#my beloved ghost and me

[si1verghosts]

my beloved ghost and me | ch. 0

post-di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 1.8k

18+ | cw: major character death

read on ao3

a/n: hi! this is something i've been working on since april - i intended to wait until the story was complete to begin posting it but i impulsively decided to share this on ao3 last night sooo...

as things stand, i have about 40k written for this already, but most of the chapters are incomplete due to my inability to write sequentially. so updates will come, i just can't say for certain when... sorry!! i'll likely add an unnecessarily lengthy introduction at some point explaining the inspiration for this but for now all i will say is that this is a love story. and i hope you will join me on the journey through it :-)

not beta read - all mistakes my own or done purposely due to my general disrespect for the grammatical conventions of the english language.

please do not use my work to train any sort of Al chat bot and/or writing generator. thank you.

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The official theme of this poem is

The official theme of all my poems which is

You get in love and then you die!

- Hera Lindsay Bird, "Having Already Walked Out On Everyone I Ever Said I Loved." (x)

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May 19th, 2026

---

The sun is high and sparkling when Leon leaves in a whirlwind, collecting holsters and guns and papers and keys. The window is thrown open, the fresh cut grass floating in on a breeze - you will suffer for it later, but you love the way Leon wears the smell; his warmth softening the sharp edges of the scent.

The door is ajar, his car idling in the drive when he finally slows, lingers; hands at your waist and nose in your neck.

"Stop," you whine, palms against his chest; condensation building on your glass of orange juice on the counter. "I haven't showered."

"Don't care," he mutters into your skin; sniffing obnoxiously, disgustingly.

You squirm under his touch as he drags his nose up your throat, peppers kisses along your cheek, fingers pulling you closer and closer.

Jack grumbles at your feet - your gallant protector in his fluffy brown coat of armor. Leon detaches himself from you to crouch down and scratch behind his ears; levels his gaze, voice serious, "You take care of our girl, okay?"

It's the same song and dance every time Leon leaves. Like clockwork, Jack's tongue lolls out of his mouth - of course, always.

Satisfied, Leon stands to full height once again, tan skin radiant and highlighted hair shimmering under the brilliance of the forenoon rays. Blue eyes holding your gaze, he nods down to Jack, "This is my most trusted associate - you'll be safe with him."

You roll your eyes, tugging on his collar, "Shut up and kiss me, hotshot."

And he does, hands falling back to your hips as yours find their way to his neck, capturing the strands at his nape between your fingers. He wanders under your rumpled shirt, calloused skin contradictorily soft, soothing, gentle.

His minty coffee morning taste replaces the staleness of sleep still resting on your tongue, clearing the residual lethargy from your mind. You long to slam the door closed, lock the windows, pull him back to bed and keep him there - fuck the country, fuck the world; he was yours to have and to hold.

You retreat before you can act on your selfish thoughts, voice a whisper against his mouth, "Duty calls, Agent Kennedy."

He hums, eyes still closed; presses his lips against yours once, twice, three times more. He pulls back, hesitating - stay, stay, stay, you silently beg - but it only lasts a moment before he shakes his head, clears his throat, laces your fingers together.

He takes you with him over the threshold and out into the building heat of the late Virginia spring; as far as you're able to go. Jack darts out from behind you and into the yard, redirecting to run laps around Leon's car when he opens the driver's door; your husband chuckles at the Bernese before leaning in to kiss you again.

You've said the same goodbye a hundred and one times but it still aches, burns; worry swelling in your throat as you force yourself to smile when he steps back. "I'll leave the light on," you promise, as you always do.

"No need - it's just Raleigh," Leon allays while he slips behind the wheel, hand still in your own. "I should be home before dinner if Hunnigan is feeling generous and lets me file the report tomorrow."

"I'll give her a call," you grin, letting him pull you into his chest. "Let her know she's welcome to use excessive force to get you to complete your paperwork, if need be."

He throws himself back against the headrest with a groan, silky hair fluttering with the movement. "You two are so mean to me," he grumbles. "I never should've let you be friends."

You laugh, a single snort that gets his eyes glittering, "Hilarious."

Releasing your hand, he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head towards him and capturing your mouth one last time. He sucks on your bottom lip in a way that assures his intent to seek retribution. You get lost in it for a moment, stomach clenching; dizzy with the desire to slip inside him, join him on his journeys into the darkness, tucked away safely next to his heart.

He separates the kiss when he notices you've nearly crawled inside the car with him; smirking at your glazed expression. Smug bastard.

The air moves, cooling the spit on your lip, sending a shiver through you. He swipes his thumb along your pout, immediately returning the warmth to the skin.

"Goodbye, sweetheart," he drawls, still managing to make you weak in the knees after all these years. "I love you."

"Bye," you retreat slowly, sorrowfully; swaying on the blacktop as you push his door shut. "I love you too - more than anything."

"More than anything," he repeats, holding his pinky out through the window. You knot your littlest fingers together for half a breath, stepping back as he reverses out of the drive.

Jack nudges your thigh as Leon drives away, off to save the world again - just another Tuesday.

-

You type away until the early evening - working, just barely. It was always difficult to do anything when Leon was away, especially write emails answering the same questions three times over. But you needed some way to distract yourself, to keep you from the news - Leon had made you swear not to watch it. "If there's something you need to know, you'll be told," he promised, smoothing down your hair, kissing your forehead.

A knock pulls you from your computer and your office, moving towards the foyer, Jack's nails clicking against the hardwood as he follows along. Feet planted in the same spot where Leon had kissed you goodbye a few hours ago, you pull open the door to find Ingrid.

Years ago, sometime between when hooking up turned into having dinner, Leon had sat you down, told you his job was unconventional. "It's very likely that one of these days I won't come home," he had said, blue eyes pinning you in place at his kitchen table. "I'm not telling you this to scare you; I just can't… You deserve to know. I understand if you want to leave; don't want to deal-"

You had laughed, cutting him short. It had been three months - maybe four - but you couldn't fathom the idea of walking away, of leaving him - at least not voluntarily.

Your chuckles had melted down into concern, confusion. "If you don't want to be with me Leon, just say that - I'll understand. You don't have to make up stories-"

It was his turn to interrupt you, but he had done it kinder, gentler; falling to a knee in front of you. "No. No, that's not… I can't explain, can't give details but I mean it. I want you," he had sighed, head falling forward, fringe following. "But tomorrow, next week, a year from now - I could be gone. I just need you to know that."

It was cryptic and disquieting, you should've pushed for clarification, should've gotten up and left - but he said I want you. Those three words had echoed around your skull and bounced around your heart. I want you I want you I want you.

Anyone who had ever met you wouldn't say sanity was something you possessed in spades - you leaned in, took his face between your hands and kissed him.

In the years since, you believed you had prepared yourself for the worst, for the inevitable. You had even had a few false alarms; training runs - the three weeks he had dropped off the face of the earth, unreachable in the European wilderness; the bullet through his femoral artery, resulting in near total blood loss; the tubes down his throat after a six-hour surgery to repair his punctured lung.

Leon had warned you and you had made your choice.

But Ingrid's presence on your doorstep throws you - if something happened, you should've been called. That's how these things work; your phone rings, providing you with what little information they can.

Instead, she steps over the threshold, "Have you watched the news?"

"No," you frown. "Leon doesn't… Why are you here?"

Ingrid falls forward, you embrace her on instinct, feel her choke on a sob; feel the blood freeze in your veins, stop cold. "I'm sorry."

You aren't stupid, you know what she means. You understand it, had internalized the expectation of it. Still, you don't comprehend her words. "Sorry?"

She steps back, holding your hands, someone's hands - you can't be sure they are yours, can't find them. "I'm," she shakes her head, "So sorry."

"For what?"

You don't recognize her as she frowns, almost whimpers - can't force out the words.

"I need you to say it," you urge.

She braces herself, closes her eyes, "Leon's dead."

"How?" You feel vile for torturing her, but you can't help it - you have to hear it.

She swallows, shudders. "A bomb - it wiped out the entire block. He was clear, but," she stops to heave. "He went back in, apparently."

"I," she stutters, straightens her spine. "I lost his signal. The last transmission I was able to hear, he said there were still civilians inside. So he must've went back in… He always… He always had to go back in.

"They're searching still but," she heaves again. You should really offer her a seat, a drink, a tissue - you're being a terrible host. "The building witnesses said he… He ran into - it's almost like it was vaporized; there's hardly even any rubble left. There's nothing to search."

"Okay," you nod. "Thank you - for letting me know."

You step back, make for the kitchen, "Can I get you anything?"

She looks shocked, understandably. She's had a rough day. "I… No, thank you."

"Alright - I'm going to put on some tea, you're welcome to stay."

She closes the distance between you, grabs your elbows, shakes you ever so slightly. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, there was a bomb; you guys think he's dead," you nod at her again, slower this time. "Leon has been blown up before - more times than I can count, but I'm sure you have the records. Give the search crews a few more hours, he's probably just having a nap under a steel beam or something. You know-"

"No," she interjects."I'm sorry - but no." She's crying now, you notice; tears cutting tracks through her foundation as she squeezes your elbows again. "I need you to understand; I'm telling you, he's dead."

"No," you laugh, trembling all over with the force of it. "No - he wouldn't… I'm telling you, he's ju-"

"Listen," she shakes you, words sharp, certain. "He's gone."

Tomorrow, next week, a year from now - I could be gone. I just need you to know that.

The room tilts as his words reverberate around your skull, "He's gone?"

"Yes," she sobs. You wonder if you're crying too. "He's gone."

You open your mouth to respond, but can't figure out how to form the words. You sink to your knees and scream.

[clandestine-weepings]

He was a hothouse flower to my outdoorsman Our maladies were such we could not cure them And so a touch that was my birthright became foreign

How Did It End? | Taylor Swift

Digital art by me - prints available here

[windssong]

My Beloved Ghost and Me // Astarion x Original Tav

series summary: Haunted by a past that refuses to quiet, Summer is forced to step up during a time of great turmoil for her group of tadpole invested companions. As they make their way to Baulders Gate, relationships and spirits are tested. Yet, the love for a certain Pale Elf rises above it all.

CHAPTER 1 - The Camp Ghost

chapter summary: After a night of drinking away her problems, Summer is determined to makes things right. The universe has a funny way of showing her how.

word count: 5k+

warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon violence, talks of past abuse, death, grief, slow burn, eventual smut

series masterlist

authors note:

ITS FINALLY HERE! Chapter 1! My baby! I’ve been working on this for a while and it’s finally done. After waiting over a year to play bg3 again, I picked it back up to go through every difficulty mode and beat them all. And so far it’s brought back my hyperfixation for the game and Astarion of course.

This series focuses a lot on my original character and her arc along with Astarions. It follows the main storyline but I start off this series near the end of act 1 going into act 2, with some deviations of course because it’s my fanfic and I’m having fun with it.

Feedback, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated. Thanks for reading!

—

The Knight stood in the corner of her tent, pulling a sword from his neck.

The candle burned eagerly beside her bed, casting shadows across the walls. The flames illuminated a scene she was all too familiar with.

Summer watched him through half moon eyes. Strands of golden hair covered her lids like lightning strikes across the sky. Her body was completely frozen, she could not move. No matter how hard she fought and clawed at invisible hands holding her down, she laid there, stuck between a dream and reality. Watching, for hours never ending.

The Oathbreaker stood like a gargoyle against the wall. Two shining sapphires piercing the darkness through his golden helmet, unblinking. The curved blade glowed a misty maroon in his hands. The sword as long as his entire body.

There was no blood pouring from the wound in his neck this time. On those nights, she’d wake screaming. Shadowheart or Tav would be the ones to check on her afterwards. A quick restoration spell and a heartfelt speech from their leader later, and she was back to a lonely tent staring at the spot where the phantom once stood.

But tonight, there were whispers. Whispers so quiet the wind took the words away with it, mistaking it for itself. Summer could still hear them.

“Carry.” He was humming the word over and over again. The repetition grinding like teeth against her ears. “Carry.”

There was a slight tingle running down her arms. Her fingers gripped the dirt below. She was waking up.

He spoke louder. He sounded so young. Too young. “Carry.”

Her eyes popped wide open, hands trembling, dirt filing her nails. “Go away!”

He slammed the curved sword into the ground. “Carry!”

She woke to the sound of arguing outside her tent. A ray of sunlight highlighted the now empty corner of her room. Her arm was outstretched toward a faded apparition. Dirt fell from her hand onto the blanket slipping off her sweating body. The Knight was gone and morning had come once again.

Summer sighed in relief. Ever since a tadpole was forced inside her skull, the dreams had only gotten worse. But at least it was over, for now. She winced at the pounding in her head, instinctively gripping her chest.

She swore she’d lay off the wine last night. She had camp duties in the morning after all. But they saved the Emerald Grove and the Tieflings after defeating the Goblin camp leaders.

Why not join in on the celebration?

Well, her companions did the saving. Summer sat back at camp tending to a wound on her thigh that had no business being there. If only she were quick enough to block the Goblins blade. But she could not spare any efforts towards the defense when Astarion was in the crossfires of a poison arrow aimed straight for the heart. There was no time to react to the Absolute Goblin swinging his weapon from behind as she pushed Astarion out of harm's way, barely missing the arrow herself.

The Greatsword left behind a black glow around the wound as the Goblin sliced through a weak spot in her armor, right above the knee. Summer ended them right there with a mace to the head, nearly stumbling to the ground before Shadowheart caught her.

Shadowheart’s healing did nothing to close the wound. There was magic preventing her from doing so. Potions helped with the overwhelming sickness she was afflicted with, but didn’t heal the injury either. Summer demanded her companions leave her at camp while they went on one last mission to rescue Halsin. Hours later, they came back bloody, bruised, yet smiling or complaining about the guts stuck in their armor as the Druid trailed behind them. Summer tried to smile back. Her body fought against it.

Thankfully, Halsin was able to heal the injury. Unlike their shared tadpoles. He successfully removed the magic that was preventing the wound from healing on its own. But it was painful and a scar remained. He said the phantom pain could continue to linger for some time. He wasn’t sure how long, maybe forever. The wound was deeper than they both expected. The dark magic was unfamiliar to him, though it was eerily similar to shadow magic. He had no idea how the Absolute follower got their hands on such a special blade.

It belonged to her now. The Greatsword ran 5 feet in length. The hilt was sturdy and the blade made of an unfamiliar substance. A unique pattern of rings ran down the middle of the sword. Each ring connected to the other, and each glowed different colors when in combat. She wondered how that worked. And how the Goblin was able to wield such a heavy weapon. Even she struggled to. But it was a good blade and she’d get used to it.

When she was young and in training, one of the first lessons she learned was to name her blade. If you wielded a weapon in battle, you needed to give it the proper respect it deserved, or else the sword would begin to spite you. Swords bonded to you, much like your Oath. Treat it as you’d treat that Oath. That was the only custom from The Sundrop Circle that she still used to this day. The rest, well, the rest could rot in all Nine Hells.

Countless names popped into her head. “The Monster Slayer. No, too generic. The Black Glow. No, it turns multiple different colors. The Astarion Protector.” That one got a small smile out of her.

And there it was. Another reason she chose to drown in the bottle last night.

She remembered seeing Astarion walking out into the woods. Out into the clear night, some ways away, and a few moments later, their leader followed him. And she knew what that meant. She’d seen the way they flirted, back and forth on the road. Or when Tav would rush out of Astarions tent, skin having lost some of its color, a satisfied smirk on the vampire's face as he watched him go.

It was hard to tell if what they had was real or not. Astarion didn’t seem to like Tav, or most of them half of the time. Or did he? What was real or wasn’t was hard to decipher. It still hurt either way. She couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly why.

What a silly thing it was. Even a mere brush of a feeling could have you stocking up on bandages to hold against a bleeding heart, no matter how small the cuts.

So, Summer drowned whatever those feelings were in a drinking game with Karlach and of course, Karlach had won.

She briefly recalled attempting to sing with Alfria afterwards, but that must have gone over as badly as it sounded given the broken Lute laying beside her.

“Shit.” Summer sat up, cradling the instrument in her hands. Alfria’s instrument. The strings hung off the edge, detached and the wood splintered and peeling off. It smelled like ale. Summer cursed, reeling over the mess she had made that she couldn’t even remember making. She would have to make it up to her.

But this was her old teacher's instrument. Lihala’s Lute. It was priceless. How could anyone ever make up for something so irreplaceable now smashed to pieces?

“I’ll make this right.” She was determined. Instead of replacing what was once lost, she would mend it all together. “There has to be someone in the Underdark or Shadow-Cursed Lands who could fix this.”

The group were preparing to enter the Underdark first thing tomorrow morning if all else failed today. Tav, Gale, Lazel and Shadowheart were already at The Rosymorn Monastery, still looking for anything that could help get rid of the worms in their skulls. Although the Dream Visitor was trying to convince them all otherwise. Summer now had to deal with three entities crowding her head at night.

Gods, it was nearly a month into their journey and she was already dragging them all down. It didn't help that she stayed behind at camp more than any other person in their party. She still went out adventuring with her companions, but those precious moments were becoming more and more fleeting. Her injury was a reminder of that.

“Behind.” The Knight hissed the word a few nights ago. Blood spit through his teeth and out of the jaws of his plate of armor. “Behind.” She woke up sobbing then. No screams this time, just bitter tears.

Summer peered down at the spot on her thigh where a fresh scar formed underneath her pants. She had a new scar to match the burn scar on her chest and across her face.

Maybe it would be better if she never joined this group. She was dead weight at this point. She’d only slow them down.

—

The Camp Ghost, Astarion had officially declared her as one evening during their first week together after the Nautiloid crash.

She knew he was a Vampire the moment she saw him, that part was obvious. He would beg to differ. But she didn’t want to scare him off, so she ignored his red eyes and handed him his dinner. He accepted it without sparing her a glance. It was a sad meal of stale bread, dried meat and funny looking carrots. But it was the best they had at the moment. She caught the disgusted curl of his lips before he quickly covered it with a smile. She returned to her spot under the shade of a tree, mind wandering to other places.

“Absolutely delectable.” He said. Before he dug in, or pretended to, he stopped himself. “Wait, who handed me this?” His gaze landed on the Wizard already halfway done with his food.

“Don’t look at me.” Gale said.

“Wait, look at me.” Karlach said through a mouth stuffed with bread, smiling as wide as she could.

Astarion grimaced. “Wyll, maybe you should’ve killed the poor girl instead of leaving us with whatever this is.”

Wyll glared at him, still not fully trusting of his new champion.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, I was only joking. Mostly. Will someone with a shred of dignity left give me an answer?”

“The Sun,” Lazel stated plainly. She was standing at the edge of camp, watching for enemies. “They prepared your meal.”

Astarion tracked the evening sun as it made its way toward its hiding spot for the night. He looked back at Lazel, then it clicked. “Oh! Of course.” Astarion drank in the remaining sunlight before it faded away. “Thank you bright orb. You’ve never done me wrong. Never even gave me a sunburn. I’m honored.” He put his fingers to his hand playfully, as if his skin was sizzling to the touch.

Shadowheart looked up from her empty plate and rolled her eyes at the obvious joke. “Lady of Sorrows.”

Lazel narrowed her eyes at the Cleric, then at the Rogue. “Are your ears full of blood, Elf? I was referring to Sunny.”

At the mention of the nickname, Summer came to her senses, lost in thought while the conversation revolving around her played out.

“It’s Summer.” She corrected her. That nickname was reserved for one person to use and one person only. But she knew she meant no harm.

Lazel returned to her spot at the edge of the trees. “My apologies, Summer.”

“No worries.” She smiled softly.

“Ah, yes.” Astarion turned his attention to the woman sitting on the log behind him. “Of course it was the Camp Ghost.”

Summer cocked her head to the side. “Camp ghost?”

Shadowheart flinched and looked down at her hand for a brief moment before shaking it off like nothing happened. “What are you going on about now?”

“You’ve never heard?” He leaned in closer as if to tell a frightening tale over the fire. “Every camp has one. Where there’s a campsite, you’ll find a ghost. Whether it’s moving your things to different locations, or mysteriously handing you a bowl of food, they’ll be there. Without you even noticing.” He looked over at Wyll who decided to join the rest of them at the campfire. “What about you, Warlock? I’m sure you know much more about the dead than I do?”

Wyll raised his eyebrows at one. “Maybe that’s a question best answered by Withers.”

Astarion deflated at his words, hands motioning towards the undead sitting by himself away from the rest of the group. “I’d rather be haunted by our camp ghost forever than speak to him.”

“He’s not that bad.” Wyll said.

“He speaks in riddles. Of course he's that bad!”

“Withers is very wise, Astarion.” Gale said. He stood up, mouthing a quick thank you towards Summer. “It would do all of us some good to take his words with extra care and consideration.”

“What the Wizard said.” Karlach chimed in. “I wasn’t listening but what he said is probably true.”

Astarion put his head in his hands, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m surrounded by a bunch of weirdos.”

“Get used to it.” Tavs voice echoed through the tree line. He walked past rows of makeshift tents. Their new companion, Scratch, was running between his legs. He returned the long sword he was practicing with onto his back. “Because whether you like it or not, us weirdos are your only chance at stopping you from turning into a Mindflayer.” He tapped on his temple.

Lazel gave him an approving nod.

Summer saw in real time Astarions ability to slip into another facet of himself with such ease. He sat up, looking down at his nails. “Of course, of course. Lead the way, hero.”

The Padalin was satisfied with his answer, stepping towards the plate of food Summer set aside for him. He picked it up, and Astarion moved to the side, expecting him to sit down beside him. But he brushed right past, sitting next to the only other Paladin in camp. Summer tensed up. He gave her a sweet smile, then dug into his meal.

Astarion didn’t let the disappointment in his eyes and shoulders last long. He yawned into his open palm, waving everyone a goodnight before disappearing inside his tent.

—

In that moment, Summer and Tavs' roles were solidified within the group. She became the Camp Ghost and he became the leader and Hero.

It was hard not to compare him to the Paladins she’d trained under before. Back then she was too naive to know that honor was dying, and her masters made sure she was the one that delivered the final blow.

But she saw the compassion and sense of duty in his everyday actions. The way he saved those refugees, a poor widow from a hag, and sliced down enemies left and right.

Even in the quiet moments.

He let Astarion feed on him to get stronger, and listened attentively to Gale's endless array of knowledge. Him and Wyll would confide in each, and occasionally dance the night away. He woke early in the morning, practicing the sword daily with Lazel and repeated his Oaths as a Padalin and to his God. He’d take time to feed Sketch and the owl bear cub with Shadowheart, and was currently 2 kill counts ahead of Karlach in their own challenge. And lastly, she saw it in his steady hands handing her a cup of water after one of her night terrors.

He was the kind of Paladin Summer dreamed of becoming as a child. The ones she witnessed save her people from the evil that ransacked her small city and took her and her brother in to train under. The same kind that eventually destroyed that very city and her entire world along with it.

Summer had seen plenty of heros fall. She wouldn’t let that surprise her again.

Before she could stand up and start the day, in a swift motion, hands popped through the entryway of the tent. “What in the hells is this!?” The vampire shook the book in his hands as if it were the one doing the talking. “When I said I wanted more books to read, I didn’t mean one full of the worst jokes to grace all of Faerun.”

Summer grinned at the vampire's annoyed tone. He was holding a book she had since she was a child. A Guide to Humor and Light. Written by the infamous bard Fenya The Laugher. After being cursed by a hag to wander Faerun with fits of uncontrollable laughter, she wrote this book over 50 years ago in hopes of making others laugh for more lighthearted reasons than her own curse.

She remembered spending hours learning all the lines from the book. Most nights, she’d try to memorize every joke and recite them to her family the next day. Her mother sometimes found her sleeping with her head glued to the pages. It was a nice memory. “It’s a special book. I think they’re funny.” She thought about it for a moment. “At least some of them.”

Astarion huffed. “Then you are a lost cause if I’d ever seen one.” He pulled the book towards him, she could see his legs through the tent flaps and hear the sounds of fingers flipping through paper. His hands came back through, pointing to a specific line on the page. “What do devils say when in times of trouble?”

Summer remembered this one. She gripped her throat as if she were choking, the other hand grasping for air. “Helllllps!” She gasped, dragging out the L’s. That always make her brother laugh.

Astarion popped his head into the tent, an annoyed look on his face. “You sure know how to make a fool out of yourself. Yesterday was no exception.”

“Are you okay, by the way? I didn’t mean to push you into Karlach like that.”

“You saved my life and you're worried about me?” He bore a quizzical smile. “Your concern is… sweet. But unnecessary. Even though it did feel like slamming into the side of a mountain. Well, I suppose it was either that or an arrow to the heart and I can’t really complain about avoiding that.” His body was halfway through the tent by now, one leg outside and one in.

Astarion looked down at the spot where she was cut. It looked like he was about to say something, his mouth opening and closing quickly. But he stopped himself.

An awkward silence filled the tent. Summer swallowed dryly. She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder at the broken Lute. “How badly did I mess things up?”

He tapped his finger against his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “The details are rather tedious. Karlach wouldn’t stop blaming herself for what happened all morning. I so wish the others had taken me with them.” He looked out towards the open wilderness behind him. “On second thought, breaking into a temple full of Githyanki sounds like an awful idea.”

Shit, it was already the afternoon. She’d slept in longer than she had wanted. “What was she worried about?” Summer braced herself for the inevitable, clawing at her pants out of pure shame. Her scar stung in anticipation.

Astarion grinned. “Apparently you told the crowd you were going to hit a high note never achieved before in all of history. Then you stumbled over that bard's tail and on top of her poor little instrument.” He paused. “She stormed out of camp after that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, a habit she tried to grow out of but never could. “I’m guessing I didn’t make it back here on my own last night?”

“Of course not. No, Wyll carried you off. Like the sweet Prince he is.” He held his hands together as if he were praying.

Summer made a mental note to go and thank him for that later.

“I wouldn’t count on him remembering such a silly thing. Everyone was as drunk as you were by then.” He said as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She groaned and ran a hand down her face, swiping away wisps of loose hair. “I overindulged. Big mistake, clearly.”

“I know the feeling.” He smirked, wiping off imaginary blood from the side of his lip with his thumb. “No mistakes. Clearly.”

Summer swatted away images of Astarion holding Tav in his arms. Lips against lips and teeth against skin. ���So, I take it you didn’t like the book?”

“Or course I didn’t!” The vampire spawn flipped through the pages again. “Look at what you subjected this beautiful mind to. I’m pretty sure my tadpole nearly died and I along with it.”

“You mean I found the cure?” Summer jumped up. Her head was still pounding and her scar stretching in pain, but she continued the theatrics. “From a middling joke book? I’ve saved the day!”

Astarion shut the book with a dramatic thud, setting the book in her hands. “Unbelievable.” He mumbled. His cold fingers brushed hers for a moment. She hoped he couldn’t hear the slight increase in her pulse.

Astarion turned to leave. “You're very lucky I had company last night, or I would have woken you out of that drunken slumber and made you watch as I burned it. One page at a time.”

And just like that, the pulse weakened. “And why would I let you do that? Drunk and all, I would’ve just pushed you away. Again.”

Astsrion stopped, his ruby red eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Huh. I’d like to see you try. Again.” And then he was off.

And she was alone. The corner of her tent shimmered with a past light. She could see endless dreams playing out over and over in her head. She remembered all of them.

Maybe it was a sign? A sign she should crawl back into her bed, finally face the Knight haunting her after all these years. Try and become worthy of standing toe to toe with her fellow companions. Find the beating heart within her that stopped long ago. The heart that used to protect and lead with everything she had.

But the thought crippled her. She stood frozen for some time, in her little space, thinking of a curved blade driven inside soft flesh. Summer didn’t want to face it. She didn’t want to remember any of it. But every night, it came. He came. Even the tadpole wouldn't allow her to escape that.

Then, Tav's voice called for her from outside. They had returned from the Rosymorn Monastery. She wondered what new information they had now.

Summer set the book by her bed and hurried to put on her clothes. She winced while pulling her light armor over the scar. It was jagged and thick. It ran from the bottom of her hip to the top of her knee. A line of white flesh that was forever. She forced herself not to focus on the mistake and attached the broken Lute to her back, along with her new Enchanted Sword.

When she finally joined the others, she found Astarion standing next to Tav, his Spidersilk armor glistening in the light. She admired the way he soaked in the sun. His smile reached his ears, his arms outstretched, welcoming the warmth like a hug. Astarion had not known that feeling for 200 years. She’d never seen anyone look more alive and grateful for it.

Tav turned towards his fellow Paladin, extending a smile. His red hair fell in a wave of curls, reaching the base of his neck. It was already covered in dirt and grime. “Good. You're awake.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. I take it you enjoyed yourself last night. I know we did.” He said without thinking, his gaze lingering on Astarion. His cheeks turned a light shade of red. His brown eyes flashed with panic. “I mean I did. I did enjoy myself. By myself. With myself.”

Astarion smirked as their leader stumbled over his words. Summer was desperate for a change in conversation. “Did you find a cure with the Githyanki?”

Tav cleared his throat. “Not exactly.” He motioned toward Shadowheart and Lazel arguing quite loudly in the middle of camp. Halsin stood over them, trying to keep the peace. It looked like Shadowheart picked up a new weapon. It was glowing a soft, radiant light. “This way. We have much to discuss. Lazel has chosen to defy Vlaakith.”

Summer looked over at Lazel in shock. “What in the hells happened while I was out?”

“A lot. And so little at the same time. We are no closer to removing these tadpoles from our minds. But, I trust Halsin. Moonrise Towers is where we will head to next. It’s the only way.”

Tav took notice of the broken Lute strapped to her back. “Isn’t that Alfiras? What happened to it?”

Summer frowned. “Yes it is. I was a drunken fool all night. I don’t even remember breaking it.”

“I heard she stormed out of camp very upset last night. I thought it was the wine. Looks like I was wrong. Why’d she live it with you then?”

Summer shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m going to fix this. I have to.”

Astarion laughed. “You’re going to spend what precious time you have left before you violently turn into a Mindflayer by fixing a broken Lute? For someone you barely know?”

She looked at him with daggers in her eyes. “It was my fault. So, yes.”

“Enjoy wasting your time then.” He waved her off.

“I will.”

Tav stopped for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Slight change of plans.” He said.

“How slight?” Astarion asked.

“Well, for one, you’ll be staying behind again. I need Summer on this one.”

Summer raised an eyebrow at the Vampire. “You sure? Wouldn’t want you wasting so much precious time. Isn’t that what you were saying?”

“It’s fine by me.” Astarion said, tapping his foot against the dirt. “I deserve a break. And that my dear, is not a waste.” He grinned, turning his attention to the argument nearby.

“And Summer,” Tav put his hand on top of her shoulder as Astarion left. He met her eye to eye. “I know you don’t like talking about it. But your oath.”

Summer wished the ground would swallow her whole. Her jaw clenched. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“Hold your head high, Summer. You shall be an Oathbreaker no long-”

Warm blood splattered across her face before he could finish his sentence. She heard Astarion shouting to take cover.

He shoved her to the ground, covering his entire body over hers as a rain of arrows came crashing down around them. Before any of them hit her, a wall of ice was cast around the three of them.

She could hear the shuffling of feet, animals barking and gnashing their teeth and spells being thrown left and right. Swords rang and shimmered in the sunlight. The yellow hue from her weapon reflected off the ice. She looked up at her own reflection. Blood ran down her face and clung to her hair. Some even fell on the broken lute attached to her back.

Astarions hands enveloped her head protectively, as if he didn’t notice the wall of ice surrounding them. His eyes were shut tight, body pressed up against her own. He held on so tightly she felt the pressure from his cold fingers against her forehead. It was cold all around them.

“Astarion?” She called his name.

He opened his eyes. The vampire hesitated, then quickly removed himself from her back. “That was close.” He said, breathing out deeply. He took a step back to get a better view of the wall of ice that had saved them. Arrow heads poked out to greet them from the other side. “Way too close.”

Summer felt the blood drying on her face. “What just happened?”

Astarion gasped. “Oh shit.”

She followed his gaze, turning her body a few degrees before coming face to face with a dead body.

Summer had seen too many dead bodies to count during her travels. From the innocent, the evil, the everyday citizen, her own friends whom she failed to lead to safety all those years ago and lastly, her own brother. But it never got easier. You just learned how to deal with it.

Blood pooled into Tavs eye sockets. An oasis of death swam in those lifeless pupils. The arrow had pierced his skull, right in the center of his forehead. It was an instant kill shot, made from a highly skilled archer. She could still see his eyelids and lips twitching.

There was so much blood she was drowning in it. It was suffocating her. “Shadowheart! Halsin! We need you! Now!” She shouted, voice rough and full of dust.

The battle had ended as the ice came down around them. Water soaked her pants and gloves where she sat next to his dead body. The little pools of melted ice took on a violent, red hue.

The Druid stepped over his own vines two dead goblins were stuck in. “Oh no.” Halsin knelt beside Tav's body, checking for any sign of life. His head fell. “He’s gone.”

Astarion paced back and forth. “We knew that already! So what are you waiting for? Bring him back!”

Halsin hesitated, but continued to channel everything he had onto their leader. His magic illuminated Tav's entire body.

Karlachs face was cloaked in pain. “Soldier?” She spoke to the lifeless body. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Lazel bent her head in reverence.

Scratch and The Owlbear cub were sniffing at the dead bodies spread across the campground.

Wyll pulled his blade out from a Worgs skull. “An ambush. Goblins. It looks like they got what they came for. Revenge.” He looked down at their leader, eye cloudy.

Then, Tavs head began violently shaking back and forth.

“What in the hells?” Astarion took a step back.

The tadpole managed to wiggle its way out from the back of his eye, landing in the pool of water below.

“Fuck you!” Karlach yelled. She swung her fiery axe in a wave of fury. The tadpole became mush underneath her strength.

Gale came into view, staring at the dead parasite. “I’m afraid it will take more than a simple healing spell to bring him back.” The top of his quarterstaff burned like a torch. “It takes a great deal of magic to cast a spell as difficult as raising the dead.”

Astarion whipped his head around. “And who asked you? Last time I checked, you were lounging around while we handled all the fighting.” The vampire looked him up and down. “Not a speck of blood on you. How disappointing.”

Gale held up a finger. “I’ll have you know, I saved both of your lives back there with that ice wall.”

“Not quick enough to save three.”

The Wizard took a step closer. “You are-”

“Enough!” Summer shouted. Astarion and Gale looked down at her, both shocked. She bit the inside of her cheek again, forcing herself to stand and take the lead. “We need to focus.” She looked to the two healers. “Is there really nothing we can do?”

Shadowheart and Halsin shared a knowing glance. She spoke first. “Our magic isn’t strong enough. If he were still clinging to life, then yes, we could. But things work a lot differently when you're dead.”

“She’s right. Messing with the natural world always comes with a price. And death is the highest one to pay.” Halsin suddenly stopped casting his magic. “I fear he may be too far from my reach to pull back. And if I did, he wouldn’t be the same.”

Astarion clenched his fists. “So, that’s it then? Unbelievable.” He cursed under his breath. “All those efforts? Just poof? Gone?”

The Oathbreaker looked past the group of solemn survivors, down by the small stream they set their camp next to. An idea popped into her head. “Of course.” She breathed, running past her companions.

“Where is she going?” Karlach asked.

Wyll joined Halsin and Shadowheart as they knelt beside their leader. “To speak with Withers.”

Halsin closed Tavs eyes gently. “A good idea. Out of everyone, he may be able to help.”

Withers sat on a rock by a steady stream. Fish swam over his bony feet. He was staring down at them. Summer stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She tried to ignore the taste of his blood in her mouth. Or was that hers? Probably both. “Can you bring him back?”

The undead looked up at the figure shrouded in a storm of determination and crippling uncertainty. “Does thou not know?”

“Know what?”

He looked at the dead body from across the camp grounds. “Thy leader has returned to his God.”

Summer's eyes froze. “No. That can’t be.” She could see old friends staring lifelessly up at her from the water. She kicked a rock into the stream and they disappeared, along with the fishes. “Make him come back. I know you can contact him. Do it.”

Withers hummed. “Thine anger is understandable. But thou should know, he is at peace. He does not want to return.” He stood and walked the path up the stream bed. He eventually disappeared into the line of trees.

Summer was left speechless. A growing panic ran through her. She gripped her chest. Her scar burned over her breast and the other on her thigh.

The Oathbreaker forced herself to appear steady and calm while the others watched from afar, unknowing. But all she could think about was the blood in her mouth, and the Knight with a curved sword in his throat whispering, “Carry.”

She could hear him in the wind.

—

CH 2 - coming soon

[dancefloors]

Funny how people thought this would be a breakup album and it’s really not except for so long london that is probs the most straight up break up song and it’s def one of if not the best song out of all 31

the "break up" songs (so long london, the black dog, how did it end) are among the strongest. I know she hates to hear it but her break up anthem pen is kinda unmatched...

[wearenotasfarwest]

Getting ready for moving day ):

[skyrigel]

Simon and reader would be the last one to know they're in a relationship.

Soap would groan inwardly, when you would hop on to sit on Simon's lap because there was no 'room' on the bench.

And not the way you jittered, “Try this !” to him, holding Simon's jaw and feeding him with your own spoon. Ofcourse friend could feed one another, but Price drew the line at the intense way your thumb wiped the corner of their lieutenant's mouth and sucked it back.

Something, something about the way you kissed Simon in the middle of the room —because your chapstick's flavour was damn good and Simon ought to know that; Kyle rambled about it for two hours.

It's in the eyes, in the smiles, in the way Simon's gaze would soften up and yours would lit up like fuse. They wouldn't be surprised to find you guys married one day just because the ring looked pretty cute or whatever.

Masterlist

[justaishy]

[frootertooter]

We do not choose our parents, or the circumstance into which we are born -> late night Hollow Knight sibling sketches

[stargirlrchive]

himbo!simon who only thinks with his pretty dick. only thinks about stuffing your pussy with his thick meaty shaft because that’s all he can think about.

the way your gummy and wet walls are gonna stretch to take him, the way you’re gonna tighten around him like a vice as he whines and whimpers when he pumps into you.

his balls heavy and full as he grunts about wanting to fill you to the brim. his vision goes a little spotty when you encourage him to cum.

oh god and if you ride him? he’s babbling stupidly about how good you feel, about how he can’t take it because it feels so so good.

he cums so much, like an ungodly amount. his hips stuttering, cock sensitive and angry as he cums into you.

he’s barely finished shooting his load into you before his lips are wrapping around your tits to suck and lick at your breast when he’s mumbling, “again, w’nna fuck you again baby.”

[venomous-qwille]

Helios // Ghost in the Machine // GITM AU help I tripped and dropped my robots everywhere

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny's used to finding lost kids in Amity.

The ghostly kind, that is. But the human variant happens on occasion too, usually when a too-lax parent takes their eyes off their child for far too long in the park. But he digresses.

It happens more often than he would like. He's not really sure what the family dynamics between ghosts are like in the Zone, he hasn't gotten around to asking about it. Although, it's not like he would be able to anyways — hard to ask questions about something you don't know much about. So far, it all seems kinda... laissez-faire.

Point is: Danny is used to finding lost kids in Amity.

It's since lost its novelty on him. Kids are kids everywhere, dead or alive, human or not. And kids are curious, and portals between the Infinite Realms and the Mortal World are rare in both dimensions. The braver ones will want to explore the things that are new and unknown to them, and they'll do so without any thought of what might happen.

The lost kids Danny finds are, more often than not, just kids who got curious about the portal and got too close to it, and ended up falling through. And in their panic and haste, accidentally fled the lab and got lost in the city.

Like right now.

The noise he makes as he squats to the ground, his knees bracketing his shoulders, is... well, the best way he could describe it is that it kind of sounds like a pigeon coo, or the trill a cat makes when you touch it while it's sleeping. It's as soft and as quiet as he could make it, while still being loud enough to be heard through his mask.

Ghostspeak is not a language that you can learn... technically speaking. That's because the majority of Ghostspeak relies heavily on core vibrations, of which Danny and other humans don't have. The verbal components that Ghostspeak does have also aren't done with the human vocal chords in mind, so most of the sounds Danny can't make.

...Except for a few.

The little noise he makes whips through the tunnel both him and the kid are in. The boy's terrified sniffling abruptly stops, if only because it's cut off by a teeny, startled gasp, and him snapping his head up at the sound.

Danny, crouched reminiscently like a frog, and a solid six feet away, tilts his head just slightly. He hunches his shoulders in and dips a little closer to the ground — it feels a bit awkward on his back, but he's found that moving unnervingly, even if it has to be animalistic, tends to help a lot in situations like these.

Lots of ghosts thrive off being weird and off-putting and inhuman; acting like one usually gets a lost ghost to calm down faster than if he didn't.

He can't parse how old the boy is — physically, he looks about eight, but he could always be older — but he can see shimmering, blue tear tracks streaking down his face. There's a snake-like seam stretching from both corners of his mouth and connecting up to his jaw, and little patches of scales around his yellow-eyes.

The boy's eyes go wide at the sight of him, before his pupils abruptly shrink into needles. The temperature plummets and the boy's mouth peels back to reveal two curved, deadly-looking fangs, and a perfunctory hiss comes out of his mouth.

"Go away!"

Danny does not go away, goosebumps rake down his arms and spine, and he cranes his neck until he hears it pop. The ringing in his ears subside, he braces and reaches back— "Ḩ̶̢̤͉̜̔̕- H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏."

He can't help the soft grunt that escapes him after, swaggling his head left and right like a lion shaking out its mane. His mask hides his grimace — he generates enough of his own ectoplasm to understand Ghostspeak and to have a few intrinsic abilities of his own, but compared to an actual ghost, it's minuscule.

It's like trying to speak in a register lower than your throat can handle; on a technical level he can in some aspects, but it still hurts to do. It's one of the few actual words he knows how to say, most are just sounds. Rumbles and trills and purrs that he's somewhat perfected.

The boy's face scrunches up, he shrinks a little away from Danny, looking both equally wary and judgmental. Which.. yeah, fair. That's the usual response. The boy croaks: "What?"

Danny tilts slightly forward — only enough to shift from a crouch to a partial kneel. He points at the boy, and then slowly draws his finger back to point at himself. "H̶̩́͋e̶̘̋̅̈̀ļ̵͎͉̑̒̚p̵͙̫͉̏," He repeats, throat straining, "ḩ̴̲̘̺͗͂ě̵̳̼̝̀̎͠͝l̶̬͈͍̳͂̓͆p̷̢̡̧̛̩̟̆̅͐͘."

He reaches back and tries to flare what little ecto-signature he has, and follows up with a low-rumbling noise he knows for certain means 'safecomfortsafe'.

Danny points to the exit of the tunnel: "H̵̼̹͎̊̏́͑̂͘͜ǫ̴̠̺̜̞́̕͜m̵̪̋e̸̢̞͔̞̺͛̽."

That seems to catch the boy's attention, his head perks up and his folded, pointed ears flap slightly. Unsteadily, his knees draw away from his chest, some of his distrust melting away like frost under the sun. "You- you know where home is?"

Danny can't say the word 'yes', its out of his range and his capabilities. But he knows how to mimic the sound of 'pleased', so he presses his cheek to the ground — ignoring the unpleasant clack it makes as mask thunks against concrete — and nods, replicating the trill.

The boy looks hopeful, a crack in the ice, before suddenly remembering to be wary. He shrivels back again, his brows furrowing and eyes narrow. "Who are you?"

"H̷͇͚̹͝e̶͉͑͗͒̂͝ĺ̸̡͇̟̅p̸̰̕." Danny repeats, because he doesn't know how to say "Phantom" in ghostspeak, and not every ghost knows English — Wulf is the first to come to mind in that regard. He points again to the exit: "H̵͈͉̖̳͚̾̀͐̄̀ö̶͖͑̄͝ḿ̷̨̭̬͋͆̃́e̵̺͑."

"Is that all you know how to say?" The boy asks, (more like demands) "Help and home?"

Danny nods again, he sits back up and slowly crawls back outwards from the tunnel, gesturing for the boy to follow. "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉," is all he says, "H̴̤̊o̶̢̳̻͓̿m̵̘̘̀e̸̡̝̼̓̉."

He only crawls back a few steps before stopping — he's not actually going to leave until he's certain the kid was going to follow him. And so far he wasn't moving, yet.

They stare at each other for a few long seconds, Danny watching expectantly. Emotions run rapid and rabbit across the kid's face, flickering between uncertainty and consideration. After a few minutes, victoriously, the boy drops his legs and begins to follow.

Danny rewards him with a very pleased trill. Perhaps some of his joy bleeds through his signature— the lines in the boy's face disappear for a moment as a little giggle escapes him.

"What are you?" The boy asks him once they're closer to the entrance, Danny holds his arm out to prevent the boy from walking out, and then peers out of the tunnel for stragglers. It's the middle of the night in Amity Park, but you never really know. "You don't feel like a ghost."

Ah, well. Danny glances at the boy, how does he explain liminality to someone who might not grasp the concept, and might not even know English? He barely understands himself what he is.

Danny shrugs, and points to himself, "H̷e̵l̷p̴."

[windssong]

My Beloved Ghost and Me // Astarion x Original Tav

MASTERLIST

series summary: Haunted by a past that refuses to quiet, Summer is forced to step up during a time of great turmoil for her group of tadpole invested companions. As they make their way to Baulders Gate, relationships and spirits are tested. Yet, the love for a certain Pale Elf rises above it all.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon violence, talks of past abuse, death, grief, slow burn, eventual smut

main masterlist:

CHAPTER INDEX

CH 1 - The Camp Ghost

CH 2 - coming soon

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

Ghost Rider Au

[skyrigel]

Simon who just can't say no to you.

It has been like this from the moment his eyes met yours, a very terrible Monday morning if he hadn't met you but now that you remembered, it's the most beautiful day of both of your lives.

“Is that seat taken ?” Simon looked up at the small morning roused and still sleep laden voice, you were as knackered as you sounded, probably runnin’ on black coffee and cuppa noodles.

“Yeah.” He wasn't even aware how quickly he said it, “Yes, ofcourse miss.”

He scooted his big thighs together, trying to make as much space as possible for you and as if some divine thought struck him, he looked up — cheeks tinting with red.

“Would ya’ like window ?”

“No, But thankyou for asking.” You answered, sitting next to him and making sure to leave some space because those legs were thick and definitely his big cock needed some room.

Fuck, look away —

“Ghost...” Another man climbed inside bus, his eyes trained on you and your partner who's apparently Ghost ?!?!

“Wot ?” He said roughly, his shoulders pressed against yours

“Nothin’ old man.” The other man smirked and sat next to a Grandma who knitted half a sweater.

“Your friend?” You asked.

“ A little...Simon.” He said, “Simon Riley.”

“Oh.” You smiled, feeling blush creep up your neck and cheeks.“I like Ghost better.” you would've booed if you weren't feeling so tingly and nervy.

“You would like Simon more.”

“I would like that.” You couldn't believe you were flirting on a Monday morning.

One month later

“Ghost...” John horribly snorted, sprawling on couch as Simon paid him no attention.

“Wot ?” He asked, giving you his pinky as you painted the last letter ‘Y’ over hot pink nail polish, completing your H-E-L-L-O K-I-T-T-Y nail art, every letter on each nail.

“Nothin’ old man.” John smirked as you clicked your tongue, beaming up at Simon.

“Done !” You blew air and flashed a grin as Simon brought his hand up to examine your work.

“Done Luvie.” He smiled, bumping your nose with ‘I’ on his nail.

And you also liked Simon better.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

Navigation

[frudoo]

I need the 141 as a group of slashers. Their shared wife gets harassed at the store and tells them when she gets home?

Might send more asks for slasher 141 if that's okay

You can ALWAYS send me slasher!141 ideas are you joking?!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual harassment (NOT by the 141), typical mentions of weapons and violence. Fem!Reader.

It’s pouring down freezing rain, the cold seemingly nudging past your skin and settling itself into your bones. Your hands shake as you fumble with your keys, letting out a defeated wail when you miss the lock for the fifth fucking time. Throwing your keys in your purse, you settle for knocking, then calling out that it’s just you. You’d rather not have one of your lovers answering the door with a machete to your throat. They always have had a flair for the dramatic. 

     It’s John who answers the door. Immediately he takes in your shivering figure and his bushy eyebrows furrow with concern. Scanning the vast land of the farm and finding nothing that could be perceived as a threat, he gently takes the purse from your hands. Strong arms hustle you inside and he kicks the door shut, working quickly to get you out of your sopping wet clothes. 

     “Darlin’, what happened? Why’re you cryin’?” John asks softly, hanging your coat on the rack—he can tell it’s bad by the way you flinch just from the question. 

     Simon, Johnny, and Kyle trail into the living room to greet you, but when they see your state, it’s like you can feel the tension in the air, ready to snap like a weathered rubber band. Simon comes to scoop you up, uncaring of the drenched clothes you still have on, and carries you up the stairs. He jerks his head to signal that everyone else should follow him. 

     While Kyle runs you a bath, John finishes undressing you, tossing your clothing into the hamper with a wet plop. You’re still shivering, tears streaming down your chilly cheeks, and it breaks their hearts. John cups your face in his big, warm hands, crystal blue eyes scanning for injuries or any reason you might be so spooked. 

     “You gonna answer my question, sweetheart? What’s happened?” 

     His voice is soothing, and you lean into the comfort of his touch. He always has been the best at calming you down, rich gravel filling your ears until you remember how cherished you are in his eyes. In all of their eyes. 

     “T-there was a man,” you stutter, head whipping around violently with your fist raised when Johnny wraps an arm around your waist to help you into the bath. “No!”

     “Hey, hey, jus’ me, hen,” Johnny’s eyes widen as he throws his hands up in surrender, backing away to avoid getting hit. 

     “I’m sorry,” you weep, covering your face with your trembling hands as Johnny tries again, this time successful in getting you settled into the warm water. 

     “Wha’ did he do?” Simon’s raspy voice sounds from the corner of the room, eerily calm. “Wha’ did tha’ fucker do?” 

     “The man… I-I was at the store to get groceries, but there was- he… he grabbed my ass and my tits and f-followed me out to the car. I drove away really fast so he couldn’t come after me, but… I’m sorry, I didn’t get the groceries.”

     “Oh, sweetheart,” Kyle frowns, gently reaching out to grab a hold of one of your hands. “The fuckin’ groceries are the least of our concerns.”

     You nod noncommittally, sniffling and just barely squeezing Kyle’s hand to let him know you appreciate the gesture. John’s jaw is clenched tight, and you can practically hear the rage brewing in his brain. Such a sweet thing traumatized by some stupid fuck who wanted his hands full of their soft, perfect girl. He wants—needs—to make him pay. John turns on his heel and just about rushes through the door, but your gentle voice stops him in his tracks.

     “John? Please stay,” you beg so, so prettily, pouty lips still swollen from how hard you’d been crying, and John’s far too weak a man to deny you. 

     Hesitantly, the captain trails back inside the bathroom, giving the other three a curt nod. They understand instantly, and Simon is cracking his knuckles so loud you’re almost sure the city can hear it. 

     “Bring the bastard back alive,” John commands, and faster than you can blink, Kyle, Simon, and Johnny are out the door.

     “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes focused on the ripple of the bathwater when you submerge your hands.

     John shakes his head, tilting your chin up so that you look him in the eye. He leans forward and nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours, a silent question. When you nod he leans in to kiss you long and slow, pressing his forehead against yours as the two of you stop to catch a breath.

     “No need to be sorry, sweet girl. You’ll get a turn on him soon enough.”

[tsarjozinzbazin]

a wonderful family photo <3