#and the effects of that are still felt now

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.1 – huntrix]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s): some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative

request: here ! this is part 1 – i loved it so much i had to make 2 parts hehe ,,, part 2 is here !

your family worked with the demon hunters for generations – mortals who studied the demons, found their strengths and weaknesses, worked as field researcher on demonology alongside the hunter to keep the honmoon safe.

unfortunately, your ancestors were unpowerful beyond their intellect and aura vision. physically, they were weak – protected only by the hunters. becayse of this, there was .. an accident. the demons found the weaknesses of the hunters – their darling researchers, so they did what demons would do.

thousands of years of pages and books and studies were lost in their attack. most information was mentally stored by hunters, but a substantial amount was still lost in physical ink. in modern times, these researchers are almost myths to hunters – legends. however, mythology tales say that the descendents of the researchers have all knowledge of the honmoon and the demons sealed away by it. of course, it remained apart of the stories celine told rumi, mira, and zoey growing up ... all until they met you.

they met you at a hidden pastry shop in seoul, hidden in an alleyway around the same area as that wack doctor zoey had so much faith in

it was the only place open after practice and rumi, as tired as she was, guided the girls in to enjoy the warm lighting and atmosphere

after declining the offers to go to the bathhouse for the 100th time, she thought this could be the perfect way to make it up to them

she ordered a few treats – mochi for herself, a little apple pie for zoey, steamed red bean buns for mira, and matcha for them all

the girls talked quietly, waiting for their order, until you called rumi up to retrieve the neatly wrapped box of sweets

when she came up to you, your fingers wrapped around her wrist, cold and startling

"i'm not sure how you got in here..", her eyes met yours, now void of the warmth you once held when she walked in, "but if a demon is ordering pastries from me, times must have changed." she shuttered under your hushed voice.

"d-demon...?" her skin was fully covered. even though her markings hadn't spread too far yet, she took precautions regardless, worried of the news that might ruin her relationships.

"i noticed your aura when you sat down. though, you don't seem that threatening... and the honmoon is completely intact aroun–"

"how do you..?" her eyes shook, almost pure horror behind them. there's tension between you two, fueled by her anxiety of being seen, of being exposed when her members were just right by the door. you studied her, her friends, and their auras alike, before you half smiled at her.

"my ancestors and yours were... very close." your voice rose, catching the attention of the pink and black haired girls. "do hunters not teach about researchers anymore?"

the three of them surrounded you quickly, eyes bright and curious

things like "we thought they were myths!!" and "you know about the honmoon!?" were thrown at you immediately

you debunked their mythology left and right, spending an hour after closing chatting with them

they felt.. seen? YOU felt seen!

you could finally talk to others about your aura vision and they could FINALLY get their hunter secrets off their chest

maybe it wasn't the best idea to spill it all in such a public place but who else would listen ?

celine got a very chaotic phone call later that night

and you? you got an invite to a luxurious penthouse and a few new friends

since then, you've helped them immensely

your memory was working like an endless library of information

you'd show them old diagrams your greatest great great great great grandparents had tucked away

discuss old journals that survived the attacks that became family heirlooms

told them fun facts about demons

especially to zoey, who seemed very intrigued by the fact that all demons had a weak spot in their chests due to their lack of personal souls

even, eventually, helped rumi tell the girls about her marks

zoey and mira were stunned in silence. rumi's arms were exposed, hands shaking in anxious terror, but you were right by her side. celine told her to always hide them but .. you understood. you accepted her mere minutes after meeting her. maybe the girls would do the same.

"rumi is.. something fascinating." you admitted. it sounded blunt, but you expressed it with a look of soft excitement. "she has mixed blood – the marks of a demon, the voice, soul, and heart of a hunter. she's never once lied about the kindness of her heart... the traits of hunters overpower any demon urges." you spoke for rumi as she stood there, feeling naked and scared under the judging eyes of her closest friends. "she's a pure experiment – but she's no less rumi. her aura proves that."

it took a few hours of conversations, explanations from both you, the expert, and her, the secret holder, but eventually, zoey and mira engulfed her in a hug – promising to keep the secret contained between the four of you. not even telling celine, in case she got them all in trouble. the golden honmoon was so close.. they'd be able to do this together, especially now that they have you.

during the events of the movie, they needed you a lot

but the last thing they wanted was a repeat of the accident

so they kept you their secret weapon ! working with you behind the scenes and away from the actual action

when the saja boys grabbed everyone's attention with their beautiful bodies and alluring voices, you were staring at their markings, especially at the joint fansigning they held

jinu noticed you about as much as he noticed bobby – just another person on staff

that is until he noticed how you stared at him

not ogling, but studying,, writing things down in the notebook you carried, covered in huntrix stickers

be lucky he noticed you over baby or mystery, otherwise you may have been targeted by their powers to throw you and huntrix off

he asked about you to rumi once .. the "mysterious person" on their staff that "always wrote in that notebook"

she was more worried about your safety than opening up to him but .. she thought..

if you helped her reveal herself to huntrix, maybe you could help jinu and the saja boys ?

they never expressed wanting help but she couldn't help but think about it

you hopped on board with her plan in secret, working on ways out of their servitude to gwima

it took a while but you figured that if you could channel your aura vision and hold them above the honmoon when it sealed, they could be healed of their marks too, human disguises left in tact.

it was only a matter of time before you tried it out.

[kannady]

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from  curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew. 

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. 

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this. 

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she  turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side. 

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in. 

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk. 

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer. 

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

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tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101

[manyegos]

I wrote on 2019 "Me during the last decade" I think I gained so much wisdom and strength on 2023. The last 2 years were absolutely miserable, whereas in my early childhood and youth it was embodied with trauma, violence, abuse, poverty and utter loneliness . . . the last years specially after covid (and a little bit still) were marked by stagnation, dissapoitment and unkown. I am etraordinary better now and I can handle them but these years were difficult even if I would like to say otherwise. My financial situation really affected me to a point I reached a low point for consecutive years. I am very strong because the combination of everything with the pandemic and the recessions would have taken anyone out. I am better today and it makes me happy to read what I was feeling and going through and to know I gained so much wisdom and strength. That movie also represented how much I felt disconnected, lost and a feeling I can't put into words "stolen" from life. Now Blue is the warmest color does not have the same effect on myself.

By the way on a funny and uplifting note, at one point I reached the Fat Thor (if you seen Avengers you will understand) state of mind, where I had given up on everything and I was a mess (still not the lowest I have been, as I was hedonistic and careless) I posted this back then, thankfully all those questions have been answered and I am still working on the last one. “do you have a boyfriend yet?” Yes I did, I almost get married. Thank GOD I did not. By the way youngerself, you become a master and a pro in relationships and on ending in good terms after a nightmare fall out and dating so many frogs. You will find so much pleasure in being alone and single and even envision creating a family on your own! You also learned that anyone even the sort of wrongly titled "love of your life" are just complements, being good with yourself fixes everything around you and truly attracts people! “when are you gonna get a job?”Well youngself, you will discover soon after COVID hits that we actually had more luck back then and there was so much more we could do. You will experience a new industrialization wave (the AI and supercomputer wave.) Neither Trump, Communist, progressives or any party will fix it. You have to survive, good luck We are still doing that! “what are you gonna do with your life?” Well young self, I am still answering that. I keep avoiding and ressisting. Going after our dreams isn't as clear, easy or serendipitous. It is scary as fuck, sometimes and for many close to impossible and as we are discovering not even applicable (AI changed the landscape, laws change things, the economy, war, etc) But we are actually very motivated and more focus than when we were young.

Bonjour Tristesse (1958) // Blue is the Warmest Color (2013)

[vshiftsss]

AN INTERVIEW WITH YASMIN MONET - (KATSEYE DR)

questions from this post by @heartavenue!!

𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖦𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖸𝖺𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝖬𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖪𝖠𝖳𝖲𝖤𝖸𝖤 | 𝖳𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖵𝗈𝗀𝗎��

INTERVIEWER: Before we start, can you just introduce yourself for anyone who may not know you?

YASMIN: Of course! Hello everyone, my name is Yasmin Monét, and I am a singer, dancer, and actress. Though my most notable role is my position in KATSEYE as the leader, one of two main dancers, and a vocalist.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite memory of the Dream Academy?

YASMIN: My favorite memory by far is when we all went to Korea for a mission. It was such an eye-opening experience, to absorb an entirely new culture, an entirely new environment...plus, we got to see HYBE headquarters? We got to meet LE SSERAFIM? Literally one of the best moments of my life. In that moment, I knew I had to secure my spot in KATSEYE.

INTERVIEWER: What is your least favorite memory from the show?

YASMIN: Every time someone got eliminated. It would always leave such a gloomy effect on the rest of the girls, including myself. We didn't want to see our friends leave. We wanted to enjoy this experience together. And that's the fucked up thing about these survival shows, like...not all of us can make it, no matter how badly we want it to happen.

INTERVIEWER: What did you enjoy the most about being on the Dream Academy?

YASMIN: The friendships you build in settings like that are stronger than ever. 'Cause, like, you're competing, but at the end of the day, we all got to a point where we were just as happy for our friends as we were for ourselves. I still talk to everyone I met during Dream Academy, too. So yeah, the friendships.

INTERVIEWER: What did you enjoy the least?

YASMIN: I think I enjoyed the mental battle the least. While it did prepare me for what I do now, it's just too much stress to put on one person. Especially when you're at the risk of being eliminated and ripped from your dream forever. Sounds dramatic, I know, but it's how I felt during Dream Academy. I am very lucky to be where I am now.

INTERVIEWER: If you could pick one person who did not make the final lineup to join KATSEYE, who would you choose and why?

YASMIN: Oh...that's a hard one. Everyone was so talented! Literally, if we could've made like, a twenty member group, I would be down. But if I had to pick one person, I would probably pick...Marquise or Nayoung. Both of them are insanely talented and I can definitely seeing them pulling off KATSEYE's concept. Their take on Gnarly would be interesting to see, too!

INTERVIEWER: What were your first impressions of your members?

YASMIN: Hmm...let's see.

Sophia: Nice, sociable girl, but she knew what she came for. I admired her drive.

Megan: Literally clicked automatically. I think it was because we had such similar personalities and senses of humor.

Lara: Intimidated, but in a way. She just has that undeniable it girl vibe about her.

Manon: Same thing, but we bonded easily. She showed appreciation for my sister's music, too, and we got closer through our similar interests.

Yoonchae: She was so quiet, yet she was on top of it from the get go. I could tell she also had the end goal in mind, but I did want to get to know her better.

Daniela: So funny. Loved her from the first moment I met her. I also remember literally asking her for guidance during dance practice cause I loved her dancing so much.

INTERVIEWER: Who did you meet first?

YASMIN: I met Megan first.

INTERVIEWER: Who are you the closest to?

YASMIN: Megan, Manon, and Dani.

INTERVIEWER: How long have you been training for?

YASMIN: I have been through vocal training since I was 5. I started acting around the same time. I started dancing when I was around 10 years old, but everything else began when I first auditioned. Songwriting and producing are just hobbies of mine, so I wouldn't call that training.

INTERVIEWER: How did you join the Dream Academy? Did you audition, get scouted, or something else?

YASMIN: I auditioned.

INTERVIEWER: What is your position in the group?

YASMIN: I am the leader, a main dancer alongside Daniela, and a vocalist. I also try to involve myself in the songwriting and production aspect.

INTERVIEWER: If you could change your position, which position would you choose and why?

YASMIN: Honestly, we don't really have rappers in our group, but I would be open to going down that path. Rapping has always intrigued me, and I think it would be cool to see what I can do with it. We'll see what the future brings.

INTERVIEWER: If you could trade lives with a member who would you and why?

YASMIN: Mmm...probably Daniela. I mean, she was on America's Got Talent. The girl was already a superstar.

INTERVIEWER: What song do you listen to get you hyped before a performance?

YASMIN: I don't have a specific song, but the girl group FLO is constantly in my rotation. Same with Kendrick Lamar, Beyonce, and Doechii. Whatever feels right in the moment.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite song in your discography?

YASMIN: Debut has such a special place in my heart, so I have to go with that one. Though, Gnarly is a close second for me. I love the more confident and showy songs we put out, if that makes sense.

INTERVIEWER: What is your favorite choreography?

YASMIN: Once again, Debut. The different formations and the unique moves - like the main leg swing, and that kind of stuff - it was hard to learn, but it was very exciting.

INTERVIEWER: Which choreography was the hardest to learn? The easiest?

YASMIN: Hardest one was Debut, mainly because it was our first choreography meant for the group. You know what I mean? We had to make an impression and show everyone that this is what we can do. Especially with a completely new song, too. There was a lot of pressure for that one to be perfect, but it was also incredibly exciting.

For the easiest one, I would say My Way. The song isn't that complicated musically, so the choreography is very gentle and simple for us.

INTERVIEWER: What was your initial reaction to joining the final lineup?

YASMIN: I'm sure we all saw the clip of me crying my eyes out on livestream. It genuinely felt like I was dreaming. My name being called first? Out of everyone? It changed my whole mindset. That moment told me that all my hard work paid off, that all the doubts I had were pointless. It was surreal. Afterwards we went backstage, I called my sister Victoria as soon as I got access to my phone. I had never heard her cry so hard in her life. She was all like, "That's my sister right there! You made it! We're all so proud of you, girl!"

Yeah, it was...it was crazy. Absolutely insane.

INTERVIEWER: What was your initial reaction to Gnarly?

YASMIN: Shock. Pure shock. I could already tell it was a risky move, but I loved it. They had pitched the concepts for the upcoming EP a bit before we heard the demo, so from the jump I knew I was gonna like it. But hearing the lyrics and that beat? Yeah...I saw the vision.

INTERVIEWER: How do you feel about the Eyekons reaction to Gnarly?

YASMIN: They all honestly had the same reaction I expected. The first few days, the girls and I were kinda anxious. Like what if they really don't get it like we did? But the minute our first performance video dropped, it was like something switched, and suddenly a lot of people got it. I'm glad for that.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the loudest member?

YASMIN: Definitely Dani or Manon. The amount of times I hear them screaming while I'm on live...I love it, but I can't replicate it. I respect it.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the most talkative?

YASMIN: Sophia in general, me when I'm talking about an interest of mine. I'm mostly a listener when it truly comes to it, but when it's a realm I'm well-versed in, I can't help myself.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the best cook?

YASMIN: Sophia. And Lara. Both of them make the best food, dude, it's hard to compete.

INTERVIEWER: Who is the mom of the group?

YASMIN: Me, and...Sophia, again. She's just like an all rounder. She does everything, it's amazing.

INTERVIEWER: And that's all we have for our interview today! Is there anything else you want to shout out or say?

YASMIN: Please check out KATSEYE's newest song, Gnarly! Out on all music platforms. You can find us on TikTok, Instagram, and Weverse, as well. As for myself, my handle is @/yasminmonet on all platforms! Thank you for having me.

𝖭𝖤𝖷𝖳: 𝖪𝖠𝖳𝖲𝖤𝖸𝖤 (캣츠아이) "𝖦𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗅��" 𝖮𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝖬𝖵

note... wow! this literally took two months! i've been so burnt out recently in terms of posting, but my motivation has been renewed...and i have a few new (and revamped) drs i want to talk about! so hopefully i can stay on it this time. also, i know gabriela just came out, but i'm just going with it. my fault for being late 😟

tags... @avelineshifts @julianasversee @miaojune @visualcve

END OF POST - HAPPY SHIFTING!

[tfalpha88]

New reality part 1

In the high-tech laboratories of the Duval pharmaceutical group, excitement was in the air. After months of research, Philippe, a talented young scientist, had just developed a first prototype of a drug designed to enhance athletic performance. Curious about the results, the CEO himself, Mr. Duval, came down to discuss it with him.

- Well, Philippe, how is that famous sample coming along? Are the initial results living up to our expectations?”

- Yes, Mr. Duval. The formula looks very promising. Preliminary tests show a significant improvement in endurance and muscle strength. So far, no major side effects have been observed.”

- Excellent work. Keep going. This product could truly revolutionize our industry… and our market share.”

In the quiet of the lab, Philippe continued his trials. Focused, he carefully analyzed the red solution he had just synthesized. The goal was clear: to stabilize the formula and create a solid version, easier to use and more effective. But for now, the product remained too unstable. Philippe stayed cautious: he still didn’t know what side effects might occur.

While handling the sample, Philippe accidentally dropped it. The flask shattered on the table. Within seconds, the liquid reacted violently with the air, turning into a thick cloud of red smoke. Panicked, Philippe stumbled backward, horrified by what was unfolding before him.

Within seconds, the entire laboratory was engulfed in a dense red fog. The air became heavy, saturated with a strange scent — a mix of locker room sweat and gym odor. Philippe, frozen in panic, tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Suddenly, a violent pain struck Philippe’s stomach, as though his intestines were being crushed from the inside. The acrid, nauseating smell grew unbearable. Clutching his abdomen, he had no idea what was happening to him.

The pain became unbearable. Bent double, Philippe suddenly felt a thick red smoke burst from his mouth. In a panic, he couldn’t grasp what was happening. Memories came flooding back: a childhood marked by loneliness, teased by classmates for his shyness, distant parents who didn’t understand him. A brilliant student, he had found refuge in his studies, eventually being recruited by the Duval pharmaceutical group. But in his personal life, Philippe had remained a loner — few friends, one short-lived relationship… Even now, he never quite knew how to connect with others.

The memories kept shifting… something was changing. New images began replacing the old ones: yes, he had been a lonely child, but during adolescence, he had chosen to turn that loneliness into strength. He had started bodybuilding, seeking acceptance — from others and from himself. He could no longer stand the sight of his weak, frail body in the mirror. Though no longer top of his class, he had graduated and been recruited by Duval.

As these new memories rewrote his story, a new reality took hold: his body was transforming, muscles growing, his shape evolving. Philippe, confused, could no longer tell what was real and what was not.

Philippe’s memories — and reality — kept shifting. He now remembered always having been intelligent and popular. Arrogant and vain, he had embraced bodybuilding to sculpt the perfect physique — one he admired in other men, as women had never interested him.

His grades, though average despite his high IQ, had never mattered much next to his passion for sport. He had pursued a career in research to develop products that would push the body’s limits. The Duval group had hired him not for his grades, but for his charisma and ambition.

As these memories took root, his body kept changing: his muscles swelled, every fiber reshaped, reinforcing this new version of himself. Philippe could no longer tell what was real and what was imagined.

Philippe’s reality kept rewriting itself. He had never been particularly bright — academics were never for him. Sport was his world. Arrogant, self-absorbed, he had built a dream body, overflowing with testosterone. Proud of his sexuality, he was 100% gay and obsessed with the perfect, muscular male form.

One day, determined to create his own line of energy drinks for athletes, he had ended up in the Duval group’s laboratories. Now, as his body continued to transform, his clothes changed too, morphing into tight gym wear — the perfect reflection of who he truly was.

The transformation was complete. Now, it was as if the old Philippe had never existed. Only this new reality remained: a confident man, proud of his sculpted physique. He loved showing off his muscles — every pose a display of power and masculinity.

To be continued…

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Unraveled in her arms - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Smut - Been a while since I really deep dived into the smut... - probably not the best smut but it's something

It's been five months of loving Alexia with your whole heart. Though your relationship is still new, it feels like you've known each other forever. Everything between you just feels so natural. Like it's always meant to be.

But even though it feels like you've been together forever, you’ve both chosen to take things slow. You haven’t gone public yet. Partly because Alexia has an entire fan army behind her, and not all of them understand boundaries… or basic human decency.

Of course, the fans have been speculating. relentlessly. Sometimes it feels like they’re private investigators, and honestly, it’s a little scary. But Alexia always reassures you. She reminds you that what you two have is real and that no amount of noise from the outside world can touch it. With her, you feel safe. And that makes all the difference.

You woke up nestled in her arms this morning. Still heavy with sleep. Maybe you could drift off again… but probably not. You can feel her soft steady breathing against your neck. Her arms gently wrapped around you. She's still fast asleep. Completely at peace.

But you? Not so much. The thing is… when you're ovulating, everything feels heightened. Your body. Your mind. Your desire. And right now… with her warmth pressed against you. Her scent. Her skin. Things are starting to feel really hot. Sleep is officially off the table.

Two weeks ago, the two of you finally took the next step and became intimate. It took time. You're naturally shy, and sometimes your insecurities get the better of you. Alexia, patient as ever, mirrored your quiet hesitance. She was a little shy too, which meant neither of you rushed anything or pushed beyond what felt right.

But two weeks ago, something shifted. It wasn't planned or dramatic. Just a quiet, perfect moment where everything aligned. The trust. The closeness. The love. It all built up into something tender and real. And in that moment… you both let go of the nerves. The second-guessing. And simply reached for each other. It was soft. A little clumsy. Full of whispered laughter and quiet understanding. But it was yours. And it changed everything.

Alexia gained confidence quickly. Especially after seeing the effect she had on you. How vocal and uninhibited you became in her arms. She made you feel safe in a way no one ever had. And without that safety, you know you wouldn’t have been able to let go the way you did.

Since that night, though, things have been quiet. Not out of distance but out of life simply getting in the way. Alexia had to leave for camp and you’ve been buried in work, coming home more drained than anything else. The timing just… hasn’t aligned.

But this morning is different. Today, finally, is a day off for both of you. No alarms. No obligations. Just time. Slow. Quiet. And yours to share. And as the sunlight spills across the sheets and her arm tightens slightly around your waist in her sleep… you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the space between you is about to close again.

Of course, the insecurity creeps back in. Because as much as you want to just turn around and jump her bones. A small part of you holds back. You're worried about comng on too strong. About ruining the quiet comfort of the moment. You don't want to scare her or make her feel pressured.

And then there’s the other thing. You know how intense your desire can get when you’re ovulating. How wet you get. How needy you feel. It’s not something you can control. But past partners didn’t exactly handle it well. Some made you feel embarrassed, even ashamed. Like your body was too much. Too messy. Too inconvenient.

Before your thoughts can spiral any further, you feel a small shift behind you. Alexia stirs.

A soft breath escapes her lips as she nuzzles closer. Her nose brushing against the back of your neck. Then comes the quiet, sleepy murmur of your name. Her voice still heavy with dreams. One of her arms tightens around your waist. Grounding you instantly.

"You're awake," she whispers, warm and close.

You nod, heart racing. And before you can even begin to untangle all the worries clouding your mind… she presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Been thinkin' about you," she adds, a lazy smile in her voice.

And just like that, the storm in your head quiets. Because she's here, holding you like she never wants to let go.

You turn slowly. Pressing your lips to hers in a lingering kiss. She shifts onto her back, pulling you closer. Wrapping her arms tightly around you until your bodies are flush against each other. Your core presses against her thigh and a sharp bite to your lip betrays just how good it feels.

She notices. Her eyes flutter open. A knowing smile curving her lips as she whispers, “You like that, don’t you?”

You nod, but then gently pull back just enough to catch her gaze. Your breath hitching slightly. There’s a quiet vulnerability in your eyes as you search hers. Silently asking if this is really okay.

She smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hey,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to hold back. I want this. Us. Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then admit softly, “I think I’m ovulating right now… and, well, things can get a little messy. I just don’t want to freak you out.”

She looks at you, eyes warm and steady, and shakes her head gently. “Hey, that’s natural. Nothing about you scares me. We’ll take it slow, whatever you need.”

She reaches down and gently pulls you closer by your hips. Guiding you to shift so your core presses firmly against her thigh. Through your panties, she can feel the wetness. Warm and unmistakable. Tracing against her skin. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face as she leans in, whispering, “God, that’s so hot.”

You freeze for a moment at her words, heat rising even more as her breath fans against your ear. Her fingers trace lazy circles along your back. Grounding you. Inviting you to relax.

She moves her hand down to rest on your hip, squeezing gently. “Don’t hold back,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting. “I want to feel every part of you.”

Encouraged by her confidence, you start to move just a little more. The friction sending a delicious warmth between you both. Her thigh presses harder against your core, and you feel her smile deepen as she leans closer. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” she whispers. “I want you. Right here. Right now.”

Encouraged by her words and the warmth of her touch, you let yourself give in a little more. Soft moans slipping past your lips as your body responds. You press closer, letting your neediness show. Your breath growing heavier.

She smiles against your skin, her fingers tightening gently on your hip as she murmurs, “That’s it… don’t hold back.”

With every sound you make, every movement closer to her, the air between you thickens with desire. Raw. Honest, And entirely yours.

Still learning each other’s bodies, she notices you growing a little too close and gently lets you pause. You glance nervously at her thigh. Noticing the wetness there and worry you might be overwhelming her.

But she quickly reassures you with a soft smile. “I just want to switch things up a bit.”

With that, she slips off her sleep shirt, inviting you to press gentle kisses to her bare skin. She settles back against the headboard, hands reaching to help you out of your soaked panties and her shirt.

Then, you settle between her legs. Your back resting against her chest. Feeling the warmth of her body wrapped around you. The closeness is intimate and comforting. A new rhythm unfolding between you both as you continue to explore each other with tender curiosity.

Her hands begin their slow, deliberate exploration. Teasing along your skin with featherlight touches that make your breath catch. Fingers trail over your curves. Tracing the delicate lines of your ribs and dipping lower. Every brush sending shivers through your body. Then, with a gentle boldness, her fingers find your core.

Her breath hitches sharply at the slick heat she feels beneath her touch, and you can’t hold back. The soft whine and moan that escape you are raw and needy. Your body arching into her fingertips. She smiles against your skin, Her touch both teasing and sure. Moving in slow, tantalizing circles that make you writhe beneath her. Desperate and achingly close.

But she doesn’t rush. Her fingers pull away, traveling back up your body. Tracing the sensitive spots along your sides and collarbone. Keeping you on the edge. Craving more. Then, just as you start to lose yourself… she returns. Her touch firmer. More focused. Coaxing every ounce of your desire.

Her voice is low, sultry but sweet as she whispers against your ear, “You’re so beautiful like this… so open, so wet for me. I love how sensitive you are. How easily I can make you lose control.”

You shiver at her words, every nerve ending alive. The fear rising that you might come just from her talk alone. But she senses your tension and presses a soft kiss to your neck. Her voice calming and confident.

“Don’t be afraid, baby. I know exactly how to take care of you.”

She presses a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. Her lips warm and tender against your skin. The sensation sends a fresh wave of heat through you. Grounding you in the moment. Reminding you that you’re safe. Wanted. Cherished.

Then, without hesitation, her fingers slip inside you. Slow. Deliberate. And utterly attentive. Every movement is measured, perfectly in tune with your body’s responses. She takes her time. Exploring. Coaxing. And bringing you deeper into a space where pleasure feels limitless and completely hers to give.

You lean fully against her now. Your back flush with her front. Feeling the steady, comforting weight of her body wrapped around you. Your hands instinctively reach down to her thighs. Gripping the soft, warm skin just as her fingers move with more confident urgency inside you.

Her breath catches in a low, breathy moan. Feeling you gripping her thights. Vibrating against your neck as you move together. Her touch and your desire intertwining. The sound of her pleasure only fuels yours. Your body trembling with every stroke. Every sigh, . Every whispered word shared between you.

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. Her gaze dark and hungry. Lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” she murmurs, voice thick with desire.

“And don’t think I’m done… because I’m soaked too. Looks like we’re definitely going to need a round two.”

[st4rymoon]

. ݁˖ . Red Handed

𝘋𝘉𝘍 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘹 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳

• Continuation/request for our secret

Warnings: suggestive, kissing, pet names, age gap (reader mid-twenties x Simon late 40s), angst, arguing, touchy Simon cause you both to get caught :(

Laundry day was in full effect and like always, you had to ask your dad for a shirt. But just like his daughter, price had his last pieces of clean clothes on. Procrastination ran in the family.

“All in the washer now, I’ll go check if I have one in a bag somewhere” price sighed as he lazily walked up to his bedroom.

You groaned in anger at yourself, you should’ve packed some extra shirts knowing you got rid of clothes for some spare cash for college.

“Ha!” You heard your dad yell from his room, you could hear his footsteps making their way to your door “found one of Riley’s old shirts he left here, I’m sure he won’t mind” he smiled as he threw you the shirt.

You thanked him with a convincing smile, nothing is going on with Simon. Don’t react to the mention of his name. Nothing is going on!

You sighed with relief as he made his way down the stairs and off to tinker with his car. You put on the shirt and smiled to yourself as you turned around to see Simon Riley plastered on your back in big bold letters.

He sure took his claim before but you’d sure keep this shirt for safe keeping.

-

Simon stopped in his tracks, a case of beer in one hand and some tools your father forgot at his place a few weeks ago.

He was faced with you, back faced to him as you cooked yourself something to eat. You were blissfully unaware, headphones on and focused on your food.

You couldn’t feel of the eyes that stalked you, Simon stared in amusement as he admired you. Claimed with his name on your back, he didn’t know he needed this as much as he did.

You jumped as you felt a hand pull at your headphones “Branded you in your family home, now your walking around with my name on your back? Jus’ begging me to make you a Riley huh?” Simon cooed.

“Simon!” You hissed as you looked around for your dad. You don’t know how he’d react to Simon this close to you, but you could guess it wouldn’t end well.

“I know bunny I know.” He chuckled as he took a step back “looks good tho huh?” You teased with your eyes gawking up at him from behind your shoulder.

Simon wishes you were both alone. God how he wishes this little scene was playing out in his house. So he could bend you over the counter and fuck you in his shirt.

He groaned at your words, a gasp leaving your lips as he presses up against you “sure does” he hums as you hold onto his arms, giggling as he presses a kiss onto your neck.

“NOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!” You hear your father’s voice booming from behind you both. You could feel your heart drop as Simon went still.

Both of you scrambled back from each other, faced with your father’s disappointment and betrayal. “Dad I- I’m sorry we should’ve told yo-“ there was no use to lie, so the only thing you could think of doing is coming clean.

You were cut off by your father’s voice “Simon”. The sound of his name was full of betrayal, malice, and anger.

“I never meant for this to happen price. After all you’ve done for me, after all you’ve helped me throug-“ Simon muttered.

“EXACLTY! After all I’ve done for you, you had to have thi- this, whatever type of relationship this is with MY DAUGHTER!” Price hissed.

Price was furious, disappointed, and heartbroken. He trusts Simon with his life, neither had secrets the other didn’t know. Until now. You. His little girl. The reason price never gave up.

He walked up to Simon, eyes furrowed with an emotion price himself could not understand. But simon stood still knowing whatever price did, it was justified for what he’s done. “I- how? When did this start?” Your father’s eyes glared at the both of you.

“Almost a year” Simon sternly replied “And I know you’re pissed price, probably want to bash my head in and i understand that. But I don’t regret a single thing.”

Your eyes glared up at Simon in disbelief and affection, he doesn’t regret it. He doesn’t regret you, even with your father’s eyes burning into both of you.

But most of all, you’re surprised that your dad hasn’t bashed Simon’s head in. He was always a overly protective father, always scaring your boyfriends to death, and always making sure you were safe.

But this is unlike anything price had to deal with, his best mate kissing on his daughter. He was furious, yet he knew Simon. He is a man of very few words, lacked experience when it came to emotions. He told Simon he knew he’d find someone soon. He just never expected it would be you.

His precious daughter, the light of his life.

“Get out” Price couldn’t look Simon in the eyes, his eyes glued onto his boots as the words came out. “Simon, get out” it was stern and full of anger. Simon didn’t say a word, all he did was nod and gave you a look that told you he’d be back.

-

The house was silent. You and your father sat in the living room, your hands on your thighs as you fidgeted with your hands. “Dad, I know your mad. I know you proably hate me and hate Simon but I’m not a little girl anymor-“

“Yes you are! You are my little girl forever. You always will be. I know you’re grown darlin’ I know it. It’s jus- with Simon? I know I was gone for a while, my job was time consuming and isolating. But why go for someone so much older than you honey?” You knew what your father was hinting at.

Simon was nearly the same age as him, only a few years younger than your own father. Price felt like he had failed in a way. What made you want a man like Simon? Older, brooding, and his best friend.

“My liking for Simon has nothing to do with you dad. You’re an amazing father, and I know you’re thinking about asking me what you did wrong. Sure he’s older, but he treats me the way I know you’d want me to be treated.“ you continued on, trying to ease your father’s anxiety and anger over the situation.

It was only until you heard that familiar sigh. The sigh he does when he knows you’re right but he has his doubts.

“I don’t know honey” your father sighed. “I know Simon, he will give his life for the ones he loves. Bu- but you’re just too young, this is too close to home. Simon will want a family soon, settle down. You, you’re in college and I won’t allow you to just throw away your life for this.” Price sternly spoke.

“I understand dad. But I never said I’d throw away my college or my life for this, you know how much I’ve put into it, Simon knows it too.”

Silence washed over you both once you spoke. Price didn’t know how to feel, what to think. All he knew is he was disappointed. He always hoped you’d find someone to love you, protect you, and keep you safe.

He knew Simon could do all of it and more. He knew Simon would never let you throw away all your hard work for him. He trusted him with his life, but does he trust him with you?

Yes.

But is he really ready to say it out loud?

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 464

Brief summary: The seeds have germinated. Everyone is worried about Cale. Molan talk gets delayed. Cale meets Mol.

==========

Everyone was worried about Cale's condition, but he reassured them that this would get better in time. Of course, everyone was still worried about him, including the kids and CH.

Raon: Human, can't you eat? Cale: ...*turns away from the apple pie? Raon: 😟 Ron: Young master, shall I prepare some lemon tea? Cale: Yes. Tea will be better. The average 10-year olds: *plotting how to get stronger so that they could beat up Cale's enemies who did that to him*

Cale turned down the apple pie a second time, shocking Raon. And when the kids gathered in a corner of the room, Cale was like, 'At least they're not crying'... No, Cale. They were too worried to even cry, okay? 😭

Cale: We're going to the city. CH: What?! Cale: This condition is not due to contamination. It will get better with time. Um, how do I explain this? It's a side effect of using too much power. CH: That can't be, that's impossible. How can you be fine when you've been contaminated by chaos. Cale: (Why are his eyes like that? It reminds me of when he vowed revenge when he first came to the Henituse territory after the Harris villagers died. Why is this gentle guy suddenly going back to that time?) Cale: Are you okay? CH: *frowns* Cale: (Why is he acting like that?) Cale: The contaminated area is not fine. It hurts. So I have to purify it. But most of the symptoms you're seeing now aren't related to contamination. It'll go away with time. CH: …

Cale... Can't you tell that CH is really worried about you? Why are you dense in situations like this?

Choi Han stared at Ron silently. Ron running with Cale on his back. Cale probably couldn't see Ron's face. But Choi Han was close by, so he could see clearly in the darkness. A face was filled with desperation and urgency.

CH recalling how worried Ron was when they were running away. 😭😭😭

“Young master, please rest for now.” Ron laid Cale back down on the bed with a kind smile on his face. “Hmm.” Ron smiled at Cale, who was snoring. “You've always been a troublemaker, both when you were young and now.” He laughed softly. “Of course, the current young master causes even more trouble, making this old servant worry.” “!” Cale's eyes widened. 'The current young master.' As soon as Ron said those words, Cale was speechless and felt frustrated. He was also surprised. 'As expected-' He knows? No, how much does this vicious old man know? “Hoho.” Ron smiled kindly, or rather, like an assassin. Cale unconsciously curled up inside the blanket. Ron couldn't help but smile as he looked at Cale's trembling pupils. “Get better first.” Since Beacrox hadn't returned yet, he went to get lemon tea himself and said, “Our young master really is a handful.” Cale cowered unnecessarily and watched Ron's expression. After all, he wasn't in a normal state to say anything right now.

Ron knows!!! The Molan talk... got delayed for the nth time because Cale needed to rest! 🥲

Last chapter, we found out that some demons had a seed in them that could germinate and spread chaos. Well, one appeared already in a city, so DK invited Cale over to that city and meet him at the same time.

So when Cale appeared to meet Mol first, he was in a wheelchair and roughly breathing. Anyone could tell that he wasn't in a good condition, so...

Cale: *suffering from indigestion* Mol: Are you... dying? Cale: What are you talking about?

Ending Remarks I never expected to see Cale in a wheelchair. Next chapter would be Cale's meeting with DK. But would Cale be alright given his condition?

[vampmira]

open up what you got in your mind to me. [pt.2 – saja boys.]

they've never met someone like you — a mortal who almost knew them .. better than they knew themselves. for the boys, it's annoyingly intriguing. for the girls, it's comforting.

paring(s): huntrix & saja boys x demon expert!gn!reader

warning(s:) EVERYTHING IN HERE IS A PART TWO TO THIS !! some movie changes, probably effected lore that makes no sense for the sake of the narrative, a little angst at the beginning

request | tags: @blueberrysquire @akariis4snowball @j0ykill

a/n: this is part 2 !! i had sooo many ideas for huntrix that i had to make another part for the saja boys so that it wasn't so long . this part isn't as good but i liked it so ☆☆☆

that night huntrix defeated gwima was a blur. all you remember was the zombie mob of fans, half of the fight, and the use of your aura vision to raise the saja boys above the honmoon before it glimmered in gold. jinu, who gave his newly found soul for rumi, was practically reincarnated through her sword – standing in front of her post-concert, arms open for her to fall into with tears from the both of them. everyone else? well, they felt lost.

the saja boys weren't sure what to do anymore. jinu was overjoyed, of course, but the boys knew nothing more beyond gwima and their mission. they didn't care much about music, nor their fans – which huntrix still couldn't wrap their minds around – and it's not like they had secret human hobbies. they never had time for that. until now.

post-gwima, they stayed in an apartment near the huntrix penthouse, trying to figure out their new lives. for the most part, they spent most of their time under your watch – to make sure they didn't go cause chaos – but also .. under your study.

you were weird to them

they weren't used to someone other than them.. knowing them

their capabilities, their knowledge, their origins.

actually jinu found your extensive understanding of what he is to be kind of comforting

he noticed how you never really drooled over them

you'd stare, sure, but in the same way an art critic would stare at a painted blue canvas with a smeared red dot in the middle

he felt like that red dot – unexplained but you somehow understood

when he told you about his past, it was a lot for him – talking about his cruel choice

but you.. didn't judge him.

in fact, you wrote it down in your notebook immediately, the one you never let the boys get too close to

he accepted you into his life when he entertained your interest in his history

unlike him, however, the other boys were uninterested

at first anyway

thank jinu for getting them to talk to you btw

it took a little bit of convincing – telling them that you wanted to give them something more than just gwima

even though they didn't want it ...

REGARDLESS they hang out around the penthouse

because they're no longer saja boys (uninterested and unsupported by any demon staff anymore)

they really had nothing to do but mildly annoy your personal space

including being the center of your attention when the girls are out

mira gave you one rule, "living room and bathroom. only." and you've succeeded so far. abby and romance were talking by the large scale windows, mystery was playing some game with baby (and obviously winning), and jinu sat in the middle of the couch, watching whatever movie rumi put on for him. you sat beside him, sketching in your one and only personal researcher book. your pencil drew out what you felt like was the final line in mystery's hair ... before you huffed, erasing it, and trying again.

that was... until the littlest demon startled you.

"mystery, they're drawing you." bored of his game, baby peered over your shoulder, only passively curious and really wanting to mess with you. heads turned at your exposure to the room, especially jinu, who looked over your other shoulder at the sketch you did of him earlier.

"you're.. sketching us?" the direct ask made you a bit nervous, especially being under so many eyes. (kind of. mystery was more just.. generally facing your direction.) "'weakness.. chest?' are you taking notes on us?" you stood up, nearly defensive, turning around to face the couch trio.

"if it weren't for your old friends, i wouldn't have to write it all down again." the boys went quiet, remembering the origin of your knowledge and powers. "i'm just.. tired of keeping it all inside. i need to get it out somewhere."

romance, true to his name, leaned over your shoulder, putting you both in a proximity much closer than you've ever had to experience before.

"then why don't we do something.. a little more fun .. to help you get it all out?"

normally sentences like that from him sound way more suggestive than he means them to be

but this time he came up with an actual solution to release your closed up, ready-to-pop-out-of-your-skin knowledge

they gave you a one way trip to infodump station ! an interview !

they wanted to learn more about you anyways

their fellow demons down below were the ones to wipe out your ancestors

not them

and they make sure you know it too

but they can't help but feel .. a little, tiny bit bad that you're now just a living library

a time capsule, holding onto so much information that you're about to burst 24/7

they had never met a researcher honestly

you intrigued them as much as they did for you

how much did you really know ?? did you know anything or is all this antsy behavior a ploy to make it look like you knew everything when you really knew nothing ??

their disguises were perfectly created to make every little fan fall for their attractiveness the second they looked at the boys

but you never drooled at them or had your eyes pop out of your head

you just always... stared. processing. tracing mindfully.

they didn't know what you were really abut. but they were about to find out. and really test your persona.

romance sat relaced in a chair as you circled him, pencil taking note of everything you noticed. how his markings were sharp, not rounded like rivers, how his skin was cooled, not burning hot. all things you already knew, but you found small comfort in knowing not much changed. you took a deep breath around his hair, nose scrunching up. he smiled, taking your cheek in his hand.

"new cologne." his voice was smooth, gentle. traditionally alluring. "just for you. do you like it?" he turned up his flirtatiousness, pulling you in closely, testing the waters of your focus.. before you turned away to start writing, completely uneffected.

"so many generations and you guys still smell like flames.." you mumbled to yourself.

"would you rather we smell like bubblegum?" baby tried to sass you, but you were too focused on the sharpness of his teeth to care. you stepped towards him, eyes widened.

"can demons still tear apart brick with the force of their canines?" you asked, rather close to his face. for a moment, he almost felt like the flustered one.

"yes..? no? i-i don't know." he crossed his arms, childishly. "i don't go around biting bricks." you jot it down still as you move towards abby. he's deeply relaxed, leaning back on the couch, comfortable shirt riding up to expose his famously toned abs. your eyes trail off of your notebook and they think.. they've got you.

"like what you see?" he teases. "you can touch them, you know." a bold move that brings you closer, nails tracing his skin. they're almost disappointed that abby is the one who stole your attention.. before they realize you're attention isn't stolen at all. you're drawing his markings with careful detail.

"where did yours come from? rumi's started forming on her arm when she was a kid, but they haven't reached her stomach yet. they grow with time, right? how old would that make you then..?" you dissolve into mutters they can barely decipher. "oh!! mystery!" he almost jumps behind the couch when you race over to him, making jinu laugh from the sidelines of their attempts to flirt with you. "i've never seen a demon sparkle! that's new.. is that just you? or is there a whole subspecies of sparkling demons? or is it your human disguise..?" your questions nearly overwhelm him, enough to make him forget how he's supposed to flirt with you, but romance pulls you away, whispering in your ear.

"it's not just him." he smiles, hand on your shoulder. "you're sparkling, too, sweetheart." if anyone could fluster anyone, it'd be him, even if it takes two rounds. his thumb runs against your chin. "you look so cute in this lighting, like a rose."

"speaking of which, what's the flora like down there? are there any? do they eat demons or are they like.. regular flowers? we knew more of demons than of gwima's realm. did they smell? i bet they might have.. would it be nostalgic or torturing?"

the boys share a look, and sigh. you went off into high speed muttering again.

you really were everything you said

uninterested in their flirts and more in knowledge

that almost made them like you more..

in the following times after the interview, they greeted you a bit more casually – sometimes cheerfully, asking if you had any new drawings or trivia you wanted to get off your chest

how did you . tame them !? does the whole hard to get thing actually work !?

it confused the girls wildly

but to see them adjusting to being here through someone who actually understood them instead of lying around, empty and lost, was a pick-me-up in the mornings

one morning, after being delivered a coffee, handsigned by the boys, you felt something click in your head, a sensation you had never felt before, and reached to put it in your notebook immediately

"demons, when properly befriended, like to be understood. they brought me coffee. do demons like coffee??"

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony laughed. “Oh good.  I know I’m not much of a cook but I was sure I could handle putting meat and salad between bread.”  He was glad that Bucky liked it though.  He’d tried making food for people he’d cared about before, but it had never gone well.  A sandwich felt safe and apparently the choice had paid off going by Bucky’s reaction.  “Oh come on now,” he said.  “It’s some bread, meat, and cheese.  I didn’t make you a gourmet meal.” 

Tony smiles as Bucky’s hand brushes over his.  Steve doesn’t miss the moment - and god how he wished he could just knock their heads together and tell them that this right here is a romantic relationship.  That they liked each other.  Not as friends but as something much different to friends.  He hoped they’d get to it in their own time.

Tony grinned at Bucky as he played sound with his water.  “Does it feel wet too?” he asked.  “It’s really hard to know what the sensors will report to your brain, and you know what?  A lot of it comes down to just your brain deciding for itself what it’s supposed to feel like.  There’s this trick you can do, where you lay a rubber arm next to someone’s real arm but you cover the real arm, and you can literally trick the person into thinking that they can feel all the things you do to the rubber one.  And the rubber one only needs to vaguely resemble an arm.”  He took Bucky’s hand and flipped it over and ran his finger down his palm as he spoke animatedly.  “There are neuro receptors running all the way down the arm and they’re just sending a signal to your brain that something happening - a temperature, a pressure, a density, maybe a viscosity, but it’s your brain that decides what that date means and most of that is based on your sight.”

He looked up at Bucky and tapped his wrist much like he would to his real arm when he was trying to ground him.  “I will warn you though, Buck, there are potential side effects we have envisioned.  We don’t know if these will happen, because you’re the test subject, so it could end up meaning we have to turn the feeling setting off, or have you take breaks from it.  We’ll have to see.  But because you can’t actually hurt this arm, the pain receptors are turned down.  I mean, let’s say you’re out and a car comes hurting toward you, I don’t want you to flinch about using this to stop it because you’re worried it’d feel like all your bones were shattering.  Same as if you put it in a fire, we wouldn’t want it to feel like your skin is blistering.  You don’t have skin or bones in this arm, you can still do all those superhero things with it.  But - that could mean you start to forget that your real hand feels pain and you end up doing something really dumb with it.  Or maybe your brain will overcompensate and just decided for itself it should feel like you broke every bone in your arm.  I’m not saying those things could happen, but we want to get ahead of them if they do.”

He let go of Bucky’s hand.  “Until then, enjoy it.  And yes, the cradle is amazing.  One day we might even be able to grow you a whole new arm in it from the skeleton up.” 

Bucky’s eyes widen, “No! No that’s why I asked, it’s so much better than anything i’ve ever had from that cafeteria, I thought maybe you had a special connection in the kitchens and got the good stuff,” he grins, taking another bite and its quiet while he chews and swallows, “You made me a sandwich for after surgery? That’s real nice Tony, thank you,” he says with a warmer, sincere smile, tempted to reach out his hand but he didn’t know how Tony felt about that now that Steve was around.

Steve knew about them sure but Bucky was used to tamping down the affection in front of anyone, so he busies his hand with reaching for the cup of ice. He picks it up with his metal hand, eyes widening as he could feel the cold beneath his fingers. He sets his sandwich on the wrapper and pours some water into the cup, unable to resist the urge to dip his finger in it, staring in awe as he was able to feel the wetness of the water, and the chill from the cold.

“Jesus..I ain’t felt anything with my left hand since I fell..” he mumbles, trying to come to terms with the fact that he would be able to feel with both hands now. His flesh hand travels up to his shoulder to feel the skin at the base where the prosthetic connected to his arm, “and my shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore, the Cradle must’ve done it’s job..”

[hyukascampfire]

(🍸) SOMETHING BORROWED .. い葉 hard thoughts

𝓘N WHICH 𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗁𝗈'𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝘀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗍

engaged윤호 ‧ f rea 17OO . . . smut non idol ˃ ᵕ ˂ infidelity/hardcore cheating angst crying during sex

ɑ︭ : literally my first atz fic but this vision came to me and i knew it had to be yunho

You were doing so good at pretending his engagement brought you to happy tears, or that the thought of him waiting at the end of the aisle for anybody but yourself was anything but gutwrenching. And then Yunho went and told you that they were getting married, and your carefully constructed lie that even you began to believe went crumbling down all over again. Tenfold. 

“Oh… my god,” you said, smiling so tight it’s a wonder he didn’t know right away. “Yunho. That’s crazy. Congratulations!” It was a good effort, but it wasn’t even convincing to your own ears.

“I know.” Yunho’s smile was broad, so truly filled to the brim with excitement. Afterall, he was hitting a major life milestone, even this time he’d be doing without you. “It’s like we graduated high school yesterday. Now we’re getting married and starting families...”

The rueful smile you mustered had ached so terribly. Sure, he was doing that. You certainly weren’t. He was leaving you alone, just when your brain had finally matured enough to name those dazzling emotions in your chest whenever you looked at him. But you weren’t about to go and steal such a big moment for your long-time best friend by saying something sappy and drawing all the attention to yourself, so you gave him false smiles and sugary congratulations until the moment faded and you were left with the emptiness of one, stone-cold fact.

Jeong Yunho, your best friend and long-time love of your life, will be getting married. And it will not be to you.

It’s not even like you hate the girl. She’s sweet. You would rather no other woman be Yunho’s partner in life, if only it weren’t draining the life force out of you to watch them love each other. Exchange kisses that you never got to feel and only existed in your shameful fantasies, become each other’s in every way that you imagine being Yunho’s and him being yours.

And, if you weren’t currently sprawled out in the same bed he no doubt makes love to her in. Yunho was always bad at boundaries with you. Not only would you cuddle, but his fingers would find the plush of your hips in ways that felt beyond the denomination of best friends. He spread kisses with so much ease. Some pressed to the top of your head, always since he hit that growth spurt in middle school and was ecstatic to finally be taller than you, some chaste and against your shoulders when he’d hug you from behind.

Even moreso now, when his wedding is an excruciating three weeks away. Three. And you’re alone here with him, laying in his bed, still loving him. It’s wrong, and even your bruised heart knows it. Not enough for you to stop yourself though, clearly.

“Where are you guys going for the honeymoon?” you ask, eyes getting droopy. You know better than to fall asleep in this bed though. Who knows what would happen, should his fiancé come home to find the two of you dozed off together. Perhaps that’s a glaring sign that you shouldn’t be doing it, to both protect his relationship and your own hopeless heart, but you’re as bad at boundaries as he is. Especially knowing that soon he’ll be promised to another woman, and that’ll be the effective end of times like these. No more nights curled up on the couch, binging your shows together, no more any of it.

“Not sure,” he hums. There’s a strange look in his eyes, one that has butterflies erupting violently in your belly. The button-down he had been trying on for you, the one he’ll wear on that awful day, is rumpled and pushed up to his elbows. He looks down at you, beautiful fingers trying and failing at a tie.

“You don’t know where you’re going?” you ask, climbing out of bed to help him. That’s weird. Yunho has seemed excited about all fronts of this wedding. Actively a part of planning the decor, the venue—any girl’s dream. The love of their life being just as involved and in love with such a beautiful day as you are. “It’s less than a month away, Yunho…” Your fingers loop the sleek tie, painfully reminiscent of the way you had done just the same for him on your prom night. That had been the best night of your life: pretending to be his, wrapped in glittering fabric and his arms. Now you will wrap yourself in something grown and silky, but you’ll go it alone and you’ll be sat in the pews instead. Tutting, you add, “It’s hard to book places the closer you get. It should’ve been booked months ago.”

His mouth twitches like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. You freeze at the look on his face, the way his eyes soften and dart between yours, the way tension simmers in just the way you work the tie at his neck.

“Hey?” you say, voice thin and unsure. Like sending feelers out more than anything. The air becomes suffocating like the weight of the plethora of things that you absolutely should not do right now, but the fragile boundaries have never felt closer to snapping than this very moment. “Are you seriously getting second thoughts?”

Silence rings out in the bedroom for the longest moment. Snapping all the tension, he finally says, “I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Sorry for what? Why would he be sorry to you for questioning his marriage? Your mind fractures into fifteen different, convoluted directions. And then he just kisses you. The first time you feel those lips of his outside of fever dreams, they’re hot on your mouth and moving with crumbling fervor. The clashing of your teeth ring like warning bells that the both of you make the conscious decision not to hear or heed. You whimper confused sounds into his mouth and he consumes them each. His fingers curl into the back of your hair to drag you into him closer as if that might erase all the time you’ve spent dancing around this, or as if it might leave no room for you to think about the wrongness of it. 

You’re barely able to pull yourself away. “Mfffh—Yunho,” you say, breathless and dazed.

The back of your knees hit the bed and then so does your back. And just like that, you’ve slipped right back in that damn bed of theirs. “Fuck,” he chokes into your mouth. “Don’t even say it. I don’t know.”

Inhibitions are smashed to bits somewhere on the floor. You tug that tie loose around his neck and instead of doing what’s right, you do exactly what’s wrong. “Don’t marry her, Yu,” you say, chest welling up like drowning. “Please.” The words spill out quicker than you can rationalize.

He doesn’t answer you. You know that it’s because he can’t make any promises. That should be enough for you to pull back. And sure, it stings. But as self-destructive as it is, you’ll accept crumbs. You’ll accept the ‘mistake’ sex and the regret just to have him once. Disgusting.

Your tongues dance as you fumble with your clothes like you’re running out of borrowed time. You certainly are, aren’t you? The clinking of his belt turns your insides over and sends your hands shaky as you drag both your pajama shorts and panties down in one fell swoop. Faster. Needier. More, unattainably more. Your blood sings the word until he’s inside you, and suddenly you know the shape of your best friend and how snugly he fits inside you. There is no way you’ll ever be able to forget it. That and the sight of his handsome face only a breath’s width from you, breathing each other’s air. They sear into the back of your fluttering eyelids.

Yunho’s grabbing fistfulls of your hips and losing himself. His whimpers fall into your neck and shoulders. Soon enough he’s losing rhythm and the headboard is beating the walls and you’re both so close to forgetting the betrayal of it.

So close. Tears burn trails down your temples, glistening in the soft light. The ache shocks you, but so does the strange detached, floatiness.

“Shhh.” His voice cracks as he wipes them away with a gentle, slow thumb amidst all the frenzy. “Why’re you crying, baby?” Canting his hips just right, a shudder grips the both of you. “Please don’t.”

Kissing him just to taste, you take his lip as you pull away. “I… I can’t take it. I don’t want you to just fuck me and…” Voice breaking off into a whimper, you try to gather your scrambled thoughts. “And then just… you be able to forget about it and go back to her. I love you so much, Yu. It’s not fair.” You know you sound pathetic, but you’re already here letting him fuck you in her bed. How much lower can you go?

Much, much lower, it seems. Yunho brings his left hand up, twinkling with his promise to another. Pulling the ring off his finger, he rolls it between his fingers and then cups the soft curve of your chin. “Open your mouth,” he says, soft. Dumbed down, mindless, you do without second thought. And then he lays his ring on your tongue and fucks you with it there. You roll it around, taste it like the bubbling champagne and floral arrangements that it vows. “No—” he breathes, falling out desperately. “No, let me see it. This should’ve been… yours.”

So you hold your tongue out for him, letting him see that ring in your mouth, in hopes that maybe, by some miracle, it’ll change his mind, and it will be yours. Even as your insides twist up. Even as you shake apart on his length, and he stills above you and pulls out at the very last moment to spill over your belly. The pads of his fingers taste bitter as he collapses over you and takes the metal right back off your tongue, ripping away that future you had let yourself imagine might be yours just like how the clarity post-orgasm seeps back over your thoughts. 

As he pulls away, the air stagnates with shame, and it is sharp. How are you supposed to let him go now? All the words you want to say get caught up in your throat and won’t come out. You can’t ask him if things have changed, or what you’re going to do now. So you will just go on the way he seems to be, rolling the moment off his shoulders like it wasn’t dirty and wrong. You will push it all down once again, and then some.

OO1. 【 tagging 】 . . . @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @taebatu , @caratcakemoa , @biteyoubiteme , @dawngyu , @hyunruhi , @heesmiles , @lunesdesire , @yystarz

rblgs & asks >ᴗ<

[reveryfics]

I have no clue if you’d be willing to write this but figured I’d say fuck it and send in the request bc I’m lowkey feeling like shit (chronic pain and TBI after effects are a bitch) and got nothing to lose. A Frank Castle x male reader scenario where maybe the reader isn’t a vigilante or anything like Frank, but he’s a vet (maybe he would be willing to help out but an old injury or disability prevents him from doing so. Not that Frank would want him to. We already know that man is the type to not want to drag the ones he loves into his bullshit and lifestyle) but the classic scenario of Frank coming home injured and the reader sitting there and patching him up. Or maybe even the opposite where the worst did happen and the reader got pulled into some shit and is injured because of it and Frank patching him up and taking care of him. Hopefully this is coherent? Either way thanks in advance either way.

Reckless

Frank Castle x Male Reader

Summary: Frank Castle – you'd served with him, and you'd also seen the brutal efficiency of the Punisher. A lingering injury from your own time in uniform meant you couldn't stand by him in the fight. But when those hunting Frank decided you were the easiest path to him, the situation quickly spiraled out of control.

A/N: Chronic pain is such a bitch, I feel you on that one. Highly intend for the reader to be regarded as around Frank's age too (old man yaoi.) Loving the amount of requests I've been getting.

TW: Chronic pain - Injury - Blood - Fight - Violence - Veteran reader

It was a debt you could never repay, a life inextricably linked to another by the chaotic, unforgiving hand of war. Frank. The name alone conjured a maelstrom of emotions, primarily a profound, almost sacred gratitude. He was the reason you were still breathing, the only reason you hadn't succumbed to the desolate embrace of a foreign land. Your tenth year of service, a decade forged in the crucible of deployment after deployment, accomplishments meticulously tallied, all poised to culminate in a quiet, honorable discharge. But fate, in its cruel irony, had other plans.

One careless misstep, a fleeting lapse in concentration, and the world had exploded around you. An improvised explosive device, a hidden menace, had detonated with a deafening roar, tearing through the air and through your flesh. Shrapnel, hot and brutal, ripped into your leg, tore across your chest, and burrowed into your arm. The world tilted, a cacophony of pain and the metallic tang of your own blood filling your senses. You were sure that was it. You’d bleed out, alone, another casualty swallowed by the unforgiving sands. But then, there was Frank. He was there, a solid, unwavering presence amidst the chaos, his hands staunching the flow, his voice a guttural roar that cut through the haze of agony. He saved you. Plain and simple. He dragged you from the jaws of death, and for that, you were forever beholden. To be discharged, not with quiet dignity, but with a medal for nearly dying because of a stupid, ignominious mistake – the bitter taste of it lingered even now.

The aftermath was a relentless torment, a stark reminder of the price of survival. The constant, throbbing pain in your leg, a phantom limb of agony that never truly receded. The constellations of scars, stark white lines crisscrossing your skin, permanent etchings of a life nearly lost. Physical therapy became a monotonous ritual, a testament to a body that refused to cooperate, a constant battle against the limitations imposed upon you. For years, the same tired refrain escaped your lips: "I'm okay." But inside, a silent scream echoed, a desperate, raw cry of hopelessness. You felt useless, a shadow of your former self, unable to perform even the simplest tasks without assistance.

And Frank? Frank, a man haunted by his own demons, a man who had become the brutal vigilante known as The Punisher, remained a steadfast anchor in your storm-tossed world. He was always there, a looming, protective presence. He never truly articulated why he clung to you with such ferocity. Perhaps it was a primal fear of losing another person he cared about, a desperate attempt to protect what little he had left in a world that had taken so much. Or perhaps, in safeguarding you, he was, in some twisted way, protecting a fragment of himself.

The day you insisted on helping him, on stepping into his dangerous world, he’d thrown a fit, a furious, unyielding refusal. But what choice did you have? Your leg, still a mangled mess even after countless surgeries and endless physical therapy, rendered you barely able to stand. How could you possibly join him on his brutal crusades? The thought of you out there, limping into the line of fire, was an absurdity, a recipe for disaster. Frank, of all people, understood the fragility of life, the swiftness with which it could be extinguished. So, your way of helping became a quieter, yet no less vital, role. You stayed out of the way, a silent sentry in the shadows, waiting for his inevitable return, your hands steady as you patched him up, cleaned his wounds, and offered the silent solace of a shared history. It was a symbiotic relationship, born from the ashes of war and forged in the crucible of a mutual, unspoken understanding.

The familiar blue glow of the television screen flickered across the dimly lit living room, casting dancing shadows on the worn spines of books crammed onto shelves. You were sprawled on your ancient, but surprisingly comfortable, couch, your injured leg propped up on the coffee table, a mountain of pillows strategically placed for support. A low, involuntary groan rumbled in your chest, a constant companion, a dull ache that intensified with every passing minute of stillness. It was late, later than you usually stayed up, but sleep was a fickle friend these days, often evading you until the early hours.

The news anchor's voice, a monotonous drone, filled the silence, relaying the city's usual grim litany of petty crimes and political squabbles. You weren't really listening, though. Your mind was a battlefield of its own, replaying a different kind of news, a more personal, unsettling kind. You hadn't heard from Frank in a while, and the silence was beginning to fray at your nerves. This wasn't like him, not really.

Frank, for all his gruffness and solitary nature, had a strange, almost rigid, code of conduct when it came to you. If he was going to disappear for an extended period, if the shadows he operated in grew too deep and dangerous, he'd always tell you. A curt phone call, a cryptic text, sometimes even a scribbled note left on your door. He’d always use the same excuse, delivered with a gravelly growl that left no room for argument: "It's too dangerous for you to get involved or know more until it's over."

That's what he'd said last time. He'd somehow managed to piss off a particularly nasty group of corrupt cops, and the fallout had been immense. You hadn't seen or heard from him for nearly a month, a period of gnawing anxiety that had you pacing your small apartment like a caged animal. He’d resurfaced eventually, gaunt and tired, but triumphant, assuring you the coast was clear, that you wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.

Sometimes, you truly believed Frank forgot. Forgot that you were military trained, that you'd stared death in the face more times than you cared to count, that you were still capable of holding your own, even with the constant throb in your leg. Sometimes, it felt like he saw you as a fragile child, a porcelain doll that needed to be shielded from the harsh realities of his world. A surge of irritation, hot and familiar, would often course through you at the thought. But then, the anger would recede, replaced by the bitter pill of understanding. He was trying to keep you safe. You knew that, deep down, as much as it rankled your pride.

You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, the groan escaping again, a little louder this time. The news continued its dreary report, but your eyes were fixed on the flickering image, unseeing. Where was he? What was he into now? The worry was a cold knot in your stomach, tightening with each passing minute of silence.

The worry, a cold, persistent knot in your stomach, finally snapped. Frank’s silence wasn't just unusual; it was alarming. With a grunt, you pushed yourself off the couch, ignoring the familiar dull ache that flared in your leg and shoulder. It was a constant companion, a dull throb that had become so ingrained, you barely registered it until you put pressure on it. Now, it was a dull roar, but you pushed through it, a singular focus driving you: Frank.

You limped into your bedroom, the floorboards creaking a protest beneath your weight. The closet door groaned open, revealing a sparse collection of practical clothes. You rummaged quickly, pulling out a pair of dark, comfortable jeans and a nondescript hoodie. Your hand automatically went to the nightstand, your fingers closing around the familiar orange bottle of pain medication. You shook out a couple of pills, swallowing them dry, already anticipating the brief, blessed reprieve they would offer.

The shower was a sanctuary, a small, steaming haven from the constant ache. You let the hot water beat down on your back, scalding your skin in a desperate attempt to soothe the screaming nerves beneath. For a few blissful minutes, the warmth seeped into your muscles, a fleeting sense of relief washing over you. You closed your eyes, willing the tension to drain away, knowing full well it was a temporary truce at best.

You were right. The moment you stepped out of the apartment building, the cool night air biting at your skin, the pain medication seemed to evaporate into thin air. Your leg throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against your bones, and your shoulder screamed in protest with every movement. But the physical discomfort was a mere whisper compared to the clamor of your anxieties. Frank. That was all that mattered now.

You started walking, a determined, slightly uneven gait, down the familiar sidewalk. Frank's apartment wasn't far, a blessing considering your leg. The city lights blurred around you, a kaleidoscope of neon and streetlamps, but your focus was narrowed, laser-sharp. As you walked, your free hand fumbled in your pocket, pulling out your phone. You dialed Frank's number, your thumb hovering over the call button for a split second before pressing it. The phone rang, once, twice, three times, each ring echoing the growing dread in your chest. No answer. You tried again, and again, and again. Each unanswered call was a punch to your gut, a confirmation of your worst fears. Where the hell was he? And why wasn't he answering?

The familiar, unassuming brick building where Frank kept his current hideout loomed into view. It was just another forgettable structure on a forgettable street, designed for anonymity. Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against your ribs, echoing the insistent throb in your leg. This was it. This was where you’d find answers, or at least a clearer picture of what new hell Frank had willingly plunged into.

You approached the entrance cautiously, your eyes sweeping the street. No patrol cars, no obvious signs of a struggle, no lingering shadows that suggested a recent departure. The stillness was almost more unsettling than any visible chaos would have been. You tried the main door, pushing against it with your shoulder. Locked. Of course. Frank was many things, but careless wasn't one of them.

Moving to the side, you scanned the fire escape. A faint glint caught your eye, a small scratch mark on the metal railing near the third-story window. It was barely visible, a whisper of a disturbance, but it was enough. Frank rarely used the main entrance when he was trying to be discreet.

With a grunt, you grabbed the cold metal of the fire escape ladder. Each rung was a fresh jolt of pain to your shoulder and leg, but you ignored it, pulling yourself up, one painstaking step at a time. The muscles screamed in protest, protesting the exertion, but adrenaline, a familiar ally from your military days, coursed through your veins, dulling the sharper edges of discomfort. You reached the third-story landing, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The window was dark, indistinguishable from the others, but as you leaned closer, you noticed it – a faint, almost imperceptible scratch near the latch, just like the one on the railing below.

You pressed your ear to the glass, listening. Silence. A heavy, absolute silence that stretched taut, almost vibrating with unspoken tension. It was the kind of silence that usually preceded a storm, or followed one. You took a deep breath, the metallic tang of fear and determination filling your lungs. This was it.

You braced yourself, the chill night air momentarily forgotten as you focused on the task at hand. With a practiced hand, you worked the window latch from the outside. It gave way with a soft click, a sound barely audible above the frantic thumping of your heart. You pushed the window inward, creating a narrow gap, and then, with a grunt of effort, you slipped through the opening, landing silently on what felt like a hard, tiled floor.

The darkness inside was absolute, a suffocating black void that swallowed all light. You extended a hand, fingers splayed, sweeping them across the wall in search of a light switch. The familiar rough texture of plaster gave way to a smooth, cool surface. The instant your fingers grazed it, you felt the unmistakable, ice-cold press of a gun barrel against your right temple.

A low, guttural voice rumbled from the darkness, thick with menace: "Turn it on."

It wasn't Frank. The realization was immediate, a cold dread seeping into your veins. Frank, for all his brutal methods, would never be foolish enough to put a gun to your head, not without knowing who was on the other side. A sigh escaped your lips, a mix of resignation and a flicker of anger. You'd walked right into it.

With a flick of your thumb, the light switch clicked, plunging the room into a harsh, unforgiving glare. The scene that unfolded before you was a gut punch. Frank’s hideout, usually spartan but organized, was a disaster zone. Furniture was overturned, papers scattered, the contents of drawers strewn across the floor – a clear sign of a violent, thorough ransacking.

And then, the men. Three of them, silhouetted against the stark light, their faces grim and set. Recognition hit you like a physical blow. You knew them. They were some of the corrupt cops Frank had been dealing with, the very ones who'd kept him off the grid for a month. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity: you hadn’t just found Frank’s hideout, you had fallen headfirst into a trap meant for him.

You didn't even have a chance to speak, to utter a single word of surprise or protest. A heavy hand shoved your shoulder, sending you sprawling. You landed hard, your already aching knee slamming against the unforgiving floor, a jolt of white-hot pain shooting up your leg. The impact rattled your teeth, and for a fleeting second, the world spun. You gasped, the breath knocked from your lungs, but even through the haze of pain, your mind was racing. This wasn't good. This was very, very bad.

The pain from your knee was a searing brand, but the cold glint in the eyes of the man towering over you was far more chilling. He was the one who'd held the gun to your head, his face a hard mask of impatience.

"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, "Where's the Punisher?"

You pushed yourself up, bracing your weight on your good leg, though the tremor running through it was barely controllable. "I don't know," you managed, your voice raspy, "If I knew, why would I be here?"

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer. "Don't play stupid with us. You're in his place. You know him."

"Yeah, I know him," you retorted, the pain and the injustice fueling a surge of defiance. "And I know he wouldn't tell a rat like you anything. Do you really think I'm stupid enough to give him up to corrupt pigs who use his image for the very thing he hates? You think I'd betray a friend to you?"

The words hung in the air, a challenge. It was a calculated risk, an attempt to throw him off balance, to tap into the very hypocrisy Frank loathed. For a split second, a flicker of something raw and furious crossed his face. You knew you'd hit a nerve.

Then, a sudden, blinding flash of light. The crack of the gun butt against your temple echoed in the small room, a sickening thud that reverberated through your skull. Stars exploded behind your eyes, a kaleidoscope of pain and disorientation. The world tilted violently, and you crumpled, slumping to the hard floor, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you, a rough hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force. Your scalp screamed in protest, but you were powerless to resist. You blinked, trying to clear the haze, and saw his face inches from yours. It was a mask of crimson rage, veins prominent on his neck.

"You think you're smart, huh?" he snarled, his breath hot against your face. "Playing tough? We've been watching this place. You’re clearly someone Frank cares about. Which means if you’re not going to cooperate, then we'll use you to get to him."

His words were a cold, hard promise. The implication hung heavy in the air, a new layer of fear settling over you. This wasn't just about Frank anymore. It was about you, and the deadly game you'd just been thrust into.

A harsh, disbelieving laugh bubbled up from your chest, escaping your lips before you could stop it. The sheer idiocy of these men, thinking they could easily leverage you, was almost comical, even with a splitting headache and a throbbing knee.

The man holding your hair grunted, his face contorting further in anger. He yanked you roughly to your feet, his features mere inches from yours, his breath hot and foul against your face. It was the moment you’d been waiting for. With a feral smirk, you lunged forward, not at his throat, but at his exposed cheek. You bit down with all the force you could muster, a primal, desperate act, tearing at the flesh.

A guttural scream ripped from his throat, pure agony and shock. He recoiled instantly, dropping the gun with a clatter onto the tiled floor and releasing your hair.

That split second was all you needed. Ignoring the blinding pain in your scalp and the ringing in your ears, you scrambled, limbs flailing, for the fallen weapon. Your fingers stretched out, desperate to close around the cold steel. But the other two cops, startled by their comrade's shriek, were already reacting. A heavy, steel-toed boot came down with brutal force, stomping squarely on your outstretched hand.

A sharp, pained yelp escaped your lips as fire shot through your palm. Your fingers spasmed uncontrollably under the crushing weight, the bones protesting violently. The fallen gun, now agonizingly close, might as well have been a mile away.

Pain, hot and relentless, surged through your body. Your hand throbbed beneath the cop's boot, a symphony of agony. But the primal instinct for survival, honed over a decade in active service, kicked in. This wasn't about winning a fair fight; it was about getting out alive.

With a guttural roar, you twisted your torso, using the momentum to throw your good leg up and outward, aiming for the kneecap of the cop whose boot was pinning you. It wasn't a clean hit, but it was enough. He stumbled back with a grunt, momentarily easing the pressure on your hand. You ripped your hand free, ignoring the fresh wave of agony, your fingers already curling into a makeshift fist.

Before he could regain his balance, you surged forward, using your momentum. Your good elbow came up hard and fast, catching him under the chin with a sickening crack. His head snapped back, eyes rolling, and he went down like a sack of bricks. One down.

But there was no time to savor the small victory. The first cop, the one with the bleeding cheek, was back on his feet, his face contorted in a mask of vengeful fury. He lunged, a wild haymaker aimed at your head. You ducked instinctively, the blow whistling past your ear, and came up with a short, sharp jab to his solar plexus. He gasped, doubling over, momentarily winded.

The third cop, a burly man with a shaved head, moved in. He was bigger, stronger, and clearly more composed than his enraged partner. He didn't waste time with wild swings. Instead, he grabbed your arm, his grip like a vice, and twisted, trying to wrench you off balance. The pain in your shoulder flared, a white-hot agony. But you were used to fighting through pain.

You dropped your weight, making yourself a dead weight, and then, with a surge of desperate strength, rammed your head back, catching him squarely on the nose. You heard a distinct crunch, and he roared, releasing your arm to clutch at his face.

This was your chance. The gun was still on the floor, tantalizingly close. You dropped to your hands and knees, ignoring the protesting screams from your knee and hand, and scrambled towards it. The first cop, still reeling from your earlier blow, saw your move. He recovered just enough to launch himself at you, tackling you from behind.

You hit the floor hard, the air knocked out of your lungs. He was on you in an instant, a heavy weight pressing you down, his hands going for your throat. You bucked and struggled, your vision blurring at the edges. But then, a flash of red. The cop you'd bitten, his hand still clamped to his bleeding cheek, was now standing over you, his eyes blazing. He wasn't focused on the fight anymore; he was focused on you.

"You bitch!" he snarled, raising his boot. He was going for a kick to your head, blinded by rage.

It was a reckless move, an opening. With a desperate surge, you used the cop on your back as leverage, twisting and shoving hard with your legs, sending both of you rolling. The kick whizzed past where your head had been an instant before.

You were back on your feet, swaying slightly, your body screaming for you to stop. But the gun. You could see it, just inches from the outstretched hand of the cop you’d headbutted, who was now slowly pushing himself up, groaning.

You launched yourself forward, a last-ditch effort, throwing your entire body into a dive. Your good hand closed around the cold, blessed grip of the firearm. You rolled, coming up onto your knees, the gun now firmly in your grasp. The first cop, the one whose cheek you’d bitten, paused, his eyes widening in sudden realization. The burly cop was still clutching his nose, dazed. The third one, who’d tackled you, was still struggling to his feet.

The advantage had shifted.

You held the gun, the cold metal a comforting weight in your hand, your eyes flicking between the three cops, assessing their movements. The advantage was yours now, a tenuous thread you clung to with desperate resolve.

But you had forgotten the first rule of combat: never assume a downed opponent is out.

A searing agony ripped through your injured leg, a sudden, blinding flash of white-hot pain. You cried out, a guttural sound torn from your throat, as a solid impact sent you reeling. You hadn't seen him, the first cop, the one you headbutted. He’d gotten back up, silent as a ghost, and driven his shoulder into your compromised limb, aiming with cruel precision.

The world spun. The gun, which had been so firmly in your grasp, flew from your suddenly lax fingers, skittering across the tiled floor with a metallic clatter. The small advantage you had meticulously carved out for yourself vanished in an instant, replaced by a fresh wave of blinding pain and the chilling realization of your vulnerability.

Before you could even fully process the loss of the weapon, the other two cops, seeing their opportunity, surged forward. The burly one, his nose still bleeding but his eyes now clear and hard, was on you in a flash. He grabbed your shoulder, twisting you, while the third, the one you’d bitten, delivered a brutal shove to your back.

You were caught between them, a rag doll in their enraged hands. Your bad leg screamed in protest, refusing to bear your weight, and you stumbled, off-balance and helpless. Everything became a blur of motion and raw, punishing force. The dimly lit room, the overturned furniture, the spilled papers – it all coalesced into a vortex as you were slammed forward with bone-jarring force.

There was a splintering crash, a sharp, jarring impact that echoed through the room. You felt the rough wood splinter against your back, the solid support beneath you giving way with a sickening crack. The breath exploded from your lungs as you were driven through what remained of a sturdy wooden kitchen table. Shards of wood dug into your skin, and the impact sent a fresh wave of agony radiating through your already tormented body.

You lay there, sprawled amidst the debris of splintered wood and scattered documents, dazed and disoriented. Your head throbbed, your leg burned, and every inch of you screamed in protest. Three against one. And the gun, your only real hope, lay glinting mockingly across the room, far out of reach. The tables had truly turned, and you were now utterly at their mercy.

The air was knocked from your lungs, the metallic tang of blood a bitter counterpoint to the coppery taste of fear. The cop you'd bitten, his cheek swollen and raw, stood over you, a malevolent shadow against the fractured light of the room. His hands, thick and brutal, descended, clamping around your throat with merciless force.

Panic, cold and sharp, clawed its way up your spine. Your good hand flew to his face, nails raking desperately at his eyes, his skin, anything to make him release his grip. Your good leg thrashed, kicking wildly at his shins, his groin, but the blows were weak, ineffective. He was too heavy, too strong, and the pain radiating from your mangled leg and throbbing head sapped what little strength you had left.

The pressure on your windpipe intensified, cutting off your air supply. Your vision began to dim, the harsh light of the room narrowing to a pinpoint, then fading to a hazy gray. Black spots danced at the edges of your sight. Tears, hot and involuntary, streamed down your temples, blurring into the receding light. This was it. After everything, to go out like this, choked to death by a common pig.

Then, through the suffocating haze, a sound. The unmistakable, thunderous crack of a gun firing, impossibly loud in the enclosed space. It wasn't the small caliber of the dropped pistol; this was something with more authority, more purpose.

A gasp, then a dull thud. Another crack. Another thud.

The crushing weight on your throat suddenly lessened, then vanished entirely. The cop above you stiffened, a gurgling sound escaping his lips, before his entire body went limp, collapsing onto you with a sickening wet thud. His weight, warm and heavy, pressed you further into the splintered wreckage of the table.

But the pressure was only momentary. A powerful force, familiar and utterly distinct, lifted the lifeless body from you. It was unceremonious, almost violent, as the cop's corpse was shunted aside, hitting the floor with another dull thump.

A shadow fell over you, but this time, it wasn't one of menace. Your blurred vision slowly cleared, the outlines of a familiar figure coalescing above you. He was a silhouette against the dimness of the ransacked apartment, but there was no mistaking him. His face, etched with grim lines, held that same calm, almost detached look he often wore in the aftermath of violence.

It was Frank.

Before you could even process the full scope of your relief, his strong arms were around you, lifting you gently from the jagged debris. He cradled you against his chest, the familiar scent of gunsmoke and worn leather a strange comfort. His voice, a low rumble against your ear, was uncharacteristically soft, laced with a gruff tenderness that was reserved only for you.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured, his breath warm against your scalp. "I'm here. I'm here."

You weren't sure how long you'd been out. The last thing you remembered was Frank’s strong arms, the scent of gunsmoke and his gruff reassurance. Now, a dull, insistent ache permeated every inch of your body, a symphony of protests from bruised muscles and a throbbing head. You felt the cool, familiar texture of your own sheets beneath you, and a subtle scent of antiseptic mingled with the lingering smell of Frank. You were in your bed.

A groan escaped your lips as you attempted to sit up, your head spinning violently with the effort. Just as you pushed yourself onto your elbows, a strong but gentle arm pressed against your shoulder, easing you back down onto the cool pillow.

"You aren't going anywhere," Frank's voice rumbled, rougher than usual, a low growl that held a fragile edge. "Last thing I need is for you to go where I can't find you, then what? You wake up in a morgue and I have to identify the body?"

It wasn't a joke. The words were delivered with a chilling seriousness, and you could hear the raw hurt, the deep-seated fear in his tone. The unspoken "again" hung in the air, a phantom echo of the losses that haunted him. What were you supposed to say to that? That you were sorry for worrying him? That you were just trying to help? The words felt hollow, inadequate.

You turned your head on the pillow, a slow, deliberate movement that sent fresh stabs of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your body screamed at you to stay still, to simply melt into the mattress, but you needed to see him, to confirm he was real, that this wasn't some pain-induced hallucination.

And there he was. Sitting against your headboard, a heavy, leather-bound book from your shelf – probably some obscure history text – held casually in one hand. His gaze was fixed on you, that familiar intensity in his eyes, a blend of concern and weary resignation. He looked tired, his face shadowed, but undeniably there.

He slowly lowered the book to the nightstand, his large hand moving with surprising gentleness to brush a few strands of hair from your forehead. His touch was warm, calloused, grounding.

"You look like shit," he mumbled, his voice still low, almost a whisper.

A weak, involuntary smirk touched your lips. "Fuck you, Castle," you retorted, the familiar barb a welcome return to normalcy.

With another surge of effort that cost you dearly, you shifted your weight, pushing yourself closer, your head finding purchase on his lap. He didn't tense, didn't pull away, but instead allowed you to settle, his hand coming to rest lightly on your hair, a silent promise of presence. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, was a quiet anchor.

He didn't need to say much for you to feel the weight of his unspoken words. His gaze, usually so unreadable, was now a storm of frustration and fear, directed squarely at you. He looked down, his hand still resting on your head, but his voice was a low, steady reprimand.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he began, the words laced with a raw edge. "Going to my place, knowing what kind of shit I get into. Knowing it's always dangerous. You just... you just walked right into it, didn't you?"

His grip tightened ever so slightly, not in anger, but in a desperate need to hold onto you. "You knew the risks. You knew those pigs were looking for me. And you still went. You still got yourself hurt. Just like I told you not to." Each word was a lash, but not of malice, but of profound terror barely contained. "What if I hadn't shown up? What then? You think I could live with that?"

You didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. There was no defense that would suffice, no excuse that would soften the hard truth of his words. You just looked up at him, your gaze fixed on his jawline, taking in every strained muscle, every flicker of emotion in his eyes. You absorbed it all, the anger, the worry, the fear, letting it wash over you. He was right. You had been reckless. You had worried him.

He let out a long, ragged sigh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. The tension in his body seemed to deflate slightly. He shifted, carefully maneuvering you as he lay back against the headboard, pulling you gently onto his chest. Your head rested just below his chin, the rhythm of his strong heartbeat a steady drum beneath your ear.

His voice, when it came again, was barely a whisper, hoarse with emotion. "I can't lose you." The words were an admission, a vulnerability rarely seen in Frank Castle, and they resonated deep within you, shaking you to your core. His chest rumbled beneath your ear as he spoke, the vibrations a physical manifestation of the raw plea. "Not you."

You didn't respond, couldn't. His words, "I can't lose you," hung in the air between you, a fragile testament to a bond forged in fire and pain. You just burrowed deeper against him, your ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady, comforting rhythm of his heart. It was a stark contrast to the frantic pounding you'd felt moments before, a testament to the quiet, undeniable safety you found in his presence.

His hand, which had been resting on your hair, now moved, his fingers gently stroking your scalp, a surprisingly tender gesture from a man known for his brutality. The slow, rhythmic movement was incredibly soothing, a balm to your frayed nerves and aching body. You closed your eyes, letting out a soft sigh, the tension that had coiled in your shoulders finally beginning to unwind.

"I was worried," you mumbled, the words muffled against his chest, a confession escaping before you could censor it. It was an understatement, of course. You'd been terrified. The silence from him, then walking into that trap, the gun to your head, the brutal fight – it had all been a nightmare.

He didn't reply immediately, just continued stroking your hair. Then, his voice, rough with fatigue, rumbled above you. "I know." It wasn't an accusation, just an acknowledgement, a shared understanding. "I should've checked in. Had a lead... thought I could finish it fast." The brief pause that followed was heavy with unspoken regret. "Got held up. These guys... they're tenacious."

You nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement against his chest. You knew how tenacious Frank could be, and if he admitted these guys were a problem, they were a serious problem. But for now, the details of his latest war felt distant, secondary to the overwhelming relief of simply being here, safe in his arms.

A comfortable silence settled between you, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator in your kitchen and the steady beat of Frank's heart. The pain in your leg and shoulder was still there, a constant dull throb, but it felt muted, softened by the secure embrace. The chaotic events of the night slowly receded, replaced by the quiet intimacy of the moment.

You felt the warmth of his body seeping into yours, a sense of deep, abiding security settling over you. It was a fragile peace, you knew. Frank's life was a maelstrom of violence and vengeance, and you, by extension, were always on the periphery of that storm. But in this moment, lying against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the world outside your apartment faded away. You were just two broken people, finding a temporary solace in each other's presence.

Eventually, sleep began to tug at you, a heavy, welcoming curtain. The last thing you felt before drifting off was Frank's lips, surprisingly soft, brushing against your hair, a silent promise hanging in the air.

[archivessofkassidee]

COULD YOU BE LOVED

pairing: aubrey griffin x fem!reader

warnings: aubrey being a softie. your sand-castle almost fell over.

kassii’s diary: you and aubs go to the beach with your little sister and yall make sand castles

letters from the sandy beach: 🌴🌺 .

aubrey griffin x fem!reader (gxg) summer fluff • your name is ami (amelia) • STUD X FEM

it was way too hot outside for anybody to be functioning.

you were halfway through making your sister her fourth snack of the morning—cutting strawberries like you were on chopped—when she popped into the kitchen like she’d just had the best idea known to man.

“can we go to the beach?” she asked, already holding her towel like she manifested it.

“i literally just gave you a popsicle,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “and now you wanna go touch sand?”

“yes. and bring aubrey. she’s cool.”

you paused. then shrugged. “‘kay. call her.”

fast forward thirty minutes and y’all were pulling up to the beach with your sister in the backseat singing bruno mars like it was her personal concert. aubrey was in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, baseball cap flipped backwards, legs up on the dash like she’d been born for summer.

“she’s been talking about this all morning,” aubrey laughed, glancing back at your sister, who was still vibing way too hard for 11 a.m.

“i’m only here ‘cause she said she’d cry if we didn’t go.”

“she told me she’d punch me in the throat if i said no.”

aubrey laughed. “she’s feral. i respect it.”

the beach was warm and breezy, the kind of day that made you forget you were supposed to be responsible. your sister dragged both of you straight to the sand like a drill sergeant, commanding, “i want a castle. like a good one. not a weak one.”

“yes ma’am,” aubrey saluted.

you and aubrey sat cross-legged in the sand, trying to build something worthy of the royal standards being forced on y’all. aubrey’s hands were covered in wet sand, and you were pretty sure she was just winging it—but somehow it was turning out cute. she leaned over and whispered, “is she always this bossy?”

you nodded. “she’s the president of my life.”

aubrey smiled at that. “i’d vote for her.”

you rolled your eyes, but your heart did a little flip. she always had that effect on you—casual, warm, effortless.

when the sandcastle was finally done, your sister stood back and nodded like she was judging it for an award.

“this is nice. i’m putting seaweed on it though. it needs, like, a garden.”

you let her do her thing, flopping onto your towel. aubrey lay next to you, brushing sand off her arms.

“you’re good with her,” she said, glancing at you.

“she’s small. and scary. i have no choice.”

aubrey smiled, turning her head to look at you. “nah. you’re just sweet.”

you looked over at her, sunlight catching on her cheekbone, lips curved.

“don’t say that,” you whispered. “you’ll ruin my image.”

“you don’t have an image, ami.”

“rude.”

she bumped her shoulder against yours. “nah. just true.”

you grinned. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“i know,” she said, and leaned in just enough for your sunglasses to knock a little. “you should kiss me about it.”

you did.

your sister yelled from the sandcastle, “NO KISSING NEAR MY KINGDOM!”

aubrey laughed against your mouth. “my bad, your majesty.”

“we’ll make it up to her with popsicles,” you muttered, brushing sand off your legs.

“and more seaweed,” aubrey added.

you held her hand under the towel. summer had never felt better.

TAG LIST @mrsarnold , @chloenextdoorr , @americasfavoritelesbian , @2prettyyjayahhh , @24hrssofnea

[itzcandy]

Back To You

Rumi stood frozen, the letter still trembling in her hands.

Meet me at the park.

It couldn’t be.

It shouldn’t be.

Jinu was… gone. She had seen him give up his soul to save her. She had felt the void he left behind.

But the letter, carried by the blue cat with a tiny crow riding on its head, was undeniably his. Only he would pull something that strange.

The sun had barely set when she found herself pacing the park paths, breath shallow, heart pounding. The air was quiet, the grass damp beneath her shoes. Her eyes scanned every shadow.

Then

"You came."

The voice was unmistakable.

She turned.

And there he was, emerging from behind a tree, glowing faintly like the dusk itself. Wearing a plain white t-shirt that clung to him just right and black pants that sat low on his hips, he looked devastatingly handsome.

His eyes burned soft yellow, familiar patterns etched across his skin.

"How—I... I thought you—" Her voice cracked. The world blurred with tears.

Jinu stepped closer, his smile gentle.

"You set me free," he whispered. "You brought me back."

Rumi’s breath hitched.

She didn’t think.

She ran towards him.

Threw herself into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso, burying her face into the warmth of his chest.

"You're real," she sobbed, voice muffled by his skin. "You're real."

His hands threaded into her hair, holding her just as tightly.

"It’s alright now" , he said

She tilted her head up to him, searching his face like she still didn’t believe it. His eyes glowed like fire.

And then, he leaned down.

Their lips met.

It was soft at first, but when she didn’t pull away, it deepened. Rumi clutched at his shirt, trembling with everything she had held back for so long.

Jinu’s hands slid along her waist, anchoring her to him, guiding her closer until there was no space left between them.

The kiss turned hungry, urgent, desperate. Like they were trying to make up for every second lost in death and darkness. Her tears mixed with the heat of his mouth, as he kissed them away.

She gasped softly when he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to hers.

Rumi’s heart brimmed with joy and relief.

She reached down and gently took his hand. That’s when she saw it.

The bracelet.

The one she had given to him.

It was still there, he was wearing it.

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and another smile bloomed on her face, uncontainable.

"I… um," she began, suddenly shy. Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, eyes flickering nervously to his.

"I like you"

"… a lot."

Jinu’s smile widened, he had waited a long time to hear that.

He gently lifted her chin with his finger, bringing her gaze to meet his. Then he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

"I like you too." , he whispered

She shuddered from the closeness, overwhelmed yet comforted by his warmth. Her chest felt ready to burst, her heart screaming with happiness even as she tried to play it cool.

Then, he kissed her ear, his lips brushing softly, followed by a playful nibble.

Her breath hitched.

Oh my god oh my god, she thought.

If her heart beat any faster, it might actually explode.

He chuckled low in his throat, clearly knowing the effect he had on her.

"I'll see you again soon," he said, pulling back.

Rumi held his gaze, eyes shimmering like moonlight on water. Her voice came out in a soft breath, full of everything she couldn’t say before.

"I’ll be right here... waiting for you."

Jinu’s smile softened, something warm and reverent in his eyes, like he didn’t deserve her, but would spend forever trying to.

Then, with a final look, he vanished into a curl of violet smoke, leaving the air charged with magic and memory.

And Rumi stood there, heart full, knowing this wasn’t the end.

Just the beginning.

Hope you guys enjoyed. Lmk your thoughts!

love, Candy

[jenn2d2]

A Word With Friends | June 23rd

Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends.

Thank you so much to @woundedsoul12 for the word and the tag, and @aetherflowers for the tag!

Balter

to dance or tread clumsily, without particular grace or skill

Below, a bit of drabble with my Rook, Anna Laidir (appearing in What's in a Name?)

Laughter rang out through the Lighthouse, bouncing through the corridors in a glorious tumble and through the open door of Emmrich's quarters. He paused in his notes, listening for a moment as it was joined by a couple of other voices, and then put down his pen, careful to keep his place for later.

"Hiss?" Manfred appeared at the balcony upstairs, carrying a duster and wearing an apron that Lace had brought back for him after their excursion to Ferelden. Not usual attire for a spirit of curiosity animating a skeleton, but he had always been rather unique.

"Yes, Manfred," Emmrich smiled up at his ward. "I believe Rook, Davrin and Assan have returned from their outing. You can leave the dusting for later if you want to go see them," Emmrich stood and carefully smoothed his vest, taking care that all of his gold was arranged just right. He felt every inch a fool for doing so, but it was one of the few things that seemed to calm the flutter in his stomach whenever Rook was around.

Raucous laughter and an unexpected sight greeted him as he emerged from his hallway to look down into the lower floor. Rook was laughing and humming a song he almost recognized, alternatively whirling and moving in a balter in time to her own tempo. Neve and Lace were gently trying to steer her to the couch, but laughing so hard themselves that it was proving a bit difficult.

"Professor! Is this normal?" Davrin asked as he descended the stairs, gesturing at Rook. He looked over at him with a an expression that was equal parts disgruntled and amused as the merriment continued. Next to him, Assan sat preening his feathers.

"I—" Emmrich faltered as Rook turned to smile at him and sat abruptly onto the sofa with a loud whump! that almost carried Lace down with her.

"Emmrich! Assan talked to me!" Rook pointed at the young griffon who continued to preen as Manfred joined them, still wearing his apron. She paused for a second, hiccuped loudly, and laughed again.

"Apparently he said, 'Worms' a few times," Davrin gave Emmrich a pointed look as he tore his gaze away. "After we tried some of that gingerwort tea."

"Oh, dear," Emmrich looked back at Rook, again humming that song, but now focused intently on him. He wished he could recall what the tune was, but instead found himself looking into her eyes, usually green, but now almost black. He sighed.

"My apologies, Davrin. I read that some herbs with magical properties can sometimes have a similar effect, but the concentration of gingerwort was low enough that I did not believe it was a risk."

"Any other risks?" Davrin asked, arms crossed, but still smiling.

"I don't believe so, but I also did not believe it would be quite this potent. If I am correct—" Emmrich paused, as Rook blinked her eyes slowly, closed them, and slid sideways to lay across the sofa in a graceful heap. "She should sleep for quite a while as the magic runs its course. There should be very little danger, but I will keep an eye on her while she rests."

"We'll leave you to it, Emmrich," Neve patted him on the back. "I'll let Lucanis know to send dinner over later, and something Rook can eat when she wakes up."

"Just not gingerwort tea!" Davrin joked as he and Assan made their way out into the courtyard, Assan, Lace and Manfred following closely behind.

No pressure at all tags going out to @the-font-bandit, @caughtnyact, @serensama, and @strugglinggranola if you'd like!

[tvgremlin]

I’m fully rage posting at this point but here are a list of things from S4 that are not Sydcarmy related that made me want to buy a gun.

‼️Spoilers below the cut ‼️

- Tina being effectively reduced to a magical WOC Abuela type. What made Tina special is that she wasn’t that, so to reduce her to giving advice and a story line that they barely cared about was fucked up beyond belief. It’s also racist, plain and simple.

- Syd should have won food and wines best new chef, or at least her and Marcus should have won it together. She’s earned that shit low key more than Marcus who when to Copenhagen once and became a prodigy. I love him but come the fuck on.

- it’s fucked up that Donna got a redemption arc. For many personal reasons that character and all the bad parents on the show are deeply triggering and I wish the writers understood that no contact is always a valid and good choice to make. Carmy set a boundary, I HATE that it was ruined like that.

- Using Emmanuel to soften Claire was deeply fucked up. DEEPLY. Two black characters needlessly suffering (it did nothing for the plot in the grand scheme of thing, ughh) to make the white love interest everyone hates look like a good person is in just gonna say it again- RACIST!! She’s playing with savior!! I’m tired of this shit!!

- The Ever cast was both under and over used. It was kind of upsetting to see the bear need to be “fixed” but I still enjoyed parts of it. Idk- I just feel like it’s bad that by the end of the season none of them felt like people to me.

- Shapiro was so needlessly dragged out and DUMB in the end. Are you fucking kidding me??? WHY!!

- I don’t care about Jimmy selling his house- frankly, I don’t care about him at all.

- seeing Nat reduced to basically the Francie Fak storyline made so sad. She’s such a great character- do fucking ANYTHING with her!!

- they wasted so much time on artsy shit just like every season- except now it’s just exhausting.

And finally- the thing that pissing me off the most

- IF CARMY LEAVES WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU JUST END IT AT S1?? All of the plot form S2-S4 means basically nothing if Carmy leaves because sure, they built the restaurant and Syd and Richie grew as people, but they did in S1 too. It truly ruins the whole fucking thing and I’m SICK of it!!