Silver_Sylla
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The memory rises unbidden: the clash of bodies, the way Rumi had aimed a blow at her torso. Mira dodging— barely— only allowing Rumi to graze her side.
“And what’s your name?” Rumi had asked mid-fight, breath steady, smirk radiant.
“Like I’d tell—”
Rumi had leapt back then, sudden and theatrical, leaving space between them. Mira had paused, wary, unsure what game she was playing.
Then Rumi had flourished Mira’s ID, plucked from her pocket without her noticing.
“Kang Mira, Interpol,” she’d read aloud, slow and condescending, like she was talking to a kindergartener. “Woah. The big guns are after me now.”
“How’d you—?”
“Picked your pocket just now,” Rumi had continued, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Pretty name for a pretty face.”
“Damn,” Zoey’s voice had crackled in Mira’s earpiece. “She’s good. And hot.”
“Stop that,” Mira had snapped— both at the nagging voice in her head and at the nagging voice ahead of her.
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Mira and Zoey are the Interpol agents assigned to the Ryu Rumi case, a globally renowned superthief. But the closer Mira gets, the more she begins to notice the quieter ways the case is beginning to take things from her.
Bookmarked by Silver_Sylla
23 Jan 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Ler quando tiver terminada pra não passar o sufoco.
Mesmo sabendo q eu provavelmente não terei paciência de esperar terminar e vou ler logo.
Você que sabe.
😒🙂 -
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“I might have to put a muzzle on you until you learn to use your words more wisely” Mira mused, conversational in tone. Her eyes flickered to Rumi who rested a light hand on her own chin, in casual ponderance. “Jesus fucking Christ” Zoey breathed out.
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Or, Zoey is a successful solo rapper fresh off winning Best Rapper of the Year at the Idol Awards for the second year in a row. Rumi and Mira are established icons in the music industry, but bored. They pursue Zoey to alleviate said boredom. Plot ensues.Series
- Part 1 of your heart melts into my cup
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The beast adjusted its hold; its teeth were pressing in now, just this side of too hard, pressing her carotid against the thick wall of its jaw. She could feel the wet flick of its nose nuzzling her scalp, taking in her scent, judging her, or perhaps savoring her fear. Every muscle in her body hung from the animal’s jaws, suspended and trembling.
Then, the footsteps. Soft, almost tender, approaching through leaf litter: the master. She said nothing at first, but Zoey could feel the master’s eyes roaming over the scene, cataloging every tremor in Zoey’s limbs, every flex of the beast’s haunches.
After a pause, a voice, low and clean like a scalpel: “She’s done. You can let go, darling.”
The beast obeyed instantly; its grip loosened, and its weight shifted off Zoey, though its gaze did not let her move. She could tell it wanted to—a playfulness in the angle of its head, an eagerness in the panting pulse of its throat—but it waited for permission.
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Since the triplets were born, the Huntr/x penthouse has been a sea of joy and love. And the atmosphere only gets better at Christmas.
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When they're cuddling on the couch late at night, Rumi figures she's in the clear to have a little fun and taste Zoey beneath the blanket. That is, until someone walks in.
But Rumi keeps going.
Bookmarked by Silver_Sylla
04 Jan 2026