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thewinter-eden · 3 days ago

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Blink Twice if You Need Help

images are mine (except middle CB pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 3 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: stalker!Changbin has been following you for weeks. He’s looking for his next target, and he’s obsessed with you. While he’s watching you, however, he learns the secret you keep—you’re being routinely robbed by your addict brother. After watching this cycle of abuse end with you crying almost every night, Changbin takes pity.

warnings: Familial abuse, drug addict brother, satirical but definitive death of character, physical abuse, stalking, nonconsensual photographs, creepiness, fear, breakup, blood and injury, strangulation (brief, no death), automotive-related death, please for the love of god don’t take this seriously, Changbin’s kinda icky (I’m sorry babes I swear I love you), chai lattes

word count: 6k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

You’re radiant.

You always are, have been since the moment you first stepped foot in his café.

But today, you’re radiant in blue. It’s a sweater he’s seen a dozen times, but now as you tiptoe up to the counter, pushing your sleeves up to your elbows and baring half a dozen clinking bracelets of various metals and stones, he thinks he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He responds to your chirped good morning and waits for the next notes of your voice to tell him what you’re ordering, and he can’t help but trace the lines of your face with his eyes as you glance over the menu.

Startled out of his admiring trance by your sharp gaze pinning him with a smile, he forces his stare to stay above your lips as you give a half laugh and request, “A chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, please.”

You never try anything new.

Today it’s yellow.

The bell above the door rings an announcement of your arrival, and there you are; wearing a warm yellow dress with thick black tights that keep the chill off, your cheeks flushed from the cold.

He can’t say your smile lights up a room, because from his perspective, your smile blacks the room out. Everyone else disappears. No one and nothing exists except for you, right before his eyes, your windswept hair a halo around your brow.

He hands off the drink he’s just finished making for another regular customer, sending them out the door with a kind smile, and then turns to you just as your fingertips touch down on his counter top.

It’s almost procedural, the way he anticipates each move you make just before you make it. You slide your fingertips towards the register before laying your palms flat, cocking your hip against the counter as though you have to lean closer to see the menu.

Your eyes trace the words and pictures for a few long seconds, gifting him with the view of your throat curving up towards your jaw, and the contemplative bow of your lips. And then, finally, you’ll drop your eyes to his, smile like you’ve never been more excited to order a cup of coffee, and then you place your order.

Always a chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.

“Good morning,” He greets you when you appear in a pink jumpsuit. His eyes follow the sounds of your bracelets jingling, up to the clink of the two necklaces you always wear, up to the cheeky swish of the earrings that ornate all three of your lobe piercings.

Your eyes fall from the menu to his face like they’ve been physically pushed, surprised by his friendly voice, and he doesn’t think he imagines the sudden rush of heat that crawls up your throat with a wash of color. “Oh.”

He’s caught you off-guard; he knows, because you’ve never given him that upward tilt of your voice before.

“Good morning!” You sing back, that smile pulling your lips back.

“Chai latte with oatmilk?” He recalls, already lifting a cup and holding his marker at the ready.

“With extra cloves.” You confirm, slightly in awe that he’s remembered.

Of course he remembers.

He flashes you a wink just before he turns around to start on your drink, and sees you in his peripheral moving towards the pickup counter. You’re smiling down at the rings that clutter your fingers, and he can’t help the swarm in his chest that floods in as a result of the fact that this time, you’re the one flustered over him.

The day that you arrive at the café to find that your latte is already made and ready for you, you’re missing one of your earrings. He catches your eye as you enter, his gaze flickering over that blue sweater again as you approach the register.

Before you can order, he’s pushing your full, steaming cup towards you and the screen is already flashing your total. His eyes flick from yours to the empty piercing on your left lobe. “Good morning,” He says.

You’re staring down at the cup with a sort of delighted, half-confusion, before your gaze snaps back up to him. “Is this—”

“Chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves.” He confirms with a grin. Then he falters, tilting his head at you. “Unless you want something different today?”

Your hands bring the cup closer to you, possessively. “No, this is perfect.” You argue, and then you’re digging for your billfold. “Thank you…” You drift off, eyebrows lifting hopefully as you hint around for his name.

“Changbin.” A pink tint covers his cheeks as his grin softens. “And you?”

You give him your name, and your money, and leave the café with butterflies in your stomach.

When he finds the missing earring a few feet from the entrance to his café, accidentally dropped on the sidewalk, he scoops it up and tucks it in his pocket with care.

On an unseasonably warm day, you appear at his register in a shorter black skirt and a slouchy gray sweater that hangs off all the protruding points of your body with teasing subtlety. He passes you your drink, with the addition of a new flavor of muffin that his baker is trying out in the form of mini pastries, and notices that your skirt is well above your knees, fluttering around your mid-thigh in a way that has his gut clenching.

The tights don’t distract at all from the musculature of your legs and the curve of your ass that suddenly seems dangerously close to the hem of your skirt.

“Good morning, Changbin,” You greet cheerfully, and the sound of his name in your mouth brings his attention back to your bright features.

He makes sure no one follows you home. Your sweater is too flirty with your curves, your skirt too short, for him to rely on the strength and decency of lesser men.

You make it home, safe and sound, to your modest and tasteful townhouse. You live on the ground floor, surrounded by windows and bathed in soft fluorescent lighting.

You listen to pop music in the mornings, and early 2000s grunge rock in the afternoons. He takes note of the artists you listen to the most, and, soon enough, when you walk into the café in the mornings, there’s familiar music playing through the speakers.

He lives for the way it makes you smile when you notice.

As you get ready every morning, you put the same TV show on in the background, so he finds the station. It takes a few days for you to realize that he has it on one of the TVs mounted in the corners of his café, but when you do, you start lingering for a few extra moments every day to catch a couple seconds with fondness on your face.

He’s never watched an episode of the show in his life, but if it gets him two more sentences out of you every morning, consider him obsessed. He watches it all the time.

All of your snacks and meals are high protein and low sugar, because you go to the gym for two hours every other day and your one self indulgent treat is the sugary chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves that he makes for you.

This fact warms him from the inside out, because he resonates with this lifestyle choice. Your gym is near his, and it’s almost as large, almost as nice. You’re a hard worker, your beautiful curves the product of self discipline and dedication. He stops offering you his baker’s pastries and starts giving you the rich and smoky cheesy egg bites instead, and starts to realize that the guilty smile you once accepted your freebies with is now replaced by weightless excitement.

There’s not a single inch of you that needs less sugar, of course. He’d give you every muffin in his shop if he thought that was what you wanted. But he understands the yen for the feeling of progress in the gym, and the burden of cheating yourself through bad nutrition, so if he can help you feel like you’re getting stronger, he will. Hell, he’d start serving steak in his café if he thought you had an iron deficiency.

“Changbin!” You keen one morning as you flounce to the register in a flattering red blouse that he watched you pick out this morning. You lean against the counter with a great heave, and past the rush of excitement he feels for the very deliberate interaction you’re giving him, he notices a trace of greenish blue wrapping around your throat.

Then you turn your head and the light shifts the shadows on your skin, and he’s not sure.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” He greets casually, despite the pink tinge to his cheeks. “What’s going on?”

You scrub your nails over your scalp with exasperation and then set your enormous pleading eyes on him. “Binnie…”

His gut swirls.

That’s a new nickname.

It’s in his head now, locked into his brain, the way your tongue forms the sweet sound of his name like that.

“Changbin,” you say again. “Changbinnie.”

Despite the absolute earthquake happening in his chest, he gives you the flattest expression of suspicion that he can manage, and hopes his skin tone isn’t currently tomato. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this.” It’s a lie.

A bald faced lie. He loves the sound of this. He wants you to keep repeating his name like that until it’s all he can hear.

Your bottom lip juts out in a pout, and he has to physically turn away to clean the milk steamer before he loses control in his place of business.

“Tell me you haven’t made my latte yet?” You plead, leaning further on the counter.

When he glances over his shoulder, he sees the way you’ve inadvertently showcased your breasts for him, and he spins around again, pinching his eyes shut. As though his apartment walls aren’t disappearing more and more by the day behind pictures of you.

As though he doesn’t know every single color in your underwear drawer.

“No, not yet. Why?” Another lie. The latte is sitting by his left hand, still steaming, just waiting for your manicured hands and perfectly lined lips.

“My blender broke this morning.” You whine, and dig in your purse for something. “I know you have smoothies on your menu, but I was wondering if you would add my protein powder to one? Is that legal, to take an ingredient from a customer?” You flap an admittedly suspicious looking ziplock bag at him. “I have a protein smoothie every morning for breakfast, and at this point it’s more of a crutch than my latte and I’ll just spiral for the rest of the day if I don’t start it with a strawberry shake, so please, Binnie—”

He cuts you off with one hand covering the one of yours that holds the ziplock, and the other pushing your latte towards you. “I have protein powder. You want vanilla or strawberry for your strawberry smoothie?”

Your mouth makes a beautiful “O” shape as your free hand cups the hot latte. “I thought you hadn’t made it?”

Changbin tosses a wink over his shoulder, already grabbing the vanilla protein powder. He already knows it’ll be vanilla. He already knows you want the whey powder and not the plant-based. He already knew about the blender.

Your morning may have started with an unexpected hiccup, but his is going exactly according to plan.

“Pull up a chair and drink while I make your smoothie. The latte is on the house.”

You immediately protest, but he won’t hear of it. He basks in your company as you sip down every bit of your comfort beverage, and then offers idle chatter between the scenes of your TV show as you spend ten minutes more than usual in his café, drinking your protein smoothie.

He got a full thirty minutes with you this morning, and it’s worth every second.

The morning that you wake up with another man steals the smile from his face. You must have brought him home with you last night, invited him to stay over, and are now foregoing your sacred protein smoothie in your new blender for a more traditional breakfast of eggs and toast, for the sake of your half-naked guest.

Changbin’s heels haven’t cooled even by the time you make it into the café for your latte, and he’s especially somber when you order an additional drink, a reeking pumpkin cappuccino that he’s forgotten to erase from the menu from a month ago.

He notices the extra warmth in your smile; your excitement is diminished, replaced with a satisfied contentment that makes his shoulders tense.

You’re falling in love with this new man, blushing down at your phone and walking home with your chin high, waking up in the mornings with a smile on your lips.

Changbin serves you every morning, your rich and creamy oatmilk chai latte with extra cloves, and the nauseating pumpkin cappuccino for your bedfellow. He doesn’t know why this man doesn’t come to the coffee shop with you, if he sends money or if he makes you pay for both of your drinks, if he even likes the autumn atrocity that Changbin makes with shaking hands every day.

The fire in his throat only heats when your drink order abruptly changes to two hot green teas. He watches you turn down his readily prepared chai latte with an awkward darting of your eyes, lifting your hand in refusal as though if he doesn’t take it away, you’ll reach out and snatch it from him.

“I’m actually getting some green teas this morning,” You say, and he knows he isn’t imagining the disappointed chuckle in your tone.

He takes your discarded usual away without hesitation, suddenly concerned that you may have developed an allergy or an intolerance for your favorite drink, but you just swipe a palm over your forehead and lean your elbow on the counter, settling into the comfort of your casual friendship with the attentive barista. “My boyfriend and I have decided to start eating healthier,”

Changbin can’t bring himself to believe you. You eat vegetables and chicken or fish for lunch, you snack on cheese and meat, you bake with honey instead of sugar, and he can’t remember the last time he’s seen you without a water bottle in hand, in various stages of emptiness.

“We’re opting away from the lattes and cappuccinos for a bit.” You give another awkward laugh that turns his stomach, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

“You like the green tea?” He’s surprised. You have tea at home, of course, but it’s all black teas—rich and spicy and meant to be topped with a swirl of milk and brown sugar.

The skin around your mouth tightens as you fight a shiver. “Oh, no, but my boyfriend does.”

“I can make you something different,” He offers. “I have a bunch of teas. I just got in a new chai spice blend—” He breaks off when you raise your hand again, a physical barrier between your weakening determination and his tempting offer.

“That’s okay, Binnie. I think it tastes like soap and grass, but I promised him I’d give it a chance. Just the two green teas, please.” And you give him a sweet smile, just to make sure he knows that you’re not frustrated with him so much as your new dietary commitments.

You know he’s about to argue again, so you toss an appreciative glance around his coffee bar. “You live around here? I can’t imagine working every day like you do.”

“The apartment upstairs is mine,” He explains. “This café is my life; it’s not really a job anymore.”

“Wow.” Your soft voice is awash with jealousy. “That sounds like a dream.”

He hums softly at you, pulling the tea from his shelf. “It only tastes like soap and grass if you brew it too hot,” He says, and flicks on the kettle, indicating the thermometer on the lid. “If it tastes fishy, or sudsy, it’s either steeped too long or brewed too hot. Brew it low, steep it briefly, add a drop of honey, I swear it tastes like summer. If you don’t like it, I’ll give it to you for free.”

You protest, rolling your eyes nervously at his kindness, insisting that you’re not going to like it but you’re going to pay anyway. But when he hands you the drink—yours with honey and the boyfriend’s without—he urges you to take a delicate sip and watches your anticipating frown fade into pleasant surprise.

“Oh, it’s not bad.” You say, and beam at him.

He beams right back. “You want more honey?”

You shake your head. “No, this is fine. I’m still not sold on the flavor, but it’s not rancid like it’s always been from other shops. Thank you, Changbin!” And then you skip right out of his shop, on your way to deliver the drinks you don’t even like to your boyfriend.

But then, the morning that you arrive at his register with dark circles under your eyes and a downward slant to your lips doesn’t bring him the sense of relief that he thought it would. Your voice is low and unengaging as you order the teas, your smile unconvincing as you pay and leave without so much as a glance toward the TV.

Your boyfriend starts waking up earlier than you, leaving you to eat breakfast by yourself. It allows you to go back to your usual protein smoothies for breakfast, which seems to grant you at least a little bit of peace.

It seems that you’re still meeting him for lunch, because you still come in and order the two teas that you hate so much, but you hardly even talk to Changbin anymore. He watches your posture droop when you walk home, watches the way your muscles bunch and tense when your boyfriend looms behind you to greet you, hears the rising voices float across the street as you argue for the hundredth time.

Changbin hates the man who’s taken you from lovesick and floating on air to burdened and fearful. He hates the snippets of your life that he gets to see, the early morning sighs of disappointment as you realize you’re waking up alone again, the drag of your feet as you prepare to head in and grab the teas, your discouraged slump after lunch when your boyfriend comes home from work.

So when the morning comes that you arrive with your makeup sloppily done, tear tracks splitting the seamless layer of your foundation, and you order a single chai latte with oatmilk and extra cloves, Changbin smiles sympathetically at you and gives it to you for free.

He had watched you receive the breakup text over breakfast, his heart keening as you cried into your smoothie, his gut clenching as you sniffled your way through applying and reapplying your mascara, smiling proudly as you stared at yourself in your bedroom mirror and set your shoulders, determined to go about your day as you intended.

“His loss, gorgeous.” He says, unprompted, as your purple-tipped fingers curl around your cup of comfort.

Your eyes snap up to him, wide with surprise, and for a second his smile stalls. But then he reaches across the counter and presses a napkin into your hand, gesturing to where your eyeliner has fallen from your lower lid, and says, “I assume the tears, the single drink, and the lack of rancid green tea means your boyfriend isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Suspicion falls from your shoulders and you dab at your eyes brokenly. “Your tea was never rancid, Changbin.”

He reaches across the counter in a move that he, himself, wasn’t anticipating, and covers your hand with his own. “I know you’re having a bad day, gorgeous, but you can always talk to me.”

That brings a smile to your face. “Do you give all your customers such five star service?”

“Only the crying ones,” He winks, and then gives your hand a squeeze once he notices that you haven’t tried to pull it away.

You gather yourself with a bit of his offered strength, pushing your shoulders back and swallowing the next threatening round of tears, and flash him a smile that holds a trace of your old vibrancy.

He smiles proudly back at you. “Can I assume you’ll be taking your usual from now on?”

You nod, pulling a long drink from the beverage you’ve missed for so long, and give him the most beautiful sigh of contentment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Binnie.”

“See you soon, gorgeous.”

It turns out, that ominous bruise on your throat from a couple months ago wasn’t a trick of the light.

You bounce into the café wearing a shade of green that makes your eyes pop, earrings jingling as you make your way to the register. When you take a habitual gander at the menu, as though you’ll ever order anything but your usual ever again, he sees it again.

Not greenish blue, like it was that time, but a bright red and darkening purple, freshly settling into the flesh of your smooth throat.

You’re chattering about something, his peripheral catching flashes of your teeth as you talk, and his ears catch the clatter of your bracelets when you gesture with a hand to punctuate whatever point you’re making, but Changbin’s eyes are on the faint handprint beneath your jaw.

A paper to-go cup, mercifully empty, crushes in his angry fist, and your words stop abruptly.

“Binnie?”

His mouth stutters open, mind searching for words to demand an explanation for the signs of violence against you, stare still stuck on the marring of your perfect skin and supple flesh, when a delicate blanket of warmth covers his shaking hand. His mouth clicks shut, gaze dropping to where your hand is wrapped around his.

“Binnie. It’s fine.” How you knew what is speeding through his mind escapes him, because all he can see is another handprint, this one wrapped around your wrist, barely concealed by the stacks of mismatched bracelets.

When he finally catches your eyes, you look embarrassed and ashamed, but not unwell. Your smile is weaker this time, and his fingers pinch around the crumpled cup when he notices your lips trembling. “Binnie, I swear it’s fine.”

He takes your hand on his as permission to reach for you, and he tosses the cup in the trash and leans against the counter, his hand sliding up your forearm to grip your elbow. “Is someone hurting you?” His eyes narrow and his head cocks to peer under your jaw at the large, obviously male handprint.

Now that he’s close enough, he sees redness on your scalp, thin spots in your hair, tiny specks of crusted blood. Someone’s been yanking you around by the hair, and he’s almost sure it’s not a consensual act.

His mind is made up then, certain that something bad is happening in your house after he’s gone, determined that he needs to stick around longer and make sure you’re okay. Some time between his afternoon watch and his early morning check in, you’re being harmed by someone much larger than you.

When he looks away from the bruise at last, feeling your perfectly painted nails dig into the muscle of his forearm, he finds tears in your eyes.

“I’m okay, Binnie, I swear.” You whisper, and your free hand reaches for the latte that he tried to give you right before he noticed your damaged throat.

He loosens his grasp on you—it wasn’t tight to begin with, but he doesn’t want you feeling trapped. Instead of helping you reach the latte, he brings his hand up and lifts some of the loose strands of your hair away from your throat.

Changbin hears your breath catch, sees the pulse racing beneath your ear, so he pulls back. He drops his palms on the counter and watches you with a frown, observing as you desperately try to collect yourself from the intimate touches he’s surprised you with.

He can’t do anything about it until he knows what’s going on, so he just matches your weak smile and clears his throat. “Don’t go letting someone hurt my best customer, alright? No, put that away, it’s on me today.” He makes a waving motion at you as you go for your billfold, and the tension escapes from your chest.

Your voice sings with light laughter. “How can I be your best customer if you keep giving me things for free?”

Changbin just nods towards your latte. “Get out of here, gorgeous. Enjoy your drink.”

“I always do, Binnie.”

It’s your brother.

There’s a definite family resemblance in the slope of your noses and the bends of your knuckles, but the similarities stop there.

It’s after dinner that he arrives—two, three times a week—bursting into your house with no regard for your privacy or boundaries, rifling through the wallet that you keep on the mail table. His voice booms through the house, calling for you, so loudly it travels across the street.

He’s the reason you start coming in with darker bruises, poorly concealed by makeup on your throat, on your wrists, under your eyes. He’s the reason more of your hair tangles in your shower drain in clumps bunched together by clotted blood. He’s the reason for the spattering of bruises across the smooth skin of your chest, the reason you’ve stopped wearing bras with underwire that press into your damaged ribs for the sake of soft and gentle sports bras.

Your brother is the reason you sit on your bed at night, pressing an ice pack to your naked thigh where a faint boot print has stiffened the flesh. He’s the reason two of your fingers are wrapped and splinted, and the reason that Changbin has watched you sell your family piano and your late father’s expensive stereo set.

All for drug money.

Threats and violence and theft from your own brother so he can meet with his dealer outside the fourth street McDonalds.

Your smiles grow heavier and Changbin’s heart pounds harder as he watches you tremble in front of him, holding your latte with both hands. The expensive stones from your jewelry collection are gone, as is the vintage watch that your grandmother gave you.

It’s getting worse.

Your brother comes by more often, he gets more desperate. He’s no longer just looking for drug money, now he’s in debt, and you don’t have the means to help him pay it back. Not that he can be convinced of that.

You stop coming to the café. Changbin knows why, he knows you don’t have the money to spend on a drink every morning—even though most times he gives it to you for free. You won’t take advantage of him, even though he tells you you don’t have to pay.

Instead, he sees you tenderly rise from bed, walking on stiff and pained legs to your closet, dragging loose clothes over your mottled skin. You haven’t stocked up on your protein powder; it’s an expensive supplement, and your bank account is drained from your brother’s latest visit. Your breakfast is the last of your frozen strawberries, blended with yogurt and honey, and you sag over your straw like you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

He sees you bend over your work with your water bottle next to you, not having the energy to take your usual gym break. Instead, you nap.

You’re drained of money, drained of strength, drained of hope.

He sees you lock your door, and then sweep up the splintered wood after your brother breaks it down. He sees you block the door with a bookshelf, and then collect all of your books off the floor after your brother shoves it aside anyway. You try everything, from nailing the door shut to setting a burglar alarm, but you just end up having to clean up shattered windows or stand silently while your brother explains to the police what a silly misunderstanding it all is.

And then one night, the one night that Changbin has to stay late to update his inventory after his weekly supply shipment at the café, there’s a knock on his apartment door. He’s fresh out of the shower, upper half bare and a towel draped over his shoulders, one end of it clutched in his hand and scrubbing the dampness from his hair, when he swings the door open and there you are.

You’re a tortured vision in white; white t-shirt and white sweatpants, your face streaked with tears and your left eye swollen from a fresh beating, and you throw yourself into his arms like you’ve known him forever.

He’s stunned, panicking, desperate to get you out of his apartment, but he’s a weak, weak man because you’re wrapped so tightly around him, your hands pressed into his back, your chest flush against his, your damp face curled into his neck, and his brain just blanks out.

The towel drops from his grasp and his arms find their way around you. Whether it’s his heart or yours that’s pounding like a jackhammer between you is unknowable, especially when he breathes in the scent of you. He knows the smell, knows it like his own home, but it’s different when it’s directly from you.

You’re weeping into his ear, trembling beneath his hands, and he’s forgotten everything he needs to hide.

“Slow down, gorgeous, I’m here.”

You crumble in his arms, sagging against his chest.

“I’m here.” His hands smooth delicately over your hair, mindful of the abrasions that you’ve suffered, and his strong arms keep you on your feet.

“I need help, Binnie.” You weep, pulling back ever so slightly. Your eyes flutter open and it’s like the entire ocean is inside them. “Please, Changbin, I—”

And then it’s too late.

Your gaze drifts over his shoulder, and there they are.

The walls are covered. Printouts, pictures, drawings. You sipping your smoothie in your kitchen, you working at your computer in your home office, you tugging a shirt over your head, the lace of his favorite red bra peeking out between the hem of the shirt and the skin of your stomach, you doing your hair in your bedroom mirror.

You.

It’s too late. He can’t get a word out before you bolt.

Gone in a second, terrified by the man you had run to for safety, disappearing into the night.

You pull all your curtains closed after that. The lights in your house are always off, a for sale sign goes up in your yard. You exist in the darkness, hiding in the shadows, suffering alone.

His heart breaks as he feels you slip further and further through his fingers.

You’re still hurting, still being hunted. Your brother keeps coming, keeps attacking you, keeps stealing from you. He’ll take the money from your house, too, Changbin already knows it.

It makes him angry.

He’s so angry, he hasn’t touched his camera in weeks. He’s so angry, he hasn’t swiped an article of clothing to hold onto the scent of you in ages. He’s so angry that your own brother has treated you so badly, that now all he does is watch.

Because you won’t be getting any more bruises.

You are so scared and tired of your brother’s treatment of you that you ran to Changbin’s apartment for the first time in your life, just to seek protection. You trusted him. You wanted his help. You knew he would protect you.

A million pictures of you aren’t worth that gift.

So he watches.

And waits.

And then, one night, just as the sun has disappeared beneath the neighborhood houses behind yours, your brother pulls up in the driveway. He stumbles out of his car, jerking with nerves, and pounds your door down, disappearing inside your home.

Each crash fills Changbin with rage. Each shatter, each groan of damaged belongings sets his blood on fire, until he’s across the street and on your porch. He finds the key where you’ve left it in the hanging pot and pushes the door open, skillfully dodging the creaky floor panels in the entryway.

The desperate grate of your brother’s voice worms into his ears like a venom, and the ensuing whimpers and cries from you settle in his stomach with painful weight. He rounds the corner and finds you there, your back pressed to the wall, your brother’s hands around your throat.

Your face is red from strangulation, your eyes wide and reddened from burst blood vessels, trails of crimson streaming from your scalp. Your brother is screaming about the money you owe him, money that he’s expected to find by some miracle after having already pilfered your paycheck earlier this week.

And then, just as your eyes begin to roll, you catch sight of Changbin. For a second, you freeze, and it’s fear in your expression as you behold the barista that you thought you knew, creeping through the shadows of your dark living room.

But then your brother’s other hand smacks against the split skin of your cheek, and your expression changes.

Changbin sees it.

You’re staring at him in relief, your mouth forming desperate pleas for help, tears spilling down your face in a sudden moment of vulnerability.

His chest clenches.

At your next whimper, he has your brother by the collar, hurling him backwards. At the thump of your feet hitting the floor, the rest of your body falling in a heap, his hands are fisted in your brother’s shirt, shoving him out of the house.

Your brother is spluttering and shouting in confusion and protest, while you’re coughing and gagging behind them.

There’s only a few seconds where your brother attempts to fight back, his wired muscles throwing stabbing punches into the dark at Changbin’s face, but he doesn’t land a single one. Instead, a deliberate blow strikes his jaw, knocking him back. Another hammers against his eye, and he sprawls in the grass, gasping for air.

You’re on your feet then, following them out of the house, standing on your porch as you watch through stinging eyes.

While your brother is stunned, Changbin turns and sees you, and he freezes. He knows he’s scared you. He knows he’s crossed every line of acceptable social interaction, and that you caught him red handed. He says your name, a whisper into the night, and your gaze shifts to him.

You’re thinking, panicking, mind no doubt tracing back through the evidence of his intrusion plastered all over his walls, the sanctity of your home utterly violated by his undetected presence.

While you try to make up your mind about it, Changbin can’t breathe.

But at this point, your brother can. “What the hell?” He gasps, breath clouding above his face. “This is none of your business, asshole.” He’s up on one knee then, cupping his face and getting his wits back.

Changbin whips around to face him, his fists once more clenched in fury. “Touch her again and I swear to god—”

“Binnie.”

Your voice is a song in his ears and his head snaps back around to you. Your hands wrap around his still tight fist, your eyes peering up at him in earnest. You’re leaning into his arm, begging for safety, and he sees the blood that spills over your lips.

You’re hurt, you need medical attention, and you’d rather be with him than with your brother.

“I’m gonna take you to the hospital, okay?” Changbin whispers, and when you nod weakly, he brings his hand to your temple. You’re hot, feverish, under his touch. “Will you let me do that, gorgeous?”

“You’re not taking her anywhere.” The voice is an inch away, and your hands grip Changbin’s bicep.

He reacts on impulse, shoving your brother away from himself, away from you, and can only watch as the larger man stumbles out onto the street, illuminated by the yellowish glow of headlights. And then it’s like that scene from Mall Cop—one minute he’s there, the next he’s been plowed out of sight like a sliding transition in a Star Wars movie.

You don’t scream.

You don’t cry.

Both of you gasping in shock at the completely unintentional turn of events, Changbin feels you press yourself into his side, your weak and bleeding arms winding around his back. He can’t believe you’re there, trusting him, clinging to him, but he holds you like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He needs to take you to the hospital, let them figure out why you’re coughing up blood, check your bones for new breaks, but right now your face is nestled against his throat and he can’t move.

“You’re still such a creep.” Your broken voice whimpers, but your hand tightens in his shirt.

He could cry with relief. You’re not letting go. “I know,”

He gets a grumble in response. “You stole my favorite sweater.”

Not even the flashing red and blue lights speeding around the corner can take this moment from him. “I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’ll give it back.”

“Promise me you’ll burn the pictures.”

“All except the ones that incriminate your brother.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Comment a request to be tagged for Hyunjin's next week!

Let me know what you thought of this one! Thank you all for reading!

tag list:

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#skz #fanfic #stray kids #horror #seo changbin #changbin #seo changbin skz #seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #changbin angst #changbin crack #crack!horror #seo changbin fluff #seo changbin angst #changbin x you #changbin crack!horror #seo changbin x you

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venuslarkspur · 5 hours ago

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guys what if concerning dating history batsis did it with deathstroke.. or rose… WHAT IF HE’S HER SUGAR DADDY LMAO

OMG UR SO REAL FOR THIS THOUGH (Bruce is already getting grey hairs from this girl)

LIKE IMAGINE ME THIS ⬇️💗

Batsis and The Tale Of The Sugar Daddy (and gal pal Rose)

Warning: SLIGHT NSFW, canon dc violence, batfam shenanigans.

———————

Bruce: Listen I think it’s good that Batsis!Reader is financially independent now but where is she getting all this cash?

Tim mindlessly typing away: My theory is Roy got her pregnant and now Ollie has to bankroll them.

Damian: That’s ridiculous, they could have just came to father, Drake.

Dick who is sweating cause he knows why: Yeah..you’re probably right Tim..

Tim: What’s wrong?

Jason who is still agitated his sister is not only involved with his ex’s dad but also the ex: I’d tell you, but I was AND still am confused.

———————

- Batsis is definitely Rose’s awakening, she doesn’t care if she dated Jason that’s him fumbling not her.

- Batsis just started off as one of Rose’s friends when the masks were on, she didn’t know she was getting it on with her friends dad of all people.

- It’s difficult for anyone to really refute it when it comes to the age gap, yeah many think it’s gross but when they met she was the same age as Dick. (27-29) so if Bruce finds out not only can he not be argued with, Batsis will also bring up how his exes are just as bad.

- Not bc imagining Deathstroke who is just insanely soft on Batsis, say even if he gets her pregnant he isn’t going anywhere; Rose could use a little sister or brother ig. But y’all are careful, he knows better than to get a Wayne Family Heiress pregnant.

- I don’t write smut but Ik they are FREAKY, the one place they wouldn’t dare do it is Wayne Manor, he is cooked if they’re are caught there. He will have the Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, The Batgirls, Robin, Batwoman, Signal and probs more on him at that point. These mfs will let Batsis’s exes know that’s how petty there are about this.

- Imagine waking up with Deathstroke and ur both barely clothed and outside his window is the entirety of the Batfamily, Arsenal, Three Green Lanterns, Zatanna, Wonder Woman, John Constantine, Booster Gold, Harley Quinn and his own daughter are queuing up for first dibs.

- Slade knows about your problem with some of your exes (cough cough Hal Jordan) and aims to help you by drowning you in jewellery and clothes, like that new faux fur coat and boots? Yeah he bought you that, that new pearl and gold necklace with your initials? Yep he got it. That new skirt that’s shoes the perfect amount of thigh? Yep, his. Like all these past flames and flings (HAL JORDAN) know you’re seeing someone.

- Always reminds you how mischievous you are for getting nasty with him whilst being a “figure of honour and importance”, which quite frankly pisses you off, you’ve slept with most of your dad’s colleagues god damn it! He loves that it makes you feisty.

- Rose is super jealous, and you definitely share a heart wrenching goodbye kiss before she wishes you goodbye, you almost went after her before remembering your dinner date tonight and if went well you’d be confident to let your father know of your relationship.

- If your a vigilante, Rose knows your secret identity (wether you’re batgirl or not), Your Sugar Daddy doesn’t know and you quite frankly would rather he not, you make him swear off the Wayne Family all together, but you feel guilty at not being able to protect them when the masks go on.

- We know Batsis has a limit when it comes to his work, so she will break it off eventually, leaving all the dinner dates, passionate nights and shopping behind. You know you make him very happy (mostly aroused) but happy, so he’s always a phone call away, you’re always down for the occasional fling, and your time with him will always never be forgotten, even if you did the right thing, which isn’t your style at all.

- He’s up there with John Stewart and Wally West with top five men you miss but probably wouldn’t date again for different reasons.

—————————

IDK WHY THIS GOT ANGSTY THIS WAS MEANT TO BE FUNNY BUT WTH. Life goes in yall 😭🫶

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catboymettaton · 2 days ago

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heaven is a place on earth 💖🍓

Misa and Matsuda friendship, 3.5k words, rated T. read on ao3 Valentine's Day 2011: Misa jumps from a building, hoping to reunite with Light. And then wakes up, still alive.

Tokyo looks so small from up here. Misa reaches out a gloved hand, traces the line of the street below. Cars honking, people scurrying, everyone in such a rush to go somewhere, to do something.

Misa is in no such hurry.

A man below is carrying flowers, so many they spill out of his arms. Another man has just emerged from a chocolate shop, bursting bag in tow. Women giggle as they pass by.

It is Misa’s second Valentine’s Day alone. It will also be her last.

She still can’t understand what the men kept saying. Light, her Light, couldn’t possibly be a killer. He loved her. He loved her so much. He would never lie to her, he would never put her in danger, he would never do anything to harm her. Light loved her.

And she still loves his ghost.

Perhaps, by the end of the day, she won’t be alone any longer.

She hikes her skirt up and clambers over the barrier. Her dress is awkward and makes it hard to move but that doesn’t matter because it makes her pretty. Misa is pretty. Light always told her that. It was okay when he was too busy to touch her, because he made sure she knew she was still pretty.

She’s wearing her contacts today. It’s the first time in a while, since she quit acting to be with him. He never even had the chance to give her a ring.

She touches her cross necklace. She’s never believed in that god, especially not since learning Shinigami were real. But she hopes all the same that heaven is just how it’s described in the books.

Misa is hungry, she realizes. She doesn’t know when she last ate. But it doesn’t matter, because heaven or not, soon her body will no longer need to be fed.

She’s craving apples.

She’s drawing this out too long. If it were Light up here, he’d have a grand speech to make for the world. He’d go out beautifully and gracefully and powerfully.

She declined to see the photographs. Couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her beloved all torn and bloody. Better to imagine him dignified and elegant, all poised on a crucifix.

The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. It’s time.

Misa realizes, now, that she never planned her last words. Not that it matters, since no one will be close enough to hear. But with another moment’s thought, it becomes obvious.

She shuts her eyes. “I love you, Light.”

And she jumps.

…

Everything hurts and everything is bright and everything is so, so loud. This can’t be heaven at all.

Under the aches, she feels her heart beating away. Her chest rises and falls, with spikes of pain on every inhale. There’s no doubt about it: somehow, she’s alive.

I’m sorry, Light.

Her vision is blurred with pain, but she can make out machines beeping next to her. There’s tubes in her arm, and a tube down her throat, and maybe if she can knock one machine out of place then everything will go quiet and dark again, the way it’s supposed to be.

She reaches forward and the pain jolts all the way up her arm. She lets out a scream.

A nurse is there. “Oh, Miss Amane, you’re finally awake! I’m so glad to see you’ve pulled through. Here, let me help you with that pain.”

She reaches for a button. Misa wants to cry out, to beg her to end this, but she finds herself unable to speak.

The nurse pauses. “We were trying to find your next of kin, but we couldn’t locate any living relatives in the country. Is there a friend you’d like us to call?”

A name slips from her lips. It’s not a name she expected, or one she would have thought of if it weren’t for the drugs, surely.

“Touta Matsuda.”

The painkillers carry her away once more.

…

The next time she comes to, he’s hovering just inches from her face. She yelps in shock and then again in pain.

“I’m sorry, Misa-Misa! I didn’t mean to scare you! I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing, is all!”

Misa shuts her eyes. “Matsu… you came.”

“Of course I came! I was so worried when I saw the caller ID… I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Everything hurts,” she slurs.

“The nurses said it was a pretty nasty fall. You’re lucky you made it.”

“Lucky, huh…”

He places his hand over hers, gently, trying his best not to hurt her.

Light and Ryuzaki always called him an idiot. Called him the stupid one. But somehow, he seemed to know what to do when no one else did.

And he’s made it longer than both of them, hasn’t he?

“Misa.” His tone is serious this time. “Misa, when you get out of here, will you come home with me?”

Her eyes shoot open. “Um, you’re way too old for me and I-”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” He looks ashamed. “I just - I don’t want you to be alone, okay? They told me you don’t have any family, and with Li - I just think you must be pretty lonely now and I don’t want you to be lonely, okay?”

To not be lonely…

Misa has nearly forgotten what it was like to not be lonely.

Even when she and Light were living together, he was so busy, and she saw so little of him, and she knows he loves her but it was still hard to not miss him and she misses him so much and she was so lonely and he was so tired after work and he barely touched her at all and he loved her. He loves her! She knows he loves her!

But.

But she was still so lonely. Is so lonely.

She had friends before all this, but they’ve moved on, grown up, gotten married, settled down, had kids, stopped caring about ghost stories, stopped getting dressed up all fancy just to go get groceries, stopped caring about pop stars like Misa-Misa.

It would be nice to have a friend again.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

The nurse comes back. She sleeps again.

…

Her hospital stay is a blur. She can’t tell how long she’s been there, when one day ends and another begins. She’s fed through a tube and she pees into a bedpan, which is so yucky but she knows she can’t stand.

And Matsuda is there by her side day in and day out.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbles. “Go back to the police. They’ll call you when I’m all better.”

He shakes his head. “No, Misa. I - I want to know you’re okay. I need to know you’re okay.”

So he stays.

After some time, she can sit up. They take the feeding tube out while she’s asleep and Matsuda feeds her congee, one spoonful at a time. It’s all plain and kinda gross but the doctors say she needs to be gentle with her stomach.

Matsuda watches the nurses transfer her to a wheelchair so she can pee in a real toilet. It feels good.

In the evenings, he brushes her hair. It’s gotten horribly knotted from all the lying around, but he does his best to tease out the knots.

“Maybe I should just cut this all off,” Misa muses. “Would make it a lot easier for you.”

“But it’s so pretty.” He eases a comb through the back of her head.

“I’m not gonna be pretty with all these bruises anyway.” Misa thinks it over, and decides. “I want you to cut it off.”

The nurses provide scissors, and Misa’s bleach-blond crown falls to her feet. She wonders how far her roots have grown out now. She hasn’t been brunette since her parents were alive.

She gets stronger. She’s allowed to eat eggs again, and then even some sweets.

She thinks about Ryuzaki and his cake. She can tell Matsuda does too. Neither of them brings it up.

Finally, Misa is discharged. She can walk a little, but needs crutches. Matsuda takes her home to his apartment, where he’s set up his spare room for her. The bed is lush with comfy pillows, there’s a table next to it just how she likes it. She realizes he must have remembered from Task Force Headquarters.

Six years ago feels like a different lifetime.

…

She’s been living at his place for a week when he brings it up over breakfast.

“Misa,” he begins. “I know this is really hard to talk about. But I need to know.”

She takes a bite of her rice and nods. She already knows what’s coming.

“It was Valentine’s Day. You climbed over the railing. You were trying to die, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” She’s not upset. She feels numb to it, actually. “It was Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend it with my Light.”

Matsuda shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“It’s just not fair,” she continues. She knows her voice is whiny and it’s not cute when a grown woman is whiny when she isn’t an idol anymore but she can’t help it. She misses him and everything hurts. “It’s not fair that he’s gone, and I’m still here, and I just wanted to see him again. I was supposed to see him again.”

“Misa. I know how you felt about Light. I know you want to believe he was good, but -”

“But he loves me! Loved me. He loved me so much. And I loved him too and I loved him so much, more than anyone else in the world so you’re wrong you can’t possibly know how I feel.”

His voice is shaking. “Misa, I loved him too.”

There are many ways to love. You can love your friends, you can love your family, you can love the color pink and pretty dresses.

But the way he said it can only mean one type of love.

She squints at him, trying to detect if this is some weird joke. “But you - but -”

“I fell in love with Light Yagami years ago. Of course I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t even think he knew. But… I trusted him. I thought he was honest, I thought he was righteous. He wasn’t scared to call Kira evil.” He takes a breath, trying to steady himself. He’s looking down at his bowl, not meeting her eyes.

“I - I had my doubts, you know? Not about him. About Kira, I - he stopped wars. He stopped crime. And that was good, I couldn’t convince myself that it wasn’t. And he didn’t get mad at me for that, and I thought it was because he was being gentle with me. But he wasn’t.”

He looks up at her, and she can tell it hurts. “Misa, Light was a very cruel man. Even if we both loved him.”

“But he loves me! He loves me! He could never do all the things they said he did.” She’s had this conversation before, with her reflection. She’s had it many times, and it always goes the same. “I know my Light, he would never do anything to hurt other people, and he definitely wouldn’t do all that killing!”

“He confessed it all to us before he died. He thought he’d won.” He’s starting to cry now. It’s his fault for bringing it up, so she doesn’t feel bad. “His plan was to kill us all. We were the last thing in his way, that’s all he ever thought of us.”

His voice is breaking, his words are barely coming out clearly. “I thought - I don’t know what I thought, but - I thought he cared about me, I - of course he didn’t feel the same but I thought we were friends. He was my best friend, Misa. He was my best friend.

“He was my best friend and I - I was just - I was just another pawn, I - He - he wanted me to be his little attack dog, he wanted me to - to shoot -” He loses his composure completely here and Misa averts her eyes.

“No.” She stumbles to her feet, clutches her crutches. “No, you can’t - he couldn’t have. He wasn’t -”

She trips and he catches her. “Misa. I’m sorry.”

…

Misa looks in the mirror. Her deep brown hair has grown just enough that she can run her fingers through it.

It occurs to her that soon it’ll look like Light’s.

Her chest aches whenever she thinks of him, and she’s sure it isn’t because of her fractured ribs.

Nothing Matsuda says makes sense, except it makes perfect sense, horrifying sense, at the same time, and she doesn’t want to believe it, she can’t believe it, except -

There are things she can’t ignore. Pieces that don’t quite fit together.

He says Light took her memories away to keep him safe. Her memories of being Kira. He says she helped him as Kira, that she killed people.

She wants to deny it. She wants to say no, Misa-Misa is a good girl, Misa-Misa wouldn’t kill.

But she remembers. She remembers how good it felt to see her parents’ murderer’s name and body on the news. She remembers her passion growing as Kira’s kills ramped up further and further.

Of course, she was young and dumb and she has grown up since then. Light dedicated his life to catching Kira, and nothing was more important than making Light happy, so that meant catching Kira was a good thing. She realized it was wrong to idolize a murderer, that Kira was evil, that Kira had to be stopped. She realized that killing was bad and murder wasn’t justice at all.

But Light didn’t believe any of that.

She’d restructured her mind around a total lie. Light didn’t go to America to catch Kira, he went to protect himself.

Her memories of their overseas stay are fractured. She remembers sleeping alone in a big hotel bed. She remembers coming home from her Hollywood shoot to an empty room, not even a note. And there are stretches of time she can’t remember, which is normal because it’s been three years, except she cherished every minute she had with Light, so why can’t she remember half of their conversations?

He had gotten colder and colder as time went on. In the beginning, they made love nearly every night, but they hadn’t slept together in three months by the end.

He must have been too busy with Kiyomi.

He told her Kiyomi was just another part of the investigation. That the feelings weren’t real at all.

But if he was on Kira’s side after all, then - he had lied about that. It wasn’t part of the investigation. And did he lie about the feelings?

Did he lie about loving her?

She tries to focus on the beginning, when everything was good. Wasn’t everything good? She remembers finally leaving confinement, finally being able to rest in his arms, back where she belonged.

He had said something then, something that bothered her. What was it?

He said… he said that she wouldn’t leave him alone. But that didn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with his girlfriend? Why would he want her to leave him alone?

She tried not to think about it. She tried to focus on after they got out, when they moved into their apartment and finally got to have a normal romance. Finally got rid of that creep Ryuzaki.

But if he really lied about wanting to catch Kira, if he really lied about all of that -

But he told her he loved her so much. He told her he loved her all the time.

If he didn’t love her, then what was she doing these past six years?

If he didn’t love her, then why did she jump?

…

“When did you fall in love with Light?”

She can walk with a cane now, and Matsuda takes her out to the park on weekends. He’s gone back to work, now that he trusts her to make it through eight hours alone. He doesn’t talk about it and she doesn’t ask.

He looks away from her, breathes a heavy sigh. They try not to talk about Light, but his ghost hangs heavy in the air.

“I met him as a teenager. He was brilliant for his age, but of course I saw him as a kid. During the investigation, once he took control -” His voice breaks a bit. “It - it felt so wrong, he was like a little brother, but… I saw his confidence, his competence, his brilliance. He was so damn charismatic.”

Misa knows. Misa understands completely.

“And then when we were alone in LA… he trusted me… and I trusted him too. He seemed so committed.” He swallows. “And - he was so handsome in that damn turtleneck.”

Misa nods. She also liked the turtleneck.

He sighs. “But it was all an act. All of it. He called his father a loser and a fool in the end. His father, his hero.”

Light loved his father. Light loved his father so much. Light was devastated when he died.

“He called you an idiot.”

He’d said it to her face before too, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because he loved her.

Didn’t he love her?

He said he loved her. He told her she was cute. He told her she was a great girlfriend. He’d even asked her to quit acting to marry him.

He was such a sweet talker.

But had he ever really looked at her? Had he ever touched her without her reaching out first? Had he ever asked her about how her shoots were going, or taken her somewhere nice without her asking?

He hadn’t even remembered her 25th birthday. 25 on December 25th, a big number, and he’d been too busy hunting down Kira.

Not hunting down Kira. Hunting down the people trying to stop Kira.

Hunting down the people trying to stop him.

Would he have turned on Misa, too, if he’d lived?

She reaches for Matsuda with her free hand. His arm fits nicely in her palm. They walk together in silence a little longer.

…

Misa’s bangs get in her face. She cuts half of them off so she looks like Matsuda. Matsuda puts his hair up in tiny pigtails.

Misa swims in Matsuda’s suit jacket. Matsuda’s shoulders strain against Misa’s shirt.

They look at each other like clowns in a funhouse mirror. They touch their palms together.

In each other, they see that cursed love for Light Yagami.

They change back. Misa shaves that side of her head.

Somehow, life goes on.

…

On Valentine’s Day in 2012, Misa bakes a cake.

Matsuda offered to take the day off, in case it was too hard, but Misa insisted she was fine, and she is. And she wanted to surprise him.

Misa is an awful cook. She always has been, and she’s accepted that she always will be. But baking seems straightforward. If she reads carefully, measures slowly, everything will be okay.

It’s messy. She spills flour all over the counter. She has to start over when she puts in too much salt. She hopes Matsuda didn’t need all that sugar.

She’s never going to act again. She can walk mostly fine, but she can’t run or jump or push herself too hard. She’ll never model again, with the scars that haven’t quite healed.

She’s gotten into writing ghost stories. She posts them anonymously. Her blog isn’t popular, but that’s okay. It gives her something to do.

Matsuda is nice to her. He seems to care about her in a way that Light never did. They aren’t in love, not romantically, but they fit together well. He reads her blog and he likes her stories. He thanks her when she cleans the house. And he remembered her birthday, and took her to a Christmas market so she could pick out her own gift.

She stirs the batter. She realizes she forgot to preheat the oven and rushes to set it. Matsuda says preheating is very important.

She thinks about how small the city looked. She thinks about her last fleeting thoughts of heaven. She touches her cross necklace; that’s one thing that hasn’t changed. The dress was wrecked, but that’s okay. She’s okay.

Maybe she was looking for heaven in the wrong place. Maybe heaven doesn’t come after death. Maybe heaven is now, in this little kitchen, where she’s still breathing and her heart is still beating.

When Matsuda comes home, she’s just finished icing the cake. It’s bright pink for the holiday (and because it’s Misa’s favorite). She cuts them each a slice even though they haven’t had dinner yet.

She got it just right. It’s the best strawberry cake she’s ever had.

#misa amane #touta matsuda #death note #death note fic #my writing #suicide

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autumnblooms · 1 year ago

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More Victorian Cirrus cause I can’t get this costume out of my mind 🖤

#just use your imagination for that necklace #I got lazy #the band ghost #my art #cirrus ghoulette #nameless ghoulettes #ghost band #la ritual #victorian #gothic

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birdietrait · 9 months ago

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"the truth is out there, but so are lies."

#ts4 #ts4 cas #ts4 simblr #simblr #show us your sims #dana scully my beloved #i made her + mulder a while ago but i gave her a makeover #i could not get mulder to look right so he will stay in my screenshots folder #also i couldn't find a good cross necklace for her so just imagine it's there

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kickbutts-singsongs · 7 months ago

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Okay but why did they never have any holiday themed POI episodes?

More specifically, how come they never had a Halloween episode and played “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell in the background?

#THEY MISSED AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY THATS ALL #BUT ALSO CHRISTMAS #SANTA CLAUS IS COMIN TO TOWN PLAYING AND FINCH AND REESE GIVE EACH OTHER A SIDE EYE WITH ‘HE SEES YOU WHEN YOURE SLEEPING HE KNOWS WHEN—‘#LIKE CMON #also I wanted a team machine secret santa gift exchange in the midst of all the Samaritan craziness #like Reese gets Shaw - Shaw gets Root - Root gets Finch - Finch gets Reese #I’d picture Reese gifting Shaw the keys to his old motorcycle #(cuz he’s a cop now and doesn’t use it)#and it’s in a small box so at first Shaw’s like ‘this better not be a necklace’ and he’s like ‘just open it’#and they’re all aloof and it’s funny but also touching #then I picture Shaw just gifting herself to Root like #*slaps a bow on her head* ‘for the next twenty four hours we can do whatever you want’#and idk they have a girls day (you know getting their nails done - shopping for shoes - going to the gun range - making out - etc)#Root gifts Finch a rare painting or smth sentimental to him like that #but she tries to do it without like stealing anything (to ease his conscience)#(she’s mostly successful)#‘relax Harry I bought this. with money.’ ‘your money?’ ‘…’ ‘it was your money right??’#and idk what Finch gets Reese but I imagine it’s both sentimental and practical so he can use it often #and they have another ‘thanks for giving me a purpose’ moment and it’s gay as hell and we’re all happy #and they all pitch in and buy Fusco some funny ties or smth #and Bear gets lots of toys and treats cuz he’s the best boi #wow uh #you know what I’m not deleting all that imma just keep it in but just to recap this was about Halloween and a funny song they could’ve used #person of interest #poi #john reese #harold finch #sameen shaw #root #🎶song sings🎶

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sombrashe · 11 months ago

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did i hear perv!Troy?? 👁️ 👁️

Troy definitely offers for you to use his shower bc the water pressure is better

definitely not to watch you shower

Troy would also accidentally grab your underwear from the laundry

definitely not to use it for his own personal benefit

Trot would also drop something and ask you to pick it up since his back hurts

definitely not to check your ass out

- 🐇 anon

perv/creep!Troy who uses his vast wealth to make sure your apartment is decked out in security cameras so you can always feel safe <3 it doesn't matter if he has a few extra camera not apart of the security set and who cares if he never tells you where they are. Would you be upset at him if he told you? About the one in the toilet that you never see because he hires someone to clean your apartment so you can relax after work. Maybe you'd be mad about the one in the shower or your bedroom, cameras only he can access as he watches you. Would you hate him for this? You couldn't... of course you cant because you're his. All his <3

God 🐇 i love perv!Troy so much he would smell so good and use such soft words with you despite all the disgusting things going through his head at all times even when he doesn't get to bless his eyes with you in that tight (just fits you nicely, you do work in customer service after all ;)) little uniform. At least he gets to see you when you go home and it satisfies him so he can be calm and collected when seeing you in person

#troy staring at your ass as you pick things up for you and imagining all the things he could do to you if you would just let him #him staring at your tits/pecs under the guise of making sure your new necklace looks good on you and yes you being shirtless is important #troy standing in the doorway watching your shadow through the nice glass showers doors he bought you for Christmas #TROY SNIFFING AND USING YOUR UNDERWEAR FOR PLEASURE AND KEEPING THEM HIDDEN UNDER HIS BED AT HIS DADS PLACE SO YOU NEVER FIND THEM #anon #fear the walking dead #fear the walking dead smut #troy otto #troy otto smut #perv!troy #troy otto x reader #troy otto x reader smut #sombrashe answers

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tarathijewels · 6 months ago

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Also Read : Buy Imitation Necklace Online | Best Mangalsutra Collections

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#Also Read : Buy Imitation Necklace Online | Best Mangalsutra Collections #Do you love accessorizing but have sensitive skin that reacts to certain materials? This might be particularly annoying when buy imitation #especially during the summer months. This can lead to uncomfortable red bumps and rashes #taking away from the joy of wearing jewelry.#The Struggle is Real: Sensitive Skin and Imitation Necklaces #Imagine this: you find the perfect imitation necklace online #only to discover it irritates your skin after just a short while. This can be a real bummer #especially if you were looking forward to adding a touch of style to your outfit. Unfortunately #some imitation necklaces are made with materials that can trap heat and cause irritation for those with sensitive skin.#Tarathi Jewels: Your Solution for Comfortable and Stylish Imitation Necklaces #Here at Tarathi Jewels #we understand the challenges faced by people with sensitive skin. That’s why we offer a beautiful collection of hypoallergenic imitation ne #Here’s what makes Tarathi Jewels a perfect fit for those with sensitive skin:#Hypoallergenic Materials: We use materials specifically chosen to minimize the risk of allergic reactions and irritation. This ensures a ge #Lightweight Designs: Say goodbye to heavy necklaces that trap heat! Our imitation necklaces are lightweight and breathable #allowing your skin to stay cool and comfortable.#Superior Quality: We don’t compromise on quality. Our hypoallergenic materials are also beautiful and durable #so you can enjoy your necklace for years to come.#Experience the Difference with Tarathi Jewels’ Imitation Necklaces #Don’t let heat rash hold you back from the joy of wearing imitation necklaces! Tarathi Jewels offers a solution that combines stunning desi #hypoallergenic materials. Whether you’re looking for a statement piece for a special occasion or a delicate everyday necklace #you can buy imitation necklace online from Tarathi Jewels with confidence #knowing they will feel soft and gorgeous on your skin.#So ditch the discomfort and embrace the beauty of comfortable style. Explore Tarathi Jewels’ collection today and discover the perfect hypo #For any order and shipping info please mail to [email protected] Alternatively you can contact us via Whatsapp on +91 73052 03958. An #TarathiJewels #Imitation #ImitationChoker #ImitationChokerOnline #ImitationNecklaceOnline

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achillesisnotcomingdown · 10 months ago

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In the same vibe as Percy choking Akhlys, may I suggest :

Nico causing wounds to necrotize. Even from a small scratch on your finger, it spreads so fast your only hope is an amputation asap.

Jason holding the air still in your lungs. You're not dying because you don't have air, but because you can't get it out and are literally choking.

Hazel controlling stones in jewelries. Imagine getting chocked by your necklace, your finger being sectioned by your ring, being handcuffed by your bracelets, your head being crushed between your earrings...

Thalia manipulating the electricity in your body. Causing your nervous system to move in certain ways, or just shutting down your brain activity.

The big 3 are terrifying, and I wish we would've seen them (others than Percy) being more op. Cmon Rick, show us reasons the gods are afraid of them !

#i just remember that scene in boo where nico *erase someone's existence*#(idk how to describe it but ykwim)#that was very badass i love that scene #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #percy jackson #thalia grace #percy jackson headcanon #nico di angelo #jason grace #hazel levesque

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these-lovely-monsters · 4 months ago

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Tentacles Under The Bed - Part 1

[NSFW | 18+]

Characters: gn!tentacle monster x f!reader

Content: tentacles, bondage, choking

Trying out some tentacle smut for the first time 🙈

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

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One night, you're getting ready to go to sleep when you accidentally knock your chapstick off your nightstand. It clatters to the floor and rolls under your bed. Grabbing your phone, you turn on the flashlight and shine it underneath the frame. But when you look, there's nothing under your bed but dust bunnies. You definitely saw the chapstick roll under there but now it's just...gone. Now that you think about it, little things have been disappearing from your room lately. A few hair ties, the little rocks you found by the beach which you left on your dresser, the pen you were using to write in your journal. But you have no idea where those things could have gone. Maybe you're just imagining things?

Deciding to deal with your disappearing stuff in the morning, you turn off the lights and climb into bed. As you're settling into your nest of pillows and blankets, you think you hear a faint rustling sound in your room. Freezing, you strain your ears, listening for the sound but you're met with silence, punctuated only by your racing heart. It was probably just the sound of the sheets moving as you got comfortable, right?

You settle back into bed, willing your heart rate to slow down, and try to fall asleep. After several minutes of tossing and turning, you decide that a good orgasm will probably distract you enough and help you relax. Flipping onto your back, you slip one hand into your underwear and start gently rubbing your clit. With the other, you reach under your shirt and knead one of your breasts, pinching and rolling the nipple.

As you start to get more and more wet, your breathing gets heavier and you let out a little moan. You're getting lost in the pleasure that's building inside you until you feel something cool and silky wrap around your ankle. Yelping, you scramble up into a kneeling position and quickly flick on the bedside lamp. Heart in your throat, you're ready to face whatever it was that touched you but nothing is there. Ever so slowly, you bend over the edge of your bed to peer underneath but there's nothing there either. Jeeze, you're definitely just going crazy at this point. Looking over at your lamp, debating whether or not you should just leave it on and try to sleep that way, you see your chapstick sitting right there on the nightstand. What the fuck?

You're contemplating the integrity of your sanity when you hear the rustling sound again. Whipping your head around, you see something reaching out from under your bed. Screaming, you scramble backwards, plastering yourself to the headboard. Gasping for breath, you stare at the freaking TENTACLE that's hovering at the foot of your bed. After a moment, it slowly uncurls its tip and drops something onto your sheets. It gently nudges the thing towards you and then retreats back a few feet.

For a moment, you stay frozen, afraid of what the tentacle will do next. But then, curiosity gets the better of you. Slowly, you reach out your hand towards the object and then snatch your arm back once you have it. Inspecting it, you realize it's a small, shiny pearl that you've never seen before. Where did this come from? And why is the tentacle giving it to you? Looking up, you see another tentacle reaching up from the other side of the bed and you gasp, shuffling back again. This one slowly reaches towards you but stops a few feet from you and drops another object on your bed. This time, when you inspect the object, you find it's a beautiful crystalline necklace pendant. Is it giving you gifts?

Too absorbed in the objects, you don't notice that the first tentacle has reached out to you again until it gently wraps around your wrist. Yelping, you try to pull away but it tightens its grip on your wrist. Then the other tentacle reaches up to your face and gently presses the tip to your lips as if to shush you. Too startled to react again, you stay frozen as the tentacle moves from your mouth to pat you on the head. Then it starts gently caressing your cheek while the first tentacle slowly winds around your wrist. As you try to control your breathing, you take a moment to inspect the tentacle wrapped around your arm. It’s inky black and the surface is cool and silky to the touch. The tip is about the width of your finger but it widens to about the diameter of your thigh towards the base. You also notice that it’s lined with suckers that get bigger as you scan further down the appendage until it disappears under the bed.

The tentacles actually feel kind of nice against your flushed skin and it’s being surprisingly gentle as it explores you. One of the tentacles lifts a strand of your hair, twirling it around the tip. The other slithers across the front of your shirt, bunching the fabric up as if testing the texture. Suddenly another tentacle appears by your leg and pokes at your toes. That tickles and causes you to giggle. It pauses, listening to you laugh and then does it again. You’re about to tell it to cut it out when the one playing with your shirt snakes under the hem and up your stomach. Freezing, you hold still as it winds around your breast and then flicks your nipple with the tip as it squeezes. Gasping, you let out a little moan because that actually feels really good.

This is probably so many levels of wrong but you don’t get time to contemplate your sanity any further because another tentacle snakes up your leg and into your underwear. Before you can jerk away, the tip slides through your wetness and tickles your clit. It gives you a few flicks and then attaches one of the suction cups on the end to your bud. Gently pulling until the suction cup pops off, it repeats the action several more times, pausing to flick your clit now and again. Groaning, you realize you’re still wound up from your earlier unfinished masturbation and need some release. Deciding to say fuck it and let this monster do what it wants with you, you sink back into the pillows while it continues to explore you.

As you get lost in the pleasure of one tentacle on your clit and two more on your breasts, you feel more wrap around your ankles. They gently pull you down, spreading your legs wide as even more wrap around your wrists, doing the same so that you’re now bound, spread eagle in the middle of your bed. You should be afraid, and you are a little, but yet another tentacle reaches up into your underwear, plunging into your pussy and there’s not a single coherent thought in your head. A moment later the bedside lamp flicks off and your room is plunged into darkness. Now you can’t see anything and you can’t do anything except lie there listening to the wet sounds of tentacles fucking you as you feel them slithering across your skin.

You writhe and moan as tentacles squeeze and tickle your nipples and clit, while others suction to your stomach and thighs, making loud popping sounds as they pull off and reattach themselves. The one in your pussy plunges in and out, curling inside you, trying to fit as much of itself in you as it can. The more it pushes inside, the more your walls stretch around its girth and the sensation of fullness becomes overwhelming. Eventually, the tip inside you finds your g spot and you cry out as it flicks the spot over and over again.

Yet another tentacle wraps around your throat and gently squeezes, not enough to completely suffocate you but just enough to make it a little difficult to breathe. Completely at the monster’s mercy, with your entire body pinned down while it fucks you, your pleasure erupts and you come harder than you ever have before. You arch your back as your walls clench around it while the orgasm washes over you. When you finally come down, you sag into your bed, completely spent and satisfied. You feel one of the tentacles reach up and caress your cheek again as you quickly drift off into a heavy sleep.

The next morning, you wake up with a start, memories of the night before turning your cheeks pink with embarrassment and arousal. It must have been a dream because there’s no way that happened. But when you lift your shirt, you see little round sucker marks covering your skin. Smiling to yourself, you get up and start getting ready for the day, hoping your new guest visits you again tonight.

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Well this was supposed to just be a few paragraphs of smut but then I kinda got into introducing the tentacle monster lol 🤷‍♀️

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

#monster fucker #terato #monster lover #monster smut #monster x reader #monster #tentacles #these lovely monsters #tlm tentacles #tlm stories #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster girlfriend #f!reader #gn!monster #eldritch

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