#I AM TIRED BUT DAMN IT ITS WORTH IT

[girls-with-boys-names]

Yall wanted a part 2 of this BG3/Robin Hood crossover so enjoy one of the best romance scenes of all time ✨

[spookythesillyfella]

wanted to experiment a bit with my art today !! yaaay !!! ¥_^

...

can anyone else hear those bells ominously tolling in the distance ?

★ version without text under cut :

★ lyrics : "Melancolia" – Caravan Palace

[anxiously-going]

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[29121996]

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[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown: Planets in The Tenth House

☉ Sun in the Tenth House You want to matter. Deeply. Quietly. Eternally. You don’t need applause, you need to know you’re becoming someone worthy of your own light. The world sees your drive, but it doesn’t see the pressure beneath it. The fear of fading. The fear of never fully rising. You chase your own potential like a moving horizon, and even when your legs are tired, you keep going, because something inside you refuses to settle for a life that doesn’t feel earned.

☽ Moon in the Tenth House You want success, but you also want to feel held in it. You need to know that what you're building doesn't just impress others, it nourishes you. You crave emotional fulfillment in what the world sees of you. But the spotlight is hard when your heart is this soft. Still, you rise. You offer your tenderness to a world that rarely returns it, hoping that someone, somewhere, will look at what you've made and feel something real.

☿ Mercury in the Tenth House You want your thoughts to ripple. You want your voice to matter. You carry ideas like offerings and hope the world listens. But every time you speak, there’s a silent question underneath: Is this enough? Am I enough? You don’t just want to be heard, you want to be remembered. You want your words to build something that outlives the moment they were spoken.

♀ Venus in the Tenth House You long to be admired, not for perfection, but for the grace you carry through your evolution. You want your becoming to be beautiful. You want to be respected for your choices, loved for your growth, seen for the way you make effort look effortless. But beneath the charm is someone who wants more than recognition, someone who wants to be chosen in public, not just in private. Someone who wants to leave beauty behind as proof they were here.

♂ Mars in the Tenth House You’re here to climb. To conquer. To rise, even if the path is steep and no one’s cheering. You burn for impact. For achievement that doesn’t just prove your worth, it transforms it. But no one sees the anger behind your ambition. The rage at being underestimated. The hunger to prove that you were never average. You don’t just want a seat at the table. You want to build the damn table, and decide who gets to sit beside you.

♃ Jupiter in the Tenth House You want your life to lift others. To inspire. To give more than it takes. Your dreams are wide, generous, un-contained, and you believe the world is big enough to hold them. You don’t chase success for its own sake. You chase it because you want your story to mean something. You want your name to carry light. To offer hope. To say, “If I made it through, you can too.”

♄ Saturn in the Tenth House You were born carrying the weight of becoming. Every step forward feels like a test, and you measure yourself by results, not hopes. You fear failure more than anything, not because you crave praise, but because you fear being nothing at all. But your strength is built in the silence. In the effort no one sees. And when you do rise, when you finally allow yourself to arrive, no one can take it from you. Because you earned every inch.

♅ Uranus in the Tenth House You don’t want a role, you want to rewrite the whole script. You rebel against every “should” the world throws at you. You crave a path that is yours and yours alone. You’re not afraid to stand out, you’re afraid of disappearing into someone else’s definition of success. What you’re building isn’t a brand, it’s a revolution. Even if no one understands it yet.

♆ Neptune in the Tenth House You dream of becoming something that heals, that uplifts, that softens the edges of the world. You don’t want power, you want purpose. You want the life you build to feel poetic, transcendent. But the path is blurry. Some days you drift. Some days you doubt if your vision will ever take shape. And still, you reach. You trust the dream is worth chasing, even if it’s not yet clear.

♇ Pluto in the Tenth House You don’t just want to succeed, you want to be remembered. You want to change things, shake foundations, leave marks that can’t be erased. You carry a pressure most people couldn’t survive, to become someone who can’t be ignored. And though the climb is lonely, though power comes with cost, you’re not here to stay small. You’re here to rise, to rule, and to resurrect a version of yourself that no one, not even you, saw coming.

[luna-azzurra]

Villainy That Hits Different

The Villain Who Used to Be the Hero Once upon a time, they fought for the right side. They stood in the light, believed in justice, played by the rules. But rules don’t protect you when the world turns its back on you. Rules don’t bring back the people you lost. They learned the hard way that being a hero doesn’t mean you win. Being a hero just means you’re the idiot who refused to do what needed to be done. So they stopped being the hero. And for the first time in their life, they started winning.

The Villain Who Believes They’re Saving the World They don’t want destruction for destruction’s sake. They don’t wake up every morning with some grand plan to cause chaos. No, they wake up thinking, I am the only one who sees the truth. That the world is broken, that the people in power are liars, that the so-called heroes are too weak to do what actually needs to be done. If people get hurt along the way? If blood has to be spilled? That’s the price of salvation.

The Villain Who Never Wanted This They didn’t start out like this. Once, they were kind. Once, they trusted. Once, they loved. But trust is a loaded gun, and kindness is just an invitation to be used. Every betrayal, every scar, every time they were told they weren’t enough, it shaped them. Molded them. Forged them into something unrecognizable. Now, when people whisper their name in fear, they don’t even flinch. Because the person they used to be is already dead.

The Villain Who’s Just So Damn Tired They fought against the darkness for so long. They believed in the cause, believed in the people, believed in something bigger than themselves. But there’s only so much loss a person can take before they break. Before they look around and think, Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe the world doesn’t deserve saving. Maybe I should stop fighting the fire and let it burn.

The Villain Who Thinks They’re the Main CharacterIt’s not arrogance. It’s destiny. Every moment of their life, every hardship, every heartbreak, it all led to this. They aren’t just another person in this story. They are the story. And if that means tearing down the world to build one where they finally get what they deserve, then so be it.

The Villain Who Loves, Just Not Enough They care about someone. Maybe they even love them. But love has limits. Love has priorities. And when the choice is between their ambition and their heart, well… they never claimed to be selfless. They’ll wipe the tears off the person they love, tell them it was never supposed to be this way, and then walk away, because the world they’re trying to build matters more.

The Villain Who Was Made, Not Born People love to pretend that villains come out of nowhere, that some people are just bad. But villains aren’t born. They’re built. They’re made in the moments no one sees, when a child cries for help and no one comes. When kindness is punished. When every good thing is stripped away until there’s nothing left but anger and survival. And once they learned how to survive, they never looked back.

The Villain Who Is Right This is the villain that keeps you up at night. Because they don’t cackle. They don’t monologue about taking over the world. No, they look you in the eye and tell you the truth. And the truth? The truth makes sense. The truth is that the system is broken. That the people in charge are corrupt. That everything you thought was good is just another lie. And now you have to ask yourself… were they ever really the villain?

The Villain Who Hates Themselves More Than Anyone Else Does They know what they are. They don’t need your judgment. They don’t need your pity. Every awful thing they’ve done, every person they’ve hurt—, it haunts them. But stopping? Stopping would mean facing the damage, facing the wreckage, facing themselves. And they’d rather burn the whole world down before they do that.

The Villain Who Smiles Too Much They’re charming. They laugh easily. They make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when they look at you. And then they ruin your life with the same easy smile. Because there’s nothing more terrifying than a villain who enjoys every second of the destruction they cause.

The Villain Who Was the Only One Brave Enough to Do It The so-called heroes hesitated. They debated. They got stuck in their own morality, their own fears, their own limitations. But the villain? The villain didn’t hesitate. Because hesitation is weakness, and weakness gets people killed. And if being the villain means being the only one with the guts to fix things, so be it.

The Villain Who’s Obsessed With the Hero It’s not about hate. It’s never been about hate. It’s about them. The hero, the rival, the one person who makes the villain feel something other than rage. They don’t want to destroy them. They want to own them. They want to keep them close, force them to see the world the way they do. Because the villain doesn’t want to kill the hero. They want the hero to understand them.

The Villain Who’s Trying to Be Good… But Failing They want to change. Really, they do. But old habits die hard, and violence is easier than vulnerability. Every time they try to take the high road, something drags them back down. And maybe… maybe they don’t want to be saved. Maybe this is just who they are.

The Villain Who’s Already Dead Inside They don’t feel anymore. Not guilt. Not pain. Not remorse. Maybe they used to, but that part of them was carved out long ago. Now, they watch people cry, scream, beg, and they feel nothing. And if the world is so determined to call them a monster, then fine. They’ll be one.

The Villain Who Wins Because sometimes, the villain is smarter. Stronger. More ruthless. Sometimes, the villain planned better. The hero hesitated, and that was all it took. And now? Now, the villain gets to watch the hero fall apart as they realize… this isn’t a story where the good guy wins.

Evil isn’t always evil. Sometimes, it’s just a choice. Which one makes your blood run cold? 😈

Here’s the Show, Don’t Tell freebie book and my newsletter.

[thesecondhandwoman]

HELLOOO i was wondering if u can make an angst to fluff/comfort request with Sevika x fem!reader.. where like they had an argument and Sevika keeps on saying harsh words to reader and clearly Sevika is stressed because of the whole councilor thing. But instead of reader leaving she just hugs Sevika and then Sevika apologizes. something like that 😭

HOLD ME TOGETHER

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Ever since Sevika had become a council member, the first one to ever represent Zaun and its struggles, she has been back and worth, exhausted and stressed. And, unfortunately, you got caught inbetween.

Request: Anon 🤍

Sevika wasn’t one to lose her cool—not often, at least. But tonight, she was a tightly wound spring, and you could see it in the tension of her jaw, the way her cybernetic arm clenched with a faint mechanical whirr. The pressure of her new position on Piltover’s council was getting to her. And you, you were caught in the crossfire.

“You don’t understand!” Sevika snapped, slamming a hand down on the small table between you. The sound echoed in the dim apartment, her tone sharp enough to cut. “You think this is easy? Sitting in a room full of Pilties, pretending like I care about their politics? Like they’ll ever truly accept me?!”

Her words stung, even if you knew they weren’t aimed at you, not really.

“Sevika,” you said softly, trying to calm her, but the storm in her eyes raged on.

“Don’t, don’t try to coddle me right now.” She turned away, pacing like a caged animal. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve never had to fight like this, to prove yourself over and over just to be tolerated.”

You flinched at her tone, and something inside you twisted painfully. “I’ve been by your side every step of the way, Sevika,” you said, voice trembling. “Don’t you dare act like I don’t know what you’ve gone through.”

She whirled on you, her face a mask of frustration. “Then why do you keep pushing? Why can’t you just leave me alone for one damn second?!”

The words hung heavy in the air, an unspoken apology already in her eyes but too late to stop the damage they’d done.

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill, but you didn’t move away. You didn’t argue back. Instead, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

Sevika stiffened, her brow furrowing as if she expected you to lash out or yell, but you did neither. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around her.

She froze completely, her breath hitching at the unexpected warmth of your embrace. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“I’m not leaving,” you whispered, your cheek pressed against her broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Sevika. Not when you need me.”

Her shoulders sagged, and the fight drained out of her in an instant. She made a choked sound, her human hand hesitating before finally settling on your back.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, her voice raw. Her cybernetic arm came up too, awkward but gentle as it rested against you. “Shit, I didn’t mean any of that. I’m so damn tired, and I—”

“I know,” you murmured, cutting her off. You pulled back just enough to look up at her, your hands sliding to her face. “I know you didn’t mean it. And I know you’re trying. But you don’t have to do this alone, Sev.”

Her lips pressed together tightly, and you saw the vulnerability she rarely let show. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “These council meetings, the politics… It’s not who I am. It’s not who I ever wanted to be. And I’m terrified I’m gonna screw it up.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your thumbs brushing over her scarred cheek. “You’re strong, Sevika. Stronger than anyone I know. But even the strongest people need someone to lean on.”

She closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as if she could absorb your calm. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “But we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

For a long moment, she just held you, her arms wrapping tightly around you as if she was afraid you’d disappear. Her lips found your temple, soft and lingering, and you felt the tension in her body slowly start to ease.

“Thank you,” she murmured against your hair. “For putting up with me. For staying.”

You smiled, resting your head on her shoulder as she placed another kiss on your head. “Always.”

Silence fell between you too as you stood there, tangled together in the quiet moment. But even with the silence, you both knew that you’d be there for eachother, and Sevika knew she needed that the most.

A/N: This was hella short. That’s seriously all I have to say because I don’t know why it took me like eight tries to expand it. (I’m sorry ;-;)

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

>>>:(

:(

[bytemee]

chapter eleven. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — angst angst angst. y/n is still a meanie, but again she's tired. vv sad, lock in so its not cringey.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 3.7k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— gulps. also read all the extra content chaps..i worked hard on it haha...ha

taglist (open) — @sunshinez4 @gtfoiydlyj @yuyuy90 @liaponderstings @rinapomu @bimkayd @minaripenguu

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content (the album). extra content 2. extra content 3.

you storm into her room, the door clicking shut behind you with a force that makes karina flinch. she stands there, her eyes wide, already bracing for the storm you’re about to unleash.

"you can't keep doing this, karina," you say, your tone sharp. "you can't keep putting our relationship second."

karina frowns. "i'm not. i didn't mean to stand you up. i was exhausted after filming, and i fell asleep. i was going to text you, but—"

"it's always an excuse," you cut in. "and i'm sick of it."

“it’s not an excuse, y/n. it’s my job. you knew this from the start.”

"that's bullshit," you snap. "we both know i'm more than that. you've been saying it since day one. that we'd make it work no matter what. that nothing would get in the way of us." your voice breaks, but you don't care. you need to get this out. "but where are you now? not here."

"i'm trying my best," she says, her tone softening. "we're both trying our best."

you shake your head. "no, you're not. and you're never going to be if you keep making excuses like this."

karina looks away, biting her lip.

"you want me to stop?" she asks, turning back to you, her gaze hard. "then don't expect me to change. if you want me to put you first, then accept that i can't do that. not right now." her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "i'm sorry for standing you up, y/n. i am. but please don't act like this is some big revelation. we both knew what we were getting into when we started dating."

because she’s right. you did know. you knew that loving her meant loving a girl who belonged to the world before she ever belonged to you. you knew that there would always be moments like this, where she’d choose the stage, the cameras, and the career over late-night talks and weekend dates. over you.

it was one thing to acknowledge it in the abstract, to brush off the loneliness as something to be expected when your girlfriend was an idol. but it was another thing to live it. to actually feel the weight of her absence, time and time again. it hurt like hell, but you pushed through because you loved her. because she was worth it.

because you understood that her passion, her dedication, was part of what made her so special. so beautiful. so breathtakingly real. and if you had to deal with a little heartbreak along the way, so be it. it was a small price to pay for loving someone who could make the world fall in love with her, too.

but tonight? tonight, it feels too damn big to ignore. too damn big to swallow down, too pretentious to pretend it is okay.

so you don't.

you let out a hollow laugh, running a hand through your hair as frustration claws at your ribs. "right," you mutter. "because it's just that simple, huh?"

she exhales, "it’s not simple. but it is the truth."

you hate how calm she sounds. how reasonable. like she’s already decided that this is just the way things have to be. this isn’t karina. not the karina who swore up and down that you’d figure things out together. that you could weather any storm.

not the karina who used to steal moments between rehearsals just to send you voice notes, laughing about how the universe couldn’t keep you apart even if it tried. not the karina who always found the silver lining, who promised, over and over again, that you were worth the effort.

where did that girl go?

where did the karina who believed in you—who believed in this—go?

"you talk about the truth like i don’t already know it," you bite out. "like i haven’t spent months rearranging my schedule, turning down opportunities, flying across the world just to spend stolen moments with you between rehearsals and shoots. like i haven’t put in the effort."

karina flinches, but you can't bring yourself to care. you're tired of being the only one who gives a shit. tired of feeling like you're the only one fighting for this relationship. for her.

"you talk about the truth like you haven't missed my birthday," you say, your voice shaking. "like you haven't missed every single important day of my life. i’ve been patient. i’ve let you cancel, reschedule, and disappear on me over and over again because i fucking love you, jimin. but it’s never enough, is it?"

she takes a step towards you, reaching out, but you pull away. "don’t touch me," you spit out.

the hurt flashes across her face, but you can't bring yourself to feel sorry. she looks so small, so defeated. it makes your heart ache, but the anger is still there, simmering just beneath the surface. "i work just as hard as you do, karina. i have a career too. i have a life that demands just as much from me as yours does from you. but i still show up. i still choose you, every time. so why the fuck does it feel like i'm the only one doing that?"

she takes a step back, her breath shuddering. "i never asked you to do that," she says quietly.

and that—those six little words—somehow hurt more than anything else.

your stomach twists, your throat tightening. "you never asked me to," you repeat, voice hollow. "so what? that means it doesn’t matter? that it doesn’t count?"

she shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself like she’s trying to keep herself together.

…

"i think we should break up."

the words hit you like a slap to the face. they ring in your ears, echoing over and over again, each time louder than the last. you can't believe she's saying them. can't believe she's giving up so easily. on you. on this. after everything you've been through, all the times you've fought to stay together, to make this work—this is how it ends?

you don't know how all the moments have led you here.

the late-night conversations, the quiet laughter shared over stolen meals, the lingering glances, the gentle touches. every kiss, every smile, every broken promise—it all piles up in the space between you now. moments that made you feel alive. moments that tore you apart. they live in your bones, and no matter how hard you try, you can't escape them.

karina stands in front of you. the girl who captured your heart in ways no one else ever could. she's beautiful, even now, with tears streaking her cheeks and her lip trembling. she looks at you like you're everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever needed.

you don't feel like enough anymore, though.

you hate yourself for the way you spoke to her. you hate that you let your anger win. but more than anything, you hate that she's not fighting for you. that she's giving up so easily. that she can be so content without having you in her life.

even so, that small part in your heart wants to be torn apart over and over. because the truth is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how badly she breaks you, it's still her. it's always been her.

standing face to face, hearts breaking, knowing that the circumstances won't change. knowing that the world won't actually hold its breath for you. that no matter how much you want it to, no matter how much you want the fairytale, there won't be a happy ending.

"y/n…" karina's voice cracks on your name. it's not the confident, composed tone she uses on stage or in interviews. this is the voice of jimin, the girl you fell for. the girl who gave you soft pieces of herself behind closed doors. the girl who trusted you with her vulnerability.

and just like that, the last piece of your heart shatters into dust.

"yeah," you say, voice hollow. "me too."

karina's mind races through the past few months. all the promises she made—promises that were broken by schedules, missed calls, and the suffocating pressure of her career. she thought she could balance it all. she thought loving you was enough. because she loves you. she loves you so much it hurts. and she can see it in your eyes, in the way you look at her—that you love her too, but it's clouded by exhaustion. by resentment. by the pain that neither of you could fix.

it was never going to work. she thinks.

karina's chest feels like it's caving in. every beat of her heart feels heavier for thinking such a thing. she clenches her fists by her sides, nails biting into her palms. she closes her eyes, willing herself to breathe. to stop the tears that are threatening to fall. to hold it together just a little longer. when she opens them again, you're still standing there. your expression is a mix of emotions, but there's one that stands out the most. regret. karina knows it well. she's seen it in the mirror countless times over the past few weeks.

the two of you stand there for what feels like an eternity. neither of you knows what to say. what to do. the moment stretches on until karina can't take it anymore. she moves closer, closing the distance between you. her arms wrap around you, pulling you into a hug. her body is warm against yours, her skin soft, and you let yourself sink into it. you wrap your arms around her waist, resting your head on her shoulder.

karina buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. your scent fills her senses, making her feel like she's drowning in you. you squeeze her tighter, and she can feel your pulse racing under her fingertips.

"i'm sorry," she whispers again. "i tried, y/n. i tried so hard to give you what you deserved, but i kept falling short. i kept hurting you."

her tears fall faster, leaving wet tracks down your neck. you don't say anything, just hold her tighter. you can't speak. you don't trust your voice not to betray you. so you keep quiet, letting her words wash over you. letting them seep into your skin and soak into your bones. "and every time i hurt you, i hated myself for it. you deserve someone who doesn't make you feel like you're not enough. someone who can give you more than i ever could."

you shake your head. "i didn't want more, jimin. i wanted you. i just wanted you."

she pulls back slightly, looking at you with watery eyes. "don't…i don't want us to hate each other. i don't want us to become a memory we can't stand."

"jimin—" you try, but she cuts you off.

"i love you," she says. "i love you, and you know i don't want to say goodbye. but if we keep holding on like this, we'll lose what we had—the good parts. i can't do that. i'd rather let you go while we still love each other."

you blink back tears, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. "i know. i know you're right."

karina pulls back even further, her arms falling to her sides. she takes a deep breath, steadying herself. her eyes are red and swollen from crying, and you can tell she's trying to keep it together. to be strong for you. but the sight of her like this, so broken and sad, is more than you can bear. you reach out and take her hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

"i'm sorry, too," you say softly, squeezing her hand gently. "i'm sorry for not being more patient. for letting my frustrations get the better of me. for making you feel like you weren't enough."

karina shakes her head. "don't apologize. it's not your fault. we're both tired, y/n."

the truth is, you know she's right. you've been fighting a losing battle for far too long now. it was only a matter of time before the two of you reached this point. and while it hurts, and you wish things were different, you know that this is what's best for both of you.

because sometimes, loving someone means knowing when to let them go.

the sound of the doorbell echoes softly through the quiet house. your grandmother, cane in hand, makes her way to the door with slow, measured steps. when she opens it, karina stands on the front step, her breath visible in the cold winter air.

the older woman's eyes widen slightly, and she smiles, her features softening. despite the time that's passed, she recognizes the young woman instantly. "jimin, it's nice to see you. please, come inside."

karina gives a short bow. "i hope i'm not intruding," she says as her eyes glance down at the cane that wasn't present the last time they met. "i just… wanted to check on you."

your grandma gives her a warm smile. "of course not. "come in, child. it's too cold to stay out there." karina hesitates for only a moment before stepping inside. she shrugs off her coat, hanging it on the hook by the door, and toes off her shoes, placing them neatly next to the others. your grandmother watches, her expression unreadable.

"i brought some soup," karina says, holding up a plastic bag. "it's nothing fancy, but i thought it might be nice."

your grandma nods, taking the bag. "thank you, dear. it smells wonderful. come, sit. would you like something to drink?"

they move to the living room, the quiet hum of the heater creating a comforting background noise. karina sits on the edge of the couch, hands folded neatly in her lap, trying to suppress the nervous energy that's bubbling up.

your grandmother returns from the kitchen, carrying two cups of steaming green tea and a small tray with the soup. karina's eyes immediately catch the way the older woman favors her right leg, moving slower than before.

"let me help," karina says quickly, standing up and walking over.

your grandmother raises a brow but doesn't resist. "if you insist."

karina carefully takes the tray from her hands and carries it to the low table in the living room. the older woman follows with her cane and lowers herself into her chair. karina returns to her seat and passes her a cup of green tea.

"thank you, jimin," she says with a warm smile.

they eat quietly at first. the silence is heavy, and karina can't help but wonder if your grandma's upset with her. if she knows what happened. after a few minutes, the older woman speaks, breaking the tension.

"it's been busy for you lately, hasn't it?" your grandmother asks after a few minutes.

karina nods. "yes, our group dropped a mini album about a month ago. promotions just wrapped up last week."

"and now?"

"we're leaving for japan in four days," karina explains. "we'll be performing at the mamas. it's… a lot."

the older woman nods thoughtfully, setting her empty bowl on the tray. "that must be exciting."

"it is," karina agrees.

but even as she says the words, the excitement feels distant. like she's detached from it somehow.

it's been two months.

two months since everything fell apart.

since she broke both your hearts.

since the last time she saw you.

since the day she said goodbye.

and yet, she can't seem to escape you.

to make things worse, your relationship, which had been private and precious because the two of you worked hard to keep it that way, ended up leaking online. rumors swirled and speculations abounded. she had hoped that the story would die down, but it only seems to be growing in size and scope.

one photo. or two careless, grainy photos posted online, and suddenly the world knew.

the photo was from that night in la—the night that had been her idea. she still remembers it vividly. the two of you sitting across from each other in fine dining, the candlelight flickering, casting shadows on the walls before moving towards the bar, laughing like the world couldn't touch either of you. kissing like it was the first time. like it would be the last.

she just wanted a night to escape the cameras, the questions, the rumors. she wanted a night for just the two of you.

but one stupid photo, and now her worst fear has come true.

it's only been a few days since the news broke, but the damage is already done.

the press is having a field day, the company has released an official statement, distancing themselves from the scandal. fans are divided. some support the relationship, some are furious, and some don't care. it's a mess, and she's been trying her best to avoid the chaos. to avoid listening to your album. she had told herself she would when she was ready, but deep down, she was afraid of what she would find.

but the rest of the world? they had already done the work for her.

they picked apart every lyric, every melody. they connected the dots, drawing conclusions that she hadn’t even allowed herself to consider.

she can't escape it completely, though. even now, as she sits here with your grandmother, the question remains.

what's your reaction?

where are you now?

her eyes sting, and she blinks back the tears that are forming. she won't cry. not here. not in front of the woman who helped raise the love of her life.

your grandmother, perhaps sensing the younger girl's distress, clears her throat.

"do you remember when y/n first brought you here?" she asks, changing the subject.

"of course," karina says, smiling fondly. "i was so nervous that i would make the wrong impression."

your grandma laughs, stirring her tea. "you know, you're the only person i've ever seen her bring home. you should've heard the tone of her voice when she called and told me she was bringing you over for dinner. it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds. i had to make sure i had everything perfect."

karina ducks her head, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"i had no idea what was going on at first," the older woman continues. "i thought maybe the two of you were dating, but then y/n corrected me. she said you were just friends. close friends."

"that's right," karina says quietly.

"for a while, i believed her," the older woman admits. "until when i caught her staring at you. it was the kind of look people have when they're in love. but you know, i didn't say anything. i wanted her to figure it out on her own."

karina's fingers tighten around the cup in her hands, and she fights to keep her voice steady. "i'm sorry."

your grandmother's gaze is gentle, understanding. "for what, child? for falling in love? that's not something to apologize for. love isn't a choice, you know."

karina lets out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. "i just… i didn't want to hurt her. i tried not to. but i did anyway."

the older woman sighs, placing a hand over karina's. "love isn't easy, jimin. especially when the world is watching."

karina swallows hard. she doesn't know what to say.

"but the love you shared? that was real." your grandmother pats her hand. "there's no reason to apologize for something that can't be changed. what matters is what you do with the feelings now. do you understand?"

karina nods, taking a deep breath. the older woman offers her a soft smile, and she manages to return it. they sit in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. then your grandmother breaks the quiet. "now, how about some dessert? i have some ice cream in the freezer."

karina laughs, shaking her head. "i don't think i could eat another bite."

"well, i will then," your grandmother says with a mischievous grin. while your grandma is off retrieving dessert, karina's eyes wander around the room, stopping at the hallway where your room is. the door is shut, but she knows it's still the same. still untouched, preserved like a museum—a time capsule of your childhood, but something more important. where you shared your first kiss.

she feels a rush of emotion, and before she can stop herself, she's standing up, making her way down the hall and into your room.

your room is just as she remembers it. the same bed, the same dresser, the same pictures on the wall. karina takes a deep breath, letting herself be surrounded by your presence. her eyes scan the walls, lingering on a photo tucked into the corner of the mirror—a polaroid of you and her in the studio. it was taken so long ago, during a rare moment when the two of you were alone together working on her solo.

karina reaches out, tracing her finger along the edge of the frame. the glass is cool to the touch, and she closes her eyes, feeling her heart clench.

"i miss you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "i miss you so much."

her gaze shifts to the corner of the bed, where a pink flannel is draped lazily over the headboard. the sight of it stops her in her tracks. you'd worn it a couple of times, always mumbling about how soft it was. she wonders if it still smells like you. if it still carries a trace of your perfume.

she takes a step forward, picking up the garment and bringing it to her face.

it does. a wave of sadness crashes over her as the familiar scent hits her nostrils. she breathes it in, holding it close to her chest.

she can't believe she let you go.

karina turns quickly, the flannel still clutched in her hands. she hesitates for a moment, debating whether to put it back, but something inside her won't let her.

when she returns to the living room, your grandmother is sitting again, a small plate of red bean cakes on the table. she notices the flannel instantly, her gaze flickering from the fabric to karina's face.

"taking a souvenir?" your grandmother teases gently, though there's a deeper understanding in her eyes.

"i—" karina falters, searching for the right words. "it just… feels too soft to leave behind."

your grandmother doesn't say anything for a moment, but then she gives a small nod. "then take it."

karina blinks in surprise, holding the flannel closer. her fingers tighten around it, the fabric soft against her skin. your grandmother smiles softly, patting her knee. "now, sit back down. i still have a lot to say."

the two of them sit together, eating the sweet desserts and drinking the rest of their tea. when they finish, they talk more about your grandma's garden, the new recipes she's been trying, and the latest news on her favorite dramas. the conversation is light, and karina finds herself relaxing into the easy flow of words. she hasn't felt this comfortable with someone in a long time.

as karina stands to leave, she hesitates at the door, the flannel folded neatly in her arms.

"do you think…" she begins, but the rest of the question dies on her lips. she doesn't know how to ask if there's still a chance.

your grandmother gives her a knowing look. "you've both been hurt, jimin. but love doesn't just disappear."

karina swallows hard. "i don't want to let her go."

"then don't."

but what if you wanted to be let go?

series masterlist. main masterlist. prev. next. extra content (the album). extra content 2. extra content 3.

[forlix]

"i did a thing." or, hyunjin needs an expert opinion about his newest piercing.

words・1.4k / pairing・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader / genres・fluff, established relationship / author's note・takes place in the same universe as places, places! and crying lightning but can be read on its own. @astraystayyh your children are back :’)

The parlor door jingles. Hyunjin emerges onto the chilled pavement with his phone pressed to his ear, and you pick up on the fourth ring.

“What is it? I’m busy.” The way your voice shrinks substantiates this claim, like you’ve darted to the other end of the room promptly after accepting his call. “And you’re on speaker.”

Hyunjin ducks into his car and sits back against the nylon with a grateful sigh. He finds himself constantly ill-prepared for Seoul’s Januarys. “Busy with who? Remind me.”

“You wanna say hi?” You ask the person in your company. Who is it? He hears them ask, to which you answer: Hyunjin. You say it softly, in the sense that you’re far away and speaking under your breath, but softly, in the sense that your tongue caresses every syllable of his name with that tacit fondness he’ll never tire of.

He notices the ditzy smile on his face only when he glances into his rear-view. He’s long given up on wiping it off.

A familiar voice drifts into your receiver. “Mr. Hwang!”

Ah, that’s right—you’re working on Aespa’s new music video for the next two weeks. Today must be the first day of filming.

“Hey, Ningning! How are you?”

“In a predicament, honestly. I have the biggest crush on my stylist, but so does this other guy…”

“Damn, sounds tough. Best of luck.”

“Oh, I won’t need luck. I said predicament, not competition.” 

His jaw hits his wheel. “Okay, we’re boxing. Let’s go. Earrings off.”

“Say less!"

You’ve withstood enough. “Alright, nobody is boxing anyone—do not touch your earrings, Ning, what’s wrong with you? God, Hyunjin!”

Now you say his name sternly, hopelessly, like he’s just knocked ten years off your lifespan. He almost likes this version more. He fell in love with you listening to it, after all.

“Did you call for any reason aside from threatening my clients?”

Oh, right. He did.

Hyunjin glances into the rear-view again, intentionally this time. He moves aside a lock of maroon hair to review the silver studs glinting off his right eyebrow.

He smirks.

“Am I allowed on set?”

Half an hour later, Hyunjin reaches the filming site and runs into a few staff members who are so surprised to see him they nearly forget to question what he’s doing there.

But they do their job, and he humors them, utters your name and the word “boyfriend” back to back. Then he watches their eyebrows disappear into their hairlines and basically prances into the dressing rooms.

He loves that everyone knows you. He loves that everyone knows that he loves you.

You were out of bed before he opened his eyes this morning, and he blooms at his first sight of you today, alone in the lounge, curled up on the couch and browsing through your phone. Eyeshadow stains your fingers and a pen sits behind the cuff of your ear. Your figure is framed in a (his) white cardigan with a red heart stitched over its left lapel. So professional, so pretty, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he uses his words instead.

“I did a thing,” he says, plopping onto the cushion next to you.

You look at him, shut off your phone. “I figured.”

“Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“No.”

It was worth a shot. “Can you blink, at least? You’re scaring me.”

In turn, you stretch open your eyes and hold them there. “A blink would be more than you deserve right now.”

Insufferable. He unleashes a bashful laugh and singular clap and looks back at you just in time to see a matching smile on your cordate lips. And to see you blink.

“Seriously, though, no more suspense,” you plead. “What on earth did you do? Should I be worried?” 

You tuck your hand around his bicep and tug lightly at his arm, and his insides pirouette at the gesture.

“No, no,” he answers, letting you pull him close, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I was being dramatic. It’s nothing, really.”

You catch him as he’s trying to leave. A light finger hooks beneath his chin, an anchor to keep his face a mere few inches away from yours.

You look him in the right eye, then in the left, your expression stoic, scrutinizing. He doesn’t remember where he looks, in the meantime. He’s slipping and sliding out of his right mind, drinking in your long lashes and curved cheeks, wondering what heroic deed he performed in his last life to be able to study beauty in such proximity in this one.

“It’s not nothing, is it?” You query, tracing the tip of your pointer finger over Hyunjin’s cupid’s bow.

“No,” he exhales. “It’s not nothing.”

“Did you get it on your face?”

Of course you already know.

He nods, and the finger moves to his lower lip, gently indenting the glossy plush. 

“Hot or cold?” 

“Cold.”

The finger runs over the bridge of his nose, then the perimeter of its prominence, like the drag of a feather. 

“Warmer.”

You lift a brow, give the side of his face a small nudge, and say, turn. The word comes out in a very stylist-esque manner, and you and Hyunjin realize this at the same time, judging by the synchrony of your quiet chuckles.

“Force of habit,” you murmur, and move his hair out of the way and lean in to examine his ear. Nothing new there. He turns his face the other way before you have to ask. Nothing new there, either.

When he looks at you again, your gaze has locked onto his eyebrows. You cock your head slightly to one side as it dawns on you what he’s done.

“Warmer,” he offers anyways, his smile small, his pulse rapid.

With a flourish of movement, you push his purple locks all the way off his forehead. Hyunjin holds his breath. Your expression goes blank. 

But it’s not blank, not really. One just has to know where to look. (He does.)

Your eyes darken fast as if caught in a solar eclipse, your pupils doubling in size, your irises quivering slightly. Your mouth opens, then closes, then purses into a thin line as if suppressing something explosive. Your cheeks blush at their very outskirts, along the edges of your face and the slants of your cheekbones, like how the first rays of sunlight always skim the mountaintops first.

He hardly notices the finger you bring to brush over the studs, so carefully he doesn’t feel the contact.

He’s too busy basking in his victory.

Neither of you say anything for a long while. You lean back, then right, then left, your hand pinned to his hairline, your gaze superglued to his brow. He simply sits still, feeling like one of your French girls, simpering, simping.

“You really did it,” you finally say.

“I did,” he chirps. “Any notes?”

At the next part of your lips, your waiting smile overtakes them at long last. You duck your head to conceal it like he hasn’t already melted at its mere image. You deliver your answer to your knees.

“No?” He repeats incredulously, teasingly. “That’s a shame. I really could’ve used an expert opinion.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to tug at your sockets. His boyish grin wipes away your feigned irritation like warm cotton.

“Fine,” you grouse. “Look at me.”

He does. You look back.

“It's nice," you deadpan.

Your resolve wobbles.

"Complements your face…shape.”

The ‘p’ sound pops, and you lose your shit.

The sun fully risen now, you bury your burning face into your hands, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Meanwhile, the raucous cackle that leaves Hyunjin’s lips causes the intern hurrying past the lounge outside to jump so high he actually lets go of his coffee cups before snatching them back out of the air with a relieved groan. He doesn’t get paid enough. 

You think you’re getting paid too much. 

“I love it, Hyun,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful. I don’t tell you that enough."

His heart beats so rapidly he thinks it might take off into a sprint; his laugh dwindles into a ditzy smile, one he’s long given up on wiping off.

“You know nothing about that word,” he replies, softly.

You bring your lips to his. His fingers wrap around the crook of your elbow. Yours begin curled in the silken hair at the back of his head. The pen behind your ear falls into the cracks of the couch.

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh against his mouth, your own statement debunked by the inevitable drift of your touch back to the metal lodged in his face.

He doesn’t need to call you out. You do it yourself: “Ugh. I’ll be mad at you later.”

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@skzms・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・ @automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8

© forlix (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

[hello-sweetheart]

Fame and Fortune

Do you dream of glory? Crowds of thousands all adoring beneath you. The roaring cheers echoing in the arena. Countless of small white lights held up like beacons creating a sea of waving stars all for you. Breathless exhilaration has your chest heaving, skin glistening and damn. To feel like a god: never ending, eternal.

What would you be willing to do to get it?

What are you willing to sacrifice for fame?

Who are you prepared to lose?

Could the love of millions be worth the love of one?

——

[Backstage: Corroded Coffin Global Tour-Los Angeles, Ca]

Eddie is pacing, more than just pre-show nerves numb his hands. His cigarette burns quickly, ash falling on the carpeted floor, but no amount of nicotine filled lungs will fix this. Gareth, his drummer and long time friend, is watching him pace, eyes pleading.

“Is it worth it, Eddie?

We all got what we wanted; why are we miserable? You can’t lie to me, we all feel it. I see it in everyone, even you! You haven’t been the same since—“ He receives a withering glare from the frontman and sighs, speaking softer.

“I miss mom and my little sister. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I’m no longer drawn in her crayon family portraits, did you know that? Does Anne even remember me, anymore?

How can you keep going like this and expect us to do the same? I’m grateful—I really am—for you. You got us where we are now, a fantasy that we never even dreamed would become reality. It was amazing, I’m glad I got to experience it all with you, but I’m tired. I’m so tired guys.

I just want to go home.”

The long drag he takes burns his throat,

“Look, we’re all tired, I get it. Really, I do, this tour has been… particularly grueling I’ll admit, but come on. This is our last show, the big finale! We’ll give them all we got and then we’ll be able to take a break to freshen up before doing what we do best: creating kick ass music.

Like always. You’ll feel better after this, we always do after the last show—“

Gareth cuts him off, his patience clearly stretched thin.

“No, Eddie, listen to me! It’s different this time. I’m happy with the money we’ve made, we all have enough to live comfortably and I’ve been thinking that, you know, it’s time to settle down. I can’t do that if I’m always working. This, the band, it doesn’t… it doesn’t make me happy anymore.”

Jeff stands and his imposing figure makes Eddie pause from wearing a path into the floor.

“He’s not the only one, man. Im sorry, but its killing me. We don’t expect you to give it up either, you can keep the band name, find new members, keep signing… But for us? We can’t keep going, man. This is the end of the line.”

‘Not him too. Fuck. Fuck!’

“No! What am I—I’ve given up too much for this, you can’t just, fucking, bail on me!” This band, playing with his friends, it’s become his entire world. He’s lost too much to get here.

“Woah, woah, hey! No one fucking told you to and you know it. We’ve always had your back no matter what, but anything you chose to do is on you. Not us. The least you could do is extend us the same fucking curtesy and respect the fact that we’re fucking done with this bullshit.”

His gaze is venom as he looks at band, Grant and ‘Freak’ silent but agreeing with the rest. They refuse to meet his gaze.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” He turns and leaves. They’ll be starting in 15 minutes.

Fucking cowards. Ungrateful bastards.

A memory plays in his head. Brief and intrusive. The voice of someone long gone from his life rings in his mind.

“I’ve missed you, Ed. Are you done at the studio, yet? When are you coming home?”

“Steve, this is important. You know this. I’ll be pulling a few more all nighters here—this album has to be perfect, baby.”

A crackling sigh is barely audible through the phone.

“I know, I know. I’m just being selfish. I’m sorry. Miss waking up to you next to me.”

“Miss you too, baby. You’re my world you know. Love you more than anything.”

“More than music?” It’s a timid question.

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he’s the only one to laugh into the receiver.

“Right… night, Eddie.”

“Wait, Stev—“ fuck. It was only joke. Whatever, he’ll apologize tomorrow.

Right now, he has music history in the making.

[oskea93]

Kansas Anymore: Drabble #1

Tyler Owens x OC

Summary: In which Riley Owens, the ex-wife of the infamous Tornado Wrangler, has 36 hours to come to terms if moving to a whole new country with their small daughter is something she truly wants to do.

Warnings: Cursing, angst

✶ Chapter One ✶ Chapter Two ✶

■ Italics = Flashback

■ A/N: So this is just a little outtake update. These drabbles will be focused in the past and will spill the tea on Tyler and Riley's relationship - good and bad. I am gonna start writing chapter three in the coming days so be on the lookout for that... And I may have another fic on the brain... Stay tuned ❤️

■ Taglist is available - just drop a comment! Would love to hear your thoughts, questions, or maybe just drop by to say hello! Can’t wait to hear from y'all

TL:  @ellesmythe  @18lkpeters @hookslove1592  @djs8891 @smoothdogsgirl @queenslandlover-93 @imjustamehbleh @love2write2626 @lt-jakeseresin @starcrossedtrek

@lauraseresin @axolotllover225 @kmc1989

“You can’t be serious right now!” My knuckles were white as my fingers curled tightly around the handle that sat above the window. “You’re gonna get us killed – fucking turn around!”

The car veered sharply around a corner, tires squealing against the asphalt. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum in my ears. The sky was pitch black, the only light coming from the dim glow of the dashboard and the constant flash of lightening high in the sky.

“Relax, I’ve got this!” Tyler’s voice was steady, but I could see the tension in his clenched jaw and the way his eyes darted to the rearview mirror as the funnel barreled closer.

“Relax? Are you kidding me?” I shouted over the roar of the engine. “We’re not in some action movie! You’re gonna get us both killed!”

He didn’t answer, just pressed harder on the gas pedal. The speedometer needle climbed higher, and I could feel the car vibrating with the effort. I glanced out the window, trees blurring into a dark smear as we raced past them.

“We can’t outrun a tornado, Tyler!” I yelled, the panic rising in my throat. “This is insane!”

Tyler glanced over, his hands reaching over, pulling the belt tighter across my chest. “Wanna bet?”

The wind howled outside, shaking the truck as if it were a toy. Debris flew past the windshield, some of it slamming against the car with loud thuds. I could barely see the road ahead; the rain was falling in sheets, and the wipers struggled to keep up.

“Tyler, please!” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked with fear. “We need to find shelter, now!”

He ignored me, his eyes fixed on the road, his knuckles as white as mine on the steering wheel. The car hit a pothole, and we were jolted violently, my head smacking against the window despite the seatbelt. Pain shot through my skull, and I tasted blood.

“Damn it, Tyler!” I screamed, tears blurring my vision. “This isn’t worth it!”

In the distance, I could see the tornado’s massive funnel, an ominous silhouette against the flashes of lightning. It was like a monstrous black snake, twisting and writhing, consuming everything in its path. The sound was deafening, a constant roar that drowned out even our screaming.

“God dammit, Riley!” Tyler yelled. “I fucking got this!”

But the tornado was gaining on us, its monstrous form growing larger and more terrifying by the second. The air pressure dropped, my ears popping painfully. The car swerved again, narrowly missing a fallen tree branch.

“Tyler, we’re not gonna make it!” I sobbed, clutching the handle above the window as if it were a lifeline. My mind raced, picturing the car being lifted and tossed like a rag doll, the metal crumpling, the glass shattering. This couldn’t be how it ended.

With a final, desperate glance at the rearview mirror, Tyler seemed to make a decision. He yanked the wheel to the right, sending us skidding off the road and into a muddy field. The tires spun, struggling for traction, but Tyler kept the pedal to the metal, urging the car forward.

There wasn’t a house in sight – just an open field. I kept my eyes trained on the scene in front of us, glancing every other second to see how Tyler was reacting. His once cool and calm façade was now replaced by worry and fear – feelings that the so-called tornado wrangler never dared to show.

The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the swirling chaos of wind and rain. The tornado’s monstrous form was a dark shadow against the flashes of lightning, growing larger and more menacing by the second. The air pressure dropped even further, making it hard to breathe, my ears popping painfully.

“Tyler, what are we going to do?” I cried, my voice barely audible over the roar of the storm. “There’s no place to hide!”

Tyler’s eyes darted around, searching for any sign of shelter, but the field stretched endlessly in every direction, offering no refuge. The car hit another bump, and I was thrown against the door, my heart racing faster than ever.

“Just hold on, Riley!” Tyler shouted; his voice tinged with desperation. The tires struggled to find traction in the muddy ground, the car fishtailing wildly.

I wasn’t the praying type – never having grown up going to church and all that, but at that moment I was desperate. “Please God – please God.” I whispered the words like a mantra, hoping some higher power would hear me, even if I had never believed before.

The wind howled around us, the noise deafening, as debris began to pelt the car. The windows rattled, threatening to shatter. The car lurched as it hit another rut, and I could hear Tyler cursing under his breath, fighting to keep control.

“Look!” Tyler yelled, pointing ahead. Through the sheets of rain, I could make out the faint outline of a small bridge, its weathered wood barely standing against the storm.

Tyler didn’t hesitate. He gunned the engine, aiming straight for the structure. The car bounced and jostled over the uneven ground, the structure growing larger and larger in our view. As we neared, Tyler slammed on the brakes, sending the car skidding to a halt against the side of the bridge. Without a word, we both threw open our doors and ran for cover, the wind nearly knocking us off our feet.

“Hold onto that pile!” Tyler’s voice was barely heard over the roar of the wind as I wrapped my arms around the wooden fixture. Tyler’s body hovered over mine as the rain pelted us sideways, mud and debris hitting us as the tornado approached. The red truck that Tyler treasured began to be pulled away only to be slammed back into the side of the bridge, my screams being overshadowed by the wind as nature’s force laid upon us. The wooden planks shuddered as the rusty nails began to give way, ripping off the top.

The bridge groaned and creaked, the old wood and metal straining under the sheer force of the tornado. Splinters flew through the air like missiles, and I pressed my face against the wooden pile, trying to shield myself from the onslaught. Tyler’s grip on me tightened, his body a protective barrier against the fury outside.

“We’re going to make it!” Tyler shouted, though his voice was filled with equal parts determination and fear. I held onto his words like a lifeline, my heart pounding in my chest.

The wind howled louder, and I could feel the bridge lifting slightly beneath us, threatening to be torn from its foundations. My mind raced with images of us being flung into the storm, the bridge collapsing, and Tyler’s truck being swallowed by the tornado. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying for the nightmare to end.

The noise was deafening, a relentless cacophony of wind, rain, and destruction. I felt like I was being pulled in every direction, the tornado’s force almost too much to bear. But Tyler’s presence kept me grounded, his unwavering strength giving me hope.

“Just a little longer!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the storm. “It’s almost over!”

A loud crack echoed through the air as one of the bridge’s support beams snapped, the structure shuddering violently. I tightened my grip on the pile, my knuckles white with the effort. The wind seemed to intensify, and I could feel my body being lifted slightly off the ground, the pull of the tornado almost irresistible.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the wind started to die down. The roar of the tornado faded, replaced by the steady patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder. The pressure around us eased, and I dared to open my eyes.

The bridge was still standing, though barely. The top was partially ripped off, and debris was scattered everywhere, but we were alive. Tyler loosened his hold on me, glancing around to assess the damage.

“I think it’s moving away,” he said, his voice filled with cautious relief.

My eyes moved around, my body still shaking as tears started to prick against my eyes. The bridge was a tattered mess but for some reason we were still here – still alive. “You okay, baby?” Tyler’s hand caressed my arm, turning me to face him as he checked for any visible injuries. “Looks like everyth-“

“You stupid fucking asshole!” His body fell back at the force of my push.

Tyler's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in my demeanor. “What the hell, Riley!”

I could feel the anger boiling inside me, a mixture of fear, relief, and frustration. "You almost got us killed, Tyler! What were you thinking, driving straight into the storm like that?"

His eyes stayed connected with mine, searching for the right words but knowing they would still be wrong in my view. “Baby—” He sighed. “It’s a part of the job – tornadoes are my job.”

I stared at him, incredulous. "Your job? Your job is to drag me into life-and-death situations without even a warning? Without any regard for our safety?"

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, his face a mix of guilt and defensiveness. "I didn't expect it to get this bad. I thought we could get through it like we always do."

"Like we always do?" I echoed, my voice rising. "This isn't some routine storm chase, Tyler. This was a goddamn tornado! I could have died out there! We both could have!"

He took a step closer, his expression softening. "Riley, I know you're scared. I was scared too. But this is what I do. I study storms, I chase them. I can't just sit on the sidelines."

"But why drag me into it?" I asked, tears welling up in my eyes. "I didn't sign up for this."

Tyler took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "Because I need you with me. You're my anchor, Riley. You keep me grounded. I thought... I thought having you there would make it easier."

I shook my head, the tears spilling over. "It's not easier, Tyler. It's terrifying. I can't go through that again."

He stayed silent for a moment, “Would this be a bad time to ask you to marry me?”

My head jerking up, meeting his gaze, “What?”

I watched as he slowly reached into his denim pocket, pulling out the diamond ring. “I’ve had it in my pocket for about a week now – lost the damn box – almost lost the fucking ring a time or two.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Tyler revealed the ring. Despite the fear and adrenaline coursing through me from the storm, my heart skipped a beat. His eyes were earnest, filled with a mix of hope and apprehension.

"Riley," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I know this isn't the most romantic proposal, and I know I've put you through hell. But I love you. I want to spend my life with you, chasing storms or not."

I stared at the ring, sparkling even under the dim light, and then back at Tyler. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, the reality of our dangerous lives juxtaposed with the promise of a future together. It was as if the storm outside mirrored the turmoil within me.

"Tyler," I whispered, my voice breaking. "This is crazy. You’re crazy."

He nodded, a small smile forming on his lips. "Maybe I am. But I’m crazy about you, Riley."

A laugh bubbled up, mingling with my tears. Despite everything, despite the fear and the chaos, there was love. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

I took a deep breath, my hand reaching out to touch the ring. "Yes," I said, my voice steadying. "Yes, I'll marry you."

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Tyler's face lit up with joy, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It felt strange, comforting and surreal all at once. But in that instant, surrounded by the remnants of the storm, it felt right.

Tyler pulled me into an embrace, holding me tight as if he was afraid to let go. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, a rhythm that matched my own. The storm outside seemed to quiet, as if acknowledging the significance of our moment.

"I promise," Tyler murmured into my hair, "I'll do everything I can to keep you safe. I know it's dangerous out there, but I can't imagine facing it without you."

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.

[snippet-z]

The Sniper

The waiting is the worst part - it's not easy to catch the perfect opportunity and get the job done. One would think that after years of doing it, he'd be much better at the whole patience thing, but he isn't. He takes the last, flat drag from the dying cigarette, and tosses the butt over his shoulder to join the rest of its brethren. He pulls another one from the pack and catches it between his teeth. There's only two more left in the pack, which is a shame, because he got it this morning. But the waiting is the worst, and he needs something to kill the time. He lights the cigarette and sighs.

In moments like this one, he curses his mother. She never should've gotten him into the industry, but once she had her mind on something, there was not a force in this universe and the next one that would be able to change her mind. Stubborn old hag, but never let her hear that, because the retribution wouldn't be worth it. Then again, damn her, he was good at his job, if not the best in the whole bloody world.

The rifle doesn't make a sound as he moves it a bit to the side. Good old Bessie is the only highlight at this point, and he's glad he's got her. It makes the whole ordeal a little easier to stomach, and it's lighter on his shoulders too. Those damned arrows used to do his back much too dirty for his liking.

The time seems to run slower in that fucking attic, he thinks, as the two teenagers talk away about some thing or other. There was no way for them to see him, but he had the perfect view on them both. One pull of the trigger and he'd be done with the job; but he can't do it yet - the moment still isn't right.

The cigarette runs out, and so does the next one, and suddenly he's out of them completely. He curses under his breath, and throws an accusatory glare at the pile behind him. So much for good time.

He doesn't have the time to wallow too much in it, though, because something finally shifts. The kids are standing opposite each other, talking, and he couldn't care less about what they're saying, not when they're lined up so nicely. He takes his aim just as the soft blue glow peeks through the windows, and shoots. The bullet flies through the air without making a single sound, hitting the first boy in the back and flying right though him, piercing the other boy straight through. It's textbook, two hearts for the price of one. He tries not to feel too smug about it.

Seconds later, the boys run away together, and he turns to pack his gear. "You missed them by moments," he says to the figure standing next to him without looking up, too busy polishing the barrel.

"DID I?" a melodic voice asks, by all means amused. He snorts, and finally pays the newcomer more attention.

"Never one for coincidence, are you My Lady?" he asks, putting away the weapon and standing up. He's taller than her, one of the few beings who hold that privilege. It feels a little ironic, but then again, the poets may have been onto something this whole time.

She humms in response, lips quirking up. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?" she asks instead of replying, a move he should've expected by now, and which leaves him mildly bemused at his own surprise. He realises he doesn't have an answer to her question.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging, "I guess I'm bored. One can be blamed for murder so many times before becoming tired of it, am I right? Those two at least can't die any more than they already are." He tries for a light-hearted tone, a joke, but some of the bitterness still seeps through it. Leave it to humans to blame him for doing his job. It's not like he asked for it, did he? And he can't exactly quit either.

There's a slight touch on his shoulder, and he looks to his side to see Death staring at him in sympathy. He can't decide whether he appreciates or hates that expression. "FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH," she says, her gaze infuriatingly imploring, "I AM CURIOUS TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS."

He sighs, nodding tightly, and pretends he doesn't care about her hand lingering on his side. "Me too," he says just to fill the silence, then tosses Bessie over his shoulder, and magics the pile of cigarette butts away. "Guess I should be going."

"PERHAPS," she says, considering, "OR YOU CAN BUY ME A DRINK FIRST," she adds slyly. He snorts, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter. "I guess that can be arranged," he concedes, offering her his arm, "Shall we, then?"

They make their way out of the attic, leaving the room without any real evidence apart from a single bullet casing. And well, the dead body, but that one isn't his fault, really. He just took an opportunity to add two more tallies to his score, although he lost track of it a long time ago. Regardless, the most important thing is that he's still winning. Humanity 0 : Cupid ?.

[reverseexorcist]

Hi! How are you? Can you write some enemies to lovers with Lute if you feel comfortable with that? Like reader is a overlord who likes to fight every extermination day just for fun and Lute sees a worthy rival until they fall in love?

❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 ��𝐢𝐫𝐞 ❥

Oh wow I love her such a normal amount like seriously you could ask me anything about her and I would be the most normal person ever about her. But something about enemies to lover Lute with a sinner reader just hits different-

Someone here was having way more fun with the enemies to lovers aspect of this (and it's not Lute.)

(I am sorry I took so long with this request, but it was just so long and I'm juggling multiple blogs, interests and school-work rn so I'm just happy to get this one out. Thank you for being so patient <3)

➲ Lute + !F!Overlord!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 4,532 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Descriptions of gore, descriptions of body shifting/horror, tsundere Lute, lots of fighting between two idiots who are actually trying to murder each other

Three hours before extermination day. Three hours before the exorcists would descend from Heaven like a plaguing swarm to rid Hell of as many demons as they possibly could. Three hours before you could go dance with death like you usually did and scare the living shit out of winners and sinners alike with your almost insane mannerisms.

Because that's what you did for fun, apparently.

However, unlike the countless times before you'd done this, you were feeling just a little tired. Staying up late to binge the new episode of 'MAMMON'S MAGNIFICENT MUSICAL MID-SEASON SPECIAL' mightn've been the best idea you'd ever had, but it was one hundred percent worth it even as you stood proudly, staring up at the pearly gates of Heaven. From where you stood, they still looked rather bare, and so you didn't think a quick nap beforehand would be all that bad, right?

At least, that was the plan. Just a quick nap before the extermination to get your head in the game - Except you'd forgotten to put a damn alarm on and slept right through the beginning ceremony. As the holy trumpets and guitar riffs echoed throughout the scorching pit of eternal suffering, you were snoozing away peacefully in your Evil Overlord Tower™.

Or, at least, you were.

Something didn't feel right, which was odd, because you had one of the most comfortable beds in all of Hell courtesy of the instinctual fear you spread throughout the ring of pride. And when something wasn't right, you sought to make it right because you didn't deal with shit that annoyed you (such, through the power you held).

A light weight rested across you, evenly spread expertly as if whoever was standing above you was trying not to rouse you from your slumber. For a moment, you thought you'd imagined it. There was no movement from above you, and there was a split second where you considered just letting your mind relax and fall asleep again, but such thoughts didn't get you into your current status. Being an overlord meant destruction and paranoia, the two things you strove to embody.

You barely gave whoever was on top of you time to react, moving swiftly enough that for a split second, your entire body shimmered and turned invisible as you slammed your would-be attacker into the floor.

Your hands fumbled, grappling with a sleek, steel pole that you promptly threw outwards, topping the attacker in front of you over. The room around you shook violently, the lights flickering as your brain caught up with your body, trying its hardest to shake the dregs of unconsciousness from your mind.

Bold stripes stared back at you, a sleek mask emblazoned with threads of angelic steel. The sight jogged your still sleep-hazy brain.

'Oh yeah, extermination day' and you gleefully took a swipe at the exterminator in front of you. You'd just fix the damages later.

But she was fast, swift on her wings and on her feet as she ducked and rolled out of the way. You could see she was stumbling, still recovering from the shock of being thrown halfway across the room. But you could still clearly see that she wielded her weapon with pure fury and raw talent, which was certainly something you weren't used to. Other exorcists relied on the fact that normal demons couldn't hurt them, their fighting sloppy and trivial because of it. The one in front of you actually knew what she was doing.

"You're kinda rude, y'know," Rolling your shoulders, a part of you was miffed for being woken up so rudely. Another part of you was grateful for the wake-up call.

She laughed, deep and sharp. The sound made your heart flutter.

"Demon scum like you don't deserve niceties," Her grin grew, sharp edges stretching upwards. You hummed thoughtfully and shrugged your shoulders.

The exorcist charged forward, striking forward with precision startlingly quickly. But you were quicker - Ducking under the point of her spear and tackling her, grappling with her wings as the two of you rolled across the floor in a writhing mass of fury. Holy steel clashing against the might of an overlord. Deep grooves were carved in your floor, yet, as the exorcist managed to tuck her head and roll with the momentum till she was on her feet in one elegant swoop, you couldn't find yourself caring. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you almost laughed as she stabbed at you with her spear once more. You parried it almost expertly, cackling before you managed to grab the pole between your palms.

It almost seemed evenly matched between the two of you, an unstoppable force fighting against an immovable object. The poor spear quivered, bending as you both quarrelled over it like young children until it splintered roughly between your palms, crushed beneath the sheer force you exerted. That seemed to get the exorcist's attention.

She stumbled backwards, no doubt thoroughly pissed off at her now shortened weapon - But even that didn't deter the bloodlust in her step. Half of it was thrown away, the broken half that held no pointed end, and chucked it at your face. It missed, and instead, it rattled ominously somewhere behind you in time with the flickering lights, but with your attention split for just a breath, the exorcist lunged forward and scraped a shallow wound in your forearm. It stung, numbly, and the wisk of air as she jumped warned you belatedly. Crimson trickled tantalisingly down your arm as the air between you sizzled, thick and heavy with some undeterminate feeling that made your blood thrum with electricity.

You cackled, grin growing to match the angel's, jaw splitting further than it probably should've as your bones cracked seamlessly, form growing larger as you felt the power of endless stolen souls burning your flesh. Your head brushed against the ceiling, bending to fit in the limited space - You could only relish in the confusion and fear that rolled over the exorcist's face, quickly masked with the solemn, set expression of a battle-seasoned soldier.

However stoic she seemed, you saw your opening and rocketed forward with speed that seemed unsightly for how big you were, pulling yourself against the floor like the demon you were. With the force of a semi-truck, you slammed the exorcist into the wall, fracturing the framework and no doubt rattling her entire being to her very core. You could feel the point of her spear pressed faintly against your chest, a gentle reminder that you quickly snagged and tossed the item far across the room. 

Face to face, almost nose to nose. A twisted scarl danced across her face, pearly white fangs stained with spatters of golden blood. It was almost beautiful with how it shimmered in the darkness, like liquid stardust.

"You better fucking kill me, hell-spawn," She spat in your face, fingernails carving angry crescents in your skin.

You laughed, because her words were rather cliche, after all.

"Y'know," You mused, "maybe knowing I'm down here will make you try harder next time."

That did not ease her scowl, but that didn't really bother you, because you had other places to be right now - You weren't going to waste your entire extermination day on one singular angel after all.

You threw her out of the nearest window.

She would be fine, with her wings and all, but it was still funny watching the momentary panic spread across her face before she realised the same thing you did.

Furiously, she flared out her banded wings, scattering loose a flurry of black and white feathers, specks of gold blood arcing in the crimson sky around her. Dazed as she was, her fierce eyes flickered and spun before honing in on her mobile target, namely, you. A titan of the underworld, an overlord in hell - An ear-piercing, spine-chilling cackle echoing around the eastern side of the Pentagram as you pulled yourself from your tower, monstrous figure all too elegant for how big you were, hauntingly so.

And that just made her blood boil, to see a sinner escape her clutches and laugh like nothing was wrong - Or worse, to laugh and knock down her subordinates straight from the sky like they were nothing more than bugs. As little as she cared about the fledglings on their first escapades, that was her hard work going to waste because the littles had no idea how to use their wings. 

And that just pissed her off all that much more.

The little exorcist you'd hucked from the top floor window was the furthest from your mind as your galavant around hell started again. She was a little spitfire, but nothing you hadn't ground into the dirt before and gotten away with. Even the array of cuts and slashes littering your body, courtesy of her spear, didn't mean anything beyond a harsh sting that would be gone within the next month. Yet nothing she did was permanent, which is why you didn't exactly pay attention to the screeching war cry of rage followed by a sharp twinge between your shoulder blades.

Which irked you, but not that much. You twisted your neck in an unnatural manner, bones creaking as your form bent in on itself, teeth fastening around the stab-happy angel's wing before wrenching her away from you. The machete she'd snagged from elsewhere remained buried just beneath your shoulder, you absentmindedly reminded yourself to remember it after this whole ordeal was over. Angelic steel was no good when left to fester in an open wound.

It could've been the same angel, probably was for all you knew. All their stripes looked the same, and plenty had horns curved back like hers (you had a collection of similar exorcist helmets lining your basement, and you still struggled to tell them apart when not labelled.)

But it was those eyes - They were different, or her mask was at least. You'd never seen obsidian glass carved with an 'x' like that marked over an eye, but there was something about it that was so alluring. It was shiny, unique, and belonged to an especially bloodthirsty angel, and you had what was probably the perfect spot to display it back in your den.

Greed made you strike out, grabbing at her helmet and tussling with the exorcist as the two of you fell to the ground. You may have had the size advantage, much, much larger than the lean figure writhing beneath you, but she was still incredibly strong. Her wings were annoying too, beating and kicking up dust that made your eyes water and ache, battering against your face and drawing a headache up, thrumming against the back of your skull. But you wanted that helmet more than anything, and she seemed extremely determined to keep it on.

The force of it all sent a splintering crack through the surface, shining a brilliant bright white like the threads of angelic steel melted and spilled like blood as one horn snapped clean off beneath your palm.

Those eyes.

They almost made you falter, as gold as angel blood. They were beautiful.

The exorcist, however, was not as thrilled.

She snarled, whipped her head around and sunk her teeth into whatever of your flesh she could reach.

It was more like a hell-kitten nipping at your skin, but you still flinched and let her go, watching as she slumped, cradling a crooked wing. A swelling of a certain emotion welled in your gut, something that made you feel small and achy and you absolutely hated it, but you couldn't do anything. Or, more aptly, you didn't want to do anything as you merely watched the exorcist flare her wings out, still beating strongly despite the fact one of them surely was broken.

The trumpets sounded. She made a rude gesture (many rude gestures, actually) before she grabbed the discarded weapon and the broken curve of her horn before disappearing back into the flock.

It was almost creepy, with the way your eyes watched her without blinking.

"You-"

"You!"

It was that time of year already.

The puffed-up exorcist looked angry, but no more than the last few times you'd seen her. You'd come to associate her venomous scowl, sharp wings and pointed spear as a sort've unique welcome between the two of you, in the same manner that your oversized overlord form bent out of proportion was a gratuity you reserved for your exorcist and your exorcist alone.

Because it was fun, and something you two did together.

"I want to try something," You mused out loud. The angel in front of you didn't respond to your remark, circling you like a severely ticked-off lion. You didn't expect her to, intently watching her as your neck kept twisting and twisting, bending like an owl.

Even with every muscle in her body tensed, she still wasn't prepared for how fast your strikes were. One and two, sharp against her chest as your hulking silhouette snapped and quashed itself into a far more humanoid one, the exorcist's favourite blade now held loosely between your hands. As if it would make her feel better, you kicked a machete, similar to the one she used in your first fight, toward her. Coated in crimson blood of sinners, yet still undoubtedly sharp.

"Here, now it's more of an even fight," You shrugged your shoulders, stancing up.

She scoffed.

"Is that really the best you can do?" She sneered, tapping her foot and folding her wings back high and proud. You quirked your eyebrow.

"Huh?" Your head tilted just a bit too far to be considered 'cute' or 'puppyish'. The exorcist grumbled.

"Your form. It's shit," She motioned with the tip of her blade. "Tuck your arms in, for fucks sake. No wonder your swings are so sloppy."

For once, you seem flustered and tried your hardest to follow her instructions. Heat swelled in her chest, almost like pride. But she would never be proud of someone like you.

"And speaking of, adjust your grip. Move your dominant hand up and your non-dominant hand down - For the love of anything holy, how can you be so shit with the bare basics!"

"Okay! Sorry!" You shifted your weight and tried to do as she told, almost forgetting where exactly you were. The exorcist only felt her grin grow more sadistic, watching how small you suddenly seemed in front of her, and how pathetic you were at actually using a weapon like a somewhat normal person.

It was sad.

(It reminded her of her bright-eyed, curious fledgling classes. All of them eager to learn about how to serve the lord above.)

"Like this?" You question, insane eyes almost reflecting the same eagerness of her students.

It was all wrong, but that was what she wanted.

"Ha. No."

This time she was the one covering the distance between you two with frightening speed, flinging herself forward with the momentum from her wings. The noise you made plucked at her heart, that startled screech clashing with the harsh sound of metal as you brought her own weapon up against her.

It was a brief moment of weakness, one quickly lost as you found your footing and started swinging. For how amateur your swings were, they were more than halfway decent compared to the littles fighting closer to the portal into Heaven. She could work with this, make it feel like you were actually a challenge instead of just another run-of-the-mill sinner.

She could see the way your eyes were glowing, looking all too content with yourself as you somehow matched her footwork and swordsmanship. You were a bit all over the place, but you were also incredibly smart - Picking up on her unique fighting style that not one other exorcist had, and you were doing it fast. Puffing up, almost preening.

"Aha! Now for some witty back-and-forth banter!" You declared out of nowhere, swings much more confident. She narrowed her eyes, infuriated. Just when she thought you were starting to take this whole thing seriously.

The exorcist remained eerily silent, not even puffs of exhausted breath or grunts with each collision of the blades.

"Huh, yeah, not really sure where to go with that?" You shrugged with the brief lull in fighting, darting backwards and sheathing your weapon with just a tad too much confidence for her taste.

Which, every part of this felt like a trap, but she trusted her own skills enough to not fall prey to the like of a sinner. Expertly, more than expertly, she matched those steps as you fell back, advancing, wings arced out as eyes aglow with holy fire.

Only for you to, once again, take her off-guard with your usual tactic. Darting forward, ducking under her blade and kicking her feet out from underneath her. She didn't make a sound but refused to go down with a fight and grabbed at the back of your outfit.

Her vision briefly went dark, the impact of something heavy crashing against her torso and knocking the wind right out of her. Her helmet cracked again, which was par for the course ever since she started brawling with you every extermination.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Through the new crack in her helmet, she could almost perfectly make out your face. A bit too perfect, and way too close. Close enough to see her pale reflection in the dark of your eyes.

Your, admittedly, pretty eyes.

She felt like carving her own heart out rather than admitting she'd ever thought that in the first place.

"Get. Off. Me." She snarled. Meanwhile, stars practically glowed in your eyes.

"Oh wow! Dropping the 'Hellspawn' and 'Demon-scum'? Could this be love?" You were clearly joking, but her own heart decided to betray her thoughts, flipping in graceful arcs that she'd seen you perform one too many times.

She bit you again.

Five hours.

It had been five hours into the extermination.

With a ranking tally of two hundred and fifty or so demons, the exorcist figured she was fine to have a quick look around.

Because, through all this time, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of you. She didn't want to admit that she'd been loitering around your tower, knowing your tendency to throw yourself into the fray, dancing like you were tempting a lightning storm. She didn't want to admit that she'd been expecting to see your annoying face peering out at her from a nearby rooftop or to descend upon her like a leaping cat, or even to stroll up and start talking to her like the two of you were old friends. None of that happened.

The streets were rather empty, if you didn't take into account the blazing wrecks of cars, broken corpses and puddles of crimson blood puddling around the divets in sulphur roads. There were no moving, 'living' souls scurrying around, and that was what worried her.

Or, no. Not worried. She wasn't at all worried at the thought of you gutted somewhere, dying in a pool of your own blood, banished to the forever void that came after a second death. No, she was pissed at the thought that someone else had managed to kill you after all those years of the same cat-and-mouse dance. Or, more aptly, cat and fox dance. That honour was rightly hers, and she'd smite down any other exorcist that dared to stand in her way.

 In her way of killing you. Yes.

The exorcist pinned back her wings, sheathing her weapon and scuffing her boot against brimstone in annoyance. This was bullshit.

There was no fun in the exterminations without your jeering taunts, or odd remarks, your instance of fighting absolutely everyone you saw. Along with the annoyance of you ditching her mid-battle to rip feathers from one of her cohorts, along with a certain warmth she felt when you came bounding back towards her, bloodlust in your eyes and that same weapon you'd stolen from her all those years back pointed directly at her.

The angel only stopped once her boot stepped in liquid gold. It rippled, her thoughtful reflection mirrored and shimmering on its surface. Amber ichor, melding into the red from a nearby puddle, the mingling of sinner and winner blood alike.

What was the chance? She reasoned. But only one demon so far had managed to draw blood from an exorcist.

With a set snarl, she followed the trail. Her bootsteps were the only sound ricocheting around the dinky alley she found herself tracing.

"Oh, it's you..." She almost jumped out of her boots at the sound of your voice. Although, it didn't sound like you, per se. It was croaky and weak, dull and mild-mannered to put it lightly.

You were resting against a brick wall, clutching your front, eyes dimmed in the bright light. Squinting, as if a headache was plaguing your every thought.

Beside you, one of her cohorts rested too. Not dead, but her mask was all but shattered, one of her wings horribly ripped. She wasn't sure if she'd ever fly properly again.

But, you were not dead! Which was good news, because it meant she would be the one to finally slit your throat and watch the light drain from your eyes. And you knew it too, with the way your head kept tilted in her direction, a thoughtful twinkle in your eye.

"So, how's your day been?" Still playful, still joking. It was definitely you.

She scoffed.

"How's the blood loss?" She quipped back, the first she'd ever done so. Properly, at least. You laughed wetly, gagging on your own blood. Even she couldn't help but chuckle, dragging the tip of her weapon up until it rested gently over your heart.

Your laughter died down. Her hand was shaking.

Everything around you was quiet, like the two of you were submerged in a solid bubble of silence. Your ragged breathing was the only sound above a whisper, wet and ragged.

"Can I see your face?" Your voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. Genuine.

She hummed, quirking a single brow. Not that you could see, because of her helm.

"Why would I do that?" She'd meant for it to sound more venomous. It didn't. You tried your hardest to shrug your shoulders, wincing in pain.

"Well," You sucked in a pained breath, "if I have to die here, the last thing I'd like to see is your face." Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, smudging the whorls of gold and red blood alike as they dribbled down your cheeks.

Something within her snapped. Dead. Death. A future forever without you. If she'd thought today's extermination had been boring without you, she couldn't even imagine any more.

That's what she told herself, anyway. A future without you was not one she wanted to live, for any reason.

The clank of angelic steel broke the atmosphere, harsh against the bloody floor. Fingers fuzzy and numbed, clasping as the latches that kept her exorcist helmet together. One flick, then another, a sharp snap. Dark obsidian peeled away, horns lifted till a silver-sharp face so out of place in the depths of hell appeared.

"I was right," You croaked. "You are... Pretty woman."

You devolved into another flurry of hacking coughs. The angel felt her feathers flare up, alarmed.

"Yeah, yeah," You waved her off, "don't show weakness or whatever, thanks lieutenant." Your chest crackled painfully as you just regained some unneeded breaths. The angel in front of you stumbled, anxiously padding forward as her boots clacked against the ground.

"Look, I can die happy now. Was fun fighting against you - Really fun, actually. And look! You finally came out on top this time, eh?" You tried to wink, you really did. It just didn't have the same effect when you were bleeding out in front of her. Which made her stomach drop and her adrenaline spike.

'This goes against everything I've ever done' She squinted, furrowing her brow. Gold eyes almost glowed like hot iron, fingers clasped firmly against the hem of her outfit. 'But, y'know, I could always say I was just trying to save my flockmate.'

And she tugged.

Her shirt ripped, the sound harsh against your ears, but it left her with a hefty chunk of fabric that slid against her chainmail gloves. The Lord would smite her down if he ever found out about this, but chances are, in the belly of hell, it would be a secret between only the two of you.

Hours ticked onwards, slipping through her fingers far too quickly. She was just lucky you were as strong as you were, holding on to your consciousness with all your might as she worked her magic. Stuff the wound, stop the bleeding, heal and hope to everything that was holy that angelic magic didn't sear your flesh the same way their steel did.

Of course, you being you, airy quips were thrown around, keeping the air light as your wound slowly healed. It was nasty, there was no doubt about that, your first permanent scar. But at least this way, you'd make it out with your life.

"How did you even let her catch you off guard?" She questioned you after hours of silence.

"I'll be honest, I thought she was you based on her footsteps," You sighed, exhaling softly as she tugged at your makeshift bandages. You got no proper response outside of her light scoff. Somehow, that still made you burn hot with shame.

In perfect unison, the two of you looked out to the horizon. Golden light spilled down from heaven, the portal slowly growing more and more, ripping open a way back to their holy home. Six minutes till the trumpets would sound, if you had to guess. The angel tutted, disapproving of the way time worked. The thought was enough to make you crack a smile.

"I have to go," She seemed hesitant.

"I'll be fine," Even if hoisting yourself to your feet almost made you black out, lugging yourself back to your tower shouldn't have been a big problem when you could literally see one of the back entrances.

That didn't ease her thoughts. She was thinking, mind ticking away as she thought and thought and thought. She kept thinking, until she slowly reached up and snagged a rounded, down-fluff feather from her puffed-up shoulder. Pristine and warm to the touch, it washed away the blood as she carefully placed it into your shaking palm.

No words were shared between you as she rested you against the wall, letting you steady yourself and she hoisted her fellow exorcist onto her shoulders. After helping her shimmy back into her iconic helmet, she glanced backwards at you before stepping toward the light.

"You better not die before I can kill you." Her words were soft, unlike her sharp exterior. You could only match the assumed small, hidden smile. With a hum, you felt only a single name come to mind.

"Yeah, course I won't Lute."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[sassycheesecake]

A/N: I have been really into dark romance and shit, ever since I got that TikTok recommendation. I hereby present yakuza!Shinsuke Kita x Reader. Part 1/2

‘Shit. Shit. Shit! I am late!’, you curse yourself as you almost bolt out of the train, as soon as it stops and its doors open.

You accidentally ran into a lot of people, shouting quick apologies over your shoulder, still running to your workplace.

Thank the heavens for your stamina.

Finally arriving at the Tokyo Ambulance Rescue Station, you quickly run inside and each of your coworkers stops what they are doing to look at you.

Huffing and almost wheezing like you’re having an asthma attack, you step inside and head to the female locker room without looking at any of your coworkers.

Already feeling disgusted by your sweaty state, you change into your paramedic uniform nonetheless. 

Now in fresh clothes, you trot your way to one of the ambulance vehicles, seeing your friend Makima checking the equipment in the backpacks and making sure everything is filled up. 

Gulping in nervousness, you approach slowly.

“Glad you decided to show up. Almost done.” Makima tells you in a deadly calm voice. Makima is one of those people who despise being late, whether it's herself or someone she is waiting on. She is only a few years older than you but still your superior. Great, this is just your first month after graduating but you were so tired last night that you forgot to put on your damn alarm for the next morning. 

Not that this is an excuse, but your showing up is all that matters right?

With shaking footsteps, you make your way into the vehicle and start apologizing in a rant.

“Makima I am so so sorry, I promise it will never happen again!”, you frantically explain yourself, still out of breath.

The long-haired redhead briefly looks at you before bursting out laughing and you don’t know if this makes you feel better or worse. 

Giggling, she closes up the i.v. medication backpack and storages it back underneath the cabinet of the bandages. 

“(Y/N) don’t worry about it really, shit happens to all of us. No one is perfect and everyone here at the station was late once. Even me.” Makima explains and you can feel yourself being able to breathe easier already.

Just when you were about to reply to her, your beeper went off with a loud annoying peeping voice.

You run to the rack, where your black jacket with your name and the words T.A.R.S. are stitched into, and hop into the passenger seat of the vehicle.

Reading the screen at the front, you groan at the message that the fire station has sent you.

‘PATIENT PROB OD, TROUBLE BREATHING, UNCONSCIOUS, UNRESPONSIVE ‘

It’s probably the troublesome homeless teenager Denji again. You have met Denji twice now. Once beaten up badly and lying knocked out cold in an alley where he was found by a couple of passengers. The other time you found him almost bleeding to death due to a deep stab wound in his thigh, which he explained he simply got mugged. 

Nonetheless, you press the buttons for the siren and the blue lights, while Makima steps on the gas to rush to the scene. 

The rush and adrenaline are running through your system, making your heart bounce in excitement. Saving lives in acute situations is your thing! It’s a working environment that always comes with new foreign things and patients. Each day is different, which is exactly what your brain needs. Even if you have to drive through the massive city of Tokyo, the different kinds of people and the stories you get to tell your parents sometimes, are worth their shocking and even disgusting expressions sometimes. 

Once you were called to a restaurant, in which a patient had an allergic reaction and went into a nonlethal anaphylactic shock. 

The patient told you that his date was so horrible, that he purposely ate onions, even though he is allergic to them. 

All just to get away from her.

Shaking your head, the logic of men never ceases to amaze you. 

Arriving at the scene, you see two people leaning over a young guy that is laying on the sidewalk. He is already turned to his side, making sure in case he needs to throw up, he doesn’t choke on his vomit. Mentally thanking these people for performing the stable lateral position on the unconscious boy.

You grab the mobile vital monitor and the backpack that includes material for giving an I.V. including meds and an infusion. 

Before Makima grabs the breathing and the medical suction pump, she turns off the siren but leaves the blue lights on. Pressing the lock on the car keys, the ambulance is securely locked. Unfortunately, people tend to break into ambulance vehicles and proceed to steal the medications.

Both women are rushing to the patient, quickly going through the ABCDE approach, and they manage to load him onto the stretcher after making sure he didn’t overdose. His heart is beating abnormally fast, his blood pressure is at 75/40 and when you shine a small flashlight to take a look at his eyes, his pupils are dilated.

There’s no doubt about it, that Denji got his hands on cocaine.

After giving him Adrenaline and Naloxone, his condition stabilises and Denji begins to stir.

Blinking his eyes open, a bright light immediately greets him and Denji swears he died. 

He feels incredibly nauseous and his head is spinning like he just went on countless rides on a spinning wheel. 

You hover over Denji’s pale figure, a vomiting bag already in your right hand. 

“Denji? Can you hear me?” You ask him in a concerned voice.

When Denji was about to answer, he rapidly sits up and snatches the bag out of your hand, and hurls right into it.

Rubbing his back in a comforting manner, you sit beside him on the stretcher.

Makima is giving a quick report to their station boss, before joining you in the vehicle.

The sight of Denji vomiting disgusts Makima, deciding to wait outside because she can’t stand the smell or sight of someone throwing up.

“Denji, I think we should really take you to the hospital, you’re only 16 years old, where did you even get this stuff?” You ask him in a worried voice.

“It’s none of your business, let me out! I need to go!” Denji snaps at you, beginning to stand up. 

You know you shouldn’t fight someone who just woke up from a drug rush, so you let him stand up.

Standing on wobbly legs, he places his hand against the vehicle wall to stabilize his balance.  

Breathing heavily out of his mouth, he was about to open the vehicle door when Makima already beat him to it.

Surprised that he is up, she moves to the side to let him step out of the vehicle.

Denji almost falls flat on his face and his pale face makes you even more worried about him. 

“Denji, are you sure you’re okay? Do you want us to call anyone?” 

“Stop acting like you fucking care about me. I am just a street rat. I don’t need your pity! Just leave me the fuck alone!” He angrily spits at you, like a moody teenager that got his phone taken away. 

Makima and you are watching him walk away, still unbalanced but both of you leave him be.

“You’re welcome by the way for not letting you die today!” Makima yells after him. Denji shows his middle finger up in response and continues to stomp away.

Sighing in defeat, Makima and you get back into the vehicle and you are making your way back to the station.

Giving the report that the patient refused to cooperate and come with you, you drive back.

The clock strikes 22:00 and Makima and you are finally free to change after the night shift has arrived. 

Farewelling Makima goodbye, you begin to walk to the train station.

Having your headphones in your ear, you scroll through your Spotify playlist and choose ‘Glitter and Gold’. 

You had a really busy day and barely had a chance to go to the bathroom. 

Entering the women’s restroom, you look up from your phone, and the sight before you freezes immediately.

Right in front of you stands a very tall guy with sandy-blonde hair, he has to be at least 6’1 and he is holding a lot of tissues against his arm, blood soaking each tissue.

The stranger holds a painful expression while putting pressure on his arm.

His muscled body is leaning against the sink, the blood on his upper arm dripping down right into it. 

Brown eyes rapidly look in your direction, his face shining with curiosity.

Chuckling nervously, he starts talking with his deep voice.

“Don’t scream, don't call for anyone. Just got a little scratch on my arm.” 

Blinking a few times at his wound, you slowly step towards him.

Your approach is making him tense, his non-injured arm moving to his side, where he holds a dagger in case you want to attack him.

“Your wound looks pretty bad. Don’t worry I am a paramedic, I can take care of that if you want to.”

The blonde-haired giant looks at you for a few seconds, making sure you’re not lying. 

After a few moments of tense silence, he nods unsurely.

Breathing out slowly, you awkwardly glance at the door and at him a few times. 

“Uhm. Just follow me then, I need to take a proper look at it. I have my materials at home so come home with me so I can patch you up properly.” You explain to him.

His eyes watch you carefully, hesitantly he nods and puts his maroon jacket back on.

“Do you have a belt or something on you?” You ask him as you both exit the public restroom. 

The tall stranger nods and takes off his belt to hand it to you.

Grasping the belt you begin to tie it around his arm, so the wound hopefully stops the bleeding until you both arrive at your place. 

Wincing at the tightness, he thanks you quietly.

As you both begin to enter the train, which is thankfully empty around this time on a weekday, you ask him what happened to his arm.

“Not that's yer business anyway, so I’d rather not say.” He avoids your curious look. 

“But that wound is pretty deep! You need to go to the hospital and get that stitched up probably.” You try to reason with him.

“I am serious. Drop it.” He snaps at you with an angry frown.

Accepting his request, you decide to drop it. 

With nervous hands, you glance down at the metro floor and wait in silence to arrive at your destination. 

Ten uncomfortable minutes later, you both arrive at the subway station that is close to your apartment.

Unlocking the door with your key, you enter inside and wait for him.

The blonde hesitates for a few seconds, glancing down the hallway nervously before deciding that you’re not a threat, and enters as well.

Gently closing the door, you urge him to follow you into your bathroom where your medical kit lies underneath the sink.

You direct him to sit on the edge of the bathtub and he complies without question.

“I need to see your wound properly in order to clean it up.” You tell him while putting on medical gloves and setting the necessary materials like the stitching materials, disinfectant wipes, and fluid, and scissors. 

He winces while rolling up his sleeve to present you with his injury. 

You start by taking a wet washcloth and gently dabbing it around the area, quietly apologizing whenever he hisses and flinches away from the touch.

As you are now able to see the injury better, you see that it’s actually a bullet wound, hence the bleeding was so heavy.

Shocked that he has this kind of injury, you remember that he doesn’t want to talk about how he got it. 

“Lift your arm please, I need to know if the bullet is still in the muscle tissue.“

He gives you an incredulous look since lifting his arm would only worsen his pain. Nonetheless, he complies.

Quickly looking around his arm you don’t see an exit wound, closing your eyes in pity for the stranger, you know what you are going to say next, definitely won’t be easy.

“Let me guess. That thing is still in there.” He looks to the ceiling of your bathroom with a tight smile.

“U-Uhm yes. I told you to go to a hospital. It needs to be surgically removed. I really recommend it Mr….”, you drift off as you don’t recall knowing his name.

He looks at you and realizes he’s never introduced himself to you properly. 

“Name’s Atsumu Miya, ya can call me Atsumu.” 

Later on, Atsumu enters the familiar door of the headquarters of the ‘Fox Den’ and lets out a heavy sigh.

The pent-up frustration from the fight with Karasuno, the pain, and the treatment that he had to bite through with you is making his body insanely tired from exhaustion. 

Nonetheless, he needs to give a report to his boss, the leader of the Inarizaki gang of Hyogo. 

Atsumu walks down the hallway that has multiple doors connected to it and since it’s awfully quiet, Atsumu guesses that most members are either asleep or away on missions.

Entering the lift at the end of the hallway, he presses the ‘5’ button for the conference rooms and where also the office of his boss. 

Swinging back and forth on his heels, Atsumu waits until the elevator stops and continues his path to the room of the leader of Inarizaki.

Once he arrives at his destination, he knocks first, before entering.

“Hey Kita, 'm back from the mission." The blonde says when he steps into the office.

A man who has silver hair with black tips in it, is sitting at the desk and he briefly looks up from his laptop with a stoic face, before looking down again, continuing to type something down. 

Ignoring the warm greeting of his boss, Atsumu plops down on one of the chairs in front of the desk and puts his arms behind his head to stretch.

Unfortunately, he completely forgot about the injury on his arm, immediately putting the injured arm down again with a winced hiss. 

The head of the gang looks at his trusted friend before a slight frown of concern decorates his face. 

“What happened?“ he asks in a calm voice.

“Oh, you know the usual. Just some fuckers from Karasuno in our territory and one of them fucking shot me.“ Atsumu explains while gently rubbing over his arm, feeling the wrapped bandage from you underneath his jacket. 

His frown deepens at the mention of their rival gang, the Karasuno crows, but listens quietly. 

“Do you need medical attention? Do you want me to send Ginjima or Riseki up?“ He continues to question him.

“Nah, I am good Kita. Got stitched up by this cute girl that I met while I was bleedin‘ out like a pig in a women’s restroom by the train station.“ Atsumu pulls his sleeve to reveal the bandage.

Kita glances at the bandage on his friend‘s arm, a mix between concern and anger but also suspicion haunts his face. 

He slowly gets up from his chair and rounds his table with slow steps, making his way toward the older twin.

The injured man looks at him with curious eyes while raising his eyebrow in confusion.

The silver-haired man stares at one of his most trusted right-hand man with a neutral expression and puts his arms behind his back.

“Tell me more about this mysterious medic girl.“ He demands.

Atsumu grins mischievously at his boss and begins to tell him about his fight to the encounter of meeting you. 

Yawning, you stretched out your exhausted limbs and climbed into your comforting blue soft blankets. The feeling of your head hitting the cushy pillow makes you sigh in bliss. It was a long day, first the rowdy patients, then getting vomited on by a drunk homeless person that almost overdosed, and then there was the injured blonde-haired stranger you met tonight. You’re not going to lie, it was a whole mountain of stupid to just invite a stranger over to your apartment. Anxiously, you remember, that he mentioned he didn’t want to go to the hospital to get patched up because he needs to stay anonymous. 

The only question is…

Why does he need to do that?

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone vibrates with a message. You curiously pick it up to see what the notification is. 

Eyes widening in shock and also a concern, you glance at your screen.

Unknown number

‘Thank you for taking care of my friend. I would like to repay you some time for your kind service’