#ALSO LIGHTLY SHADOW AND ATMOSPHERE

[shkika]

How do you make the iterators have such expressive eyes? I'm amazed by how much emotion you're able to give them in your art, do you have any tips you can give on how you draw the funky little eyes? :]

Ah gosh this means a lot thank you!! I have a lot of fun trying to figure out how to make iterators expressive without adding anything more onto their faces!

Aside the obvious tips of manipulating their shape, I recommend relying a lot on body language!

These two poses for example are very similar along with their eyes!

However the one on the right Moon is less enthusiastic and more so uncomfortable, her shoulders are loose her hands are barely together. The pose carries less energy, because she.. doesn't really have it! I tend to add a lot of shadow too for more intense emotions and little subtle things go a long way!

Past collapse moon lacks any eye shine, because she is.. tired and kind of uh.. resigned I suppose.

I also try to make different iterators emote a little different..! It's most obvious with my UI design where her eyes are just... more.. stiff and horizontal..?

It makes her look like she's slightly squinting all the time, when she emotes her eyes either become more circular or just straight up tilt. It makes her look dorky which I enjoy. More... creature..

[mwuaferrari]

I REALLY WANT TO KISS YOU - LANDO NORRIS

The paddock was nearly empty. Only faint lights illuminated a few tents, and a handful of mechanics were packing up the last tools of the night. Just two races left, and the season would be over. Although the championship hadn’t gone Lando’s way, the atmosphere wasn’t melancholy—it felt nostalgic. A blend of exhaustion, pride, and the inevitable “what ifs.”

You leaned against a metal railing, watching as Lando, a few meters away, chatted distractedly with one of his engineers. He was smiling, but you could sense there was something deeper beneath the surface, something he was working through quietly. When he finished the conversation, his eyes searched for you in the shadows. The moment he spotted you, he walked over with a half-smile that sent your heart racing.

Lando stopped a few steps away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and studying you intently.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice light but tinged with nervousness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone playful, that familiar teasing lilt he used to deflect anything serious.

“I wanted to check on you, to make sure you were okay,” you admitted, glancing at him sideways.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t have to. I’m fine, really.”

“I know,” you said, taking a breath as you carefully chose your words. “But… Lando, you did something incredible this year, you know that? Everyone expected big things from the others, but you—you surprised everyone. You fought until the very end, and that’s what matters.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether you really meant it. When he found no hesitation in your expression, he sighed softly and smiled—this time, with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“Thank you. Really. I think I needed that.”

You looked at him, and despite his words, something in his demeanor made you want to comfort him. Without thinking too much, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Lando stiffened for a moment, surprised, but then let out a small laugh as he hugged you back, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder.

“This helps more than words,” he murmured against your hair.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t move far. His gaze lingered on yours, and something in his eyes had shifted—something warm that made your cheeks heat up.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

Lando blinked, then leaned against the railing beside you, a genuine, low laugh escaping his lips.

“I was just thinking about something really stupid.”

“What?” you pressed, curiosity evident in your voice.

He looked at you, biting his bottom lip as if debating whether to say it. Finally, with a shrug and a soft chuckle, he confessed, “I was thinking that I really want to kiss you right now.”

Your eyes widened as your heart sped up, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“And that seems stupid to you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

“A little,” he admitted, “but it’s also true.”

The air between you seemed to grow heavier, charged with a new kind of energy. You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or just teasing.

“So, what’s stopping you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.

Lando’s expression softened, his usual playful demeanor melting into something more serious as he leaned closer.

“Nothing, I guess,” he murmured.

And before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow and deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment, ensuring this was exactly what he wanted. When he felt you respond, his grip on your waist tightened slightly, the kiss deepening into something that felt like it had been building for a long time.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were slightly out of breath, wearing matching smiles that neither could suppress.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft and tinged with humor, “that felt a lot less stupid than I thought it would.”

You laughed, giving him a playful shove. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he replied, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “But I’m also the guy who just kissed you, so I must be doing something right.”

[mindless-existence1]

Hiii!! I wanted to request a shadow x fem! reader who in the movie verse is a college student that found shadow and now partly takes care of him. Knowing shadow, he’d still be a loner but I’d like to think having an another younger female influence in his life could help him with Maria’s passing. I also think it’d be super cute if she taught him gen z/modern things. He’s just too precious in the movie omg☹️���️

Authors note: I love Shadow he's my boy. Also I didn't come up with how they met so this is just them hanging out in readers apartment watching a movie together

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your apartment in Green Hills wasn’t anything fancy—just a modest space with a small kitchen, a worn but comfortable couch, and a TV that sometimes acted up. But it was home, and apparently, Shadow thought so too.

The first time he came over, it had been an unexpected visit. You’d found him on your balcony, his crimson eyes scanning the street below like he was waiting for something to go wrong. You’d invited him in, unsure if he’d accept, but he had.

Since then, Shadow had started dropping by when he needed to escape the chaos of the world—or his own thoughts. Tonight was one of those nights.

He was sprawled on your couch, arms crossed, his usual stoic expression softened by the dim light of the TV. You had a movie playing, some action-packed thriller that you thought he’d enjoy. But Shadow seemed more interested in quietly existing in the moment.

“Popcorn?” you offered, holding out a bowl as you curled up on the other end of the couch.He glanced at it skeptically. “I don’t understand humans’ obsession with this.”

“You say that every time, and yet you always eat it,” you teased, shaking the bowl slightly. Shadow’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile, and he reached out to grab a handful.

As the movie played, you got caught up in the action. One scene showed the protagonists making a mistake that ended in a dramatic explosion. You couldn’t help but comment, “Oh man, those guys are cooked.”

Shadow’s ears twitched, and he turned his head slightly toward you, his brow furrowed. “Cooked? They’re not being prepared as food.”

You stifled a laugh at his literal interpretation. “No, it’s slang,” you explained. “It means they’re done for, like there’s no coming back from that.”

He frowned, clearly processing your words. “Why use a term that implies food preparation instead of saying what you mean?”

“Because slang is fun, and it makes language more expressive,” you said, grinning. “Besides, it’s just how people talk sometimes.” Shadow huffed, leaning back against the couch. “Humans are strange.”

“And yet, you keep coming here,” you shot back with a playful smile.Shadow didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the screen, but the corners of his mouth softened just slightly.

“Your apartment is… peaceful,” he said finally. Your chest warmed at his words. Shadow wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings, so every little admission felt significant.

“Well, you’re always welcome here,” you said, nudging his leg lightly with your foot. “Even if you think popcorn and slang are weird.” He didn’t reply, but his crimson eyes flicked toward you for a moment, a quiet gratitude in his gaze.

By the time the credits rolled, you were explaining another piece of slang—this time, “vibe.” Shadow looked vaguely unimpressed.

“So, when someone says ‘good vibes,’ they mean a positive feeling or atmosphere?” he asked, his brow furrowed slightly.“Exactly!” you said, grinning. “See? You’re getting the hang of it.”

He shook his head, muttering something about “unnecessary complications,” but you just shook your head with a small smile. As the night wore on, you found yourself leaning against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

He didn’t move away, simply letting you stay there as the quiet hum of the TV filled the room.

In these moments, you knew Shadow found something he didn’t often allow himself: peace. And for as long as he needed it, you’d always make room for him in your little corner of Green Hills.

[sluttyminghao]

title: sensitive skin pairing: seokmin x gender neutral reader rating: 18+ minors do NOT interact w.c: 1.2k contains: nipple clamps, nipple play, brief moment of sucking his dick, sub/switch!seok, hinting at actual fucking but no actual fucking a/n: thank u so much to @tusswrites for proof reading for me and giving great constructive criticism! also big thank you to @monamipencil, @junkissed and @wooahaeproductions for the ideas! much love to u all <3

The boundaries of physical connection often lead to deeper emotional ties in the exploration of intimacy. Among the myriad of ways that couples express affection towards each other, the act of exploring one's body can be exhilarating and affirming for both parties. 

The body is not merely a vessel; it is a canvas on which emotions are painted, experiences are etched, and vulnerabilities are revealed. For Seokmin, as with many individuals, the journey begins with a sense of safety—a prerequisite for any intimate encounter. This is crucial, as mutual trust and comfort are the keys to exploring the physical realm. The act of engaging with his nipples often transforms into an intimate ritual, fueling an electric sensation that courses through both partners.

As the exploration of his wonderfully sculpted body commences, the atmosphere becomes charged with anticipation and want. The dimmed lights of your shared bedroom create a warm and inviting glow, casting soft shadows that dance across the room and adding to the intimate atmosphere. The air is thick with an unspoken connection, a bond that deepens as your fingers brush lightly against Seokmin’s sensitive skin. This initial touch, delicate yet intentional, invites a rush of warmth that spreads throughout his body, igniting his senses and eliciting the most beautiful sounds from him. The focus here is not solely on pleasure; it’s an acknowledgment of Seokmin's body, an expression of appreciation and adoration.

Seokmin's nipples, often sensitive and responsive to even the softest touch, serve as focal points in this intimate exploration. Each gentle tug or playful flick elicits a reaction that ripples through him, igniting a spark that prompts a joyful gasp or a soft moan that also has his cock twitching in his boxers, a small wet patch forming on the fabric to show his excitement. You make note of Seokmin's reactions with each touch you place on his skin—his laboured breaths, the involuntary shivers, or the affectionate glances— it only fuels the desire to continue, creating a rhythm that becomes a dance between pleasure and emotion.

He knows he will cum quickly, but he can't bring himself to get you to stop with how good he’s feeling. Every graze of your fingertips on his skin ignites a new fire within his belly, and he can feel the orgasm creeping up on him like a large tidal wave about to hit the shore. He can feel his hair sticking to his forehead, sweat beading on his tanned chest and his hands growing clammy despite being laid against the cool cotton sheets underneath him. 

“Are you close?”

Seokmin hears your voice break through his lustful haze and he can only nod frantically as a whimper bubbles up his throat, one of his hands coming up to slide through your hair and get a grip on your scalp in hopes of keeping himself somewhat grounded. You continue to tease his hardened nipples with your fingers and tongue, alternating so that he doesn't cum too soon. 

It’s only when you briefly leave his side that Seokmin peeks his eyes open, only to see you standing next to him with your favourite nipple clamps in your hands, and he briefly feels his face and stomach grow warm - either with lust or embarrassment. In one swift motion, you position yourself between his thighs and let the clamps grab naturally onto his nipples, a strangled whine leaving his lips at the sudden coolness of the metal. The sound alone is enough cause to have a smirk growing on your own features, wondering how many more pretty noises you can elicit from him.

With the clamps now securely in place, you turn your attention back to his nipples, teasing them in the most delicious ways. You alternate between soft kisses and gentle nibbles, each touch sending waves of pleasure through his body that have him whimpering and shaking. You hear him sigh, his breath hitching as you add a little more pressure, amplifying the pleasure with each teasing flick of your tongue. His reactions are fuel for your desire, igniting a primal need to explore every inch of him, and you gladly oblige.

You lean in closer, your lips hovering just above where the clamps are secured. You whisper sweet nothings that mingle with his soft moans, creating a hushed symphony of intimacy that only you two can hear. The delightful contrast of the cool metal against the warmth of his skin makes you dizzy with desire, your own body beginning to pulse with want. Every moment that you’re teasing his sensitive skin seems to stretch and pulse with energy, as you witness how he surrenders himself to the pleasures you bring forth.

You play around with the tension of the clamps, gently tugging on them as you kiss his neck, eliciting deeper moans that resonate in your core. You find yourself lost in the rhythm of this exploration, a dance of lovers where every touch, every caress is meticulously crafted to draw forth the deepest pleasure. You can taste the excitement in the air, and feel it surge between you like a live wire, sparking with every muted gasp that escapes him.

“Please, don’t stop,” his voice comes out broken and shaky as you pull particularly hard on the clamps, watching his body contort and his back arch off the bed. The sheer adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins makes you immediately drop the chain from the clamps and tug rapidly on his now soaked boxers to let his engorged cock spring free. 

Seokmin watches you with glazed eyes as you lower yourself onto the bed and are at eye level with his cock, and he can barely comprehend when you sink your lips over the tip of his cock and pull on the clamps at the same time. It puts him into a state of euphoria that has him immediately cumming into your mouth, cries leaving his lips incessantly and his hands screwing up in the sheets beneath him. You can feel his hot cum filling your mouth quickly, there’s so much of it that it begins to spill from the corners of your lips.

He can hardly control himself at the moment, that is, until the moment fades and he pulls his cock from your mouth and looks at you sheepishly. Your cheeks and lips have turned a lovely shade of red, and your hair is coming out of its makeshift ponytail, but he thinks you’ve never looked prettier. Just looking at you, he can’t control himself as he feels his cock begin to twitch and harden once again, which only makes you smirk.

You take off your shirt, leaving you practically bare to his wandering eye and shuffle closer to him, letting your breath mingle with his. You lean in even closer, your lips mere inches from his skin, inhaling the warm, intoxicating mixture of his scent—something between musky and sweet, leaving you craving more of him. With a soft chuckle, you place delicate kisses on his chest, tracing a path to his shoulders, each peck igniting an invisible trail of fire. Your heart races, not solely from the thrill of the moment, but from the undeniable bond that grows stronger with each passing second. You revel in the way his body responds, the tiny shudders and gasps hinting at the electric connection you share.

“So, do you want to have your way with me now?”

[sexsylexi]

Why couldn't it be me?

Wally West x reader

The Mount Justice zeta-beam hummed softly as you stepped into the dimly lit common room, clutching a tray of snacks you’d brought to share. Wally West, your best friend and the person you couldn’t stop thinking about, lounged on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, a bag of chips in hand. Artemis sat beside him, smirking at something he’d just said.

Your heart sank a little. She was always around these days, and it made the heavy weight of your unspoken feelings all the harder to bear. Still, you forced a smile and crossed the room.

“Brought reinforcements,” you said, setting the tray on the table.

“(Y/N), you’re the best” Wally beamed, his emerald eyes lighting up as he turned to face you. The warmth of his gaze was enough to make you forget, for just a moment, the unrelenting ache in your chest.

“Just doing my part,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Artemis glanced at you, her expression unreadable, then reached for a soda can. “You spoil him too much,” she said lightly.

“Someone’s gotta keep him fed,” you shot back, teasing.

Wally laughed, oblivious to the tension in the air. “See, (Y/N) gets it! You should take notes, Artemis.”

The archer rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, and for a brief second, her gaze lingered on Wally.

You had known Wally for years, long before the team came together. Your friendship had always been easy, full of shared jokes and mutual trust. But somewhere along the line, your feelings had shifted. You fell hard, and you fell fast. He was everything you could ever want—smart, kind, endlessly loyal, and his smile could light up the darkest room.

But it was torture.

Because while you were hopelessly in love with him, he didn’t feel the same.

You told yourself it was fine, that being his friend was enough. But every time he talked about Artemis, it was like a dagger in your chest. He didn’t even realize he was doing it. And every hanging out you had his eyes were never on you they were always on her.

“Artemis is so cool, you know?” Wally said one evening after a mission. You were sitting on the couch beside him, patching up his arm while he chattered on. “She’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on, but she’s also super funny once you get to know her. And don’t even get me started on her aim—she’s incredible!”

You bit your lip, keeping your hands steady as you cleaned his wound. “Yeah, she’s... great,” you murmured, fighting to keep the pain out of your voice.

Wally didn’t notice. He never noticed.

Not long after the team had been called on a last-minute mission: an infiltrate-and-extract operation at a rogue scientist’s lab. You’d all been given a rundown before heading out, and now you were crouched in the shadows, heart pounding as you waited for the signal.

“Ready?” Wally whispered, crouching beside you. His trademark grin was in place, but there was a flicker of seriousness in his eyes that reminded you how much he’d grown since joining the team.

“Always,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

The mission went smoothly at first. You worked in tandem with Wally, just like always, and for a while, it felt like old times. But then things took a turn. A squad of armed guards caught sight of Artemis, who was providing cover from an elevated platform. Wally was at her side in an instant, taking out the guards with a speed and precision that left you breathless.

When the dust settled, he turned to her with a wide grin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, brushing herself off. “Thanks.”

You watched from a distance as they shared a moment, the connection between them almost tangible. It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist, and the realization hit you like a freight train: He didn’t just like her. He loved her.

The team regrouped and completed the mission, but the atmosphere was heavy as you made your way back to the bioship. The tension between you and Wally was unspoken but palpable, and you couldn’t shake the image of him looking at Artemis like she was the only person in the room.

When you arrived back at Mount Justice, the countdown to midnight had already begun. The team decided to stick around and celebrate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to join in the festivities.

“Hey, (Y/N), come on!” Wally called, gesturing for you to join him near the monitor.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “I’m good here.”

He frowned but didn’t press the issue, turning his attention back to the group.

You stood in the corner, watching as the seconds ticked down. Your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Wally.

“Ten... nine... eight...”

The room buzzed with excitement as the countdown reached its climax.

“Three... two... one—Happy New Year!”

Cheers erupted, but the sound was drowned out by the sight of Wally picking up Artemis and spinning her around.

And then he kissed her.

Time seemed to freeze. The world blurred around you as you watched the person you loved with everything you had kiss someone else.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the weight of your heartbreak crushing you.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Kaldur’s voice cut through the noise, his concerned gaze landing on you.

You forced a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need some air.”

Before he could say anything else, you slipped out of the room, the cold night air hitting you like a slap to the face.

You wandered aimlessly for a while, eventually finding yourself on the beach near Mount Justice. The waves crashed against the shore, their rhythmic sound offering a small measure of comfort.

You sank to the ground, wrapping your arms around your knees as the tears finally came. You cried for the love you’d never have, for the friendship that suddenly felt hollow, for the future you’d dreamed of that was never going to happen.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, but eventually, the sound of footsteps pulled you from your thoughts.

“(Y/N)?”

It was Wally. Of course it was.

“Hey,” you said, quickly wiping your eyes and forcing a smile.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, crouching beside you.

“Just needed some space.”

He frowned, studying your face. “You’ve been crying.”

“I’m fine, Wally,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt.

He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he sat down beside you, staring out at the water.

“You missed the big celebration,” he said after a moment.

“I saw,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wally hesitated, then added, “I kissed Artemis.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral. “Yeah. Congrats.”

He turned to look at you, his brow furrowed. “You don’t seem happy.”

“I am,” you lied. “I just... I’m tired, Wally. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t respond, and the silence stretched between you.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “You deserve it.”

Wally’s expression softened, and for a moment, you thought he was going to say something, but then he just nodded.

“Thanks, (Y/N). That means a lot.”

You managed a weak smile, but inside, you were falling apart. As long as he was happy you were right?..

[k0yaz]

your girlfriend is very pretty.

Pairings: navia x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, reader has rlly bad gay panic, like holy shit she’s actually my gf type stuff, wlw, girls kissing omg??literally one mention of sex and that’s it, desire to punt a little boy like a football, can be considered a crackfic lol??? even though I don’t know exactly what a crackfic is supposed to be, not proofread.

A/N: YESSS NOW WHAT I WANNA WRITE also yes this is based off of that one meme where the kid says “well your gf’s rlly pretty”

Swishes of cascading water filled the air, the pleasant sound circling the atmosphere of Fontaine and fitting the clear blue skies. Your eyes squinted slightly as Navia’s honey blonde hair fluttered into your face, grazing the tip of your nose. Both of your hands were firmly gripping onto each other, the tip of your fingers brushing along her dark gloved hands.

Both of you had just decided to take a walk through the streets of Fontaine, various stands up on the streets catching your eye occasionally, while Navia would just drag your arm and laugh whenever you got stuck looking over at something. Her freehand reached up to clutch the end of the wavering fabric of her hat to keep it down, as it flowed upward from the profoundly warm breeze swaying her clothing and hair.

Navia’s sea blue eyes traced along every corner of Fontaine as she pulled you along, only causing you to let out a sweet laugh in response to each tug of your arm forward. Her sweet smile only made your heart thump in your chest subtly, her grin being near infectious as her energy only made you let out a small laugh of your own and follow her along.

“(Name)? Are you even listening to me-?”

You blinked, only seeing Navia’s casted shadow from the sun behind her, along with her alluring frame face to face with you. Bringing your palm to your lips, you furrowed your brows from embarrassment and shook your head, a sheepish look crossing your features. Navia only responded with a small huff, which quickly progressed into a soft laugh from your beautiful girlfriend.

“I said that I’m going to go pick up a pastry for us. Any preferences?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You smiled and shook your head, keeping yourself composed. “Nah, I trust your taste, Navia.” You joked, earning an amused chuckle from your girlfriend as she nudged your shoulder lightly before turning her back to head into the shop to pick something up for the two of you.

For a moment, you just stood there awkwardly, face slightly flushed as she left you by yourself. As everyone around you kept moving, your brain was in absolute scrambles when you thought about Navia. Was this a dream? You were really dating this woman? On top of that she treats you like a radiant goddess? Are you in reality- hello?

Your mind detached itself from reality at this moment, darting to your own unwavering thoughts spinning in your brain. She would always comfort you when you needed it, make sure you were okay, and check up on you frequently. Your eyes would relax and your shoulders would droop as you leaned into her touch grazing your cheek. Her face would look absolutely enchanting under any dim golden lighting, her eyes like a deep pool of water that surrounded Fontaine as you gazed into them.

The way you would flutter your eyes shut and tilt your hand into her cheek whenever the words “I love you” fell from her pink, glossy lips. The way you would quietly whisper it back while your gaze was locked onto hers with a deep longing, her touch bringing an almost immediate comfort to your senses no matter the situation. And let’s not forget when her name would spill out of you repeatedly like a prayer whenever she was bare and towering over you, flushed skin stuck to yours as her soft lips found their way onto your chest..

You immediately paused, eyes widening as you cleared your throat to yourself to compose your thoughts when you realized what you were thinking about. At that exact moment, Navia stepped out of the store holding two paper boxes in one hand as she found her way back to your side.

“What’d you get?”

“I’ll keep that a surprise until we get home.” She responded, still holding both boxes in one hand as she used her free hand to lace between yours. Letting out a mellow sigh, you only smiled, tightening your fingers between hers. “Well, I do trust you, Navia. You never disappoint after all.”

Before you two could begin to walk, a small tug on the cloth of your shirt made you halt in your tracks for a moment, head spinning around abruptly to see nobody behind you. Your face wrinkled up in confusion, before you felt the pull again, and looked down. Looking up at you was a young boy, probably aged around eight or nine. His eyes darted between you and Navia, gaze seemingly innocent as he tilted his head back to meet your face. You raised an eyebrow, confusion etched on your face as to why this kid would randomly stop you. You certainly weren’t his mother or anything. “Can I..help you?”

He fidgeted with his hands slightly, palms clasped together as he played around with his fingers and looked down periodically. It took a moment before he finally opened his mouth slowly to reply to your upfront question.

“Uhm…who’s that lady with you…?”

He mumbled shyly, now playing around with the hem of his shirt. You paused, holding back a snort of laughter at the kid’s random and simple question. Yet, you held yourself back for the sake of not embarrassing him, and leaned down.

“Ah. That’s my girlfriend, little man.”

“Your girlfriend is very pretty…”

Say what-?

You knew better. He was just a kid and he was just giving her a compliment. You were an adult, there was no need to get jealous over a little kid. Letting out an awkward chuckle, you looked over to the side uncomfortably, trying to not let your facial expression slip in any way to reveal anything. It was just an innocent compliment from a little boy.

“Aha..yeah she is! She’s gorgeous and very sweet! I’m lucky to be with someone like her-“

“Can I marry her?”

His cut off made your face immediately contort with a strong distaste, stirring up a defensive apprehension right away. You wanted to squat down to his level and flick his forehead, along with spitting an annoyed ‘now listen here you little shit-‘ to him. Upon seeing your irked expression, Navia sighed, placing a hand onto your shoulder as she pushed you back so she could kneel before the boy.

“Sorry to crush your hopes, but I’m already going to marry this gorgeous woman over here. But you’ll find someone, I promise.”

The kid’s expression grew dejected, yet he nodded in understanding as Navia gestured him to go about his day. Your eyebrows raised in surprise and sucking in a breath between your teeth bashfully. Navia’s shoulder brushed against yours as she rose to her full height, her appearance still rested and gentle. The boy kicked away to leave you two alone, disappearing off into the distance to mind his own business. A sudden whimper left you as your cheek was pinched between Navia’s slender fingers, eyes screwed shut and letting out a string of repeated “ow’s.”

“And you, sweetheart. He’s just a child. No need to get all defensive over me from some boy who isn’t even in the double digits!” she scolded, causing you to nod frantically as your head was pulled off to the side. “Yes! I get it! Just let go!”

Navia parted her fingers quickly, releasing your cheek with a proud expression on her face, while you just stood there, palm massaging the blistered skin of your cheek and flexing your jaw. She only smiled and took your hand once more, leaning over to press her smooth lips against your cheek. The contact only served to fluster you more, eyes squeezing shut and lips pursed as you tried to stay calm and collected from the beautiful woman—who was in fact your girlfriend—kissing your cheek.

“We’ll head home to eat these pastries, and I’m all yours for the rest of the day, alright sweetheart?”

A/N: I’m aware there’s other requests (I just finished my inbox reqs but idk how yall got here this fast) but I’m working on what I want for sometimes so I’ll get to my inbox when I feel like it 🕯️

[literatureloverx]

Could you make yandere prisoner fyodor x prisoner reader? From meursault arc??

Such a nice request! ♥️ (Also… I’m so sorry it took me so long!) I wrote a scenario since you didn’t specifically mention which format. ♥️

Fyodor x fem!reader

prisoner reader, Meursault arc, Fyodor being himself, yandere-ish (it’s Fyodor…).

Fyodor’s attention shifted from the pages of his book, his pale fingers pausing for the briefest of moments as his deep violet eyes settled on you. The words on the page blurred as his mind, sharp and calculating, turned toward the enigma that had appeared before him.

You were a curious thing, lost in a world that was not your own, fumbling in the shadows of a place like Meursault. He let his gaze linger, silently studying you—your delicate presence, standing out in a way that unsettled the grim, oppressive atmosphere of the prison.

Who are you?

You were not an ADA agent, that much was certain. And yet, you didn’t seem like someone who belonged here at all. The prison, with its cold, dark corners and the fetid stench of hopelessness, should have been a place for the irredeemable, the broken. But you? There was a spark in you, something that betrayed your outward appearance of meekness.

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as you blinked, an ordinary enough action—but not quite. There was a pattern to it, a rhythm that immediately caught his attention. It wasn’t a simple blink of fatigue; no, it was something more deliberate. A message.

How quaint.

His lips curled into a barely perceptible smile, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. He watched, intrigued, as the message unfolded, the delicate taps of your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. Morse code.

He sat up a little straighter, his fingers lightly grazing the edges of the book he had abandoned, the pages still and silent now. His gaze never wavered from you.

Fyodor’s lips parted slightly as a cold smirk tugged at his mouth. How interesting. What could you possibly know about him to seek him out in this way?

His gaze hardened, as if savoring the challenge you had unwittingly placed before him. He could see through the cracks in your carefully constructed exterior—you were no ordinary prisoner.

No, you were here for him.

A cute little mouse, venturing into the den of a predator, unaware that it was already ensnared. There was a delicate beauty in your folly, a naïve courage that made him lean forward slightly, an ever-present amusement dancing in his eyes.

Every inch of him was drawn to the puzzle you presented. Your attempts to reach him, to break through the silence of this forsaken place, were not lost on him. And now that he had noticed, now that his attention was fixed on you, there was no escape.

He watched you, his gaze sharp as a blade, and let the silence stretch between you both, thick with unspoken words. You had invited him into your little game, and now it was his turn to decide how it would play out.

Oh, how delightful.

The air in the cell is heavy with tension, each breath you take a quiet, deliberate action, as you try to gather your thoughts. Fyodor’s gaze is unwavering, his violet eyes never leaving you. The silence between you stretches, thickening as he studies you, his fingers delicately brushing the edges of his book, as though the pages are no more than a mere distraction from the game unfolding before him.

You had hoped for a response, had silently prayed that your attempt at communication would not go unnoticed. And then, a subtle shift—his fingers move, tapping lightly against the wall. The pattern is familiar, the rhythmic beat a language you understand all too well.

Morse code.

Your heart skips a beat. He’s answering you.

You watch him intently, your breath shallow, as you try to keep up with his deliberate message. Each tap seems to echo louder in your mind, as if to remind you that this moment is unlike anything you’ve encountered before.

His message is calm, controlled, and yet, there’s an underlying thread of something more dangerous, more enticing. Your pulse quickens as the realization hits: he knows exactly what you’re trying to do.

You feel a chill run through you, but it’s not fear—it’s something far more complex, a curious sense of thrill. You had sought him out, reached through the silence to this man who felt so impossibly distant, and yet, now that he’s noticed, now that his attention is entirely fixed on you, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

And then, as if the tension in the room wasn’t enough, the door to the cell rattled open, revealing a new cell that seemed to materialise out of nowhere.

Your gaze shifts instinctively.

Dazai.

“Looks like I’ve found a little gathering. How delightful.”

Your heart races, and for the briefest of moments, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake by reaching out to them. But then, Fyodor’s fingers tap again, a soft rhythm against the stone wall, as though to remind you that the game is far from over.

His fingers tap once more, the sound sharp and deliberate. Let the game of prison break begin.

[anystalker707]

heavy feelings

Pairings: Frank Iero x [gender-neutral] Reader Genre: Light angst / Comfort / Fluff Summary: Longing for each other until finding out you two feel the same for each other. a/n: hey guys i hope i don't regret writing this little thing for mcr after forever away from it, even if this is a sam monroe fic that i adapted for frank iero

MASTER LIST

          Of course, you knew it would rain, seeing the darkness gathering in the distance, the clouds looking heavy and dense, slowly rolling in. Maybe not so slowly. You’d predicted it’d rain later at night, and not right when you had to leave work. Or perhaps, even, you just wanted to convince yourself of it after noticing your umbrella wasn’t in your bag. Leaving your house in a rush during an especially stressful week could do that.

There was nowhere to run to now that you searched for shelter by standing as close to the building as possible, staring at your phone’s screen. With a sigh, you finally texted Frank, receiving a text you didn’t know how to interpret. Still, you waited.

Ten minutes or so had passed when the car finally stopped by the curb, and you quickly rushed through the rain to slip into Frank’s car, which had an almost permanent smell of cigarettes and a hint of the drink Mikey spilled on the back seats some weeks ago. The engine hummed under you as the rain pattered against the window, but not loud enough to drown out the music from the radio, making a comfortable atmosphere that felt like a warm hug after a long day at work.

The gray colors of the sky merged with the city lights, creating distortions through the raindrops that ran down the cars’ windows, and also hiding an otherwise a sky with the colors of the end of the day.

“Am I your Uber now or somethin’?” Frank raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to look down the street before crossing the crossroad, his tongue lightly playing with his lip ring.

You shrugged, adjusting your bag on your feet. “Well, seemed like a good opportunity to see you.” Twisting the knob slowly, you turned the volume up, just enough for the words to be comprehensible.

"Oh don't talk of love" the shadows purrMurmuring me away from you"Don't talk of worlds that never were…

Frank was silent, letting his brain swim in the lyrics, before he exhaled. “Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t want you to see me right now.” Annoyance marred his words, rough with irritation and… something else. “Maybe I just want to be left alone.”

Bitter, as usual. You rolled your eyes, looking out the window with a soft sigh. “Just drop me at my place.”

Frank’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, and he glanced at you. “Wait,” he choked out, his throat suddenly dry. “I didn’t mean that. ‘M sorry. I just…” He huffed. “‘M not good at this.” His hair was a little wet from catching a little rain earlier when getting in the car, and wetting his palm slightly when he tugged on his own strands almost painfully. So fucking stupid. Why couldn’t he just be nice to you? “I don’t want to take you home. I want to spend time with you. Just you.” Hopefully, that waver in his voice was just his mind tricking him.

A sigh. “Whatever. Sure.”

His heart kept beating way too fast. Damn it. Frank hesitantly reached over and grazed your thigh with his hand. He needed to cross that bridge. “Come on,” he mumbled in a softer tone. “Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.” It wasn’t much of an apology, but he couldn’t do much better now.

Silence stretched, and Frank was hyper-aware of everything. His sweaty palms around the steering wheel, the floor vibrating under his feet, the rain, the music, you. Really, all he did was make things worse. No one ever liked him in such a tender way, so he wasn’t sure how to handle it all. Or even how to communicate nicely.

“You know,” Frank attempted, voice quiet, “I don’t like it when you’re upset with me.” The words felt heavy on his tongue.

Silence stretched again, but not for so long. “I’m not upset with you,” you said softly, suppressing another sigh, observing the inked lines along his skin. “Gloomy weather just makes me feel… down.”

Frank’s jaw clenched as he turned the car, navigating the familiar streets towards his house, keeping his eyes glued on the road because he didn’t know how he’d react if he looked at you. Something thick hung in the air, too sensitive to be touched, causing another silence, but it was heavy and oppressive this time. After he pulled into the driveway, it pushed more upon him as he stared at the distorted image of his house through the windshield. He wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension. But the words wouldn’t come.

Frank fought against whatever seemed to hold him back and reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers together, finding solace in the small touch. “Come inside. Please. I need you.”

The two of you shared a look before you nodded, giving his hand a brief squeeze, then releasing it to leave the car and jog towards the front door together.

Focused on unlocking the door, Frank twisted his mouth faintly. He held it open for you before stepping inside as well, both of you leaving the wet shoes by the door as he unlocked it again. He watched you take off your shoes, feeling his heart twist—it was a sign of comfort, of familiarity. Of home.

The house was quiet, the lights dimmed, a guitar forgotten on the couch. It felt empty, lifeless. Just like Frank felt most of the time. He leaned back against the door and looked at you for a moment, analyzing, looking for something. He knew something troubled you, the sadness was there, even if he couldn’t quite tell the reason, and it made his heart ache, made him want to take it away. How could he have such strong feelings for someone else? His stomach churned.

“Come here.” Frank held out his hand. “Please, I just… I need to hold you.”

Despite your silence, your hand found Frank’s, hesitantly, lacing your fingers together as you stepped closer, and his hand immediately tightened around yours. He slowly wiped away a raindrop that ran down your temple, sighing.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered. “I hate knowing that I can’t take it away, that I can’t make it better.” The closeness allowed him to drink in every detail of your features and burn it in his memory so that he could revisit it later when he was missing you.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m fine, really. It’s not that bad.”

Frank knew you were lying for your own sake, though it still hurt that you didn’t trust him to comfort you, to make everything better. He let his hands fall to his sides when your grip loosened. The frustration made him want to scream and break everything—he would never do that, not when it could worsen things.

“I know you’re not okay, and I hate that I can’t do anything to change that.” Frank pressed his lips together, nipping his lip ring a little, and stepped back, trying not to seem needy or pushy. “I’m here for you.” It was cliché, something you were probably tired of hearing already, but Frank didn’t know what else to offer, and maybe it worked.

Your eyes softened, and your shoulders dropped. “Don’t worry.”

“Come on,” Frank said before silence reigned again. “Let’s go upstairs. We can watch a movie or somethin’.” His hand found yours before you climbed the stairs, and his hand remained in yours when you left your bag by the corner and tugged you down with him as he flopped on the bed. You landed in a tangle of limbs, with his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you close, and his face buried in your neck to inhale your scent deeply. Home.

Despite not being what you expected, it was easy to relax and let go against Frank, taking in the oddly comforting scent of his bed and returning the embrace, tracing circles into his back—he hummed contently in response.

The little gesture calmed down the furious sea of emotions inside Frank and reduced the world to the little bubble shared by the two of you. Everything was about your warmth and the weight of your arms around him.

Enough time had passed when Frank turned his head to rest it on your shoulder. His fingers tightened around your shirt, as if you’d disappear if he let go. “Turn on a movie, please.” Your shoulder muffled his voice. “Something you like.” All he wanted was to give you a moment free from the weight of the world on your shoulders, and maybe, just maybe, Frank would find and provide solace in the process. “I don’t care what it is. Just pick something.”

Damn. It was hard to choose. You tried to think about something both of you liked and aligned with the atmosphere. None of you would watch it anyway, but the muffled talk under the sound of the rain outside was comforting. Playing with your hair proved to be a lot more interesting to Frank, an intimate and possessive gesture, to him. Mine, his heart whispered.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” Frank muttered quietly. He knew he wasn’t the easiest to be around, and he could be a lot to handle, but you were still there with him. That meant so much. Despite the lack of an answer, his heart melted at seeing you enjoying the touch, pressing your head to his, briefly. It was almost like you were completely his, and Frank almost allowed himself to slip into the daydream of being yours when guilt pushed him back.

The ending song started playing, but Frank remained still, trying to prolong the connection. He had never felt so close to you before, so… exposed. Unlike he had believed, it was peaceful.

Eventually, he pulled back to meet your eyes in the dim lighting of his bedroom. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat, jumbled and indecipherable. “You should sleep here,” he said, finally, the only words that managed to escape through. “I’ll put an extra blanket on the floor for you.” He wasn’t up to going through the usual bickering of who should take the bed. Most of all, it was an offering, a plea, to have you there while he slipped into the unforgiving embrace of sleep, since he couldn’t have you hold him overnight. “Unless you’d rather go home.”

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.”

Frank nodded in relief.

The makeshift bed wasn’t the best, but it was the best that Frank could do. If only he could convince you to take the bed. “There,” he exhaled, giving you one of his pillows. “It’s not much, but it’s… comfortable.” He sat back on the mattress. His eyes followed you, observing how his borrowed clothes looked on you and the weight of the day in your eyes. Fuck, he was so lucky to still have you there with him. “Thank you,” he said, because it was all he could do without feeling like he would fall apart. “For staying, for being here, for… everything.” He wanted to say more. It wasn’t the time, though. He didn’t think it was the moment.

“It’s fine. It’s not something you need to thank me for.” You adjusted the pillow on the ground before lying down and pulling a blanket over yourself. It smelled like Frank. The rain still poured outside, comforting and daunting at the same time. “Good night.”

Frank watched you in silence, nodding, and swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Good night,” he mumbled. He dimmed down the light on the nightstand, leaving the room in a soft, cozy darkness, a little envious that you fell asleep faster, but he knew the day had been harsher on you. The weight in his chest held Frank awake, and he couldn’t help but roll on his side to observe you. There was not much to see in the darkness, but he could make out the rise and fall of your chest in a peaceful rhythm that lulled him into a sense of security—a false one.

If only you cuddled with him to sleep. Frank reached out, letting his fingertips graze your arm in a whisper of a caress, allowing himself to imagine a scenario in which you fall asleep in each other’s arms. He doesn’t want to wake you because of his silly daydreams, especially not when you’re finally allowed to rest.

With a heavy sigh, Frank forced himself to withdraw his hand and let you sleep undisturbed, averting his attention to the ceiling. He’d just settle down for the comfort of your presence with the knowledge that, even if not enough, it was more than he deserved. Among the mess of thoughts and feelings, he could finally fall asleep.

Panic rose in his chest when Frank noticed the empty spot beside his bed, but then he saw you standing by the window, with your hands on the windowsill, watching the rain, and his heart calmed down. He sat up with a yawn, leaving smeared makeup on his fingers with rubbing his eyes. The sight of you standing there filled him with a strange sense of peace.

Frank swung his legs over the bed's side before standing up and as much as he wanted to walk over, he preferred to rush to the bathroom and at least take a piss and wash his mouth before anything. Given the situation of it, he presumed you’d been awake for longer than he thought.

Finally, Frank returned and approached you, standing close enough so that your shoulders touched. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. “You slept well?” He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the sleep in his eyes. “Coffee? I can make some if you want.”

You observed him for a moment before finally shaking your head. “Morning. The floor isn’t so bad.” You paused. “We can have some coffee later.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Frank prayed you wouldn’t mention anything about leaving. He hoped there wouldn’t be any last-minute band practice today. Spending so much time with you was… nice. More than nice, actually. It was everything he had been wanting lately.

Rain kept pattering against the window. It was a soothing sound he found himself soothing into. He tilted his head, pressing his nose to the cold glass, and his heart fluttered at the chuckle he snatched from you. “We could…” His mind raced with the possibilities. He didn’t know. Whatever you wanted, as long as you two spent time together.

“There’s not much we can do.” You shrugged, averting your eyes to the outside again, watching the puddles. “And you? Slept well?”

Frank looked over at you, nodding faintly. “Mm, yeah.” Sleepiness still clung to his voice, but he couldn’t fight the feeling that came along with rainy days. He decided to indulge in his wishes and slide an arm around your waist, relishing the closeness, humming as he buried his face in your shoulder for a moment before following your gaze outside the window. He felt like melting when you held him in return. “We can watch a movie. I’ll even let you have the remote.”

For some reason, Frank felt clingy, unable to hold himself back from tightening his arms around you, basking in the warmth of your skin that seeped through your—his—clothes. He’d never felt this close to you, and maybe you felt the same.

Your nose pressed to his cheek, breath tickling his skin. “Sounds good.”

Frank wanted nothing more than to turn his head and meet your lips, but he restrained himself. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he mumbled with a soft sigh. Words heaved on his tongue like lead, at the same time they prickled in a plea to be freed. “Y’know, I love you.” While he pulled away to look at you in the eyes, he was already making up a thousand excuses in his mind, but all of them vanished once his eyes met yours, and he winced.

“I… ‘m sorry,” Frank said, anxiety coiling in his gut, and he wanted to spill a thousand words to justify himself, but nothing ever came. His brain short-circuited the moment you leaned in and simply kissed him, the sensation so much more intense and better than anything he could’ve imagined.

A soft sound escaped Frank’s throat when he finally returned the kiss, adjusting his grip around you, taking in every detail—your breath fanning over his philtrum, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, your hands on his shoulders, his lip ring between your lips, everything. The doubts and worries melted away shamefully easily, calming down his heart in a way he’d never felt before.

Only a few seconds and eternity had simultaneously passed when the kiss came to an end, and Frank looked at you again, his mind a lot quieter now, lips tingling. He felt so safe in your embrace, fuck.

“I love you, too, okay?” You mumbled, kissing his cheek, and he couldn’t help but smile, burying his face in your shoulder.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

[silvertheduckling]

Shadows in the Rain

This is a Shadow one shot! I could make it into a series if everyone likes :3 Music I recommend for this fic, (if you like listening and reading) is Sailor by Alex Kehm. Also her song called Howl also fits the mood ♡

Summary: You find Shadow in the park during a rainy afternoon, and you share an umbrella.

Reader is a mobian and GUN agent. (1,347 words.) Hope you enjoy! 💙

It was a misty afternoon, as soft rain drops fell from the sky. Small puddles pooled in curbs and in the imperfections of the sidewalk. There was no breeze or movement, just calm, peaceful silence. Except for the patter of the rain drops, making a pleasant hum. You had taken the afternoon off, to enjoy this serene atmosphere. Umbrella in hand, as your boots made little splashes on the wet sidewalk. 

That morning, you had been assigned to work with Shadow, only for Shadow nowhere to be found. It was unusual for him to be absent, for he was always very punctual, especially if others were relying on him. You worried about him, for how uncharacteristic it was. But you were left with your thoughts and the soft sound of the rain.

 He was a very intriguing person; Rouge herself had told you about how he was. She always teased you about Shadow, saying you had a way of pulling words out of him that no one else could. Though you were never sure if you believed her. Over the few months together on missions, he never conversed more than necessary.

Only, his eyes always spoke more than his voice ever did. You could swear you'd seen a hint of vulnerability in his deep, ruby eyes. A hidden struggle behind those beautiful gems. 

 His gaze always seemed to stiffen as soon as it became too revealing. Making you wonder if those moments were all a work in your head.  

Over these past months, he'd warmed up to you more, though never getting too comfortable. On those riskier missions he always would choose the more difficult front-line assignments. Saying you wouldn't be able to keep up. 

Those missions when you could see the flash of panic when you made a close call, the strong reprimand to never do that again on the ride to headquarters. When you'd see that deeper look in his eyes. Those moments when you understood he did care. 

He had showed it many times. When he had saved your life. When enemies got a little too close and he stepped in front of you. Shielding you with himself. Though, more recently, he had grown distant. 

Ever since you both had been on a mission that cut very close. Too close. In the moment he insistently asked if you were alright, looking you over many times. That desperate worry in his eyes as he looked in yours. He held you by your shoulders making you look in his eyes, his grip firm but gentle.

"Don't do that again."

The passing of a car splashing in the little stream brought you out of your thoughts, the blur of fading headlights melting in the hazy fog. 

 Faint glow from a light pole shined a misty haze over an approaching bench, a figure lightly illuminated there. Curiosity bubbled in you as you wondered who the figure was. Once close enough the misty glow revealed an empty stare, Shadow. 

Raindrops trickled from his fur to the cool ground. He looked so distant, so lost. Gazing in no direction in particular, tension in his hands as they clenched. 

You stood there for a few moments, wanting to greet him happily but biting your tongue, knowing that's not what he needed right now. With a soft movement, you sat on the bench, an arm length between you. 

You debated in your head if that had been the best idea, that he probably wanted to be left alone. It's too late to turn back now.

You inched closer, wondering if he noticed your presence. Slowly, you shifted your umbrella, letting its brim cover him. After a few moments he seemed to notice. His ruby eyes softened slightly as they met yours, revealing a flicker of emotion beneath his usual hardened gaze.

Though, he was silent. His irises looking impossibly deep in yours. It felt like he was looking in your soul. Like, he was.... searching. Searching for your angle, why you were showing him grace. 

All he seen was your honest sweet gaze. The kindness in your eyes... They were genuine. It had been so long since he had seen such tender, empathetic eyes directed towards him... He hesitantly met your gaze once again. 

"What are you doing?" 

His voice soft and quiet matching the gentle hum of the rain.

"You weren't at the meeting for our mission this morning, so I took this afternoon off; and found you here."

You had noticed? That alone made Shadow soften ever slightly. His gaze left yours to the rest of the misty central park. 

"I'm sorry."

he murmured, lowering his gaze to his lap as if the weight of the words pained him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." 

He looked up again, as his eyes found yours once more. His facial features softened gently, his brow less furrowed, his frown less prominent. 

"It's okay to take a break sometimes. I just... I was worried about you."

He froze a little after that statement. The idea that his presence... was missed. 

That look in his sanguine eyes revealing how much that sentence alone meant to him. 

The buzz of a phone interrupted the exchange as you sheepishly took out your phone with murmured apologies. It was Rouge asking where you were, you had forgotten your plans with her. 

"I'm sorry. Rouge is waiting on me and you know how she is."   

You said hurriedly embarrassed as you gathered yourself. 

"Um... where I'm going isn't far, you want my umbrella?"

Kindness in your eyes as you smiled gently offering the umbrella. He looked at you for a lingering moment, then he gently reached for it. Your hands brushed each other softly as he took it from your hand.

For a moment that felt longer than it was, his hand lingered over yours on the umbrella. In the gentle shower you both stood under the cover of the umbrella. You both clung onto this moment preserving it gazes locked. 

Time seemed to slow as your eyes searched his and his prodded yours. He remained silent, his eyes speaking for him. His deep gemstones caught the faint cast of light, showing the vulnerability in them. They wavered between yours. Your presence comforted him. Though silent, his eyes betrayed the truth—he didn't want you to leave.

The buzz of a phone call in your pocket disrupted the eye contact. You both knew who it was. 

"I should go. You have a good afternoon, ok?"  

You spoke apologetically as you pulled your hand away fully giving him the umbrella. 

"See you later."   

 He nodded faintly at your soft tone, as his grip on the umbrella grew tighter. You turned walking down the path, taking the phone call. Your figure growing farther in the misty afternoon. Blurring into the rain. He stood there watching you go, left with his thoughts. 

"Bye (name)."

He murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, as though speaking to the memory of your presence more than to you. He gazed where you once were, umbrella in hand. 

As he walked home, he held tight to the look in your eyes. The rain continued to fall, but the memory of your warmth lingered. A contrast to the cool misty atmosphere. 

It had been a few days since that late afternoon, you were at your home enjoying a lovely clear morning making some breakfast. There was a gentle knock at your doorstep, as you gazed curiously in that direction. After a few moments you walked to the door opening it, revealing no one there. Your gaze fell and there you saw your umbrella and beside it a vase of red roses and little white flowers. You picked both up bringing them inside. You set the flowers on the counter. 

A soft smile crossed your lips as you traced the delicate petals. The roses, their crimson petals catching the morning sunlight; reminded you of his gaze—vulnerable, yet unyielding. Even in his silence, Shadow's gratitude spoke volumes. You noticed a little card in the middle, and you pulled it out. Opening it gently it simply read;

"Thank you ---Shadow."

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! Reblogs, comments and likes much appreciated! 💙

[queenshelby]

The Accident (Part Seven)

Pairing: Reader & Cillian Murphy

Warning: Domestic Abuse, Religious Themes, Trafficking

Thank you @blondie-22 for this amazing idea!

That night, you fell asleep almost instantly, the exhaustion crashing over you like a tide. The guest room, decorated with soft linens and a plush comforter, embraced you in a cocoon of warmth.

You tucked Mika close to your chest and inhaled the comforting scent of baby shampoo, a sweet fragrance that vibrated with innocence. Sarah too slept well, and long, her small body curled into a ball beside you on the plush mattress, a peaceful haven in the chaos.

The following morning, light streamed through the thin curtains, casting soft shadows that danced across the room. You stirred awake to the sound of birds chirping outside, the gentle cooing of Mika drawing your attention. She lay beside you, her small hands flailing slightly as she grunted playfully in her sleep.

“Good morning, little one,” you whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and enjoying the way her tiny features scrunched up in response.

You were still in your clothes from the night before but you hardly noticed. The soft warmth of the sheets and the comfort of the room wrapped around you like a protective blanket.

“Sarah?” you murmured, glancing over to check on her little form sprawled beside you. She lay in blissful slumber, her curly brown hair fanning around her like a halo.

You allowed her to sleep a little longer before wandering downstairs where Cillian and Naomi were already in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of toast, creating an inviting atmosphere. The kitchen glowed with warmth, sunlight pooling in through the expansive windows, illuminating the room in a golden hue.

Cillian stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a mug, while Naomi scrolled through her phone, her carefully manicured nails moving rapidly over the screen.

As you stepped into the kitchen, Cillian glanced up, his face breaking into a warm smile.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he greeted, his voice rich with sincerity. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log,” you admitted, a small smile creeping across your face as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the enticing aroma of brewed coffee that filled the air.

Cillian chuckled lightly, pouring another mug. “That’s good to hear. You needed the rest after everything,” Cillian asked, motioning towards the table for you to sit down but all you really wanted was to have a shower.

"Would I be able to take a shower?" you asked, the words escaping your lips in a rush, as anticipation of feeling clean bubbled within you.

“Of course,” Cillian replied promptly, nodding. “Just down the hall,” he gestured toward a door situated at the end of the hallway. “There are towels in the closet. Take your time.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, your voice filled with relief.

“Do you want me to watch Mika while you go?" Cillian offered, his eyes sparkling with eagerness.

You hesitated, the protective instinct kicking in momentarily, but the thought of a hot shower—just the chance to wash away the remnants of the past few weeks—felt like a balm for your frayed nerves.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you said, relief washing over you, causing Naomi to roll her eyes.

She wasn't fond of young children and infants and her disdain was palpable, her expression contorting slightly as she feigned a smile.

"Uhm, I hate to ask, but could I also borrow a t-shirt or something clean? I will give it back to you. It's just that I didn't take anything for myself," you added quickly, glancing between Cillian and Naomi, the slight anxiety creeping in again.

"Sure," Cillian replied without hesitation before looking at Naomi again, who raised her eyebrows.

"My clothes would be way too small for her," she scoffed, crossing her arms defensively. “You are like what, a medium or large?" she went on to say in a tone that was mocking your less perfect body than hers, which was something that hurt you just a little.

"Jesus, Nom," Cillian whispered, shaking his head silently. "You can borrow one of my t-shirts and I am sure Nina has some trackpants that will fit and that she won't miss. I will have a look," Cillian said, his voice firm yet kind as he made his way toward you to take Mika. As Cillian reached for Mika, you felt a flash of vulnerability, instinctively tightening your grip for just a moment longer. But the comfort in his blue eyes calmed your nerves.

“It's alright. I won't break her. I promise. Despite, I delivered her, remember?" he said with a gentle chuckle, his tone imbued with warmth.

You relinquished your hold, allowing him to cradle Mika in his arms, his hands steady and confident.

Cillian gently nestled Mika against his chest, and the soft cooing sent a wave of calm washing over you.

It was obvious to you that he actually adored children, the tenderness in his touch revealing a side of him that radiated warmth.

With that, you disappeared into the hallway, the sound of soft murmurs and laughter echoing behind you as you made your way to the shower.

After you got undressed, you turned on the faucet, allowing the water to warm before stepping beneath the cascade. The droplets enveloped you like a soothing embrace, washing away the remnants of fear and anxiety that had clung to you for so long. As the warmth soaked into your skin, each drop felt like a gentle reminder that you were taking strides toward renewal.

Hurrying so that Cillian was not left with Mika for too long , you lathered the soap quickly, the suds slipping down your arms. The hot water streamed over you, melting away the tension that had clung to your muscles like a second skin.

Once done, you stepped out of the shower, a cloud of steam enveloping you as you towelled off. The mirror fogged up around the edges, but you caught a glimpse of yourself—a weary woman who wore the marks of survival etched across her skin.

You wrapped a towel around you quickly, realising that you had not grabbed the clothes from Cillian before you walked into the bathroom. You hesitated, the towel clinging to your damp skin as you glanced back toward the door.

Opening it slightly to peer out, you found Cillian standing nearby, cradling Mika in one arm while rummaging through the hallway cabinet with the other.

"Uhm, can you pass me that t-shirt please," you called out, the flush of embarrassment creeping into your cheeks as you held the towel tightly around you.

Cillian turned, a smile breaking through the concentration on his face. “Of course! Just hang on a second," he replied before gathering the small stack of clothes he had put on to the table in the hallway.

"Here you go," Cillian said, extending a soft t-shirt toward you, the fabric displaying a faded graphic logo.

You reached out, fingers brushing against his as you took the t-shirt from his hand with a shy smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly, realising that he was looking at your scars and bruises.

You knew that he did not mean to stare, but it was hard not to. But your instinct pushed you to draw the towel tighter around yourself, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to spill forth.

“Take your time,” he said gently, not breaking his gaze as you stepped back into the bathroom, holding the t-shirt close to your chest.

Once inside, you took a moment to breathe before you slipped into the oversized t -shirt, the fabric enveloping you like a protective cocoon.

He had also handed you a pair of trackpants which you quickly pulled on too before retreating to the hallway, your heart racing as you re-entered the shared space.

Cillian stood by the window, looking out as the rain had begun to clear while cradling Mika.

“Feeling better?" he asked as he caught sight of you, a warm smile spreading across his face.

“Much better, thank you,” you replied, your voice steadier as you stepped into the kitchen area. Cillian gestured for you to take a seat at the table before handing Mika back to you.

“Now, I spoke to my lawyer this morning. He has a collegue who will be able to help you, for free. He is a caseworker for a local charity focused on helping those in domestic situations. He can assist you with legal options, housing resources, and even aid in navigating the asylum process. He's got a law degree and I think it might be good to meet with him today,” Cillian explained, his brow furrowing with determination.

You blinked, processing his words as hope flickered viscerally in your chest. “Really? You think he can help?” Your voice trembled slightly, a cocktail of fear and cautious optimism pooling within you. Hope felt unfamiliar but intoxicating.

Cillian nodded earnestly, his expression steady. “He’s helped plenty of people like you. He’s experienced with cases involving domestic abuse and can guide you through the legal avenues available. I know you’re scared, but this could be the lifeline you need," Cillian explained before throwing some caution at the wind.

"Apparently though, until you are issued with a residency card, you aren't eligible for housing assistance and the other stuff the government would usually provide,” Cillian clarified, his voice imbued with reassurance. "You would have to live in an asylum seeker facility while your immigration case and your domestic violence allegations are being investigated and assessed. I think that would not be what you want for your kids."

You felt a lump rise in your throat, each word he spoke unravelling the tightly wound anxieties within you.

"I did put some money aside. I could rent something but no one would give me accommodation without ID," you finished, your voice barely above a whisper as confusion tangled with your desperation. You looked down at Mika, who cooed softly in your arms, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling around your life at that moment. You brushed a finger along the soft cheek of your baby, drawing strength from her innocence.

"I have a small townhouse not far from here which I purchased as an investment property, for my daughter. It's not renovated, but furnished. I am waiting for development approval to do some works on it, but it’s liveable,” Cillian continued, his gaze earnest as he held your stare. “If you need a place to stay while sorting everything out, you and the girls could stay there.

You stared at Cillian, your heart racing. “You would let us stay there?” The words barely escaped your lips, drenched in disbelief and wonder. "I mean, I could pay you!"

Cillian raised a hand to calm you, his eyes shimmering with sincerity. “You don’t have to pay me. It's sitting there empty, so someone may as well use it," he continued, his tone calm and assuring. "Plus, it's in my name and your husband won't find you there. The neighbourhood is good. It's located in a secure complex, complete with gated access. So it should be safe," Cillian concluded, his expression unyielding, as though he had set his mind to help you and nothing would dissuade him from offering you this opportunity.

You blinked, processing the enormity of his offer. “Are you serious?” you whispered, your voice barely cracking through the wave of disbelief threatening to swallow you whole.

Cillian nodded, his expression unwavering. “Absolutely. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it," he continued, his voice steady, each word reinforcing his sincerity.

"Now, let's get you to see this case worker this morning and then, this afternoon, we will get you settled in at the house," Cillian continued, his tone laced with unwavering certainty.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. The enormity of Cillian's offer hung in the air like a promise, its weight pressing down on you, pulling you into an unknown but hopeful future as, unbeknownst to you, James was already looking for you and his daughters.

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[shebunie]

Can you do Mizu x British fem reader? So what happens is that mizu and reader got together (romantically) when they were back at London but whens mizu done with her quest she's goes back to Japan but with the reader. Reader and mizu goes to see everyone/friends that they know and their shocked (or you can choose depending on the person/character) that Mizu brought the reader also Mizu is very protective of reader and you continue off that if you want! Also can you do some lime to? 🤭

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗵!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗧𝗮𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗻. 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟳𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵𝘆, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘁. 𝗥𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲

"Spring is nearly at its bloom," Mizu remarked, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia as both of you strolled through the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, casting a delicate pink hue over the city. 

"The beauty of Kyoto in spring is truly something special," The sword wielder continued, her fingers lightly tracing the petals of cherry blossom as you passed by. "Each year, it feels like a renewal, a fresh start."

“You’ve always told me stories about its beauty but witnessing it in person, truly you did not give this sight justice with your words.” you teased the swordswoman, The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of the blossoms, and the distant sound of a shakuhachi flute added a melodic touch to the atmosphere.

Mizu giggled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection. "Perhaps, some things are better experienced than described." She glanced at you, her hand finding yours as she led you through the vibrant streets.

As you continued your leisurely walk through the streets, the blue-eyed warrior’s thoughts seemed to drift momentarily, a subtle melancholy shadow passing across her face. The journey she had embarked on, seeking vengeance for the discrimination she had to endure, had been long and arduous. But now, with the vendetta behind her, a new chapter awaited.

"There's a place I want to take you," she said mysteriously, her eyes regaining their usual determination. As you continued your stroll, the two of you reached the outskirts of Kyoto, heading towards Kohama. Mizu's steps became more deliberate, a mixture of anticipation and a tinge of hesitation in her demeanour. 

Sandals shifted on the dirt path, eyes as vibrant as the morning sky after early morning passed and looked down to that small little house. A sense of warmth, comfort, and familiarity washed through her as both of you slowly walked down the steep hill, Mizu gently lending a hand for your safety. Eventually, you arrived at the cabin, Mizu exhaled deeply as she approached the home with her hand tightly wrapped around the strings of her hat.

“I’m sure they’d be delighted to see you back alive, Mizu” you assured her, fingers tracing along the lines of her calloused hand. She nodded, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension in her gaze. The memories of this place were both tender and bittersweet.

She need not have to practice her words. Swordfather consistently extended a warm welcome, contrary to the doubts that lingered in the recesses of her mind. Nevertheless, she couldn't shake off a peculiar sense of obligation to Ringo. 

The door to the cabin opened hastily, revealing a tall yet chubby man, head wrapped with white fabric their eyes widened in surprise and then quickly filled with joy as they saw Mizu standing there. 

“Mizu!” The large man, who unexpectedly embraced her and hoisted her off the ground, exclaimed with joy, "You're back! A-And alive!" Ringo squeezed Mizu so tightly that the pain from her healing bones and wounds shot through her, though she was relieved not to feel indebted to him anymore. She grunted in response. 

“If… you don't put me down, n- neither of us will be," she warned, gritting her teeth. Ringo chuckled heartily, finally setting Mizu down but kept his stubs on her shoulders, as if making sure she was real and not just a figment of his imagination. Mizu couldn't help but grin at his exuberance, appreciating the genuine warmth that emanated from him.

Ringo’s eyes wandered to the figure beside his master, there you stood, with a soft smile on your painted lips, eyes emitting a gentle glimmer. “You brought a girl! - A pretty girl.”

You chuckled at Ringo's enthusiastic remark, recognizing the jovial tone in his voice. Mizu shot him a playful glare, but he seemed oblivious, still beaming with joy at Mizu's return, as her hand found its way to the side of your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It seems Mizu didn’t lie about your cheerful attitude, you’re too harsh for calling him annoying.” you voiced.

Ringo's expression shifted from joy to curiosity as he shook your hand vigorously. "Well, Mizu has never been one to bring just anyone around. You must be special," he declared, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Mizu rolled her eyes, used to Ringo's playful banter.

"Special or not, just don't let him talk your ear off with his stories. You'll be begging for silence within minutes," Mizu teased, earning a mock offended gasp from Ringo.

"Hey now, my stories are legendary! People travel far and wide just to hear them," Ringo defended himself, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. Mizu and you exchanged amused glances.

"Legendary for their length, maybe," Mizu retorted, earning a laugh from Ringo. As the three of you walked together, Ringo couldn't help but throw in another comment. "So, Mizu, spill the details! Where have you two been? Any epic battles? Dramatic rescues?" he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Mizu sighed, but there was a fondness in her eyes. "We've had our fair share of adventures, but not every tale is meant to be shared, Ringo. Some things are better left unsaid."

Ringo nodded solemnly, then grinned. "Of course, a samurai never reveals its secrets.” You chuckled, realizing that Ringo's friendly personality added a lively touch to the atmosphere. Sounds of something thudding against the ground interrupted the reunion, as your gaze settled on an old man.

“Swordfather.” Mizu greeted with a sudden stiffness. 

Swordfather looked at her his brows furrowed and his lips thinned. He hummed as he simply stared for a few tense moments. Mizu blinked softly, she nodded and he exhaled deeply. “This house is getting too crowded…” He muttered in slight annoyance and Mizu couldn’t help the relief she felt as she smiled at him.

You observed the interaction, noting the subtle dynamics between Mizu and Swordfather. Despite his initial gruff demeanour, there was an undeniable connection between them, an unspoken understanding. 

Bowing respectfully, acknowledging Swordfather's presence despite his blindness. His acute hearing allowed him to perceive your gesture, and he responded with a nod in your direction. "A new face, what brings you here?" he inquired, his voice calm but carrying a certain weight that hinted at his years of experience.

Despite being blind, his movements were sure and deliberate. He relied on the sounds around him, the rustling of leaves, the distant hum of the village, and the footsteps of those around him.

You introduced yourself, explaining the circumstances that led you to Mizu during her travels in London. Swordfather listened intently, his head tilting slightly as if to better focus on the sound of your voice. "Hmmm," he mused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "In these troubled times, it is not uncommon for destinies to intertwine. Mizu has a habit of attracting interesting companions."

Ringo laughed, "You have no idea, Swordfather. Our friend here is not only interesting but quite skilled, too."

Swordfather's blind eyes seemed to fixate on you, or perhaps it was a mere coincidence. "Skills are valuable, but character is what truly matters. Mizu has a keen sense for both." His words carried a weight that hinted at years of wisdom and experience.

As you approached the entrance of the house, the aroma of incense and the soft murmur of the wind chimes welcomed you. Swordfather navigated the familiar surroundings with ease, relying on the sounds and textures to guide him. Mizu led him to his usual spot, a serene corner where he could listen to the world around him.

Once seated, Swordfather leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Mizu, my ears tell me you've brought more than just stories back with you. There is something else in the air, a shift in the wind." 

Mizu hesitated for a moment, exchanging a knowing glance with you, as if silently communicating something that went beyond words. She smiled, a subtle yet genuine expression that betrayed the unspoken connection between you two.

"Yes, Swordfather," she replied, her voice carrying a warmth that echoed her feelings. "I've encountered more than just tales during my travels. Fate has intertwined our paths in unexpected ways." She gestured toward you, introducing you in a manner that went beyond a mere recounting of events.

Swordfather's sightless gaze seemed to linger in your direction, as if trying to perceive something beyond the physical. "The dance of destinies," he murmured, "A connection that goes beyond the surface. Tell me, what is it that draws you to Mizu? In the realm of the heart, there are melodies that even the blind can hear."

There was a moment of vulnerability, a shared recognition of the emotions that had blossomed during your journey together. You took a breath, choosing your words carefully.

"Swordfather, in Mizu, I've found a kindred spirit," you began, your voice steady. "Our journey has been more than just an adventure. It's been a discovery of shared dreams, a dance of two souls finding harmony. There's a connection that transcends the ordinary, a bond that defies explanation."

Swordfather listened intently, his expression unchanged but a subtle nod indicating his understanding.

"In this life, sometimes the heart knows paths the mind cannot fathom," Swordfather spoke, his words resonating with a deep understanding. "Cherish this connection. For in the echoes of your hearts, you may find the strength to face the challenges ahead."

As the conversation shifted, the atmosphere in the room carried a new depth, a sense of shared understanding that went beyond the spoken word. 

Just as the poignant moment settled, the shoji doors slid open with a sudden force. The ambient peace shattered as Taigen, stood in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room until they locked onto Mizu, who had been standing quietly beside you.

"Mizu!" Taigen exclaimed, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere. "We have unfinished business, you and I. A duel was promised, and I've come to collect."

"You again?" 

Taigen's eyes narrowed, his focus unwavering on Mizu. "Forgive me, Swordfather. But a promise demands satisfaction. Mizu, do not deny me what is rightfully mine."

Mizu stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "I have not forgotten, Taigen. But do you have to be such a pain in the ass?” Taigen scoffed, unsheathing his blade with a sharp metallic ring. 

Taigen smirked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of determination and amusement. "A promise is a promise, and I intend to keep it. Are you ready to face the consequences of your words?"

You could feel the tension in the room rising, the air thick with anticipation. Mizu's lips curled into a sly grin. "Consequences? You make it sound like I'm about to face the wrath of the gods. It's just a friendly duel, isn't it?" Taigen chuckled, a low, throaty sound that echoed in the room. 

"Perhaps you've forgotten the sting of defeat. I'm here to remind you."

As the two wielders squared off, you couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of rivalry that went beyond the boundaries of a simple duel. Mizu and Taigen circled each other like predators in a dance, their blades gleaming in the soft light filtering through the shoji doors.

Unbeknownst to you, Mizu's usually composed demeanour was cracking under the pressure of Taigen's persistent comments, about you. Her eyes darted between him and you, an unreadable emotion flickering in their depths. It was then that Taigen, with a mischievous glint in his eye, decided to turn the tables.

"Ah," he said with a smirk, "I can't help but wonder if your heart is in this duel or if it's distracted by other matters." He shot a quick glance in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment too long. Mizu's face betrayed a hint of annoyance, her jaw clenched. 

"Focus on the duel, Taigen. I have no time for your theatrics."

But Taigen was relentless. As the clash of steel filled the room, he continued his banter. "I gotta admit, I didn't expect to find such captivating company here. Maybe there's more to this journey than meets the eye."

You could see Mizu's grip on her sword tighten, a flash of irritation crossing her features. It seemed Taigen's words were getting under her skin. The duel became not only a test of skill but also a battleground for unspoken emotions. 

Finally, with a swift move, Mizu disarmed Taigen and held her sword at his throat. The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the heavy breaths of the combatants.

"Poor technique, easily learned," Mizu declared, her gaze cold. "Easily defeated."

As Mizu withdrew, she shot you a glance that carried a mix of frustration and something else— that lingered in the air. As Taigen retreated, she turned her attention back to you. The tension in the room lingered, thick like the scent of cherry blossoms on a cool breeze. The air crackled with unspoken words, and you could almost taste the lingering traces of the duel's emotional undertones.

As the shoji doors slid open, revealing the tranquil garden outside, Mizu stepped into the moonlit night. You followed suit, the night embraced them like a cloak, shadows dancing on their faces as they exchanged a few terse words.

"You're always so serious, Mizu," You teased, tone light as your hand reached to grasp her shoulder, tracing light patterns.

She turned to face you, her gaze softening under the moonlight. "I have to be serious. The world is not always forgiving." A hint of vulnerability peeked through the facade she usually wore. The tension from the duel seemed to linger, but now it was a different kind of tension—an electric charge that pulsed between you.

"Maybe," you said, stepping into the small distance between you, fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, "but there's more to life than just battles and strife. Sometimes, it's about the moments we allow ourselves to savour."

The garden around you seemed to hold its breath, the only sound being the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. Mizu's gaze dropped for a moment before rising again, a hint of something more profound in her eyes.

"Sometimes, though, I wonder if there's room for a different kind of seriousness in my life," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The air became charged with an unexpected intimacy, and you found yourself drawn closer to Mizu. The scent of cherry blossoms intensified, wrapping around both of you like a delicate perfume. The moon illuminated her features, casting a soft glow that accentuated the vulnerability she rarely revealed.

"Perhaps there is," you murmured, your fingers gently tracing a strand of her hair. The tension in the air shifted from the remnants of the duel to an unspoken connection, an energy that pulsed between you.

Mizu's gaze locked onto yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away. The boundaries between, and the night became a canvas for something more profound. Without another word, she leaned in, and the touch of her lips against yours carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings.

Your lips, soft and familiar, sent a surge of warmth through her entire being. With every passing second, her breath grew more strained, muscles tensing in anticipation of your touch. Yielding to the magnetic pull between you, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into her embrace, the world outside fading away.

As her hands flattened against your spine, an electric current seemed to dance along her skin. Your hand, like a gentle breeze, found the curve of Mizu's neck, fingers starting a sensuous dance, caressing the delicate contours beneath. With each tender touch, a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips, intermingling with the shared breath of the moment.

Kissing her back, your lips traced a path of desire, leaving an indelible mark on the canvas of passion. The sensation of your fingers on her neck sent shivers down her spine, and a subtle smile played upon her lips, a silent acknowledgement of the intimate connection forged in that tender embrace.

A momentary pause lingered as the kiss continued, a shared symphony of desire. As you pulled away slightly, her gaze, infused with a delicate lightness, met yours. The air between you crackled with the unspoken, silent language of longing. Her breath, a soft melody, hung in the air, a testament to the lingering sensuality that bound you together.

[moonmaiden1996]

Pollens Pull- Chapter 3

The storm outside was relentless, a constant drumbeat of rain and wind that rattled the windowpanes, making it impossible to tell whether it was morning, afternoon, or night. The gray light filtering through the glass was barely enough to illuminate the sterile room, casting long shadows that stretched and writhed with the flickering fluorescents overhead, as if even the light was trapped in this oppressive place.

Trafalgar Law lay back in the hospital bed, absently twirling the glass slide between his fingers. The faint light caught the shimmering particles trapped within, each grain holding answers he couldn’t yet decipher. Those grains, glowing faintly in the dim light, were more than a curiosity—they were a threat, a mystery, a maddening puzzle that clawed at the edges of his sanity. They pulsed with something alive, something foreign, and Law hated that he couldn’t unravel their secrets.

The oppressive atmosphere of the hospital grated on him. The warmth, the stillness, the routine—it was all too ordinary, too soft. He thrived in battles fought in the cold steel of operating rooms or the chaos of the sea, not this suffocating monotony. The silence here felt more violent than any war, the way it smothered his thoughts, forced him inward. And yet, he couldn’t shake the unease crawling under his skin.

It wasn’t just the toxin—the pull that twisted inside him like a thorn embedded too deep to remove—but also the way you seemed to fit into this sterile, simple world. It unsettled him in a way he refused to name, a dissonance he couldn’t ignore. You were a piece that didn’t belong in the cold machinery of his life, and yet you lingered, persistent and impossible to shake.

Morning passed in a slow haze of irritation. Your cheerful voice carried through the ward, light and warm, a sharp contrast to the drumming storm outside. A tray of medications balanced in your hands as you moved from bed to bed, your presence filling the room with an unwelcome brightness. The murmur of your conversations, the small bursts of laughter—soft but cutting like shards of sunlight—etched into his mind.

Law scowled, twisting the blanket between his fingers as he listened. The other patients greeted you like a savior—the old man by the window with his endless stories and the whiny youth who clung to your every word. Each word of gratitude, every chuckle or sigh, grated against his nerves. It was maddening, the way you disarmed them so effortlessly, the way you gave pieces of yourself to them without hesitation.

When you finally reached his bed, he didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “I don’t need medication,” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut.

“You’re grumpier than usual today,” you replied, tilting your head as you studied him. Your tone was light, but there was a flicker of something more in your eyes. Curiosity? Concern? He hated it.

“Bad dreams?” you asked, softer this time.

“Bad company,” he retorted, his sharp gaze darting to the others before settling back on you.

Your lips quirked in amusement, a reaction that only irked him further. “Mr. Gray’s stories not to your liking?”

He snorted, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “They seem to be to yours.”

“I don’t mind listening,” you replied with a shrug, taking the seat beside his bed. “Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

“And what about you?” Law asked, his voice quieter but no less piercing. “Who listens to you?”

The question seemed to catch you off guard. For a moment, your confident demeanor faltered. “Me? I don’t know… I guess no one, really. I’ve always been better at listening than talking.”

Law’s gaze lingered on you, his brows knitting together as a strange frustration stirred in his chest. “You’re too kind for your own good,” he muttered. “One day, someone will take advantage of that.”

“Maybe,” you said lightly, brushing off his words. “But for now, my kindness seems to be working just fine.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he watched you move, his eyes narrowing as you moved to the next bed. His irritation flared again as the old man grabbed your hand, laughing at some joke Law couldn’t hear. The way you smiled at him—it was the same smile you gave everyone. He hated it.

xxxxxxxxx

The storm outside grew louder as the day dragged on, the wind howling like a beast and the rain lashing against the glass in unrelenting waves. Inside, the hospital remained oppressive in its monotony.

From his bed, Law observed you. You flitted between the nurse’s station and the patients, your movements efficient but tinged with care. Every time you paused to check on the old man or soothe the youth’s complaints, Law’s jaw tightened. He told himself it was the toxin, that pollen that polluted his body, the unnatural pull twisting in his chest, but the truth was harder to ignore. His unease wasn’t just physical.

When you brought his lunch, your keen gaze noticed the tension in his shoulders. “You’ve been tense all day,” you said, setting the tray down with a soft clink. “Maybe some fresh air would help. Once the storm clears, I’ll take you outside.”

“I don’t need fresh air,” Law muttered, refusing to look at you. “And I don’t need you hovering.”

You frowned, but your voice remained gentle. “I’m not hovering. I’m doing my job.”

“Your job seems to involve indulging every fool in this place,” he shot back, his irritation spilling over.

For a moment, your expression wavered, hurt flickering in your eyes. But then you straightened, your professional mask slipping back into place. “I’ll check on you later,” you said quietly before walking away.

Law watched you go, his chest tight with a mix of guilt and frustration. He didn’t want to care. He couldn’t care. But the pull twisted deeper, defying his resolve.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Night fell, and the hospital grew quieter. The old man and the youth were finally asleep, their snores and soft breaths blending with the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Law lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hand clenched around the glass slide hidden under the blanket.

The particles within it shimmered faintly, taunting him with their mystery. The longer he stared, the more the pull in his chest throbbed, matching the rhythm of the storm outside.

When he couldn’t take the stillness anymore, he slipped from the bed. His movements were silent, each step calculated as he approached the nurse’s station. You were there, head resting on your folded arms as you dozed. The lamp cast a halo around you, softening the edges of your features, and he paused, his shadow stretching over you like a predator’s.

Law’s hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. His mind raced with calculations, scenarios, each one ending with your absence. It would be quick. Clean. A necessity.

His hand hovered at the hilt of his sword, but it wasn’t the same as before. The clean, sharp solution he’d once found in it had become a tangled mess of conflicting urges. What was it that made him linger when his instincts screamed for him to end this, to silence the disruption that was you? Every move you made, every smile you shared, every time you showed someone the kind of attention you so effortlessly gave others—he hated it. It gnawed at his insides, and yet, he couldn’t stop watching.

The air around him felt suffocating, thick with the intensity of his own thoughts. His gaze never wavered as you worked, walking past him, your hands gliding over the tasks that kept you so busy. He couldn’t help it. His eyes followed you relentlessly, watching the way you interacted with everyone else, your soft laughter floating to him in the quiet of the room. It was unbearable, this aching sense of jealousy he couldn't quite reconcile. It wasn’t just irritation anymore.

It was something darker, more twisted than that. A gnawing, raw desire to pull you close, to keep you away from all the others, to make you his. He could almost taste it in the back of his throat—the burning need to possess, to control, to claim. The pull in his chest wasn’t just the toxin twisting through his body; it was you.

You were a constant, stubborn ache, digging its way under his skin, too real to ignore, too dangerous to entertain. Every time he watched you, it only became worse. The urge to do something—to act on the feelings swelling inside him—became more unbearable with each passing moment. It was maddening, how easily you walked through the world with your soft smile, your warm heart, and how easily you dismissed him.

The darkness inside him swirled and deepened, and he felt himself sinking into it. You needed to be gone. His mind kept whispering the words, a quiet mantra urging him to do what he’d done so many times before—cut away the problem, sever the source of discomfort. He could have ended it, cut through the tension, made it stop. But each time his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, something made him hesitate.

And that hesitation—that hesitation gnawed at him.

With a low growl of frustration, Law turned and stalked back to his bed. He lay there in the darkness, the pull still faint in the back of his mind, but it wasn’t the pull that kept him awake. It was you. The only light coming from the occasional flash of lightning outside. His breathing was shallow, barely perceptible, but it was enough to hold the storm inside him at bay. His mind raced, tangled in a thousand knots of frustration and confusion.

He hated this.

His body ached with a hunger that wasn’t physical. It was a hunger for something he didn’t know how to name. His hand clenched around the glass slide once more, the particles inside flickering with eerie light. He needed to break free from it. He needed to destroy the feeling that pulled at his insides like a sickening tide. He wanted to break something, tear it apart—shatter it into pieces so that the feeling would stop.

But you—your face, your voice, the way you smiled at everyone—kept him tethered. A thin, invisible thread connected him to you, no matter how much he wanted to sever it, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. You were always there, at the edges of his thoughts, lurking in the background of his every decision.

He couldn’t control it anymore. The desire to touch you, to claim you, to destroy everything that had been built between him and the world, everything that held him in place, all of it became secondary. It didn’t matter. Not when the only thing that truly mattered was you.

His thoughts spiraled, twisted, and coiled tighter. The longer he watched you, the more that dark desire festered. The more you lingered in his life, the deeper that obsession grew. It would only be a matter of time before he reached out, before he acted on it. Before the storm inside him matched the one outside and he destroyed everything in its path.

He was losing control. And if he wasn’t going to lose himself, he would need to act fast.

With the glass slide still cold in his palm, Law remained still, his breath shallow, as if every move he made would push him closer to the point of no return. Your form slumped in exhaustion against the desk. There was a part of him—something deep inside—that wanted to walk over to you, to lift you up and claim that last, lingering piece of humanity he still had to comfort you perhaps, tend to you the way you did for everyone else.

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

And so, Law remained in the dark, flipping the cold slide between his fingers, his eyes never leaving your form.

I am back to work tomorrow, and I have to redo a failed assignment, so I will be back to updating once a week.

SOOOO WHAT DO YOU THINK? DARK LAW INCOMING!

As always, like, comment, or make a request. Thank you to those who did already 😍😍🥰

[lalune9x]

SCTIR Translation - Chapter 474: The Owner of the Letter (1)

I swallowed back the words, 'I'm sorry for being late. Did you wait long?' The hall was just as dark as it had been before I entered the drawer. But something about the atmosphere was strangely different.

Chapter translation under the cut.

—-

Chapter 474: The Owner of the Letter (1)

I was in exactly the same spot where I had used the drawer. That is, a spot slightly suspended in the air. It wasn't too high, and since I had prepared, I landed lightly. At the same time, I remembered to turn off my Curse Resistance.

My socks, still soaking wet, were now covered in flower petals. White, pink, yellow, light purple, and various other colors—they were scattered all over.

Not whole flowers, just petals.

I swallowed back the words, 'I'm sorry for being late. Did you wait long?' The hall was just as dark as it had been before I entered the drawer. But something about the atmosphere was strangely different. I blinked slowly.

Sung Hyunje was sitting in a chair, leaning back against it. Flower petals were scattered all over his body, and beneath his long, stretched-out legs lay piles of stark green stems stripped bare of all their petals.

It looked like a graveyard of bones. That thought suddenly crossed my mind. The soft, vibrant petals were dispersed in all directions, with only the long stems in piles overlapping here and there. He must have gathered all the flowers that had been decorating the room, as there were more than enough to bury the chair's legs.

"You… must have been very bored."

If he had burned the flowers or smashed the table, that would have been less surprising to me. Even if the entire hotel had been blown away, revealing the blue sky, I might have just rubbed my forehead. Someone suddenly disappearing without a word was more than enough reason to get angry. Maybe even to break some of the surroundings in frustration. But this… this felt like a calm, quiet madness.

I swallowed dryly.

After a brief silence, Sung Hyunje spoke.

"1 hour, 29 minutes, and 51 seconds have passed since Han Yoojin-gun disappeared. And now, precisely an hour and a half."[1]

Click. The cover of the pocket watch in Sung Hyunje's hand snapped shut. He was sitting slightly outside the hall's illuminated area, so I couldn't see his expression clearly. His face was cast in deep shadows.

"Out of sheer boredom, I decided to try flower divination. Fortunately, there were plenty of flowers."

He must have sat there, picking the petals one by one. The chains must have quietly wrapped around the piles of flowers and stacked them at his feet. It would have been better if he'd just destroyed everything. Without fear resistance, I’d probably have goosebumps by now.

"I didn't mean to be late, but an hour and a half isn't that long, is it? And we were playing tag, so you must have guessed that I was hiding on purpose."

I didn't think he would have been worried. When I first disappeared, he must have been surprised, but also found it amusing. But as time dragged on, he must have gotten a bit annoyed.

"Of course."

Sung Hyunje crossed one leg over the other and continued.

"I figured you had gained something new that I wasn't aware of. But the human mind… this brain." He lightly touched his temple with his fingertips. "It likes to imagine things. What if, perhaps, maybe, surely not… and so on. I was once human, after all, so it wasn't an entirely pleasant time."

"I… apologize for that."

"I believe I've told you before—I'm neither accustomed to nor fond of having anything taken from me."[2]

"But it's not even yours."

"Not just objects, but people and relationships can be taken as well. Didn't you once mistakenly think you'd lost your position as your little brother's guardian?"

"…I did lose it. That wasn't a misunderstanding."

"Well. From my perspective, you never lost it once." His pale-colored eyes remained the same, but the corners of his mouth lifted faintly. "And waiting, as it turns out, really doesn't suit my temperament."

Waiting, knowing nothing, unable to do anything—that was what he really didn't like. Although Sung Hyunje's voice was relatively light, I had the sense that he was more displeased than he'd ever been before.

"I've spent years like that. But no matter how much time passes, I've never gotten used to it. It's always infuriating."

Thinking about it that way made me feel even more guilty. I had just assumed that he hated waiting a long time. In any case, since we were supposed to be partners now, it wouldn't do to just suddenly go missing… Though, he had also hidden things from me.

Anyway, I had won, right? But the atmosphere didn't seem right to demand the letter right away.

"Um, I drank a bit, and finished off all of Hyuna-ssi's wine but… would you like a cigarette, at least?"

This was a non-smoking hotel, but still. Sung Hyunje tilted his head slightly and beckoned me with a finger. The gesture was disgustingly arrogant, but just this once, I should bow my head. I took out the cigarette case from my inventory and approached him.

"You're wet," he noted.

"I fell into some water."

"Oh my, and in this chilly weather."

"It was pretty warm there."

I opened the case and pulled out one cigarette, then took out another.

"It's not good for—"

"Secondhand smoke is worse, you know," I cut him off and put the cigarette in his mouth to stop him from nagging.

I couldn't touch these things in front of the kids anyway, and I rarely went anywhere alone these days. Especially recently, with Gyeol trying to stick to me all the time.

Of course, I had no lighter. I was looking around wondering how to light it, when Sung Hyunje picked up a flower that hadn't been torn apart yet. 

Around the full, pale pink bloom—

Crackle.

Electricity sparked. The skillfully ignited flame enveloped the flower. Usually, something so moist wouldn't catch fire so easily.

With the flower in the middle, both cigarettes were lit. This would be the last time; truly the last.

"I received it from the King of the Mist Sea. There's a limit on the number of uses."

I spoke as I watched the smoke curl and dissipate into the air.

Sung Hyunje seemed as if he was only half-listening. The way he held the cigarette between his fingers looked like something the kids should never see. If they tried to imitate him, I'd have to cut them off. Even adults might be tempted to smoke more just watching him. He looked like a high-budget commercial ad.

In the meantime, ash fell from Sung Hyunje's other hand as the fire that had burned down to the end of the flower stem quietly fizzled out. He still didn't seem to be in a good mood.

"…Do you want to go to the aquarium? I'll buy you ice cream, too," I offered.

I wondered why I was trying to comfort him, but it was true that I had been quite late.

"What should I do with Han Yoojin-gun?" Sung Hyunje murmured as if talking to himself.

What do you mean, what should you do?

"Just leave me be. I'll take care of myself. Not everyone will turn out the way you want, you know. Take Director Song, for example."

"I recall a certain someone desperately trying to give him a baby lamb as a gift."

"…No, that was… that was just because I wanted to be of some help. Besides, well, you know about Director Song. What happened before the regression."

I wasn't trying to change someone completely. I just wanted him to take better care of himself. But even if that wasn't possible, I wanted him at least to survive.

"It's not easy to mold someone as you want while respecting them," Sung Hyunje commented.

"Look, the 'respect' part completely disappears if you're doing it 'as you want.' First of all, abandon the idea that you'll lead."

Even among natural born S-ranks, considering he’d lived for so long as a Transcendent-level being—though he’d lost those memories—it was only natural, I supposed. There was no way most people would feel like equals to him. Honestly, him calling me his 'partner' was probably not acknowledgement, but more something he was 'allowing'.

'It would be difficult for someone who's lived like that for hundreds of years to suddenly change.'

It hadn't even been six months, after all.

"Turning a blind eye to danger just to show respect is putting the cart before the horse," he said.

"Well, that's true, but…"

"What if a non-Awakened Park Yerim said she wanted to enter a dungeon?"

"Obviously, I'd stop her," I replied.

And I had also tried to stop an S-rank Yoohyun from entering dungeons. It wasn't that I didn't respect them, but… molding them 'as I want'… Then again, stopping them was an attempt to impose my will on them… It was complicated.

If they were complete strangers, it would be different, but with people around me, especially people I liked, wasn't it nearly impossible to just leave them alone? Even if it was for their sake… hmm. It was still my desire at the end of the day.

After taking a single drag and letting the smoke drift out, Sung Hyunje simply held the cigarette in his hand.

Meanwhile, my cigarette had already burned down quite a bit. As I glanced around, wondering what to do with it, Sung Hyunje held out his palm.

"…Come on."

Surely he wasn't asking me to put out my cigarette there. He was S-rank, so a lit cigarette would be nothing to him, but still I grimaced at the thought and stared at him.

Sung Hyunje reached out and pinched the end of my cigarette to snuff it out. Ash stuck to his pale fingertips. Then, he crushed his own cigarette with his hand. When he opened his fist, there was nothing left but a faint trace of ash.

Right. I could've just put it in my inventory. I followed suit and stored the cigarette butt.

"Let's say it wasn't pleasant, but it was a productive time," Sung Hyunje said lightly.

Productive? What had he been thinking about? He stood up, and the skeletal flower stems lightly brushed against his feet.

"Oh, the flower divination. What was it for?"

I was curious and concerned about what conclusions he had come to during that hour and a half.

Looking down at me, Sung Hyunje's eyes crinkled. "The young lady called."

"What? Yerim called?"

"She said she couldn't reach you and asked if I had broken your phone again. Then she asked me to tell you there's a famous dessert sold at this hotel and that she wanted to have some before leaving. And then…"

And then?

Sung Hyunje's eyes crinkled further as his smile deepened. "I told her Han Yoojin-gun wasn't here."

"T-that's—! You can't do that! So then, what did Yerim say?"

"She asked what I meant, so I told her again, you weren't here. Then she shouted for Han Yoohyun."

Ack, she told Yoohyun? Wait a minute—so the kids now…! 

Sung Hyunje shamelessly continued. "When he asked where his hyung was, I honestly told him I didn't know either, and that Han Yoojin-gun had left this place about twenty minutes prior."

Twenty minutes prior? That was over an hour ago. Of course they'd be in a panic. Sung Hyunje!

"You were unnecessarily honest!"

"I only told the truth."

I quickly took out my phone. It had gotten wet but fortunately was still functioning. Thank god for waterproofing.

"Do you really want to be grabbed by the collar that badly?" I demanded.

"It seems they immediately left to look for you, so they didn't come here."

"Of course, because Chloe—Yoohyun!"

[Hyung!]

Yoohyun picked up almost immediately. There was a slight tremble in his voice.

[Where are you? Are you okay?]

"I'm fine. I'm at the hotel."

[…What?]

"It's true that I disappeared for a bit, but no one kidnapped me or anything. I was in a place kind of like Myungwoo's smithy—the drawer from the King of the Mist Sea."

I could hear him gritting his teeth on the other end, so I quickly added that Sung Hyunje hadn't known either. We didn't need the hotel to go up in flames.

[I thought you were taken while returning to the room alone…]

"You must've been really worried. But there are so many hunters around that it's hard to imagine I'd get kidnapped. Besides, if Sung Hyunje hadn't escorted me back, I would've called you."

There was no way I would've wandered around by myself without Gyeol.

"What's the situation now? You didn't announce to everyone I was kidnapped, right?"

[Of course not. We contacted the Awakened Management Office and the Association to check the airports and track Chloe Alger's movements. Only Director Song Taewon and a handful of people at the Association know.]

"Good job. Come back for now, but just ask Director Song to meet us at the hotel. Leave the Association out of it."

Even if they tried to handle it quietly, the fact that the airports had been checked meant it was unlikely the information hadn't leaked. Since things had already escalated to this point, we might as well make the best of it.

[You're not alone, are you?]

"Nope. The Sesung Guildmaster is right here in front of me."

"Don't worry, young master. I'll take good care of your hyung. You can come at your leisure."

[…I'll leave him to you for now. Hyung, stay put.]

The call ended. I quickly called Yerim next.

[Ajussiii!]

[Daaad!]

Gyeol was on the verge of tears, and Yerim was half-scolding, half-grumbling that they'd been worried sick. Poor kids. It really wasn't a big deal. But wait… Oh no, this meant…

[…Yoojin, you.]

Sure enough, Myungwoo sounded angry. His voice was heavy and intimidating.

[How on earth could you—!]

"No, really, this time nothing happened!"

[We were so worried, Yoojin-ssi. Myungwoo-hyung, please calm down.]

So the two of them were together. Well, even though this time wasn't my fault, I felt guilty since I'd worried them so many times before. I humbly apologized.

Finally, I called Director Song, who sighed heavily as soon as he answered.

"It was really a misunderstanding. I swear."

[At least you're safe. Is Hunter Sung Hyunje beside you?]

"I feel a little sorry for Director Song Taewon," Sung Hyunje said, his tone and expression showing not the slightest bit of remorse.

[Please refrain from making false reports.]

"False? I only spoke the truth. There was merely a slight misunderstanding in the process of the message being relayed."

It was annoying because technically, he wasn't wrong. But thanks to his mischief, Sung Hyunje's mood seemed to have improved a bit.

After finishing my last call, I looked up at him.

"Anyway, I won."

"I concede."

Nodding slightly, Sung Hyunje took out the letter and placed it in my hand. I hoped it wasn't just some trivial content after all this.

---

Footnotes:

[1] It says 1 hr 27 min 51 sec in the e-book but I think it is an error.

[2] The lack of a word in English that captures both "things" and "people" again makes it awkward to translate this without specifying one or the other. In Korean, Sung Hyunje doesn't specify what he doesn't like losing, which is why he then clarifies that it's not just objects but people that can be taken away.

[doumadono]

Sekido with T? ;w; im weak willed

A/N: gotta admit, this one was a real head-scratcher. The whole obscure AU thing threw me for a loop, and even after hitting up Google, I was drawing blanks. So, I just went with my gut on this ficlet. Hope it hits the spot for ya, even if just a smidge. The inspiration for this ficlet came from the following post

DEMON SLAYER MASTERLIST

In the Taisho era, where demons lurked in the shadows and warriors fought against the encroaching darkness, the night was cloaked in shadows as you slipped away from the confines of your family's house. The decision to become a demon was not one made lightly, and the air was thick with the weight of your choice. The desire for something beyond the constraints of your human existence had pushed you to seek a new, otherworldly life.

The moon hung low in the sky as you ventured into the unknown, guided by the whispers of the night. In the darkness, a figure materialized — Sekido, the embodiment of anger and one of the counterparts to Hantengu. His eyes, gleaming with an intensity that mirrored the moon, met yours. "Why?" he grumbled, his voice a low growl, as if trying to comprehend the tumult of emotions that drove you to this decision.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. "I want more. More power, more freedom. I want to be something other than human, I want to be like you."

"This is ridiculous," Sekido, his anger simmering beneath the surface, regarded you with a mix of curiosity and concern. Torn between the loyalty to his lord, Muzan, and a strange connection that seemed to be forming between you, he sighed, the sound carrying the weight of a thousand years. "Follow me," he finally grunted, a reluctant acceptance of your choice.

You and Sekido ventured into the dense forest, the moonlight barely penetrating the labyrinth of ancient trees. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

As you walked, the shadows seemed to dance with a life of their own, their eerie movements mirroring the hidden dangers lurking in the night. Sekido, silent and brooding, matched the atmosphere perfectly. His eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intensity, scanned the surroundings as if constantly on guard.

"Are you sure it's safe here?" you asked, your voice a hushed whisper, aware of the potential threats lingering in the darkness. "Isn't there a safest path?"

Sekido's gaze, sharp and penetrating, met yours. "As safe as it can be, weakling," he grunted, his tone reflecting the simmering anger that defined him. "Don't let your guard down, woman. You want to be a demn after all, so push your fears aside."

The forest seemed to close in around you, the ancient trees whispering secrets of a time long forgotten. The unsettling ambiance heightened the intensity of your emotions. Sekido's presence, while comforting in its own way, also added a layer of complexity to the night.

"So? Why? Because I don't understand your stupid decision," he growled, his voice lingering with anger.

You looked into Sekido's eyes, determination in your gaze. "I want to be a demon because I want to be with you, to stand by your side until death does us apart. I want to share every darkness with you."

As you continued, a distant rustle in the foliage caught your attention. Your instincts kicked in, and you both halted, eyes narrowing as the forest came alive with a hidden threat. Suddenly, a demonic figure emerged from the shadows, its grotesque form snarling with hunger and malice.

Fear gripped your heart as the demon lunged toward you, its claws unsheathed and hungering for blood. Panic surged through your veins, but before the creature could strike, Sekido erupted into action.

His movements were a blur, a manifestation of unbridled rage. His fists collided with the demon's form, each strike fueled by the anger that coursed through his being. The air crackled with energy as Sekido unleashed the full force of his wrath, a storm of violence against the demonic intruder.

"You dare threaten what's mine?!" Sekido's voice, a guttural growl, echoed through the forest. His eyes burned with an intensity that matched the flames of his anger.

The demon, battered and defeated, slinked back into the shadows, a mere whisper of the threat it once posed. Sekido, however, remained poised, his anger not yet appeased. He turned to you, his eyes softening just a fraction, a rare display of vulnerability. "Are you hurt, woman?" he grumbled, the concern in his tone contrasting sharply with the anger that defined him.

You shook your head, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I'm fine. Thanks to you."

Sekido's expression softened further, the storm of his anger subsiding for a moment. He reached out, his touch surprisingly gentle as he checked for any signs of injury. His fingers lingered on your skin, a silent reassurance that spoke more than words ever could. "And you want to be a demon despite you can't protect yourself?" he snorted, the sound oddly reminiscent of a snore. "That's ridiculous. It makes me super angry just hearing it, but it's your choice, weakling."

As you resumed your walk, the atmosphere shifted. Sekido, still brimming with anger, walked beside you, a silent guardian in the shadows. The moonlight filtered through the leaves, casting an ethereal glow on the path ahead.

"Stay close," Sekido grunted, his anger a protective shield against the unknown. And as you ventured deeper into the forest, the echoes of the night's encounter lingered, a haunting reminder of the delicate dance between demons and humans in this world. "I want you to be in one piece when you meet my Lord."

[myrasdiary]

Spiderpunk but he loves staring st you? Normally you wouldn't see him but then you do! And then you ask him and he just chuckles and says "you're so beautiful darling." If itd fine with you?

of course! ty for requesting 🙈

Staring Problem

Hobie landed down on a random rooftop, jumping down from a nearby building and sitting down. He pats down next to him, an invitation for me to join him.

"Wait up!" I laughed, the airy sound piercing through the quiet evening. I followed his lead, swinging onto the rooftop and perching down next to him. We've only been dating for two weeks, and so far it has been utter bliss. He took note of my exhilarated face, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

The sky had transformed into a canvas of golden hues. Streaks of orange and yellow painted the sky, as the sun cast an array of shadows upon our faces. The warmth on my face felt heavenly. "The sun's almost down," I baited my breath, as if I didn't want to disturb the event.

Hobie hummed in response, leaning down to lightly kiss my temple. "Quite nice, innit?" His voice was surprisingly soft. "Never see this type of sky in my dimension."

I turned to face him, intrigued. "Hm? Why not?" I shift my position to hug my legs, tilting my head onto my knees. His lip curved up faintly.

"Sky's too polluted where I'm from, honestly. Can't see shit for most of it." He sighs, looking up at the sky again. "S' a bloody shame."

My face crinkled in sympathy. "That must be horrible." I couldn't imagine not being to see the sunlight, suffocated by a murky atmosphere and diminishing stars.

He shrugged casually. "Oh c'mon now, you ain't gotta pity me." His smile returns. "It's not a big deal, luv. S somethin' I'm used to. Nothin' more." I reach for his hand, interlacing my fingers through his in a display of affection.

"Well, you better enjoy it right now, then."

He's already enjoying it. Of course he is, I was with him. He nods, watching the light saturate into a darker color. "So, tell me more about that college project you're working on, eh?"

A few minutes later, I was rapidly rambling to him about quantum holes and the space time continuum. Hobie had been intently listening, playing with his shoelace. He'd be lying if he said he understood what I were talking about, but it was pretty fascinating to hear. He only began to get distracted when his gaze wandered to my face, watching the way my eyes seemed to light up while explaining the project. Each detail of my features held his undivided attention, his eyes softening as I continued speaking, unaware of his zoned-out state.

He felt that familiar feeling. The feeling he always gets in when he's with me, except it was greater now, fluttering in his stomach and making him feel all warm and safe. The more staring he did, the less he was really listening to what I were saying.

"And I thought that researching this could be great, because we're also dealing with this issue in the society-" I pause for a second, a bit taken aback by the intent stare he was giving me. My brows furrow. "Uhm, is there something on my face..?"

He stays silent for a second, swallowing the lump in his throat. He was afraid that if he spoke too quick, his words would falter mid-sentence. After a moment, his voice was fragile. "You're bloody beautiful, you know that?"

Now I was the flustered one. Redness creeped into my cheeks as I did a double take at his abrupt confession. "I...wow."

He took a deep breathe, snapping out of his state and chuckling at my response. "Sorry, darling. You're just so distracting." He pulls back, staring at me again, with unrestrained affection.

I take a deep breath to calm down my racing heart, trying to act nonchalant. "Well, you're gonna miss the sunset if you keep looking at me like that."

"Fuck the sunset. The view here's better anyway."

A laugh bubbles on my lips, music to his ears. "You mean that?"

'Of course luv. I always do." He wrapped an arm around my smaller frame, and we both turn our heads back to the view, hearts buzzing with joy.

[margarethx]

I was genuinely surprised with the responses I've got on the first part of [THIS story]. It was such a random burst of motivation to write that I didn't even think it through and just posted whatever came out of my head. But I'm very glad that you liked it, since it's the first story I've showed to other people in like 4 years.

The working title will be "Assassinate them with Kindness", and I'll use that as a tag for later parts when I add them. It's also [available on Ao3] if you'd prefer to read it over there.

Enjoy <3

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

The weird man does not go to Sam's group on Monday.

Which is not as big of a relief as Sam thought it would be.

Because if the man is not here... where is he? And why did he even ask if he could join the group? Was he just taunting Sam? Teasing him with the knowledge or Sam's schedule and whereabouts, but not revealing how and for what purpose did he get that information?

Sam briefly glances at his wrist, covered neatly by a long-sleeved shirt and a warm blazer. The day is way too hot for this type of clothing, but he refused to look at the bruises on his skin for more than two seconds after noticing them for the first time. He still feels the pain, but it's easier to make it fade into the background, if he pretends it isn't there at all.

In spite of his nervousness and constant worry, Sam leads his group like a true professional. Calm, collected, funny when needed. A shining example of an ex-soldier who has left most of their PTSD far behind by working hard to healthily rejoin society. Definitely not a person, who started carrying a gun in public again after singular weird encounter, and who constantly has to fight with himself to not look over his shoulder and check if there isn't anyone watching him from the shadowed backroom.

But the man was not there. The meeting went well. And all the people leaving the room with their polite "good bye's" and casual "see ya!'s" have no idea about the turmoil in his head.

"See you Thursday," Sam smiles pleasantly and grabs Tyler's hand with both palms, shaking it lightly, as a young vet stops by. "It's nice to see you again. It's been a while," he adds, hoping that his eyes convey genuine warmth.

Tyler is young - too young to deal with this sort of trauma. A typical example of a teenager pulled into a military machine by life circumstances, not because of any principled believes. He went to have a better chance at higher education afterwards. And he lost half of his right leg for it.

He is secretly Sam's favourite in the group, with his sense of humour and positive attitude. Though Sam is sure there is a lot of fears and sadness hidden behind all the jokes, because he acted the exact same way when he first sought out help after coming home. It was easy to see the reflection of younger Sam in Tyler's behaviour.

And it was also great to have someone in the group who could keep everyone's mood relatively light when topics were getting heavy, without making others feel as if their confessions were not treated seriously. It was, of course, Sam's job to control the atmosphere as best as he could , but on days like this - when he himself didn't feel stellar - it was a relief to not shoulder all the emotional weight of the meeting on his own.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Wilson?" Tyler asks, also shaking Sam's hands a little.

"It's Sam, we've talked about this," Sam smiles, deflecting by playing their classic game of arguing over formality levels of their relation. It's a bit worrying. To know that he can put on a mask and his vets might notice his distress anyway. But no one else said anything, so maybe he fooled the rest of them successfully?

"Apologies. Is everything alright, Mr. Sam Wilson?"

Tyler sends him a bright grin and Sam sighs. He doesn't have much energy left to argue or pretend. He did not sleep very well last week, to put it lightly.

"I'm alright," he finally replies without much conviction. "It's personal stuff, you don't need to worry about this. It should be resolved by the next meeting," he adds, hoping that this little lie will make his situation look like a solvable problem with the end in sight. Maybe if he believes in it hard enough it would even come true?

For now, it seems that Tyler buys the explanation and drops the topic. As they exchange goodbyes, he still glances at Sam with a slight frown, but he doesn't push. It'd be unusual if he did. As much as Sam loves working with these people and helping them, they're not that close. His vets don't get involved in his personal life.

...They don't know where he lives, for example...

Sam shakes his head to stop himself from thinking and gathers the papers on his desk with a bit more energy than the task requires. He needs to get out of here. The conference room he uses is relatively big, but the walls seem to get closer and closer, the ceiling pressing down on him.

He exits the building, taking long steps, and avoiding everyone's eyes. Fortunately, most people he passes don't know him, so he's not stopped for any conversations about his last weekend and all the fun his co-workers had while he sat on his guestroom floor surrounded by unhealthy snacks, and wondering if it's reasonable to invest his meager savings in an upgraded security system.

It's embarrassing, when he thinks back to those three days. It shouldn't be that big of a deal.

But something about that man... About his eyes. About the bruises he left.

Sam really tried to not look at them too closely to avoid spiraling again, but he's pretty sure his skin almost broke in some places, as if pinched too hard. The only reason he didn't notice it right away was probably the sheer rush of adrenaline that flooded him in that moment and dulled the pain.

Once he's outside, Sam leans on a nearby wall, out of everyone's sight, unsure of what to do next. Even though he spent the last weekend hidden in his home, the place did not feel safe. All he could focus on were unusual noises or the headlights of random cars passing by, casting uneven shadows on his walls. At some point he was sure one specific shadow looked like a person, but when he carefully peered outside, his garden was empty, with the exception of a small bat the flew in circles under the nearest lamppost, catching moths in peace.

Normally, he'd stay, watching the little guy and reminiscing about the time he too could fly at such speed, but it didn't feel safe, so he moved as far away from the window as possible.

All Sam wants right now is to get back to his bed and hide under the covers, go to sleep, and wake up to realize that the whole thing was just a dream.

His bag slips from his shoulder when he slumps against the wall and the strap catches on his wrist. He hisses in pain, reminded once more - as if he forgot, somehow - that his paranoia is actually justified and that his home is not some safe haven he'd like it to be. Because someone strong enough to nearly break his bones with a strong grip knows where he lives and could come back at any second.

If the guy was a real vet, why didn't he come to the meeting?

And again... if he's not here... Where is he?!

Sam readjusts his bag and straightens up. He cannot come home right now, but he needs to sleep somewhere. He could ask one of his new friends to take their couch for the night... but it's not Delacroix and his friendships here are not on the "sleepover" level yet. And if the man decides to look for him, Sam would drag the danger to someone else's home.

He's not that selfish.

Maybe he could find someone on a dating app and stay the night?

He shudders at the idea. It reeks of desperation even to his clouded brain. He would not do that to some random innocent person. And he would not do that to himself. He has enough dignity left.

The mere fact that he came up with a solution like that sobers him up a little bit. It sounds almost ridiculous and he's sure he would laugh about it one day... if he lives long enough to tell the story about his lowest point post-Afganistan.

What he needs to do is to go to a public space. A place with cameras, a nice crowd with enough eyes, to catch if something's wrong - but not crowded enough that a person would fade into the sea of faces and moving bodies.

With that in mind, Sam takes another deep breath to calm himself and marches towards the nearest bar he knows. The place is probably half-empty at this hour, but an evening wave of patrons should start trickling in pretty soon.

The inside of the establishment is a bit too dark for Sam's liking, but as he sits at the bar he feels some of the tension leave his body at last. Behind the bartender there is a freshly cleaned mirror, showing most of the tables, so Sam can keep an eye on the room while eating.

He's not in the mood for drinking - mostly to stay vigilant, not because he couldn't use a nice glass of whiskey right now - but the place offers some typical fast food options, so he picks them from the menu instead. He'll have to really push himself during the next training session to pay for the sugar and fat intake of the last four days, but he feels like he's earned the right to be indulgent for at least a while.

As he eats, Sam observes other patrons suspiciously, looking over his shoulder from time to time. At some point he's sure he feels someone's eyes on his back, but no one new entered the building in the last twenty minutes and the people on nearby tables seem preoccupied with their own thoughts and conversations, so he's sure it's just the paranoia.

It's starting to get dark outside and the bar fills with shadows before someone turns on a few extra laps. There are more people sitting around Sam now, some staring in silence into their drinks, others talking casually, or flirting with the bartender, as per usual.

The guy behind the bar seems cute. Probably a bit younger than Sam's typical partner, but still in his bracket. He accepts the compliments with a calm smile not cutting them off right away, but not doing much to encourage the attention. Sam gets a little lost for a second, observing the man's hands as he prepares the drinks, almost hypnotized by the movents.

Suddenly, one of the patrons - one that's been sitting by the bar before Sam even came in - drops her wallet in a clumsy attempt to pay the bill. She smiles awkwardly at the bartender, who simply grabs the wallet for her from the floor, clearly used to similar shenanigans.

As the guy leans forward, a curtain of thin braids covers his face for a brief second and he glances somewhere in Sam's general direction from between them before standing up.

Sam freezes.

The man looks basically nothing alike the guy who stood at his doorstep last week, but something about that look causes the memories to flood Sam once again. He feels dizzy and the comfortable atmosphere of the bar becomes overwhelming and stuffy in a blink of an eye.

He nearly jumps out of his chair and makes a beeline to the bathroom. He's not sure why. He just needs to... Wash his face maybe. Look into the mirror and have a stern talk with his brain. Something. Anything! To finally calm down.

As he walks towards the bathrooms, he notices some man sitting in a booth he previously didn't see. He's dressed pretty formally, phone in hands, and an annoyed grimace on his face. He looks more like a person currently working than someone who just went for drinks to wind down after work.

His eyes meet Sam's which sends a cold shiver down his spine. For whatever reason, this man - looking like a banker or low-lever politician, which is a common sight in DC - scares Sam just as much as the creepy stranger haunting his thoughts.

He breaks the eye contact and darts towards the bathrooms even faster, nearly colliding with someone who exits the door.

There are three other people in the bathroom, two of which wash their hands and fix their hair in front of the mirror. Neither of them look particularly suspicious, but Sam keeps an eye on them anyway, walking towards the stalls and locking himself in one of them.

He sits there for less then two second before he realizes that he's made himself more vulnerable by isolating himself from the crowd, but he's really not sure what to do next. The brief moment of fear after seeing the bartender with hair hanging over his face seems silly in retrospect. He could've just ignored the panic, push the discomfort down, and go back to the main room. But the man in suit sitting in a secluded booth?

That was actually worrying. Because he didn't just look generally annoyed or angry. He seemed to be specifically mad at Sam. Which would be concerning with any other influential White guy, but in this particular instance Sam feels like there's more to it.

He hears another person enter the bathroom, interrupting his thoughts. Two of the people washing their hands leave. Someone else comes in. Sam keeps track of everyone inside and at some point he's pretty sure he's the only person still sitting here, so he quietly exits the stall.

Just as he expected, the bathroom is empty. It's a bit weird, all things considered. It's a Monday afternoon, sure, but this place is not alive just on the weekends and in the night, when students party. There should be a constant rotation of people going in and out at any point.

But the room is silent as Sam stands there, wondering what to do next.

He's pretty sure he hears some water running on the other side of the wall and muffled laughs, seemingly coming from a group of women washing their hands and talking in an adjacent room.

Sam's familiar with all the overdone jokes about girls visiting the bathroom way more often than guys or about them going there in hordes. And, stereotypical or not, there is some truth to those... but Sam's pretty sure it should not be this disproportional.

The man's bathroom has been empty for over five minutes. Which is way too long, considering the size of the crowd.

A motion activated light loudly going off in one of the stalls makes it even more clear that Sam's suspiciously alone in here.

He washes his hands just to do something when, finally, the door to the main part of the bar opens. A wave of sound - clinking glasses, loud conversations, a ringtone - fill the empty space until the door closes again, cutting the noise off.

Sam exhales with relief and moves to dry his hands.

Then he notices him.

The man from his porch, now standing behind him, staring straight at Sam in the mirror.

He looks even bigger now, taller, and more broad at the shoulders, his hair still covering the face like a greasy veil. His eyes pin Sam in place like a wild animal who's fight or flight instincts fired so many contradicting impulses in its brain that it ended up just freezing.

In any other situation Sam would feel vindicated. He was right! He was not safe, he was observed, and someone is going after him - for whatever reason.

He can take that useless sense of satisfaction and bring it straight to his grave.

The man doesn't move. He just looks at Sam or through him, maybe. As if he's mentally not here. Maybe his soul has also left his body, like Sam assumes his own did right now?

It's just like that day at his home. Awkward, tense silence and creepy staring. Sam feels the hairs on his arm stand up like a coordinated unit. His heart beats so fast and loud that it must echo on the bathroom's walls. If Sam's ears were not filled with ringing, he'd probably be more sure about that.

The man blinks, just once.

And something in Sam just... breaks.

When he'll think about it later he'll have no idea why he did it. But he simply turns off the water and turns towards the guy in one smooth motion.

"Oh, I know you" he says, tone casual.

The man frowns this time, still looking directly at Sam. One of his hands is hidden inside or his unzipped jacket and it twitches a little. Whatever he's holding there probably isn't a bouquet or a dove, he'll produce out of nowhere and present to Sam like a magician.

"Fancy meeting you here," he adds, like it's a normal conversation. Like they're friends from work or as if the man was his favourite cashier at a local store. "In the bar, I mean. Not in the bathroom," he jokes.

The man's face does a weird thing. It's difficult to tell what kind of emotion he wanted to convey, but he seems confused. Does he even recognize Sam? Maybe he's really not as mentally present this time?

The water drips from Sam's hands to the tiled floor - tiny rivulets running down his fingers. It's quiet again, just as before, until one of the other motion activated lights goes off in the stalls. Then the next one right after it. Click. Click.

The guy flinches twice, his hand moving under the jacket's lapels.

"Can I help you with something?" Sam asks finally. At this point it feels like his mouth is operating on its own, entirely independent on his brain. He's also there, but not really.

Maybe he's already died and hasn't realized?

"You didn't go to my meeting today." Why does he keep talking?! "Do you plan to join this Thursday?"

By some miracle, this question seems to work. The guy's eyes dart around nervously and he shivers as the last of the lights in the stalls section goes off. The room is dimly lit by now only by the small lights over the sinks. And Sam cannot ignore that they're still, somehow, alone in here.

"I'm sorry I didn't come today," the man says and he sounds sincere, though monotone. "There were too many people in there."

"Well, it's a group meeting," Sam smiles. "The people are kind of a given."

He feels like he's body is operating on a pure survival mode. It reminds him of his time in the military, in a way; of the time, where he had to put one hundred percent of his focus on staying alive and keeping other's from dying, too, but couldn't actually think about it. Because there were bullets flying by, and his hands were sticky with someone's blood, and there was a wound to stitch, and a person screaming. If he registered all of that in full, he'd just collapse on the ground, overwhelmed and paralyzed by fear. So it was easier to just switch his brain off and let the instincts and years of training take the wheel.

"If you're worried about confessing in front of others, it's okay." He keeps talking and the man's stare becomes even more intense. His eyes seem very blue, even in the poor lighting, which Sam didn't truly notice before. They look cold, but not because of the colour. More like there's not enough life in them. "There's no pressure to tell your story right away. Some people in my group love talking. Other's just sit and listen. If no one's up to talk, I take over and give a little speech," Sam grins.

And he somehow knows that if he looked into the mirror to his left, his smile would look genuine.

"I don't like talking," the man says eventually.

"I figured," is Sam's reply. "Like I said, I won't push you to say shit."

It's probably not the most professional way of phrasing it, but he's not at work and, frankly, he's about to be murdered, so it's not like they'll reprimand him for inappropriate language.

"Also," he continues, "I can give you a number to one of my colleagues who does one on one therapy sessions. That way you could..."

"No."

"...avoid groups," he finishes awkwardly. " Fair enough."

"Do you do it? The therapy? One on one, no people?"

Sam doesn't. And he'd probably lie about it, even if he did.

"Not these days. I already have a ton of work with groups. If you want to see me, specifically, you know where to find me."

Clearly.

"I do," the man confirms like it's not the creepiest thing Sam's heard in his entire life.

"Well, I have to go now," Sam tries, hoping that if he sneaks out of the bathroom fast enough this whole nightmare will finally end. If the guy's here to kill him, he's doing a pretty bad job right now, so maybe Sam could just... walk away from the situation. Surely, he won't get stabbed in the back in the middle of a bar? Right?

The guy's face contorts in a painful way and he finally removes his hand from under the jacket. Sam tenses, but the gloved palm is empty. At the same time, the guy sways a little on his feet and grabs the wet counter with both hands.

Before Sam has time to process what's happening, he's already next to the guy, holding his elbow carefully and looking straight into his eyes. The pupils are dilated and then suddenly small like a poppy seed, changing in a matter of milliseconds. Sam's never seen anything like it.

"Are you alright?" he asks unnecessarily, trying to keep the man from falling face-first into the sink.

They look at each other and the man seems panicked, more than anything. The unwashed strands of brown hair hang over his eyes, but this time Sam's too worried about him to let himself spiral again at the now familiar sight.

The counter makes a strained noise and a small crack appears on the surface. Sam imagines his own bones turning into dust under such grip and his wrist pulses with pain he felt in the background for the last few days.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, sounding more urgent this time. He doesn't even care at this point if the man's here to kill him. Sam's a paramedic first, and if someone's fighting for their life nearby, he'll always drop everything to make things better. Even if his body might end up in trashcan behind the bar for the effort.

The man blinks, licks his lips, and takes a ragged breath. There's a weird grey cast to his face now and he didn't even look that healthy to begin with.

"I have to go," he whispers finally and stands up. His forehead shines with sweat and his pupils are wide again. "Thank you," he adds quieter and walks away unnaturally fast.

He's there. And then he's not. The door closes so quietly behind him, that Sam doesn't even register the sound.

Sam sits down, not caring about the wet and disgusting floor and stares at the opposite wall in silence. In the women's bathroom someone laughs out loud and a sharp sound of the shattering glass reaches him from the bar.

It almost feels like he's lost his hearing for a while and it suddenly returns to him. As if he's been under water and came break to the surface once more.

He also tastes blood on his tongue and realizes he must have bitten it at some point without realizing. The unpleasant sting of a cut is what finally helps him to come back to himself. He cannot stay in this place a second longer.

He washes his hands again so they stop feeling as clammy and touches his face with them too. The cold water helps a lot, but his own eyes look wild in the mirror.

As he exits the bathrooms, he looks over the crowd that gathered inside since he fled the bar. Just as before, most people don't even look in his direction and he realizes that the man in a suit who stared at him earlier is gone as well.

Then, he turns around to close the door and suddenly he's faced with a bright yellow sign that warns: "Under Maintenance" in bold, black letters. An official looking printout below adds: "DO NOT ENTER".

None of those signs have been there before.

All Sam can do at this point is grip his bag, lower his head, and exit the bar as fast as possible. If he is getting strangled or stabbed today, he at least wants for it to happen in his home.

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

Shoutout to tumblr for glitching a making me feel like I've lost over 700 words of a draft <3 That mini heart-attack was very necessary.

Btw, funny thing about this chapter is that I've basically spent the entire time thinking that I'm doing too much. Like... I keep pushing Sam deeper and deeper into this spiral, but nothing really happened to him. It's not a big deal, calm down, man.

But then I have to remind myself that if some suspicious looking man knocked on my door, told me that he got my address from a person I don't know, asked me where I worked, and grabbed my arm so hard it nearly broke... I would simply perish on the spot from the stress xD Or I'd spent the rest of my life paranoid, even if nothing more happened.

So I think Sam should be allowed to have a 4-day almost panic attack, as a treat.