of my sight at once!" You nodded your head quickly, still intimidated to speak. Enzo just gave a curt nod, still smiling, "Of course, Professor."

[genderqueerdykes]

TW: Transphobia, intentional misgendering/mentions of abuse, gaslighting, and generally gross behavior. You asked for experiences from transmasc people, so, here I am. I'm a transmasc person. Still figuring out what kind of person that is, but... I'm transmasc, which is what matters here. I've been told a LOT of harmful things in the community, both from abusers and from friends(who I no longer talk to). This is my experience. My first real experience with all of this was from a shitty ex, who at that point controlled my life and had identified as bi since he was 12. He denied me the ability to transition (I couldn't drive myself to the doctor and had no money to pay for more than the prescription), saying that I would turn into a monster and break up with him, abuse him, become violent, etc. He pressured me into using she/her pronouns along with he/they. I used genderfluid transmasc at the time as my labels, and he used this as an excuse to proudly call me "his wife in training", saying that because I didn't bind half the time, I was practically a woman. I'm now in therapy because while the term genderfluid fits, I legitimately get panicked when I try to use it because not only did he use it against me, but people used it to... detransify me. De-masc me.

Now, I'm a feminine person in some respects. I like a good accessory and bright colors and cute things. But because I wasn't performing hypermasculinity to become "a true man", people used genderfluid as a term to say "Well, clearly you're fine with female pronouns and terms because you wear earrings/paint your nails, and genderfluid falls in the scale of woman, so I'll just call you woman." People used the term so often to de-transify me, ESPECIALLY in the community.

When out and about, it does not matter if I have he/him or they/them pins on- people, even queer people, CONSISTENTLY read me as transfeminine even though I'm the opposite. I love trans women, but that's not what I am- and to be agressively labeled female by people who mean well and aggressively labeled male in a "you're just a monster masquerading as a female" way from strangers who are transphobic feels like absolute dogshit.

I'm nervous about top surgery sometime this year or next year. I want to keep a little bit of my chest, because I'm a larger person- but I'm legitimately worried my doctor will go against my wishes and give me a bird chest or carve out too much. I want top surgery not only because it will make me feel more like myself, but because my stupid chest is what EVERYONE points to- queer or non- and says that "but you have that, shouldn't you enjoy it?"

Being labeled a faker, a potential monster in the making, as someone who's just confused, and worst of all, being labeled as someone who didn't know what my own label meant... it's worn me down. I'm not sure what to do with myself, and am in gender therapy to unpack the trauma of what other people have placed onto me, both queer and cishet alike. I have quite a few understanding, loving friends in the community- but there have been just as many people who haven't understood and try to fit me into a box until I bled.

This stuff isn't just "oh silly transmasc! That's part of the experience! You just have to deal with it!" I don't, actually. And I refuse to. I refuse to give up the things I love for other people's assumptions of my body, label or identity. Even if it hurts to fight back, I'm tired of letting transphobes inside and outside our community harm me based on what THEY think I should be. This is my story. Sorry if it's bleak, but... that's the truth. I hope it helps others see that blaming us for all the harm the community faces, and making us into your blank dolls to play with, breaks us. It's awful. Please, treat us better. We deserve better. We always have.

Thank you for letting us share our stories.

thank you for taking the time to type this out and share, i really appreciate it. this is very insightful and important. i can't believe how awful people are to you. that shouldn't be happening. i don't want to take away from your story so i'll keep it brief

people, even queer people, CONSISTENTLY read me as transfeminine even though I'm the opposite. I love trans women, but that's not what I am- and to be agressively labeled female by people who mean well and aggressively labeled male in a "you're just a monster masquerading as a female" way from strangers who are transphobic feels like absolute dogshit.

this happens so often. this is what i mean when i say that trans men and mascs are also affected by transmisogyny. many people mistake trans men and mascs for trans women and transfems. it's a real thing and we need to acknowledge it.

[zylokv]

CIGARETTES AFTER... — park jhyo

❝ you’ve got me exactly where you want me, don’t you? ❞

synopsis — a chance collaboration with jihyo leads to more than just chart-topping hits. between late-night studio sessions, unspoken tensions, and a celebration that turns unexpectedly intimate, the lines between professional and personal begin to blur

word count ! — 2.3k

— park jihyo x reader !

genre — oneshot.

the room was dimly lit, the faint hum of the air conditioning barely masking the quiet anticipation that lingered in the air. as you stepped inside, the sharp scent of polished wood and freshly brewed coffee greeted you. jihyo stood near the grand piano, her posture relaxed yet poised, a small notebook cradled in her hands. she glanced up at you with a welcoming smile, her presence radiant without trying too hard.

"you made it," she said, her voice carrying warmth and ease, like you’d known each other for years.

you shrugged, pulling the strap of your bag off your shoulder and setting it down on a nearby chair. "couldn't exactly say no when the jihyo asked for a collaboration," you replied, your tone teasing yet sincere.

her laugh was soft, a little shy, but it carried the kind of confidence that came with knowing she deserved the compliment. "flattery works, but i’m hoping your skills do too."

you chuckled, pulling out your laptop and a pack of cigarettes from your bag. glancing at the ‘no smoking’ sign on the wall, you slipped the pack back into your pocket, but not before jihyo noticed. her lips quirked into a faint smirk.

"bad habit?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"occupational hazard," you replied, settling into the chair across from her. "helps me think."

jihyo nodded, setting her notebook down on the piano and taking a seat beside it. "so, you listened to the demo?"

"yeah," you said, opening your laptop and scrolling through your notes. "it’s good—great, actually. but i think we can push it further. make it... rawer."

"rawer?" she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly. "how so?"

you leaned back, studying her. "the lyrics— they’re personal, right? i can hear it in your voice. but the production? it’s too clean. too polished. if we strip it down, let your voice carry the weight, it’ll hit harder."

jihyo was quiet for a moment, her eyes locked on yours as she processed your words. then, she nodded slowly. "i see what you mean. but... being that vulnerable? it’s a little intimidating."

"it’s what makes it real," you said, your voice low and steady. "people want to feel like you’re singing to them, about them. give them that, and they’ll never forget it."

she smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips. "you’re good at this."

"i try," you replied with a smirk. "so, let’s hear what you’ve got so far."

jihyo moved to the piano, her fingers brushing over the keys before she began to play. her voice filled the room, rich and emotive, each note carrying a weight that made you stop and really listen. she sang with a vulnerability that was rare in this industry, and for a moment, you were completely caught up in the sound.

when she finished, the room fell into a thick silence, the kind that only follows something extraordinary.

"damn," you said finally, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "you weren’t kidding about this being personal."

jihyo laughed softly, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "yeah, well... it’s kind of terrifying to put it out there."

"that’s how you know it’s good," you said, standing up and moving toward the piano. "but let’s work on the arrangement. the melody’s strong, but i think we can strip it back even more."

the two of you spent the next few hours tweaking the song, your ideas bouncing off each other in an easy rhythm. jihyo was sharp, quick to pick up on your suggestions and add her own twist. it was rare to find an artist who was not only talented but also collaborative, and you couldn’t help but admire her even more for it.

at one point, you stepped outside for a quick smoke break, needing a moment to clear your head. the night air was cool against your skin as you lit a cigarette, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating your face. you took a slow drag, the nicotine settling your nerves, before exhaling a plume of smoke into the dark.

"thought you might’ve bailed," jihyo’s voice came from behind you.

you turned to see her standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a playful smile on her lips. "needed a minute," you said, holding up the cigarette. "bad habit, remember?"

"so you keep saying," she replied, stepping closer. "but i have to admit, you’ve got a certain... charm about you."

"charm?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. "coming from you, that’s saying something."

jihyo laughed, the sound soft and melodic. "don’t let it go to your head."

"too late," you said with a grin, taking another drag before stubbing out the cigarette on the wall. "ready to get back to it?"

"always," she said, her eyes meeting yours briefly before she turned and headed back inside.

as the night wore on, the atmosphere in the studio shifted. the professional boundaries blurred ever so slightly, the late hour and shared laughter creating a quiet intimacy. jihyo’s guard slipped just enough for you to catch glimpses of the woman behind the idol—the one who was just as passionate and driven as you were.

by the time you wrapped up the session, the song had transformed into something raw and powerful, a reflection of the connection you’d built over the course of the night. as jihyo gathered her things, she turned to you with a small, grateful smile.

"thanks for pushing me," she said softly. "i think this might be the best thing i’ve ever worked on."

"that makes two of us," you replied, your voice equally low. "same time tomorrow?"

she nodded, her eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "yeah. see you then."

as you watched her walk out of the studio, a faint smile tugging at your lips, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger—both professionally and personally.

-----

the studio became your second home over the next few weeks. every day brought a new dynamic between you and jihyo—playful teasing, heated debates over arrangements, and those rare moments of unspoken understanding when the music seemed to create itself. despite the long hours, neither of you ever seemed to tire of the process. it felt more like art than work, and with jihyo, the energy was infectious.

she was a perfectionist, often caught pacing the room or scribbling new ideas in her notebook while humming under her breath. but there was also the side of her that laughed loudly at your terrible jokes or playfully scolded you when you teased her about a missed note.

“you’re worse than the trainers,” she huffed one evening, plopping down on the couch beside you. she crossed her arms, a mock pout on her lips, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

“you hired me for my ears, not my tact,” you shot back, leaning back with a smug grin. “besides, someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“oh, and you think that’s you?” she challenged, sitting up straighter, her gaze narrowing.

“i know it is,” you replied smoothly, holding her gaze. the tension lingered for a beat too long, and she looked away, laughing softly to break the moment.

“you’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head, but her smile remained.

-----

on the day of her solo pre-release, jihyo was a ball of energy. she flitted around the studio, double-checking mixes and fussing over the smallest details. you watched her from the corner of the room, cigarette perched between your fingers, the faint haze of smoke curling upward.

“do you ever stop with that?” she asked, pointing at the cigarette as she crossed her arms.

“do you ever stop worrying?” you countered, taking a slow drag before stubbing it out. “the track’s perfect, jihyo. you’ve done everything you can.”

she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i know. it’s just... what if it doesn’t connect? what if i—”

“hey,” you interrupted, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of her. “it’s going to connect. because it’s real, and it’s you. trust me.”

her eyes softened, and for a moment, the confident leader she usually projected on tv was replaced by someone far more vulnerable. “thanks,” she said quietly. “i needed to hear that.”

“anytime,” you replied, your voice equally soft.

the release was a massive success. jihyo’s solo dominated the charts within hours, her name trending worldwide. the celebration was planned quickly, the members of twice insisting on a gathering at their dorm. you arrived late, your schedule delayed by another session, but the noise and energy of the party hit you the moment you walked through the door.

“finally!” nayeon exclaimed, dragging you into the living room. “we were starting to think you’d bailed.”

“never,” you replied with a grin, glancing around for jihyo. she was by the drinks table, chatting animatedly with momo and sana, a glass of wine in hand. her eyes met yours across the room, and her smile brightened in a way that made your chest tighten.

“you’ve got competition,” nayeon teased, following your gaze. “jihyo’s been talking about you non-stop.”

“noted,” you said, smirking as you made your way toward her.

jihyo greeted you with a raised glass, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and excitement. “look who decided to show up!” she said, her tone teasing but warm.

“had to make an entrance,” you replied, handing her the small gift you’d picked up on your way. “for the star of the night.”

she opened it eagerly, revealing a personalized notebook with her name embossed on the cover. “you didn’t have to,” she said, her smile softening as she ran her fingers over the cover.

“i wanted to,” you replied simply.

-----

the celebration had been a roaring success, laughter echoing through the walls of the private venue. twice’s voices carried energy and excitement, jihyo at the heart of it all, glowing with pride from her successful solo debut. you had stayed by her side most of the night, quietly content with seeing her bask in the recognition she deserved.

but as the party wound down, you both found yourselves stepping out onto the balcony, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the room you’d left behind. jihyo leaned against the railing, her smile softening as she stared out over the twinkling cityscape.

“needed some air?” you asked, your voice low.

“yeah,” she said, turning her head to you. “it’s a lot... in a good way. but still, a lot.”

you pulled out a cigarette from your jacket pocket and lit it, taking a long drag before offering it to her. her eyes flicked to it, hesitating.

“does it help? is that your only guilty pleasure? what else?” she teased, but there was a curiosity in her tone.

“smoking,” you sarcastically replied, taking a drag. “but you already know.”

“besides that,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “something... less self-destructive.”

“you,” the word slipped out before you could stop it, and you saw her freeze for a moment, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink.

“you’re drunk,” she said, but her voice was softer, her eyes not meeting yours.

“not enough to lie,” you replied, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “jihyo, you’re... incredible. on stage, in the studio, here... it’s kind of hard not to notice.”

she looked up at you, her expression unreadable. “you’re bold when you drink,” she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“maybe,” you admitted. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t mean it.”

“jihyo,” you started, but the way she turned to face you fully stopped you mid-sentence. the soft glow of the city lights outlined her features, her expression open but unreadable.

“what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you leaned in, testing the waters with a touch—a hand brushing her waist, your lips ghosting over hers. her breath hitched, and for a split second, you thought she might pull away. but then she leaned in, her hands finding their way to the lapels of your jacket, pulling you closer.

the cigarette fell from your fingers, forgotten as her kiss deepened, her lips soft but urgent against yours. the taste of smoke lingered between you, mingling with the sweetness of her.

the balcony’s quiet became your cocoon, shielding you from the world beyond. her fingers tangled in your hair, your hands gripping her waist, the kiss growing hungrier with every passing moment.

when you finally pulled apart, her chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips slightly swollen. she laughed softly, the sound laced with disbelief and something deeper.

“you’re... something else,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“is that a good thing?” you asked, your voice rougher now.

she didn’t answer, instead pulling you back in for another kiss, her smile pressing against yours.

-----

the air between you two was electric, charged with anticipation. every time your eyes met, a spark seemed to jump between you, igniting something deeper. she was close now, just a breath away, her lips hovering, tempting, as if asking you to bridge the gap.

“you’re killing me with that look,” she murmured, voice low and almost teasing, her hand resting on your chest, fingers tracing the outline of your shirt. it was the smallest of touches, but it sent a wave of heat through you.

you smirked, leaning in slightly, your lips brushing against hers in a soft, slow kiss. the heat of it spread like wildfire, burning through any distance that remained between you. her hands found their way to your neck, pulling you deeper, a subtle command. you responded, matching the urgency in her movements, your hand sliding down her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

the kiss grew hungrier, more intense. each brush of her lips against yours was like a spark, setting off a chain reaction. you both leaned into it, letting the kiss deepen, your lips pressing harder as your bodies drew closer. there was no space left between you, just the undeniable pull that seemed to guide every movement, every touch.

your breath quickened, your hand finding the small of her back, pressing her even closer, your heart racing as the air between you thickened with the promise of more. she gasped against your lips as your fingers trailed down, grazing the curve of her waist, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. her touch was soft but insistent, hands slipping beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the contours of your chest.

“you sure know how to make a girl lose control,” she whispered between kisses, her breath warm against your skin.

you chuckled, the sound low and full of meaning. “maybe I’m just getting started,��� you teased, your voice rough with desire.

her hands slid up to your shoulders, pulling you toward her, closing the distance even further. her lips parted for a moment, as if she was about to say something, but instead, she kissed you again, more deeply this time, her tongue teasing at your lips. you responded immediately, your hand finding its way to her hair, pulling her closer, fingers tangling in the strands as you lost yourself in the kiss.

the room seemed to disappear around you, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the heat of the moment. everything about this felt right—the closeness, the shared desire, the unspoken connection that had been building for so long.

you slowly broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, your foreheads resting together as you both breathed heavily. the silence between you was comfortable, full of promise. she smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips.

“you’ve got me exactly where you want me, don’t you?” she murmured, her fingers trailing along your jawline.

you grinned, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “you have no idea,” you whispered back, your voice thick with anticipation.

-----

later, when the night had melted into the early hours of the morning, you found yourselves tangled together in your room, the aftermath of passion leaving you both breathless. the intimacy lingered as you reached for another cigarette, lighting it with a shaky hand.

jihyo propped herself up on one elbow, watching you. “you really are full of surprises,” she said, her tone teasing but warm.

you exhaled a plume of smoke, offering the cigarette to her once more. this time, she didn’t hesitate. she took it, her lips brushing against your fingers, the act feeling far more intimate than it should have.

the two of you shared the quiet moment, the cigarette passing back and forth as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains. neither of you spoke, the silence filled with an understanding that didn’t need words.

when the cigarette burned down to its final ember, she leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “don’t ever stop surprising me,” she whispered.

“so... this changes things,” she said, her voice raspy.

“only if you want it to,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“i think i do,” she said, leaning in for another kiss.

and with that, the night faded, leaving behind the memory of smoke, laughter, and the beginning of something neither of you could quite name yet. ----

a/n — just jihyo smoking... lol i wrote this last night having been inspired while out with friends.

[theambitiouswoman]

First things first, I love your blog- I started my healing journey a year ago when my breakup opened my eyes. This blog has given me gems throughout my process, so thank you! I want to ask, how do you actively get rid of ego? I'm getting more comfortable with letting go of things that don't serve me, but when it comes to relationships (platonic/romantic) I find it a bit difficult. I hope this makes sense

Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m glad the blog has been helpful for you.

Our ego can lead to negative behaviors like defensiveness, create attachments, control, or fear of loss but it can also plays an essential role in our lives. The ego can also help us establish boundaries, maintain a sense of self and navigate the world confidently. It’s our ego that helps us define our identity, set goals & assert our needs.

The key is balance. The ego becomes problematic when it’s overly dominant or when it leads us to act from a place of fear, pride, or insecurity. But when we recognize and integrate the ego in a healthy way, it can serve as a source of strength, resilience, and motivation. Which is where you want to be, i'm assuming

In relationships, for example, the ego can help us maintain self respect and create healthy boundaries, while also allowing us to be open, vulnerable and compassionate. So, rather than completely letting go of the ego, it’s more so about managing it, so it doesn’t control us.

To work on letting go of the negative ego, we need to become more self aware. Recognize when the negative ego is at play—defensiveness, judgment, or the need for validation—and choose to respond from a place of calm & self compassion. This isn't an easy thing to do from one second to the next. My advice would be to start by catching yourself before reacting, take a step back to process your thoughts and feelings- and then return when you can make a calm decision that is not emotionally charged. Shifting from the attachment of how things should be to acceptance is key. Acceptance is not about accepting whatever is in front of you, you are not a doormat. Acceptance means more about acknowledging the actuality of where you are in the present moment. If you notice most people want to ignore realities, and expect them to change. Versus accepting the reality in order to then be able to make a change.

Focusing on the present moment is also important. The ego pulls us into the past or future, but grounding yourself in the now helps you stay connected to the relationship. Letting go of expectations is essential. The ego thrives on control, but releasing expectations allows relationships to unfold naturally. Forgiveness also plays a big role. Holding onto past hurt keeps the ego in control, but forgiving yourself and others frees you from that hold. Sometimes we think we have fully healed and moved on, but it isn't until we expose ourselves to a similar situation that those unresolved issues pop up again.

Try shifting from focusing on what you don’t have/want to what you do have/want, this helps detach from the ego’s desires.

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Related to our latest posts + some other shorter ones!

thestarlightfae asked:

Hi Ryu! Hi Katsu! Do you two happen to have a timeline for Vil? By timeline, I mean which of his designs correspond with which ages. Thanks!

Hi hi!

It’s kind of vague, to be honest; the only thing that’s been concrete from the start in our posts is that younger Vil probably had shorter hair. And then we usually jump straight to the freshman!Vil, and with him I am kind of inconsistent; my earlier comics and drawings of him have him with pretty much the same hairstyle that he has now (w/o his bun and his crown though), but these days I draw him with shorter hair as well. For some reason, I like this better than freshman!Vil having very long hair…

I also like to think that Vil only started braiding his hair during his 3rd year at NRC, to give himself more of a regal matriarch look?? But that’s just an idea I’m playing with in my head. In fact, I think the best way to describe it would be to imagine Vil having all kinds of haircuts throughout the years because there is no way he wouldn’t want to play around with this. But what I think and what I draw are two different things…

It’s just like with Crewel. I want his younger self to experiment with hairstyles a lot, but always end up drawing the same one lol

Anonymous asked:

ive seen malleus depicted as a shota, i think thats my favorite of the cast to shotafy next to idia. your thoughts?

Honestly, all of them are great, ever since that one ask I keep thinking about shota versions as the next birthday cards theme, it would be so cool lol

But yeah, Malleus’ upbringing was very complicated, and he looks very cute when he is still clearly very young, but already has this air of a prince about him. Not to mention all the potential difficulties growing up as a little dragon ahem………… I think I draw him this way pretty often, but I should do it more lol

I also love drawing Vil and Ortho and the Tweels and Azul and Rook; I think those are the ones I draw the most. Oh! Sebek and Silver as well.

originalblossomer asked:

Hi! I love your art very much! In fact, I love it so much, I registered on Bluesky exclusively to see more of you. I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you. Lots of love!💗💗

Ahhh this is so sweet!! Thank you so much for your kindness!! I hope you keep enjoying my stuff, and I’ll sure as hell keep posting hehe.

Anonymous asked:

Hello! I have to say that, even if i don't really support some of your ideas/ships, i've to admit that your artwork it's simply gorgeous and they inspire me as an artist. My question is, is there any ship that it's just a big no? Or that you find overrated that it just doesn't have any appeal :0?

Thank you so much, Anon! I’m glad that my stuff could inspire you in any way, that’s very cool to hear.

I don’t want anyone to feel bad, so that’s just my personal opinion and I know people who like those pairings follow me, but I really really really don’t care for Leona/Vil and Trey/Jade. There are a lot of Leona ships in general that I don’t really care for, but somehow Leona/Vil squicks even more than Malleus/Leona does.

Anonymous asked:

dont know if this is unpopular but i dont care at all about grim. i love the boys and that's what im there for. grim is a forgettable mascot to me. interested to hear any other takes.

We didn’t really care for Grim at first too, but during our rewatch started to appreciate him more, to be honest. He is not all that bad, and he is kind of cute sometimes.

To be honest, I kind of forget that he and/or Yuu exist a lot of times lol But I like Grim! Especially when he lowers his ears all sadly…

Anonymous asked:

I really love how sharp you draw rook's eyes, very pretty ❤️

Ahh thank you so much!!! <3 I love drawing his eyes! Hehehe

Anonymous asked:

For twst who has piercings and where?

Actually replied here!

Now the art-related asks, starting with the ones about the ADeuce drawing from yesterday:

Anonymous asked:

It look so… peaceful, no sex or anything erotic, only two pal doing homework .… at 2 a.m ?!

Maybe this is why Ace looks so done… he had other plans, but Deuce’s been doing his homework for hours now… it’s so late already and it’s still not over lol

Anonymous asked:

Where the collar? Eh?

THAT’S WHY IT’S TAKING THIS LONG! Poor Deuce is just waiting for Ace to leave so he can put his collar on and finally focus!!

Wow, these two aren’t getting anywhere huh They have a long night ahead of them…

Anonymous asked:

What his skin make of, silicon?

Probably! Very soft one, very pleasant to the touch.

Anonymous asked:

Ortho and Vil are so cute <3 love this little interaction! Ortho has the squishiest cheeks for someone without actual cheeks

Thank you, Anon <3 Ortho absolutely does have the squishiest cheeks! Vil should poke them and squish them as a stress toy lol

Anonymous asked:

OHH RYYYYYYYUUU! That shota jackvil is so GOOD! 💚 and I'm really in love with the way you draw shota Vil 👀💚.

Thank you so much, Anon!! I am happy you like it! <3

Vil is a little charmer lol I love drawing him being a sassy little guy that doesn’t quite fit in with the “normal” boys…

Anonymous asked:

I love how you draw azuls hair, It looks supper fluffy. Like if i were to touch it it would just spring back like memory foam type of fluff.

Thank you so much, Anon!! <3 I feel like I have good and bad days with Azul’s hair… so I am very happy it looks good!

The texture of the memory foam though, this is such a good way to describe it…

Anonymous asked:

Sometime, we don't need sex, just something wholesome like a nerd kiss a crystal star.

Facts.

It’s all about the contrasts…. For now this cute nerd can look wholesome in this outfit <3 For now.

Anonymous asked:

Those armpits.

I have serious problem

You’re not alone, Anon, the stargazer outfit is insane.

Anonymous asked:

That one hell goddess!!

If that was the goddess of Hell… I wouldn’t mind believing in it….

Anonymous asked:

There more you can kiss

This is why Idia didn’t go ask for those wishes in person, because people would start listing things that he can kiss.

Anonymous asked:

Mhmmm, pizza boy… i mean pizza. Yeah, pizza

The boy is also there! And he is waiting for his tip!

Anonymous asked:

*insert SpongeBob meme about the pizza here*

Also if that pizza isn't good, jade better be giving some other sort of food to make up for it.

Oh, he has some mushrooms in a bag in his pocket, do you want some? He wouldn’t mind sharing~

Anonymous asked:

After Lady Floyd we have Jade the delivery man

Anonymous asked:

Blessing us with fem tweels in separate accounts.. i can't thank you enough 🙏🏻

Thank you for appreciating the ladies, Anons <3 And Jade the delivery man lol

It was actually a coincidence, that Jade from the locked acc was supposed to be posted much earlier than that, but the timing ended up being perfect lol

I am glad you’re enjoying it!

Anonymous asked:

I don't know, Leona being too lazy to jerk off, yeah, that sounds so right to me... like so entirely correct...

I don't even have further thoughts on that, it's just like... yeah, that's true

(related to a reply from a week ago)

lol being lazy is art… not just anyone could get this lazy, you know…

[bingbongsupremacy]

Pretend Date

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Warning: slight reader insecurity

Summary: Peter likes MJ. You really like Peter. When Peter asks you to pretend to be his date to a party to make MJ jealous, at first you're hesitant. You end up giving in and agreeing. After all, how bad could it really be?

*Not Proof Read*

□□□□□□□□

I should’ve known something was up the second Peter Parker sat down next to me at lunch, his face scrunched in the same way it did whenever he was overthinking—eyebrows furrowed, lips pressed together, and one of his hands fidgeting with the sleeve of his sweater. He looked nervous, which wasn’t uncommon. Peter was always nervous.

But Peter was nervous around me, which wasn’t normal.

"Hey, uh, can I ask you something?" he said, pushing his food around his tray. His brown eyes flickered up to meet mine, then darted away just as fast.

I swallowed my bite of sandwich. "That depends. Is it about physics? Because if so, I’d like to remind you that I barely passed the last test, and I am not the study partner you want."

His lips quirked up for a second before he shook his head. "No, it’s, um, something else. It’s kind of a favor?"

Peter Parker, my best friend, the boy I had been quietly in love with since freshman year, was asking me for a favor. That was dangerous. Because if he asked me for anything—literally anything—I would probably do it, no questions asked.

"Okay…" I said slowly, setting my food down and shifting to face him fully. "What’s up?"

His fingers drummed against the table, and I could practically hear his heartbeat speeding up. Finally, he sucked in a sharp breath and blurted out, "Would you be my date to Flash’s party?"

I blinked. "Your what now?"

"My, uh—my date. To Flash’s party. This weekend. As in, like, we go together. You and me." His words tumbled over each other like he was trying to outrun his own embarrassment.

My brain short-circuited. I had spent so many years pining after this boy, replaying every moment he smiled at me, convincing myself that was all it would ever be. And now he wanted to go to a party together? As a couple?

It was too good to be true.

And, as always, it was.

"Peter," I said carefully, already feeling my stomach twist in warning. "Why?"

His head snapped up, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. "What—why? I mean—why not?"

I sighed. "Peter."

He groaned, running a hand through his already-messy curls. "Okay, okay. Look, it’s—it’s stupid, okay? But MJ’s going."

There it was. The punch to the gut.

MJ.

I forced my face to stay neutral, even as my heart dropped into my stomach.

"You want to make MJ jealous," I said flatly.

"No!" he said quickly, then winced. "Well, maybe? I don’t know. I just—she and Brad are kinda, y’know, a thing now, and I—look, I just need her to see me as… something else. Like, maybe if she sees me with you, she’ll—I don’t know. Notice me?"

Ouch.

I let out a short, humorless laugh, glancing down at my hands. My nails were chipped, and I had bitten them too much again.

"Peter," I started, my voice quieter now. "You don’t have to prove anything to MJ."

"I know," he groaned, slumping forward against the table. "But—ugh, I’m such an idiot."

Yes, he was. But not for the reason he thought.

Because he was blind.

Blind to the way I looked at him. Blind to the way my heart ached every time he talked about MJ like she was the sun and stars, when I would’ve set the whole galaxy on fire just to make him smile.

I wasn’t MJ. I wasn’t small or effortlessly cool or mysterious. I was… just me. Too much in some ways, never enough in others.

And yet, as I stared at Peter, his face full of hope—hope that I could give him something—I caved.

Because I always would.

"Okay," I said finally.

He perked up. "Wait—really?"

I smiled, even though it hurt. "Yeah. Let’s go be disgustingly in love at Flash’s party."

Peter beamed. "You’re the best."

Right.

The best.

But never enough.

It turned out that playing Peter Parker’s fake girlfriend was harder than I thought.

First of all, I wasn’t exactly comfortable at parties. Flash’s house was massive, filled with way too many people, all of them effortlessly cool in a way that made my insecurities bubble up like a shaken soda.

Second, pretending to be Peter’s girlfriend was… dangerous.

Because Peter, being the absolute menace that he was, was really committing to the act.

His arm stayed wrapped around my waist. He whispered jokes in my ear that made me laugh so hard I had to lean into him. And every time we locked eyes, I swore my heart tried to escape my ribcage.

To everyone else, it must’ve looked so real.

To me, it was torture.

"Hey," Peter murmured, tugging me a little closer as we stood in the kitchen. "You doing okay?"

I nodded, even though the lump in my throat begged to differ. "Yeah, just… parties aren’t really my thing."

He smiled, eyes soft. "Yeah, same."

Liar. He wasn’t miserable. He had a goal.

I could feel it, the moment MJ and Brad walked into the room.

Peter tensed. His fingers twitched against my waist.

And then, before I could react, his hand slid up to cup my face—gently, carefully, like I was something fragile.

"Pete—"

He kissed me.

It wasn’t long. It wasn’t dramatic.

But it broke me.

Because it was soft and warm, and his lips pressed against mine like he meant it. And for those few, fleeting seconds, I let myself believe it was real.

The moment Peter pulled away, I knew I was in trouble.

Because I wasn’t breathing.

I couldn’t breathe.

His lips were gone, but the ghost of his touch lingered, the warmth of his palm still cupping my cheek like I was something precious. Like I was his.

But I wasn’t.

Because the moment his eyes flicked over to MJ—just a quick glance, barely a second—I felt the floor beneath me crack.

Of course.

The kiss wasn’t for me.

It was for her.

And yet, despite the hurricane of emotions storming inside me, I still smiled like it was nothing. Like my heart wasn’t currently bleeding out on Flash’s ridiculously expensive marble floors.

I forced myself to speak, but my voice came out thin. "Did it work?"

Peter turned back to me, blinking like he’d forgotten I was there. "What?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and jerked my head toward where MJ and Brad were standing by the counter. "Did it work? Is she looking?"

Peter hesitated, then glanced over again.

MJ’s expression was unreadable, her lips pursed as she sipped from her red solo cup. Brad was saying something to her, but she wasn’t listening. She was watching us.

Peter let out a breath. "Yeah," he murmured, a strange sort of relief washing over his face. "I think so."

And that was my cue.

I stepped back, untangling myself from Peter’s grip. His arm, once snug around my waist, fell away like a rope being cut. The absence of his touch left a hollowness behind, and I hated myself for missing it.

"I need some air," I mumbled, already turning away before I could see his reaction.

I pushed through the crowd, weaving past drunk classmates and the pounding bass of some overplayed pop song. The front door was too far, so I ducked out onto the balcony instead.

The night air was cold against my overheated skin, but I welcomed it. It was better than the suffocating weight of pretending.

I leaned against the railing, gripping the cool metal with both hands as I tried to steady my breathing.

I was so stupid.

Of course Peter didn’t mean it. Of course it wasn’t real.

I was just a stand-in. A prop in his mission to win over MJ.

And the worst part?

I let him do it.

I let myself hope.

The sound of the door creaking open behind me made me tense.

Then—

"Hey."

Peter.

Of course.

I clenched my jaw, schooling my expression before turning to face him. "Hey."

He hesitated in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times.

"You okay?" he asked.

I forced a laugh. "Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?"

Peter stepped closer, his brows knitting together. "I don’t know. You just… ran out of there pretty fast."

I shrugged, looking away. "Just needed some air."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Was it the kiss?"

My stomach dropped.

I looked at him sharply, my heart thudding in my ears. "What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. "I mean, I—I didn’t think it would freak you out or anything, but if it did—"

"Freak me out?" I repeated, a bitter laugh bubbling up before I could stop it. "No, Peter, it didn’t freak me out. I just—" I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. "God, you really don’t get it, do you?"

Peter blinked. "Get what?"

My hands curled into fists at my sides. The words were clawing up my throat, demanding to be said, but if I let them out—if I told him—then everything would change.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

But wasn’t I already suffering?

Wasn’t I already breaking my own heart every time I watched him look at MJ like she was the only girl in the world?

At least this way, it would be over.

I inhaled deeply, steeling myself.

"Peter," I said, my voice quieter now. "You better than anyone should know what it feels like to be in love with someone who doesn't feel the same."

His lips parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face. "What—"

"What you're going through with MJ, I'm going through with you!"

The air between us went still.

Peter’s face slackened, his brown eyes searching mine. "What?"

My heart was hammering. My fingers dug into the railing, my breath unsteady.

"I like you, Peter," I said, the confession cracking in my chest like thunder. "I have for years. And you—you kissed me, and for a second, I let myself believe that maybe—maybe it meant something. But it didn’t, did it?" I swallowed, my throat burning. "It was just for her."

Peter’s eyes widened. "No—"

"It’s fine," I cut in, forcing a tight smile even as my vision blurred. "Really. I knew what this was. I just—I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt." Panic rises in my chest. I just messed this up. What if he doesn't want to be friends anymore? " We just need to forget about this. I'm sorry for making this so fucking awkward. We-we can just pretend this didn't happen, alright? You go back to liking MJ and I'll be the supportive friend." I try to patch the situation.

Peter was staring at me, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

I push myself away from the railing. "I should go."

I turned toward the door, but before I could take a single step-

"Wait."

His hand caught mine.

I froze.

"Don’t," he said, his voice strained. "Please, just—don’t go. We need to talk about this."

I hesitated, my pulse pounding beneath his fingertips. Slowly, I turned back to him.

Peter’s expression was wrecked. His eyes were wide and desperate, his grip on my hand tightening.

"I’m an idiot," he breathed, shaking his head. "God, I’m an idiot."

I frowned. "Peter—"

"I didn’t kiss you for MJ."

The words knocked the breath from my lungs. "What?"

Peter’s fingers curled around mine, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. His eyes were so earnest, so real, and I was terrified.

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I—God, I don’t even know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, it stopped being about MJ. It stopped being about anyone else." He exhaled shakily, squeezing my hand. "It’s just you."

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

"You," Peter repeated, softer now. "It’s always been you."

My heart stuttered.

Then, before I could second-guess it—before I could run—I surged forward, crashing my lips into his.

And this time, it was real.

[ppulverse]

i had therapy today and she asked me about my bday and i was like you know what. it was actually a good one. the best one i've had in the past few years i'd say. so i was happy about that

[sunnemona]

☆2024 has been so difficult for me, and i want to end the year off on a high note by thanking everyone who’s been there for me through it.

☆thank you for talking to me. thank you for listening to me talk to you in return. thank you for staying on vc with me to play games or talk or draw or cry together. thank you for keeping my secrets. thank you for telling me yours. thank you for the gifts you’ve given me. thank you for the advice you’ve offered when i needed help. thank you for the silly messages you've sent me unprompted—it is so joyous to be remembered when i’m not around. thank you for making me feel safe. thank you for letting me stay by your side. thank you for staying by mine.

☆the passage of time is so scary to me, i think. once things are over you can never get them back—all you can do is move forward and hold the memories close to your heart. thank you for the memories you’ve given me, i will treasure them eternally. i am so happy that we get to keep moving forward together, from one year into the next.

☆to kia, diggs, casey, and everyone in sweaties gang; to wewa and rei; to lorel; to eliza and mitsu; to wiz and corbell; to alex, nash, geddon, and paperd; to worm and goldie; to candy and ashe; to haze, mono, benji, and chasm; to my partners (sasha, robin, and keith); to steel; to michael, and to collie;

i am so grateful i know you. i am so grateful we exist here, at the same time, together. thank you for everything. i love you, i love you, i love you.

@dreemurr-skelememer @digglesgiggles @megaloserrr @lollipopz-shop @popiplant @aoartmthebitxh @s3-izures @otterbup @kuvlarstuff @heartstitched @thiccsys @b0tanicalb00ba @popiplant @rushroulett3 @wewawoomp @dagwmeno @onlyplatonicirl @elizakai @swiftmitsu @wizb1z @calciumdreams @psycho-chair @nashdoesstuff @unknownarmageddon @canine-teethed-sheets @fishfrypi @candy-cryptid @narrators1and2 @hazerun3 @monolite001 @bonejello @chasmbreach @xyriscomplanata @livinganime14 @paddinglily @corvidmellow @lambradire-art @hackrusty

♡

[cloudinal]

Saying you loved me made things harder at best

[shima-draws]

Grips my shirt and tears it apart so that all the buttons go flying and SCREAMS I love Law and Cora so much what the FUCK!!!!

[ra-vio]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[sinnettini]

i just read all your messages on my tree, thank you all they're so kind and sweet and ily all a lot 🥹