#but its moments like this that make her so perfect to me

[yvesntul]

vi x reader’s first time together

18+ minors dni, fingering, intimate sex, fem receiving, oral sex, teasing, squirting, vi in love durr

‘ i can’t believe i get to touch you like this, ‘ you close your eyes feeling vi’s lips press against you, just above your pussy, too easily flustered to even look at her, ‘ you’re so fucking beautiful.. ‘ she commented, her lashes bat in a daze, a breathy laugh leaving your lips in attempt to brush it off, she knew you could never take her compliments serious out of getting nervous, but this was different, this was intimate, you both knew that. this was the farthest you both had gone in your relationship and she wanted to do whatever was possible to reassure you it was all okay. she sees your hips squirm under her contact, you were so worked up, such an easy button to push.

‘ vi, you’re teasing .. ‘

‘ mmm, am i ? or are you too nervous to tell me what you want ? ‘ her pixelated eyes hold a menacing glare with yours, but you’re too busy trying to fix your gaze upon anything other than her. the way she was taunting you during your first time with her was sickening, stimulatingly sickening. ‘ i- i don’t know, i want you, just do something already, please. ‘ she huffs a laugh, wasting no more time diving in. vi starts off with a tongue lick to your cunt, slowly licking her way up to your clit before wrapping both lips around the swollen area. your hands run through her hair. the vibrations of her working making you pull and scratch, causing her to grumble against you with pleasure.

‘ baby oh my god t-that feels so fuckin’ g-good- ohh! ‘ your hips move in sync with her mouth, rubbing your cunt against her face as she follows your path, ‘ all this time i didn’t have a taste of you, ‘ she mumbles and yet you’re already losing it, beginning to lose your patience along with your sanity. she was slurping, kissing, licking and penetrating your pussy with her tongue and she had no remorse while doing so. the lewd sounds from your mouth motivating her, pushing her to do so like it was her last breath here. her tongue continued to work as she sucked on what was almost driving you to the edge. ‘ don’t stop— ‘

‘ god, fucking love the sound of your voice right now, ‘ and that’s when vi slips 2 fingers in without warning, and to be honest, there was no need to. if anything, you needed to be warning her for the messy orgasm you were tiptoeing around. ‘ you’re close aren’t you ? i feel it. ‘ she quizzed and you frantically nodded, your breathing getting heavy. she admired you from her point at the end of the bed. her silence catching your attention as she worked her fingers into you. ‘ stop looking at me like that, ‘ you spoke before she smiled. ‘ i can’t look at my girlfriend ? ‘ ‘ no ! ‘

she laughed at how you tensed, her fingers thrusting into your gummy walls along with the impact from the tip of her tongue flicking against your clit — creating the perfect combination for nothing but pure bliss, ‘ i can feel you angel, just let go for me. give me all of it ..’ her words of encouragement were doing its damn thing, the knot in your belly starting to untie itself on vi’s behalf. your body begins to convulse, this moment felt like more than everything to you, especially to vi, hoping she’d be able to show you her love in every way she’s been wanting, with this only being the beginning.

‘ b-baby .. vi … i’m so close– oh my god .. ‘ she quickly intertwined her hand in yours as you squeeze her knuckles for support through your orgasm. you were too busy making the flesh on her hand turn pale from how hard you were holding on to notice how reactive you verbally were, vi loved every sound coming out of you though. it was a beautiful side of you she had never seen. ‘ i’ve got you babe, let go just like that. ‘ as she says this, you start to panic when you feel the certain pressure below you.

her finger is still working your hole, not pulling away for anything or anyone — not even you. vi sees your small hands trying to pry her own away, but she simply stops you by restraining the same hand pushing her. ‘ wait vi— this feels so different, please, oh my .. ‘ you babble but she didn’t care because she knew what was about to come. ‘ i know, baby. i know. ‘ she holds eye contact with you, feeling your walls begin to tighten around her fingers yet again. that’s when she moves faster, jabbing her finger in and smoothly adding another to completely rupture you. her hand was cramping, but she could take that on any day if it meant she’d be able to see you fall apart.

‘ you’re there. you’re right there, you feel that ? ‘ vi’s question not only earns a loud whine from you, but it finishes you off completely. ‘ holy shit i’m fucking c-cumming vi, oh fuck—” you felt couldn’t even pronounce a single word. the only thing you could begin to make out was her name, and even then, it was just hoarse whines. you don’t see it, but she does. she sees it all — the spurts of your cum soaking her hand, drenching the covers, the way your chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath, your eyes looking into the back of your skull with your lips parted softly as she slowly dragged her fingers out of your walls.

you were fucking breathtaking, she couldn’t believe you were hers.

‘ you did so good, you’re the most beautiful girl ever i swear. ‘ she huffs as you smile at her, you lightly grabbed her face with one hand, bringing her into a long kiss. she uses the weight of one elbow to lean over and place kisses onto your temple. your body is still coming down from its peak, and your vision was still foggy — but you still needed her. you still craved her touch like you had a sweet tooth. ‘ you okay ? didn’t hurt you did i ? ‘ ‘ no no, not at all, vi, i just wan’ more .. ‘ your pleading eyes search for her lips, and once you find them, you inch closer. vi seals it for you, pressing her plumped ones onto your own. you feel the same fingers that were inside you creep up to your chin, then lips — trails of your wet essence lingering on your skin.

‘ are you sure ? ‘

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 © 𝐘𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐋 | all rights reserved — do not modify, copy, or plagiarize any of my works.

[gravegoer]

Hii!! Could I request Council member sevika x reader (established relationship) bathing her after a stressful day or even her first day 🙏🏽💕

Late night care ―୨୧⋆

hi anon ! and yes i love this, she definitely deserves it, i went with after her first day :) its kind of suggestive in a few parts but nothing explicit so be warned !

Sevika had just gotten back from her first meeting, it was quite obvious she didnt have a good time

On the way home, she ranted about how the topsiders on the council treated her, they werent too happy about Zaun being represented.

This was obviously bound to happen as the council wasn't very open-minded. It would take a while for them to adjust to this change.

She needed some time to relax and you knew just how to help her.

You pulled her into the bathroom as soon as you got back home, sitting her on the toilet lid next to the bathtub.

She groaned at the soreness in her legs when she sits down, rubbing at her thigh with calloused hands. You got on your knees in front of her, beginning to tug at her laces, hand wrapped around her ankle. Her eyes widened in shock at what she thought was your boldness.

Pulling her booted foot from out of your hands, she raised her leg to rest her sole on your inner thigh. "So this is your idea of helping me relax?"

Your face flushed, not realizing the implications of your actions and pushed her heavy leg away. "It's not the time for that," you pointed towards the bath, "I was going to run you a bath.",

You looked up at her, and her expression was beaming in amusement. "You can't just drop to your knees in front of me so fast," She teased while you continued to tug her boots off. "But I guess it's not the time for that yet."

You rolled your eyes at her words and tossed her dirty boots to the corner of the room and stood up between her legs. Before you could move, she was wrapping a thick arm around your waist, putting her face into your torso.

"I appreciate you doing this for me." She mumbled into the fabric of your shirt.

You let out a small chuckle at her affection and ran a hand through her hair, slightly scratching at her scalp. After a few seconds, you pushed her away to turn to the bath. She let out a grunt when you escaped her grasp and eyed you as you bent over the tub to turn on the water.

You could feel her piercing stare from behind you as you tested the water that was now flowing into the tub, making sure it was hot just how she liked it. You had bought some cinnamon and sandalwood bathsalts a few days ago from a nearby shop, knowing Sevika would like the scent.

Reaching behind her, you opened a cabinet near her head, your arm brushing against her hair. She turned slightly to plant a kiss on your forearm, looking at you with soft eyes.

You giggled at her forwardness, feeling a blush settle on your face as you pulled some small jars out. Her eyes chased your form as you moved back to the tub, pouring in (what you think) is the perfect measurement of salts. After adding in some rosemary to help relax her muscles, you sat them on the corner of the ledge, swirling your hand in the half filled tub.

Sevika found this endearing, that you are working hard to please her. Even though the past few days have been nothing but stress, she felt as though this moment had already taken it all away. You did so much to keep her worries at bay, and she recognized it.

She shook her head and smiled to herself inwardly, getting up from her spot and stepping beside you, putting a hand on your lower back. You started to stand up, and she grabbed your chin on the way, pulling your cheek to her lips. Her thick lips were heavy on your face, and you could feel her hot breath fan your cheek as she pulled away.

"Ready?" She asked, finger still on your chin.

You nodded, putting your hands on your hips to stare proudly at her. She chuckled at your confidence and pulled her shirt over her head.

You stared, flushed, at her happy trail that climbed up her toned stomach. The dim light highlights the muscle of her arm, and your eyes trailed up to her black bra that concealed her chest.

"You're staring damn hard for someone who said 'its not the time for that'," She cocked an eyebrow down at you.

You cleared your throat and turned around, pretending to search for something. At that, she let out a throaty laugh and nudged your back lightly. You realized you needed to grab her a bathrobe and shook your head as you stepped out to get to the closet.

Grabbing a black and red silky robe from the closet beside the bathroom, you hummed in approval. You could hear her clothes dropping to the ground from within the bathroom and stood outside a little bit longer than you probably needed to, clutching the robe to your chest.

When the sound ceased, you took that as a queue to step back in. You were greeted with the (yummy) sight of Sevika layed back in the tub. Her toned back pressed against the wall, and her arm rested on the ledge. Her hair was splayed out on the wall, moist with condensation. The sight of her head thrown back and her eyes closed in genuine pleasure made you stare for a few seconds before closing the door behind you.

When you turned back, her grey eyes pierced through you, now smirking in your direction. She made a 'come hitler' motion with two fingers. You obeyed and stepped towards her, setting the robe down on the counter.

You knelt down to run your hands up her arm to her neck, slightly scratching the base of her scalp. She groaned at the feeling and relaxed (if she could be more relaxed than she already is).

You pumped some bodywash into a rag near the ledge by the previously discarded bath salts with your other hand. Tapping on her back to get her to learn forward slightly, you rubbed the rag gently over her back, letting soap drip down into the water.

You now sat on the ledge, leaning on the wall parallel to her back. She groaned occasionally at your massage, coming undone under your touch. Gritting her teeth at a particularly tense spot that you tore through.

Her skin felt hot underneath your fingertips, running your nails down her back and across her scars. It was rare to see her so vulnerable, but you weren't complaining.

Suddenly, you realized how slick the ledge was with condensation when you shifted a bit. Before you could process this you went toppling over.

Not onto the floor.

Into the bath.

Sevika jumped in suprise, getting pulled out of her trance and moving her legs upwards to catch you. Her arm held onto the front of your shirt. But this didn't do much. Water was already up to your bellybutton and overflowing onto the ground.

Immediately, your eyes flew to Sevikas face, worrying that you ruined the moment. But what you were met with was her delighted and teasing smile. Her thick lips were stretched upwards.

"If you asked to join, i would have said yes," She laughed, "Ya didn't have to jump at me."

You both laughed at your situation, trying but failing to pull you out of the tub.

Eventually, you both gave up, having no more energy, and you pulled your wet shirt over your head as a last resort and settled between Sevikas legs, back pressed against her chest.

And this is how you opted to stay for the rest of the night.

Sevika was pleased.

cute ending because i said so

[p0orbaby]

hii could I maybe request an alexia fic where you bring her to one of the german Christmas markets of your hometown and make her try different food and the famous mulled wine (just lots of fluff coziness pls 🥹) ale being a sucker for keeping your lips warm by kissing them

-

The Christmas market smells like sugar, spice, and the kind of nostalgia you wish you could bottle. String lights hang above in tangled webs, dripping amber light onto the cobblestone streets, while the air crackles with frost and the distant hum of Christmas carols played by a mediocre brass quartet.

You’ve barely stepped onto the main thoroughfare when Alexia stops, head tilted, taking it all in. Her cheeks are already pink from the cold, her gloved hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

“Is it always like this?” she asks, her accent curling softly around the words.

“Every year,” you reply. “Wait until you see the giant bratwurst stand”

Her lips quirk up at the corner. “You’re really selling it”

“Trust me, it’s iconic”

You lead her through the crowd, weaving between parents tugging kids in sledges and couples huddling close, their breath fogging in the chill. Alexia keeps her hand on the small of your back, steering you instinctively around every wayward shoulder and rogue pram. You’d find it annoying if it wasn’t so her.

The bratwurst stand is as dramatic as promised: a hulking structure with smoke pouring out of its chimney and a six-foot inflatable sausage bobbing on the roof. Alexia stares at it for a long moment, then turns to you, deadpan.

“Iconic,” she repeats, though her mouth twitches with barely restrained laughter.

You grin, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the line. “Wait until you taste it”

When she takes her first bite, she moans softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “Okay. You win”

“I always do,” you say, smug.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, too busy devouring the rest of her bratwurst.

Next is the mulled wine. You hand her a steaming mug, the scent of cloves and citrus wafting up. She blows on it delicately, watching the tendrils of steam curl away. When she takes her first sip, her eyes widen, and she licks her lips.

“This is…” she pauses, searching for the word. “Perfect”

You take a sip of your own, the warmth sliding down your throat, and hum in agreement.

She leans in then, her lips brushing your ear. “Your lips are cold.”

You glance at her, eyebrow raised. “Subtle”

Alexia shrugs, utterly unbothered. “I’m keeping them warm”

Before you can respond, she kisses you. It’s soft, lingering, the taste of mulled wine and bratwurst mingling in a way that shouldn’t work but somehow does. When she pulls back, she looks entirely too pleased with herself.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, though you can’t help smiling.

“And you love it,” she replies, stealing another sip of your wine.

The rest of the evening is a blur of lights and laughter. You make her try roasted chestnuts (“Like warm, edible rocks,” she declares) and Schmalzkuchen, the powdered sugar leaving smudges on her scarf. She insists on buying a ridiculous hand-carved ornament for your tree—a lopsided angel with one wing noticeably shorter than the other.

By the time you leave, your cheeks hurt from smiling, your hands are frozen despite your gloves, and Alexia has kissed you approximately ten more times under the guise of “keeping your lips warm.”

[amirasainz]

Can you write some Gladiator!Carlos and Goddess!Reader? Maybe Charles is the priest that helps Carlos contact Reader and Carlos falls in love with her? Please, please, please♥️♥️♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

Goddess

The arena roared with life as Carlos emerged into the light, his bronzed skin gleaming under the harsh sun. He raised his gladius, saluting the adoring masses of the Capitol. Every movement of his body, every flick of his raven hair, was calculated and captivating. The people loved him as much for his victories in the arena as for his charm outside it. Yet, beneath the surface of his confident smile, there was a gnawing emptiness, a longing for something he could not name.

In stark contrast to Carlos’ boisterous life, his friend Charles lived in quiet reverence. Charles was a high priest, his life devoted to the goddess Yn, the deity of beauty and sanctuary. He was a man of elegance and grace, clothed in simple but fine robes, his voice soft but commanding. The two had been friends since childhood, their bond forged in moments of shared wonder and mischief.

This particular evening, they sat together in Charles’ serene garden. It was a quiet refuge, full of blooming flowers and soft, tinkling fountains. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. A small table laden with fruit, bread, and wine sat between them.

Before they ate, Charles clasped his hands, closing his eyes. “Goddess Yn, radiant light of perfection, we thank you for the sanctuary of your beauty and the peace you bestow upon us. May your grace guide us always.”

Carlos watched, amused but respectful, as Charles plucked a perfect white blossom from a nearby bush and placed it on a small altar dedicated to Yn. He poured a trickle of wine into a shallow dish as an offering.

“You really do take this goddess seriously, don’t you?” Carlos said, his lips quirking in a teasing smile. “You’ve mentioned her before, but I’ve never seen you like this. What makes her so special?”

Charles opened his eyes, his expression serene but passionate. “She is everything. Yn is not just a goddess of beauty, but of sanctuary. She is the place we turn to when the world becomes too much. Her presence is perfection itself. Those who feel lost find solace in her gaze.”

Carlos leaned back, folding his arms. “You speak as if you’ve met her.”

“In a way, I have,” Charles replied, his voice lowering as though speaking a sacred truth. “I have stood in her temple, basked in her light. She has no equal, Carlos. Not in the arena, not in the Capitol, not anywhere. You think you understand beauty, but until you have stood before her, you do not.”

Carlos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “She’s that perfect, is she?”

Charles leaned forward, a knowing smile on his lips. “Come with me to her temple. See for yourself.”

---

The Temple of Yn was unlike anything Carlos had seen before. It stood atop a hill, surrounded by pristine gardens that seemed to glow under the moonlight. The building itself was constructed of pure white marble, its columns etched with intricate designs of vines and flowers. Soft music seemed to drift through the air, though Carlos could not see its source.

Charles led him inside. The interior was quiet, the air thick with the scent of jasmine. At the far end of the temple was a statue of Yn, a figure of striking beauty carved from pale stone. She stood with one hand outstretched, her expression serene yet commanding.

Carlos was about to scoff at the statue’s perfection when he felt a sudden shift in the air. From behind the statue, a figure emerged.

It was her.

Yn walked forward, her movements so fluid it was as if she were gliding. Her form was human, yet ethereal. Her hair cascaded like molten gold, and her eyes held galaxies within them. She did not speak, but her presence spoke volumes.

Carlos fell to his knees without realizing it. “Yn,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He fumbled with the pouch at his belt, producing gold coins and laying them at her feet. From his pocket, he drew a crimson flower, offering it alongside the gold. “Take these, goddess. Take anything. Take my heart—it’s yours.”

Yn’s gaze fell upon him, and he felt as though the world had stopped. She stepped closer, the faintest smile gracing her lips. Then, to his astonishment, she bent down and kissed his cheek. Her touch was like a spark of fire and ice, leaving him breathless.

She turned next to Charles, her most faithful follower. With infinite tenderness, she stroked his face, her fingers lingering as if in silent gratitude. Charles closed his eyes, a tear escaping down his cheek.

Without a word, Yn turned and disappeared back into the shadows of her temple.

---

Carlos remained kneeling long after she had gone, his mind spinning. When he finally looked up at Charles, his expression was one of pure devotion. “She is… everything you said and more. I understand now.”

Charles placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his own eyes still shining with emotion. “I knew you would. It is a gift to find faith, Carlos. You have seen her. You are changed.”

“I am hers,” Carlos murmured, clutching his chest as if to steady the storm of emotions within him. “Forever.”

Charles smiled, his heart swelling with pride. His dearest friend had found what he had always hoped he would: devotion to the goddess who had shaped his life. Together, they sat in the quiet temple, the lingering presence of the goddess Yn wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

[respectthepetty]

Spare Me Your Mercy Thoughts

I have waited almost four years for this show since MDL made a placeholder for Euthanasia in early-2021, and now that it is here, I'm going to gush about all the ways I love it!

Just like a few of Dr. Sammon's other shows airing around the holidays (Manner of Death, Dead Friend Forever, and Petrichor), I'm thankful I got the first episode of Spare Me Your Mercy on Thanksgiving and the last will come on Christmas because this is the exact show I need for the holiday season since it began the entire series with Tew, the cop, having to perform euthanasia on an animal.

I grew up and still live in a rural area where cattle far outnumber the actual folks, so I fully understand euthanasia is a good death as the word implies, so I will not be struggling through the premise of this show, and I have faith the show won't either because when Tew fired the gun, the scene was peaceful.

And the show is making some pointed remarks about how things operate outside of bigger cities since Kan specifically mentioned he has about 2,500 patients. When the other officer asked the nurses if Kan had a long queue, they didn't even respond. Kan also clarified that his specialty is palliative care, so he has to monitor a wide range of long-term illnesses, so even though Tew might actually be from this place, he is now the outsider and out of his depth before he even started.

Sidenote: I cannot be mad at a nurse, even if one of them turns out bad because the way they all protect Kan from the police is the teamwork I love to see.

The red light to notify the office the doctor is seeing a patient coming on right after Kan responded to the nurse that it wasn't a murder case yet was perfection.

I already knew Kan was going to be my favorite character, but Tor is doing amazing showing the layers Kan has, as expected. Kan tells Tor he can cry and shows him kindness, but when pushed, Kan makes small digs about how people should spend the last moments of someone's life cherishing them when rudely questioned by Tew regarding the unexpected deaths knowing Tew did not get to see his mother before she died. He also made a subtle display of knowing where things were located in the house because he is in control.

The way he slid his LINE information into the conversation AFTER indirectly telling Tew he was being emotional due to his grief is why I'm excited to see another version of Manner of Death's Tan. Kan probably does like Tew but he stays focused and calculated.

He is terrifying without there being any concrete detail to pinpoint on why he is scary. Som, while describing people being possessed by evil murderous spirits, was terrified of Kan, and the transition from Som telling his story to Kan appearing at the exact moment Som was going to state what human form the evil spirits take was brilliant.

But what's even more terrifying is the treatment of the terminally ill. They are viewed as a burden, locked away, and isolated.

And Tew witnessed it. He got a glimpse of what Kan sees daily, so the show is already building up a case in defense of Kan's actions. If he is performing euthanasia, Tew could understand. He heard the goat's bell. He knew it was still alive, but he decided to end its suffering, cleanly and swiftly, which is what euthanasia is. He saw that man left behind by his family and even moved to go get him. And he was bothered when the man's daughter stated her reasoning for leaving him out there alone.

He also stopped Kan from continuing to question Som. Therefore, the true conflict has been set. Tew, whose job is to discover the truth, doesn't need it if it causes pain, but Kan's entire job is making pain manageable.

And I always want to trust a woman, but as suspicious as the director is being about everything, babygirl would be the perfect person to attempt euthanasia since the dead would end up on her table where she could claim the death was the result of the illness.

Because euthanasia is a good death.

And this ain't it.

He understands that.

But someone doesn't.

[capquinn]

Quinn being the type to just say “whoops!” and then get excited when it’s an unplanned pregnancy because the thought of a big family makes him so happy

omg yes especially if it’s his second baby!!!! Like, the second you tell him, he’d probably blink a few times, let out this breathless little laugh, and then immediately pull you into his arms, squeezing you tight like he’s trying to anchor himself in the moment. He’d lean back just enough to look at you, his grin spreading wider by the second, that stupid, lovesick expression lighting up his entire face.

“Guess we’re doing this, huh?” he’d say, all casual like it’s no big deal, as if this wasn’t the furthest thing from your plan. Like it wasn’t even a surprise but something he’d been secretly hoping for. And honestly? Maybe he had. Because the idea of a big family? It clicks for him. It’s who he is.

You’d see it in real time — the way the initial shock of it fades entirely, replaced by this quiet joy that starts in his eyes and spreads like wildfire. He’d start picturing it almost immediately, you know? The baby years he loves so much. The chaos that comes with it. Two little voices shouting through the house, the mornings that are already messy turning into full-blown beautiful disasters of mismatched socks, spilled juice, and a thousand “daddy, can you help me?” moments.

“Another little one running around?” he’d ask, his grin growing so wide it almost looked ridiculous. “We can handle that. Easy.” And he’d mean it, every word. Because for Quinn, the more love, the better.

And of course, because he’s Quinn, he’d find a way to make you laugh about it, easing the weight of the surprise in that smooth, effortless way of his. 

“Guess we really don’t need that guest room,” he’d joke, glancing at you with that playful glimmer in his eye that you know means he’s already mentally rearranging furniture. 

Maybe he’d even throw in something about how Bug might have to share her toys, just to get a rise out of you. And when you shoot him a look, half exasperated, half fond, he’d hold his hands up in mock surrender, grinning the whole time.

But then he’d get softer — because he can’t help himself — and say something like, “she’s gonna be the best big sister. I mean, she already loves being the boss, but she’s too sweet to ever use it against them.” 

And you’d laugh because he’s right, and because it’s so very him to start thinking about what the new sibling dynamic will look like before you’ve even wrapped your own head around it.

Honestly, he wouldn’t even see it as an accident. He wouldn’t frame it that way at all. Instead, it’d be like life just handed you both something unexpected but perfect in its own messy, wonderful way. Because for Quinn, this is the dream. Family is everything. Always has been, always will be.

[tipsynight0]

Her smile, my ruin.

Paring - Jeff the killer x female reader

Word count - 1.1k

Summary - Jeff celebrates his anniversary with y/n drunk and alone.

Tw - alcohol, death, grief, emotional stress, impaired perception of reality.

Author notes - almost a month away from here and i've finally cured a little writer's block, thanks for the new followers :]

The December wind howled through the empty cemetery, biting at Jeff’s exposed skin, but he barely noticed. The rum in his hand burned hotter than the cold ever could, spreading a false fire through his veins. He stumbled, half-laughing, half-snarling, his boots crunching through the snow in uneven steps. The bottle sloshed dangerously in his grip as he raised it high, grinning like a man who didn’t care if the world was watching—or if it wasn’t.

“Here’s to us!” he shouted, his voice rough, breaking on the last word. His head tilted back as he drained another long swig, the alcohol burning its way down. It didn’t feel good—it never did—but it was better than feeling nothing.

A laugh, light and airy, drifted through the cold, making him stop mid-step. His vision swam as he blinked at her—Y/n. She was there, wasn’t she? She stood a few feet away, spinning like she always used to, her dress flaring out in the wind. The snow didn’t seem to touch her. She looked untouched, perfect, like something out of a dream.

“Y/n,” Jeff rasped, his voice cracking as a grin split his face. His knees buckled slightly as he lurched toward her, catching himself just before falling. She laughed again, and the sound cut through the haze in his mind, tugging at something deep inside him. Something he didn’t want to feel. “You always know how to find me, huh?” he slurred, his grin widening. He reached for her hand, his fingers fumbling as they closed around hers.

Her skin was ice.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip tightened instinctively, but he didn’t let go. Couldn’t. He raised the bottle toward her face with a clumsy, sweeping motion. “Here—take a sip. It'll warm you up.” His words were slurred but insistent, his voice trembling just enough to betray the cracks beneath his drunken bravado.

She tilted her head, watching him with those eyes��those damn eyes that always saw too much. “What are we celebrating, Jeff?” she asked, her voice soft but distant, like it was coming from somewhere far away.

He froze for a moment, his face twitching as he forced a laugh. “What are we—what the hell kind of question is that?” He stumbled backward, waving the bottle in the air like it was an extension of his arm. “We’re celebrating you,” he spat, the words louder than he meant them to be. His laughter turned sharp, almost bitter, as he tilted his head at her, swaying slightly. “Your anniversary, remember? Or did you forget again?”

Her expression didn’t change. She just kept looking at him, her lips curving into the faintest smile, but there was something wrong about it. It wasn’t the smile he remembered.

Jeff looked away, raising the bottle to his lips and taking another deep pull, the liquid spilling over the corners of his mouth. He winced at the taste but didn’t stop until his throat burned. When he lowered the bottle, his breath fogging the air, his vision swam. The world seemed...different.

The cemetery.

Gravestones stretched out in every direction, their shadows long and dark against the snow. His stomach twisted, but he clenched his jaw, shaking his head violently. “No,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “No. Don’t do this to me. Not tonight.”

He turned back to Y/n, grabbing her arms and pulling her close. She was so cold against him, her body limp in his grasp. “Stop it,” he growled, his voice cracking. “You’re here. I’m holding you. You’re right here. Say something, dammit!” His breath came in short, ragged bursts, the panic clawing its way up through the alcohol.

She didn’t say a word.

Jeff’s chest heaved as he pulled back to look at her, his vision blurring. Her face was pale, her features frozen in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Those eyes—once full of life—were distant now, empty, like glass reflecting nothing back at him.

“No,” he whispered, shaking her gently. “No, no, no, not again.” His voice rose with each word, cracking like ice under pressure. He gripped her shoulders tighter, trying to force her to respond, to move, to be there.

But she wasn’t.

His knees gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, the bottle slipping from his grasp. It hit the snow with a soft thud, spilling its contents in a dark stain across the frozen earth. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but the gravestone came into focus anyway, its letters cutting through the haze like a blade.

Her name.

The flowers he had left last year were wilted and brown, half-buried under a layer of snow. An empty bottle from another drunken night leaned crookedly against the base of the stone. It was all so familiar, yet it felt like a nightmare every time.

Jeff let out a choked laugh, a bitter, hollow sound that echoed in the stillness. “Happy anniversary, babe,” he muttered, his voice rough and slurred as he reached for the bottle. Finding it empty, he tossed it aside with a sharp, frustrated growl. His hands pressed against the gravestone, his forehead falling against the cold, unyielding surface.

“Another year,” he whispered, the words barely audible over the howling wind. His breath hitched as tears burned hot trails down his cheeks, freezing almost instantly in the biting air. “Another goddamn year without you.”

He stayed like that, slumped against the stone, the cold seeping into his bones. The world blurred around him, the snow falling heavier now, burying the empty bottle and the wilted flowers. His fingers curled into the frozen ground as he let out a ragged sob, the sound raw and desperate, as though it had been ripped from the deepest part of him.

And in the silence, he thought he heard her voice—soft, fleeting, like the memory of a dream he couldn’t hold onto. Her laughter seemed to dance on the wind, teasing him, taunting him, reminding him of everything he had lost.

Jeff closed his eyes, the alcohol and grief dragging him into the darkness. As the snow fell, covering him like a shroud, only the gravestone stood as a witness to the weight of his sorrow.

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Thank you to all the authors who share their wonderful stories with us. I hope this list reminds you that I come back to these stories often and that your words are loved by many.

As always, these fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon compliant.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

A Hundred Visions and Revisions by @yallthemwitches

She loves him like this: sleepy, slap happy, sometimes a bit handsy but willing to meet her where she’s at in the moment. It’s the quiet moments like this that keep her going sometimes, knowing that whatever is happening out there will disappear by the end of the day when they can hold each other again.

To live for the hope of it all

Whispers in the Dark also by yallthemwitches

When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught?

Until the Light Takes Us also by yallthemwitches

A series of drabbles and fics following the prompt of Jilytober Fest 2024.

color theory by @clare-with-no-i

Lily Evans learns about love: its hues, its tints, its shades. Some disappoint. Some dazzle.

falling (for fools) by @jjameslily

She hated him. Hated his confidence, his messy charm, the way he managed to take up space even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Absolutely. Totally. Without question.

But, as much as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought.

She’d never noticed just how distracting James Potter could be.

don’t let it make you cry also by jjameslily

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he—Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse. Alive. Real.

Quid Pro Quo by StarsAndDiamond (on ao3)

Lily Evans was not ready to go home for her sister's Christmas engagement, but she wasn't the only one up late at night in the common room.

Sharper Than Hope by @maraudersftw

“You’re…” A lick of lips; something sharper than hope on my tongue; another attempt. “You fancy me?”

every single time by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Unrelated drabbles, fics, ficlets, and word dumps in response to jilytober 2024 prompts

2, 5, 10, 11, 12, 16, 19, 21, 27, 29 and 30 are my favourites

Lucky Number 7 by zipadeea (on ao3)

Lily Evans thought life at Hogwarts was busy enough for her, what with Prefect duties and N.E.W.T classes and meetings with the Slug Club. Then, Marlene convinces her to try out for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

Written because James was a Chaser, and I'm convinced Harry's athletic abilities come from both sides of the family tree.

crawl home by @annabtg

He doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. All he knows is that he wants to go home.

Exhale by @petalsthefish

"Shhh," James leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I’m so sorry, but I have to set the bones again. It’s okay to cry, you're doing so well. So well, baby."

"Fuck," she whimpered through her tears. "I hate this."

"I know, I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I hate this too, sweetheart."

Masquerade also by petalsthefish

James was going to jinx Sarah Hitchkes.

It was Sarah Hitchkes who conceived the entire idea, driven by two main motives. First, it was a fun and creative way for everyone to showcase their Patronuses. Second, it gave her the perfect excuse to throw a massive party. Scheduled for July 31st at her sprawling estate, the event was open to all the sixth- and seventh-year students. She dubbed it the “Patronus Party,” and it was set to be the social highlight of the summer—provided you could produce a corporeal Patronus.

this trope will always be a favorite of mine

Coincidence also by petalsthefish

“You look miserable.” Mary commented, noting Lily’s bored expression.

"I need to make out with someone like I need to breathe." Lily Evans hissed as she swirled her butterbeer and peered around the bar.

"James Potter's free."

In Their Short Time by @hogwartslivy

It was one hell of a love story. One that had a most tragic, untimely ending. They could never have guessed as mere children sitting across from one another on the train, all excitement and nerves and emotions, that their stories, all hopes and fears and loves, were to be forever intertwined.

Something Old Something New by @chiechie97

Weddings are the most beautiful things in the world. Unless you accidentally end up at your ex... somethings house to play violin at a family wedding.

Lily Evans just wants to get payed and go home to her cat. Perhaps she should have asked more questinos about the location and clients of her string quartets latest gig.

It’s Always You by @joyseuphoria

5 times jily kissed before they started dating

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by Iphigenniaa (on ao3)

Lily Evans didn't have to wash the blood off her hands that night, but she did have to wash the burning odor from her clothes, which seemed to soak even her own insides.

A Life With You by @kay-elle-cee

A Jily Lives AU collection of small moments from Hogwarts onwards, using the 31 Jilytober tumblr prompts.

7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 24, 29 and 30 are my favourites

don't forget me by blackcanarys (on ao3)

At the height of the First Wizarding War, Lily Evans finds herself contemplating life, death and her mortality after a routine Order mission in 1978.

It's All Politics by acciosalmon (on ao3)

The most constant emotional sentiment in Lily's Hogwarts career was her complete and utter loathing of one William Mulciber

I have yet to read this one, but it was recomended to me because it explores how jily's power dynamic is altered when James isn't potraied as white but Lily is

[only-lonely-star]

can you do dallas winston x soc reader where she invites him over to her house and it’s super pink and girly and he wants to look at every little thing! love you’re work btw!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Pretty in Pink . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Warnings - Pure fluff. Established relationship between a soc!fem!reader and Dallas Winston.

Summary - If it were up to him, he would never leave your room ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

Author’s Note - Thank you so much for this request!!! I’m truly so happy to hear you love my writings, it means the world to me 🫶🏼. I sort of took ‘house’ and turned it into bedroom, so I hope this is still okay skhfhsjjs 😭. I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do!! 🩷🩷

Word Count - 1.1k.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Applying a thin layer of tinted gloss, you puckered up and smiled upon the reflection in your vanity mirror. The white, wooden piece blended with the rest of your room perfectly as it leaned against the floral wallpaper adorned in patterns of pink peonies. Pink - you were certain there wasn’t a color as perfect as the pastel hue that flooded your room. As a finishing touch, you doused the sides of your neck in a fancy perfume, one that cost a fortune. The bottle was, of course, a baby-pink heart with a white ribbon tied around it. You felt ready to take on the world.

Leaned against the windowsill of your bedroom, your eyes longed to catch a glimpse of that rusted, old Thunderbird that Dallas typically took you around the city in. You could hear it a mile away, the noisy vroom of the vehicle, and the screeching shrill of its breaks. The stars cast a beam of light against the pavement to your driveway, ensuring he’d find his way there eventually.

Although you loved him to death, this boy had never spent a second in this house past your doorway. Tonight was different - he wasn’t dropping off flowers, knocking on your door to shower you in drunken kisses, or even luring you into his car to sneak out for the night. He was staying over. In your bed. Staying in your girly bedroom. Just at first glance, it was clear Dallas was no softie. He didn’t care for frilly pink bows or dainty jewelry, he was as masculine as they came. A hint of nervousness formed at the pit of your stomach as your brain worked double-time to map out every negative outcome possible. Maybe he wouldn’t like it, it would be too overwhelming - the possibilities were endless.

Just as these thoughts began to overwhelm you, the repetitive ring of your doorbell brought you back to reality. He was here. You raced for the front door without a second thought, leaping down the staircase, taking two steps at a time. Once you had reached the door, you flung it open with excitement, only to wrap your arms around his figure. He wore a cocky grin, a classic expression he often used in moments like these. You felt the jerk of his body as he stifled a laugh. “I saw you yesterday,” he commented wittily, slowly running a hand up and down your back.

You stood on the tip of your toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. Without waiting a second longer, you snatched the boy inside with a simple yank to his arm. “Come on, get out the cold, Dal,” you teased.

Dallas glanced down at his boots, giving them a quick stomp or two before taking a look around. “So this is your little mansion, huh?”

“Mansion,” you scoffed in reply. “This ain’t even the best part! Come on upstairs with me, I’ll show you my room.” You ran a hand up and down his sleeve as a signal for him to follow your lead.

Dallas let out a low whistle, slowly making his way up the staircase. His eyes darted in every which way, gliding his hand the entire way up the wooden railing of the staircase. “Shoot - I’d sure like to live in someplace like this.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re living in my room tonight,” you responded cheekily, biting back a smile. As you reached the final step, you guided him down the hallway which led to a number of bedrooms, each decorated in their own unique way. Dallas poked his head in each one, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as to which was yours. “Dal, it’s this one.”

He whipped his head around, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Continuing to follow your lead, he carefully took in the new environment. Pink, flowers, ribbons, lace, hearts, dolls - it all hit Dallas like a tidal wave. His dull eyes were now filled with excitement at the sight of it all. “Jesus Christ,” he scoffed, “l think you might like the color pink.”

Letting out a burst of laughter, you ushered him inside. “Who would’ve thought, right?”

Dallas’s attention was immediately drawn to the white jewelry box with flowers painted along the side. He curiously stepped closer. He traced his finger along the woodwork, whistling lowly, “This a dollhouse or something? Looks like it would be for a-.” His attention diverted quickly, just before you could correct him. Dallas smiled in fascination as he caught sight of a small ballerina placed on a shelf near the closet doors. He inspected its fine details, running his fingers along the figure.

Before his interest was sparked again, you decided some commentary was needed. “That’s actually a music box, if you look at the bottom there’s a little knob.”

Dallas had his fingers twisting relentlessly around the knob before you even finished that sentence. He set it back down on the shelf, watching the little dancer spin around as the steel comb inside produced a delightful sound. “No fuckin’ way…” his voice trailed off in awe.

“You like that?” you chuckled, standing beside him to observe the figurine. It felt strangely comforting seeing Dallas with such youthful wonder in his eyes.

“That’s so cool, man, I want one,” he shifted his gaze from the music box back to you with a genuine smile.

“I have to show you this doll, I’ve had it since I was…five? I don’t know,” you spoke excitedly, dragging him towards your bed.

Kneeling beside the bed frame, you reached underneath it to retrieve a box. This box was worn out, each crease and wrinkle in the cardboard, a sign that it was well-loved over the years. Out came a porcelain doll, dressed in a white, ruffled dress with a lacey bodice that was colored in a soft shade of pink. Her hair was blonde and curled to perfection, a small bow added to accessorize her faux hair. Dallas stood over you, his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “She’s gorgeous, I bet that thing is worth more than my life.”

You gently stroked the back of her hair, admiring the delicate fabric of the miniature dress. “Hell- who knows?” You began to pack the doll up once more, hearing the shuffling of Dallas’s feet along your carpet. You paid no mind to this at first, assuming he was checking out more of your belongings. It was only then, that you stood up to find Dallas cozied up in your bed underneath a heap of fluffy pink and white blankets, holding a teddy bear against his arm. He had thrown on a satin sleeping mask adorned with small red hearts. Dallas had truly made himself at home, despite standing out more than any unique decoration in your room. He had a field day in your dollhouse of a room.

“How do I look?” he asked playfully, adding a hint of sass to his voice.

In adoration of a softer side you’d never seen before, you pounced onto him as you let out a giggle, wrapping yourselves in the plush blanket. “You look so pretty in pink.”

THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS ONE!!! 💋

- Sophia 🫶🏼

[howdoyousleep3]

Dad’s best friend James whispering ”lemme taste it baby” in your ear knowing your parents are asleep in the next room

Hhnnghhhh

you know what hell yeah, don't mind if i do...😮‍💨

Your heart slams so hard against your chest, you swear you can see it shift the thin material of your camisole with every beat. 

Your breathing shallow, your chin tucked, eyes locked onto where James’s hand splays against your belly. So big. His hand is so big compared to yours. You wrap your fingers uselessly around his wrist and are shocked at the sight of your fingers not even remotely close to touching. 

You don’t need the visual of your hands together to be affected by your difference in size; his burly body pressed tightly up against the line of your back makes that glaringly obvious. It matters though. It all adds up and swirls together into a ball of arousal that sinks from your belly and down into your panties. The very panties that James toys with, the very cotton that he rubs his fingers over. 

You're vibrating where you stand, held captive against him, heart threatening to beat its way out of your chest. Even the smell of him adds to the weight of arousal in your belly. He smells like experience, like a musk that comes only with age, with years under one's belt.

You get wet when you get a whiff of him, when he pulls you in for a hug and tucks you into his shoulder as he asks you how school is.

“C’mon,” James whispers against the shell of your ear, draping himself over your backside where you stand in your darkened kitchen. “Lemme taste it, baby.” 

Fuck. 

Your next inhale stutters in your lungs, shakes its way into a whimper that scratches against the front of your throat. You shake your head on instinct, that instinctual response you’re supposed to give when your dad’s best friend wants to put his mouth on you in the middle of the night.

The hand that rests on your belly moves up to cup the front of your throat, the heat of James’ breaths feeling like scorching fire on your neck. 

With the delicate fabric of your sleep shorts and his own pajama pants, it’s terribly easy to feel James’ erection dig into your lower back. 

He holds your jaw as he whispers his next words into your ear. 

“You know I’ll treat you right; I always do. I always treat her right.” 

He does.

He always does.

James makes you feel things no one has ever made you feel, pulls a different kind of pleasure out of your body that you try and chase with others. It’s always useless though; no one can make you feel the way James does. 

He puts your body and mind under a spell when he gets his hands on you. 

His fingers rub over your clit, on top of your panties, swirling with expertise and the perfect amount of pressure. He doesn’t bother with attempts to cover up your mouth, to muffle your noises. With your parents just upstairs, you wouldn’t dare make a noise that would indicate James secretly followed you downstairs when you left your bedroom to get a glass of water. You aren’t scared enough to quiet your breathing though, your gasping, the heft of your breaths. 

James sucks a set of kisses onto the sensitive skin of your neck, taking a moment to rub his cock against your backside, exhaling slowly into his kisses. 

“C’mon, pretty girl. I missed you, missed her. Lemme talk to her, lemme personally tell her how much I’ve missed her.”

He squeezes his hand over your mound, squeezes at a handful of your pussy over from under your shorts, and his grip on your neck tightens when your knees buckle, when your breaths threaten to spill into moans. 

“That’s it,” he coos when he feels your body give into him before your brain makes the decision. “Fuck, it’s gonna be so good. You’ve spent all day makin’ me hungry. I’ll make it extra dirty for you.”

You can already feel his tongue on you, his mouth a phantom touch from the memory of your last time together. Even though it’s been months, you still hold a vivid memory of how it feels to have his mouth on your pussy. That’s how good he is. The way he eats at you as if he’s starving, the way he kisses at your pussy as if he’s kissing your mouth. He doesn’t eat you out with just his tongue like the boys at school do; he uses his entire mouth. 

It’s his enthusiastic hunger that pushes you over the edge every time, unabashed and eager, vocal and insistent. 

When he slides your shorts down your legs, you don’t object. In fact, you find yourself spreading your legs once they’re on the floor around your ankles. 

When he peels himself off of your backside and pushes gently at your back, you move like water to drape yourself over the countertop in front of you. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, voice hushed as he peels your panties down over your ass. “You’re always ready for me, aren’t you?” 

You don’t bother answering his rhetorical question. Instead, you close your eyes and revel in the feel of his big, strong hands on your ass, on the weight of his middle smushed against it too.

He's gained a bit of weight since you last saw him, hasn't lost an ounce of confidence though.

That too leaves your panties soaked.

When you expect to feel his mouth on you, you’re surprised to feel him press his hips forward into the curve of your ass, the impressive girth of him momentarily stalling your breathing. He rubs and presses his cock against you rhythmically, fucking you, and it forces you to immediately wish for the other thing James is really really good at. 

“You’re gonna show me how much you missed my cock next. Aren’t you, pretty girl?” 

Your mouth is immediately flooded with saliva.

Where you pride yourself in your willpower and the strength of your boundaries, you don’t stand a chance when it comes to James. 

He sometimes likes to call you a slut because of it.

He’s quiet as he settles to his knees, the only indication you receive being his warm breath ghosting over your ass, the inside of your thighs. When you hear him inhale deeply, when you feel the slightest bump of his nose on your pussy, your eyes threaten to roll back into your skull. 

You spread your legs further, tipping your ass back just as you were taught. 

You bite the inside of your cheek when he presses a noisy, sucking kiss to your swollen clit. 

His groan is barely detectable over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. “Yeah— lemme taste it, baby…”

[sabrinasopposite]

don’t you want me like i want you?

clark kent x guitarist!reader

don’t you want me

like i want you baby?

sleep tonight but tonights going crazy

meet me at the…. APT.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

For some, music is a companion—a loyal shadow that lingers, a daily necessity. But for others, it’s more. It’s everything. They don’t just hear it; they see it in the shifting hues of the sky, feel it in the vibration of the earth, live it in every heartbeat. For them, music isn’t a sound; it’s a language, a lifeline, a mirror.

For y/n, it was all of that and more. It was a sanctuary, the only way to release the emotions she couldn’t quite speak aloud. Music was her escape—a getaway car racing through uncharted roads. Plug in the headphones, press play, and suddenly, the world became a little softer, a little brighter. It was like being handed a map to a place only she understood.

But sometimes, the search for new music felt like a hunt—a quest for the perfect sound that could stir her soul, rekindle a spark, or provide the soundtrack for a moment she hadn’t yet lived. For y/n, this hunt was eternal, an ache as familiar as the chords of her favorite songs.

She had arrived in Smallville just weeks ago, a town so quiet it seemed like it could have been plucked from the second verse of a Radiohead track—melancholic yet oddly serene, with beauty tucked between its stillness. It was a far cry from the electric heartbeat of New York City, where she’d spent most of her life.

Smallville felt like a genre she’d never chosen—like a punk rocker trying to write country ballads. You either adapted and found the rhythm, or you didn’t. Y/n wasn’t sure yet which way it would go.

New York had been loud, chaotic, a symphony of endless possibility. Smallville was... still. Too still. But in that stillness, y/n found space to think—a fact that scared her more than she cared to admit. Change was like hearing a song for the first time: jarring, unfamiliar. But sometimes, if you gave it a chance, the melody could surprise you.

Her first days in Smallville were spent wandering its streets, letting herself get lost, hoping to stumble upon something—a spark, a rhythm, a new favorite lyric in this quiet album of a town. High school loomed on the horizon, another challenge she wasn’t ready to face. Her only solace was her family: her parents and her older brother, Theodore.

Theodore was her opposite in some ways but her twin in one crucial aspect—music. While she craved the melancholic poetry of The Smiths and the atmospheric pull of Fleetwood Mac, Theodore was all raw energy. His heroes were The Clash and the Sex Pistols, their messy rebellion plastered all over his bedroom walls.

Their playlists were mismatched, but their shared passion for sound connected them like two strings on the same guitar.

“You listen to sad music,” Theodore teased one night as she scribbled lyrics in her worn notebook.


“And you listen to angry music,” she shot back, smirking.


“Anger gets things done. What does sadness do?”
“It makes you feel,” she replied simply, her words trailing into the hum of a record spinning in the background.

It was during one of her aimless walks through Smallville that y/n saw it—a poster taped to a lamppost, its bold letters practically leaping off the page:

“LIVE MUSIC! TALON EVERY FRIDAY NIGHT!”

Her heart skipped, the words striking a chord in her chest. She’d passed the Talon a few times—a cozy coffee shop with an unassuming exterior—but now, it gleamed with possibility.

A smile crept across her face, bright and mischievous like the neon ink on the poster. Maybe this is it, she thought. A way to feel like herself again. To stop feeling like a background instrument in her own life.

She ran her fingers over the strap of her guitar case later that night, her mind racing. She hadn’t performed since New York—a string of open mics where she poured her heart out to strangers in dark rooms. But this felt different. This felt like the start of a new setlist.

Theodore didn’t take much convincing. Over dinner, she pitched the idea “Live music at this place called the Talon. Friday night. Let’s go.”


“You mean you should go,” he replied with a smirk. “With your brooding Smiths covers.”


“And you can bring your chaotic drum solos,” she countered, grinning. “Fine. But I get to pick one song,” theodore said, his grin mirroring hers.

🖤

As the days rolled by, the night of the Talon finally awrrived. y/n had been counting down to it, her excitement mingling with nervous energy.

The Talon wasn’t just any coffee shop—it was the place to be in Smallville. By day, it was a cozy corner where locals sipped lattes and caught up on homework. By night, it transformed into a buzzing hub for the town’s younger crowd, especially students from Smallville High.

Lana Lang, a fellow student, was the mastermind behind it all. Running the Talon was more than just a job for Lana—it was her dream, a vision she’d nurtured into reality. She’d given the shop a unique vibe, blending vintage cinema posters and retro lighting with warm, earthy tones that made it feel timeless. The Talon was Lana’s way of shaping the world around her, just like music shaped y/n’s.

For y/n, tonight was about sharing her heart through her guitar. But for Clark Kent, tonight was about surviving his friends’ enthusiasm.

Clark hadn’t planned on going. Events like this weren’t his thing—too loud, too crowded, and not exactly farm-boy friendly. But Chloe and Pete had been relentless.

“Come on, Clark!” Chloe said, practically dragging him along Main Street. “You can’t spend every Friday night doing farm stuff or staring at your ceiling. Live a little!” Yeah, man,” Pete added. “The Talon’s where it’s at. Music, coffee, and a crowd that’s actually, you know, alive. It’s way better than your barn.”

Clark sighed, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. “I don’t even like these kinds of events. You guys know that.”

“That’s because you’ve never given them a chance,” Chloe said with a knowing smile. “And besides, Lana’s worked really hard to put this together. The least you can do is show up and support her.”

Clark glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “So this is about Lana.”

“No,” Chloe replied quickly—too quickly. “It’s about live music. Supporting local talent. Being a good friend. And, okay, maybe it wouldn’t kill you to, you know, talk to her while you’re there.”

Pete laughed. “Clark Kent, master of subtlety. I bet he stands in the corner all night, sipping coffee and avoiding eye contact.”

Clark shook his head but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Fine. I’ll go. But only for a little while.” Chloe and Pete exchanged victorious looks as they stepped into the Talon.

The place was already packed, the buzz of conversation and laughter filling the air. Y/n and Theodore arrived early, her guitar slung over her shoulder and his drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket. Theodore had been grumbling about being dragged out of the house, but Y/n could see the glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

Clark, on the other hand, stuck close to Chloe and Pete, scanning the room. The warmth of the fairy lights and the smell of coffee filled the air, and despite himself, he felt a bit more at ease.

“See?” Chloe said, nudging him. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Clark shrugged but stayed quiet. His eyes wandered to the small stage at the far end of the shop, where musicians were setting up. He didn’t recognize anyone, but something about the electric energy in the air made him pause.

🖤

Meanwhile, Y/n was standing offstage, tuning her guitar and stealing glances at the growing crowd. Her nerves were starting to show, but Theodore gave her a reassuring nudge. “You’ve got this,” he said, tapping his drumsticks against his leg.

“Thanks,” she replied, trying to steady her breathing. This was it—the start of something new, in a place she was still trying to call home. And as the first chords echoed through the Talon, the crowd quieted, and all eyes turned to the stage.

y/n stood at the center of the small stage, her white guitar resting comfortably in her arms, as if it had always been there. Her outfit—a mix of rockstar glam and effortless charm—caught the light just enough to make her seem larger than life.

She looked like the kind of girl people might describe as a "rockstar’s girlfriend," but there was no mistaking her presence. She wasn’t anyone’s shadow; she was the main event. A free spirit with fire in her veins and a guitar that held all the words she couldn’t speak aloud.

Her style might have turned heads, but it was her eyes that truly shone under the purplish lights. They sparkled with the energy of someone who had something to say and wasn’t afraid to let the music do the talking.

The room buzzed softly with conversation as she stepped up to the mic. She leaned in, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Hi, everyone,” she began, her voice warm but laced with the sharpness of her New Yorker accent. “Hope you guys are ready for something a little... rocky tonight.” She chuckled, the sound carrying through the room like the first strum of a chord.

y/n scanned the small crowd of the Talon, her heart pounding. The faces staring back weren’t familiar, but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t performing for recognition. This was her way of speaking to the world, of sharing her stories—even if some of those stories were ones she’d only imagined.

Love, for instance. It wasn’t something she’d experienced firsthand, but it was a world she often visited in her mind. She’d written countless poems about it, pouring her thoughts into metaphors and melodies.

Tonight, she was ready to turn those words into something real, even if it was just for three minutes under the Talon’s lights. She glanced over her shoulder, locking eyes with Theodore. His drumsticks were poised in his hands, his posture relaxed but ready. She gave him a small nod, a signal to drop the bass and let the rhythm take over.

With that, Theodore struck the first note, a deep, vibrating pulse that seemed to ripple through the room. y/n felt the vibration in her chest, grounding her, reminding her why she loved this. The noise of the crowd softened as the music began to build, pulling everyone’s attention toward the siblings on stage.

y/n closed her eyes for a brief moment, feeling the weight of the guitar in her hands. Then she opened them, her fingers finding the strings instinctively. The first chord rang out clear and strong, cutting through the hum of the room like a declaration.

The song they were playing was called APT, a fun, energetic piece she had written inspired by a drinking game her friend from downtown, NYC had introduced her to.

It was a game called Apteu, and although it was just a silly tradition, it had given y/n the perfect material for a lighthearted, upbeat song. The track was full of energy and rhythm, designed to get people moving and feeling good—just the kind of vibe she wanted to set in this crowded room tonight.

She started to sing, her voice rising and falling with the melody, effortlessly weaving through the rhythm. Her eyes sparkled with passion, each word she sang carrying the weight of emotions she often kept hidden. When y/n sang, it was like she wasn’t just performing; she was living inside the song, letting every note and lyric become part of her. She embodied it, lost in the world of the music, letting it carry her to places she could only dream about.

Her voice was a perfect blend of sweetness and edge, like honey with a kick of spice.

“Don't you want me like I want you, baby?

Don’t you want me like I need you now?

Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. All you gotta do is just meet me at the…”

Her voice echoed through the Talon, drawing the crowd into her spell.

Clark, who had been standing in the back, arms folded and quietly observing, found himself completely captivated. His eyes followed y/n as she moved, completely lost in the song, and suddenly, he realized he was too. It wasn’t just the music—it was the way she poured herself into every note, the way she made it feel like her voice was something raw and real, like it had never been rehearsed, only lived.

His friends, Chloe and Pete, were watching him, but Clark couldn’t tear his eyes away. The entire room seemed to pulse with the beat, and y/n was at the center of it, effortlessly drawing everyone into her orbit. He wasn’t sure if it was the way the song felt so alive, or the way y/n seemed so in tune with every word she sang, but there was something about it—something about her—that hit him harder than he expected.

“She’s good,” Chloe whispered, nudging him. ,,Better than good, actually.”

Pete grinned. “I told you. This is way better than farm chores.”

Clark barely heard them. His focus was entirely on y/n, who was lost in the music. Her eyes glinted with emotion, her whole body swaying in time with the rhythm, and Clark felt that strange spark again, like the first crack of lightning on a stormy night. He was drawn to her in a way he didn’t understand, but the more she sang, the more he couldn’t look away.

y/n smiled briefly as she sang, her gaze briefly meeting Clark’s across the room. It was a fleeting moment, just long enough for him to feel something—a connection he couldn’t name, but he couldn’t ignore.

As she finished the song with a flourish, the crowd cheered, and y/n’s face lit up, glowing with the warmth of the applause. But for a brief second, Clark was still caught in the aftershocks of that look, a smile that was just for him—or at least, that’s how it felt.

The crowd cheered, some shouting their praise while others lingered at the edge of the stage, chatting and laughing. y/n was swarmed by a few people who complimented her performance, but she stayed humble, thanking them with a bright smile and an easy laugh. Theodore hung back, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a quiet pride.

As the buzz of conversation filled the air, y/n and her brother moved off the stage, standing near the side of the room to catch their breath. Clark, still lost in the aftershock of her performance, was snapped back to reality when Chloe grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.

“Come on, Clark, let’s go say hi! You can't just stand there looking like you’re stuck in a trance,” she teased, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Pete followed, still grinning. “Yeah, man. She’s great, huh? Let’s go talk to her.”

🖤

They walked toward the area where Y/N and Theodore stood, and for a moment, Clark hesitated. His heart was still pounding, and his mind was a little lost in the world he’d just experienced. It was just a song, just a girl—yet, something about the way she’d sung had gotten under his skin. But as they got closer, he found himself caught in the whirl of people milling around, all eager to meet the new musician, all laughing and talking.

“Hey, I just wanted to say you did an amazing job,” Chloe said, reaching Y/N and flashing her a wide smile.

Y/N returned her smile, her eyes still alight from the performance. “Thanks! Glad you liked it. It’s always a little nerve-wracking to play for people you’ve never met.”

“Well, you nailed it,” Pete chimed in. “You’ve got a real gift. And that song—APT—man, that was infectious. You had everyone in here dancing with you.”

Y/N laughed, her voice warm and sincere. “I’m just glad it got people vibing. It’s one of those silly songs, you know? You gotta embrace the fun in it.”

Theodore stood silently beside her, occasionally nodding when someone complimented his drumming, but for the most part, he seemed content to watch his sister shine in the spotlight.

Clark hung back, not sure if he should join the conversation. His mind was still racing with thoughts of Y/N, of how she seemed so at ease on stage, and how her smile had made him feel like they were the only two people in the room. But he didn’t speak up. Instead, he found himself standing just out of reach, watching quietly, unsure of what to say.

After a few moments, the conversation began to drift away from the music, and people started to break off into smaller groups, chatting about other things. Clark felt the opportunity slipping away.

“I guess we should get going,” Chloe said after a while, her tone casual, but there was a hint of something in her voice, like she could tell Clark was still lost in the night’s events. “It’s getting late, and we don’t want to leave our fearless leader to fend for himself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete agreed, giving Clark a playful nudge.

Y/N’s eyes caught Clark’s again as they turned to leave. Their gazes met, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the world paused. But before Clark could say anything—before he could find the courage to step forward and introduce himself—she turned back to talk to someone else, lost in the group.

Clark hesitated, and the moment passed.

“Well, that was… interesting,” Pete said with a grin as they headed toward the door. “You seemed like you were a million miles away, man. You’re telling me you didn’t feel that? She’s something else, huh?”

Chloe gave him a teasing look. “Clark’s not the type to swoon over a girl in a coffee shop, Pete. Let him off the hook.”

Clark didn’t answer. His thoughts were elsewhere, stuck on the look they’d shared. He thought, maybe, there could have been something. But as they walked out of the Talon and into the cool night air, the excitement of the night began to fade, and he couldn’t help but think—he’d probably never see her again.

Y/N looked behind, her gaze following Clark as he walked out of the shop. Her eyes lingered on his tall figure and dark hair—he looked like a soft song, something out of Fleetwood Mac's Dreams or maybe Tears for Fears' Head Over Heels.

Her heart was pounding, maybe from the adrenaline still coursing through her after the performance. Or maybe it was the memory of those ocean-blue eyes.

🖤

The weekend passed, and Monday arrived all too quickly. For some students, it was just another Monday. Clark hadn’t expected to see Y/N again. Hell, he didn’t even know her name or who she was, but a part of him felt like he’d known her forever. Maybe it was the music that surrounded her—the way it made her seem like someone whose story everyone somehow already knew.

He’d thought about her all weekend.

Her song was stuck in his head, just like the memory of those purple lights that seemed to reflect her presence.

But another thought kept creeping in—he’d probably never see her again. She sounded like she came from New York; maybe it had been just a visit. What kind of girl like that would live in Smallville? She seemed like she belonged in a vinyl shop, or in some city where she was constantly surrounded by music.

Yet, as he walked down the hallway of Smallville High, he saw her.

Y/N was leaning against a locker, laughing and talking with Theodore. Her bright smile seemed to light up the entire hallway, and for a moment, Clark felt the world slow down.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Sure, he’d been shy around Lana earlier that school year, but this was different. He didn’t even know Y/N—he’d only met her eyes across a crowded room. And yet, here he was, feeling… weird.

When their eyes met again, Y/N smiled, a mix of recognition and curiosity. She nudged Theodore and pointed in Clark’s direction.

“That’s the guy from the other two people who congratulated us—Friday night!” she said.

Theodore glanced over his shoulder, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Sis, a lot of people talked to us that night. I barely even remember the girl who gave me her number.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and walked away from her brother, heading straight toward Clark. His steps slowed, but his heart raced faster with every second.

“Hey, aren’t you the guy from the Talon—Friday night?” she asked with a warm smile as she approached him.

Clark blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Clark. Clark Kent.”

“Y/N,” she said, extending her hand. Her handshake was firm, confident. “So, do you go to every show, or was Friday just a lucky coincidence?”

“I don’t usually go to shows,” he admitted, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But maybe… I’ll consider going to more.”

Y/N grinned, her expression easy and relaxed. Something about her grounded him, helping him find his footing. She was tilting her head slightly as if studying him. “You don’t seem like the ‘crowded coffee shop’ type. What pulled you in? Was it the music, or did someone drag you there?”

Clark chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Chloe and Pete—they kind of insisted. Said I needed to ‘get out more.’”

“Sounds like good friends,” she said with a laugh. “It were the two that I talked to— right?”

“Yeah—- they loved it seriously,” Clark admitted. “And I… well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His words came out more honest than he’d intended, and he quickly added, “The music, I mean. You were amazing up there.”

Her expression softened, a touch of surprise flickering in her eyes. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She paused, glancing at him curiously. “So, what do you do? Besides getting dragged to coffee shops by your friends, I mean.”

“Mostly farm stuff,” he replied, his voice carrying a hint of shyness. “My family has a farm just outside of town.”

“That explains the whole ‘rugged, mysterious’ thing you’ve got going on,” Y/N teased, crossing her arms as she leaned against a nearby locker.

Clark laughed, a little flustered. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me mysterious before.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything,” she said with a playful shrug. Then her tone shifted, becoming more sincere.

Clark smiled and looks at her. ,,And— the guy with the drums was your boyfriend or..?” he said curiously— of course he didn’t want to build up some hopes but, why not asking right?

Her smile widened, and she glanced back toward Theodore, who was still leaning against the lockers, pretending not to listen.

“Well— definitely not. His name is Theodore and he is my older brother. He shares the same passion like me— he is more into sex pistols and I am more into the smiths. But music’s always been my thing. It’s… kind of like home, no matter where I am.” she started to ramble— she was quite a talker.

Clark nodded and found that adorable of how she got into a conversation flow. “That makes sense. You looked like you belonged up there.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her gaze softening. “Thanks, Clark. Really.” Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she added, “So, are you going to stick with the ‘guy who never goes to shows’ routine, or are you thinking about breaking that streak?”

He smiled, shifting his weight slightly. “I guess that depends. Are you playing again soon?”

“Maybe,” she said, clearly enjoying the game. “Guess you’ll have to keep an eye out.”

Clark nodded, his shyness melting away as her energy pulled him in. “I’ll do that.”

“Good,” she said with a soft smile. “See you around, Clark Kent.”

And with that, she turned back to Theodore, leaving Clark standing in the middle of the hallway, feeling like the world had shifted just slightly under his feet.

As he watched her walk away, Pete and Chloe appeared at his side, both smirking.

“Smooth, Clark,” Pete teased. “Real smooth.”

Chloe grinned. “So, is this where we start dragging you to more coffee shop gigs?”

Clark didn’t answer. His gaze was still fixed on Y/N, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Maybe you should.”

🖤 i hope u guys enjoyed! and stream APT by my girl rosé

[scarletwinterxx]

benefit of friends - kim mingyu imagine

god really made this man to be the most perfect one😭 how to get your own kim mingyu (asking for a friend) lol anyways hope you like this one!

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing.

Work is work. Fun is fun. Feelings? Well, they’re like those receipts stuffed into your wallet... you’ll deal with them later.

Your arrangement with Mingyu, your ridiculously handsome coworker-turned-“friend-with-benefits,” was supposed to fall neatly into the “fun” category.

No strings, no expectations, no messy emotions.

But tonight, at the company dinner, you’re beginning to realize that neatly labeled boxes have a way of getting jumbled when Mingyu’s around.

The restaurant is buzzing with chatter, glasses clinking, and the hum of soft music in the background. His deep, warm laugh carries over the noise, drawing glances from everyone at your table. He’s always been effortlessly charming, with his broad shoulders, that perfect smile, and a sense of humor that’s impossible to resist.

And right now, someone else seems to have noticed.

A junior marketing associate, her name slips your mind, but she’s all bright eyes and flirty giggles. She's leaning just a little too close to him. Her hand grazes his arm as she laughs at something he said, and you swear you see her fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary.

Your chest tightens, and you quickly take a sip of your wine, hoping the bitterness will drown the unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up your throat.

Jealousy.

It’s ridiculous, really. You and Mingyu aren’t together.

You’ve both made it clear: this is casual. Easy. No messy emotions, remember?

So why does it bother you so much when he leans in to whisper something to her, his grin widening as she laughs again?

“Are you okay?” a colleague asks, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, forcing a smile.

But your eyes can’t help darting back to Mingyu.

Later, as the group begins to thin out, people leaving one by one, you make your way to the bar for another drink.

You need something. Anything to steady your nerves. You’re swirling your glass idly when you feel someone slide onto the stool beside you.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Mingyu says, his voice low and teasing.

You don’t turn to look at him immediately. “I’m just tired,” you lie.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning a little closer. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it makes your heart race.

“Tired? Or… distracted?”

That gets your attention. You glance at him, and he’s watching you with that playful glint in his eye, like he already knows exactly what’s on your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning indifference.

“Oh, don’t you?” He grins, and it’s infuriatingly attractive. “You’ve been glaring daggers at poor Mina all night.”

So that’s her name. Mina.

“I wasn’t glaring,” you snap, a little too defensively.

He laughs softly, leaning even closer until his shoulder brushes yours. “You were. And, for the record, it was kind of cute.”

“I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Really?” His voice drops, and suddenly the air between you feels charged. “Because it looked a lot like jealousy to me.”

You turn to face him fully, ready to argue, but the words catch in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you—intense, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Mingyu,” you start, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“Relax,” he says, smirking. “I wasn’t interested in her, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and you hate how much that admission makes your pulse race. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, turning back to your drink.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice warm and teasing, “but you like me anyway.”

The car ride home is quieter than usual. Mingyu insisted on sharing a ride, though you suspect it’s less about convenience and more about prolonging the teasing

As the car pulls up to your apartment, you hesitate for a moment. You should say goodnight and leave it at that.

But when Mingyu’s hand brushes yours as he moves to open the door, your resolve wavers.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice casual, though your heart is anything but.

He smiles knowingly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Your apartment feels smaller with Mingyu in it. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to boil over as he follows you inside, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, his tone teasing but softer now, “if you’re going to get jealous every time someone flirts with me, we might have to renegotiate this whole ‘just friends’ thing.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you say again, though even you don’t believe it this time.

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can come up with a retort, his hand cups your cheek, and suddenly you forget how to speak.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, but he cuts you off with a kiss—soft at first, almost tentative, before it deepens. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

You don’t remember moving, but somehow you end up against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing down your neck as your hands tangle in his hair.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur, though it comes out more like a sigh.

“And yet,” he says, his breath warm against your skin, “you keep me around.”

His lips find yours again, and this time there’s no teasing, no games, just the kind of intensity that leaves you breathless and wondering how you ever thought you could keep this casual.

Later, as you lie tangled together on your couch, his arm draped lazily over your waist, you realize your carefully labeled boxes have completely unraveled.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re okay with that.

It starts at a casual get-together with some of your friends. Mingyu wasn’t supposed to come. You invited him half-jokingly, figuring he’d have better things to do on a Friday night. But to your surprise, he’d shown up, effortlessly sliding into the group as if he’d always been part of it.

And now, you wish he hadn’t.

Not because you’re upset he’s here.

Far from it.

Mingyu has a way of making everything more fun. It’s just that you’re too aware of him, standing across the room, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds like he’s keeping tabs on you.

You’re talking to a guy.

what was his name again? Jae? Jin? Mingyu thought to hinself.

The guy has clearly been angling for your attention all night but you don’t notice. You’re oblivious to the way he leans a little too close when he speaks or the way his hand brushes yours unnecessarily as you reach for your drink.

Mingyu notices, though.

From his spot by the makeshift bar, he’s gripping his glass a little too tightly, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. He tells himself it’s fine—you’re not his, and he has no right to feel this way. But when Jae-or-whatever laughs a little too loud at something you’ve said, leaning in like he’s about to touch you, something snaps.

Before he knows it, he’s crossing the room.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, his voice smooth but laced with an edge as he steps between you and Jason, casually sliding his arm around your waist. “Didn’t realize you’d made a new friend.”

“Mingyu? What are you doing?” You blink up at him, surprised

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. His gaze shifts to Jason, who suddenly looks less sure of himself. “Who’s this?”

Jason clears his throat. “Uh, I’m Joon. We were just talking.”

“Talking, huh?” Mingyu says, his smile sharp. “That’s nice. But I think she’s good here.”

“Mingyu—” you start, but he’s already steering you away, his hand firm on your lower back.

You glance back at Joon, who’s standing there awkwardly, but Mingyu doesn’t let you linger. He leads you out onto the balcony, where the cool night air hits your skin.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, spinning to face him.

“What was that?” he counters, his voice low and tense. “That guy was all over you.”

“He was not!” you protest. “We were just talking.”

“You’re so oblivious sometimes, you know that? He wasn’t just talking, he was hitting on you.”

You cross your arms, irritation bubbling up. “And what if he was? It’s not like you get to decide who I talk to.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he steps closer, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Maybe I don’t,” he says quietly, his voice dangerously calm. “But I didn’t like it.”

Your breath catches. His proximity, the intensity in his gaze—it’s overwhelming

“Why do you even care?” you ask, though your voice is softer now, less sure. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and suddenly the world feels smaller, like it’s just the two of you on that balcony.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Your heart pounds as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours

“I care,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something that feels too big to name, “because you’re mine.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“Mingyu—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves you breathless. It’s not soft or tentative like before—it’s possessive, claiming, as if he’s trying to prove something to both of you.

You don’t resist. Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as his hands slide to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we said no feelings. No strings. But I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

Your chest tightens, and for once, you don’t push him away. Instead, you reach up to trace the line of his jaw, your touch soft.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words. “But I guess you're my idiot.”

His smile is equal parts relief and triumph. “Damn right I am”

Back inside, the party continues without you, but neither of you cares. You end up in your apartment again, the tension between you finally boiling over.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no teasing. Just the two of you giving in to what’s been building for weeks. His hands are everywhere, mapping every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing you, and when you pull him down onto the couch, he follows without question.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough and low as his lips trail downward.

“Say what?” you manage, your breath hitching as his hands slide under your shirt.

“That you’re mine,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, hidden beneath all the confidence.

You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’m yours,” you whisper, and the way his expression softens makes your heart ache.

“Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m yours too.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like a promise.

[backjustforberena]

I love the way you say she is a dragon-rider before anything else because that's such a nice way to look at it. Before anything else, and outlasting anything else, she was a dragon-rider. It's the constant in her life. Her other accolades can be made irrelevant or even negative (like being a Targaryen Princess) but to be a dragon-rider is always a good thing, a thing to be proud of, a thing to fear, a thing to take power from. It is always a part of her and her reputation and the implications are fierce. It's a blessing.

RHAENYRA: If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. Fear of it is in itself a weapon. The Greens will make the same calculation. BROOME: The value of a sword is not within its scabbard.

And Meleys has to be that sword. And that's why Rhaenys glares at him: not just for the callous way he wants to burn Green strongholds, which would only incite a similar response from the Greens and would absolutely mean a loss of innocent lives. Rhaenys would be only too aware that, now that Daemon has left for Harrenhal, the dragon who will be fighting other dragons is hers.

Vermax and Moondancer are young (and ridden by her teenage grandchildren), Syrax and Rhaenyra cannot be risked because that's the monarch. It's her. She's the only one that can do it - and, as we know, she is the one to do it.

"Sending Meleys into war isn't just sending a weapon, you are asking Rhaenys to risk the potential loss of part of her very soul."

LOVE THAT!!!! And it concurs with something that Eve says, "She truly believes that the end justifies the means, even if it means sacrificing her own humanity in the process" - I love the idea that participating in dragon warfare is a sacrificial act even before it becomes a literal sacrifice for both Rhaenys and Meleys. That chimes for me.

And you can also read your statement two ways. A loss of a part of her very soul as in literally losing Meleys and Meleys dying in the conflict. But also something even before that. Losing a part of her soul or morals or humanity by using Meleys in such a way as well. Putting her in that scenario.

Meleys is capable of more than aggression. Meleys has feelings and empathy and is humanised. She is an individual being, not simply an extension of Rhaenys or a tool for her to use. There is conscious and consistent thought about her wellbeing. That bond is everything to Rhaenys. It's something she risks her life for. It's something she lives for. And it's central to Rhaenys, with that battle, and also broadly in terms of her character - that he dragon is part of her and her dragon is so much more than a weapon:

"the core of any Targaryen is a dragon."

"My dragon and I have a tender bond [...]"

"[...] her only ally and her only friend is Meleys."

"I think, at that point, her own fate means less. It’s what’s going on with Meleys that’s agony."

"[...] knowing that there was nothing she could do, feeling that it was her fault and that she’d somehow let down Meleys."

"you see the dragon respond and they’re taking care of each other in that moment."

"[...] feeling that somehow she’d let her down or betrayed her in some way..."

"I felt like Rhaenys was saying help and Meleys just says, “you’ve got this.” That moment of connection felt really important."

"The poetry of her literally coming to an end in the sky on her dragon and letting go into eternity is perfect."

In a series that puts quite a lot of stock in the idea of religion, prophecies, gods and touchstones, it doesn't escape me that Rhaenys looks like she's praying here:

I really like the idea that Rhaenys gets just... steamed whenever someone dehumanises Meleys or trivialises her - treats her as a pawn or just an asset.

So instances like when Meleys is imprisoned by the Greens just for what she is and what she could mean for the war, when Daemon just counts Meleys amongst the fighting dragons for Team Black, or he tries to order Rhaenys to take her "mount" and fly with him, or whenever ANY of the men on the Black Council say they should use dragons, send dragons, press their advantage (dragons).

All of those times, I feel like Rhaenys is, to various degrees, outraged.

I think whenever Rhaenys councils against dragon warfare and the bloodiness of it and when she responds to suggestions of attacking with dragons (like side-eying Alfred Broome and wishing his head would catch fire) or the inevitably of it... it's with a personal stake.

Because it's not just unleashing hell. It has specific implications and a specific role and specific risk for a creature that Rhaenys loves.

When they talk about sending dragons to war, it's sending Meleys to war.

[raventhekittycat]

fuuuuuuuuuck just fuck

Kir asking to shoot Camel in the face and Akai's reply just fhsjskskksfj the thoughts that had to fly through his brain at that point and the fact that they gave the line back to Ikeda rather than having it stay as Okiya hits it further home.

Like Akai trust Camel. He thinks Camel has some of the best driving skills. And he also recognizes Camel's guilt for blowing his meeting with Gin and his cover and endangering Akemi. And he's not above using him for it. And here it comes out perfectly.

Here we have Kir who's cover could be blown by Camel being exposed. And he picks Kir who's CIA not FBI over Camel. Even though it's a bet on his part and even though he fully thinks he still can rescue Camel, he picks Kir's safety over Camel.

He has multiple reasons to do so. First Kir is still undercover and he has her partially betraying loyalties and working for him. So part of it is prioritizing any information he can get about the Organization out of her. Another part is she's undercover where he used to be, where he still wishes he could be. He wants his teeth in their flesh and if he can't have it he'll have someone else have it. And to top it all off? Even though he's fine using Camel and trusts Camel and Camel's guilt, he probably still is not happy with him somewhat (bad phrasing but my brain is refusing to feed me the words I want). Camel directly blew his cover, and indirectly killed Akemi. Even if Akai mostly blames himself for Akemi's death the fault in his cover being blown with nothing to show for it is Camel's. He cannot appreciate or like him for that.

So he picks Kir who isn't his own and likely has a slighlty different purpose than Camel who is on his side. He'd sacrifice him before Kir, which I find interesting. Even if he trusts he'll save him in the whatever miniscule percent chance of failure Akai sees in his brain he chooses Kir over him.

[acourtofquestions]

Rowaelin Chapter 41 Kingdom of Ash:

She'd rebuild it—what she had been.

Perhaps one last time, perhaps only for a little while, but she'd do it. If only for Terrasen.

Rowan swooped from the mast, shifting as he reached her side at the rail. He surveyed the night-black sea beyond them. "You should rest." She slid him a glance. "I'm not tired." Not a lie, not in some regards. "Want to spar?" He frowned. "Training can start tomorrow."

"Or tonight." She held his piercing stare, matched his dominance with her own.

"It can wait a few hours, Aelin."

"Every day counts." Against Erawan, even a day of training would count.

Rowan's jaw tightened. "True," he said at last. "But it can still wait. There are ... there are things we need to discuss." The silent words rose in his animal-bright eyes. About you and me.

Her mouth went dry. But Aelin nodded In silence, they strode into their spacious quarters, its only decoration the wall of windows that overlooked the churning sea behind them. A far cry from a queen's chamber, or any she might have purchased as Adarlan's assassin.

At least the bed built into the wall looked clean enough, the sheets crisp and stainless. But Aelin headed for the oak desk anchored to the floor, and leaned against it while Rowan shut the door.

In the dim lantern light, they stared at each other.

She'd endured Maeve and Cairn; she'd endured Endovier and countless other horrors and losses. She could have this conversation with him. The first step toward rebuilding herself.

Aelin knew Rowan could hear her thundering heart as the space between them went taut. She swallowed once. "Elide and Lorcan told you... told you everything that was said on that beach."

A curt nod, wariness flooding his eyes. "Everything that Maeve said." Another nod.

She braced herself. "That I'm-we're mates."

Understanding and something like relief replaced that wariness. "Yes."

"I'm your mate," she said, needing to voice it. "And you are mine."

Rowan crossed the room, but halted a few feet from the desk on which she leaned. "What of it, Aelin?" His question was low, rough.

"Don't you..." She scrubbed at her face. "You know what she did to you, to ..." She couldn't say her name. Lyria. "Because of it."

"I do know."

"And?"

"And what do you wish me to say?"

She pushed off the desk. "I wish you to tell me how you feel about it. If…"

"If what?"

"If you wish it wasn't so."

His brows narrowed. "Why would I ever wish that?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and stared over her shoulder toward the sea.

It seemed like he would close the distance between them, but he remained where he was.

"Aelin." His voice turned hoarse. "Aelin."

She looked at him then, at the pain in his words.

"Do you know what I wish?" He exposed his palms, one tattooed, the other unmarked. "I wish that you had told me. When you realized it. I wish you had told me then."

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. "I didn't want to hurt you."

"Why would it ever hurt me to know the truth that was already in my heart? The truth I hoped for?"

"I didn't understand it. I didn't understand how it was possible. I thought maybe ... maybe you might be able to have two mates within a lifetime, but even then, I just ….." She blew out a breath. "I didn't want you to be distressed." His eyes softened. "Do I regret that Lyria was dragged into this, that the cost of Maeve's game was her life, and the life of the child we might have had? Yes. I regret that, and I wish it had never happened." He would bear the tattoo to remember it for the rest of his days. "But none of that was your fault. I will always carry some of the burden of it, always know I chose to leave her for war and glory, and that I played right into Maeve's hands."

"Maeve wanted to ensnare you to get to me, though."

"Then it is her choice, not yours."

Aelin ran a hand over the worn wood of the desk. "In those illusions she spun for me, she showed me variations on one more than all the others." The words were strained, but she forced them out. Forced herself to look at him. "She spun me one dreamscape that felt so real I could smell the wind off the Staghorns."

"What did she show you?" A breathless question.

Aelin had to swallow before she could answer. "She showed me what might have been—if there had been no Erawan, if Elena had dealt with him properly and banished him. If there had been no Lyria, none of that pain or despair you endured. She showed me Terrasen as it would have been today, with my father as king, and my childhood happy, and..." Her lips wobbled. "When I turned twenty, you came with a delegation of Fae to Terrasen, to make amends for the rift between my mother and Maeve. And you and I took one look at each other in my father's throne room, and we knew."

She didn't fight the stinging in her eyes. "I wanted to believe that was the true world. That this was the nightmare from which I'd awaken. I wanted to believe that there was a place where you and I had never known this suffering and loss, where we'd take one look at each other and know we were mates. Maeve told me she could make it so. If I gave her the keys, she'd make it all possible." She wiped at her cheek, at the tear that escaped down it. "She spun me realities where you were dead, where you'd been killed by Erawan and only in handing over the keys to her would I be able to avenge you. But those realities made me ... I stopped being useful to her when she told me you were gone. She couldn't get me to talk, to think. Yet in the ones where you and I met, where things were as they should have been ... that was when I came the closest."

His swallow was audible. "What stopped you?"

She wiped at her face again. "The male I fell in love with was you. It was you, who knew pain as I did, and who walked with me through it, back to the light. Maeve didn't understand that. That even if she could create that perfect world, it wouldn't be you with me. And I'd never trade that, trade this. Not for anything." He extended his hand. An offer and invitation.

Aelin laid hers atop his, and his callused fingers squeezed gently. "I wanted it to be you," he breathed, closing his eyes. "For months and months, even in Wendlyn, I wondered why you weren't my mate instead. It tore me up, wondering it, but I still did." He opened his eyes, and they burned like green fire. "All this time, I wanted it to be you."

She lowered her gaze, but he hooked a thumb and forefinger around her chin and lifted her face.

"I know you are tired, Fireheart. I know that the burden on your shoulders is more than anyone should endure." He took their joined hands and laid them on his heart. "But we'll face this together. Erawan, the Lock, all of it.

"We'll face it together. And when we are done, when you Settle, we will have a thousand years together. Longer."

A small sound came out of her. "Elena said the Lock requires—"

"We'll face it together," he swore again.

"And if the cost of it truly is you, then we'll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.

Her heart strained to the point of cleaving. "Terrasen needs a king."

"I have no intention of ruling Terrasen without you. Aedion can have the job."

She scanned his face. He meant every word He brushed the hair from her face, his other hand still clasping hers to his chest, where his heart pounded a steady, unfaltering rhythm.

"Even if I had my choice of any dream-realities, any perfect illusions, I would still choose you, too."

She felt the truth of his words echo into the unbreakable thing that bound their very souls, and tilted her face up toward his. But he made no move beyond it.

She frowned. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

"I thought you might want to be asked first."

"That never stopped you before."

"This first time, I wanted to make sure you were ... ready." After Cairn and Maeve. After months of having no choices whatsoever.

She smiled despite that truth. "I'm ready to be kissed again, Prince."

He let out a dark chuckle and muttered, "Thank the gods," before he lowered his mouth to hers.

"You're my mate." Her words were a breathless rush. "And I am yours."

The world might have been burning around them for all she cared, all he cared, too.

"Together, Aelin," he promised, and she heard the rest of the words in every place their bodies joined. Together they would face this, together they would find a way.

Together we'll find a way, their mingling breaths, the crashing sea, seemed to echo.

Together.

[jessamine-rose]

*squeezes aine this time*

Read my Yandere! Dottore fics first (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)

Chemistry ๑ Magnum Opus

So @ainescribe decided to surprise me with more Darling fan art, this time of Dottore’s Assistant!! *sobs* I love it so much ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Once again, feedback will be in the tags. Thank you so much for enjoying my writing, Aine <3