#my new markers finally arrived!!!

[abbycrashing]

@mirensiart It's finished!!

Mirensiart's OC Link -Chain- meets the Chain! The dialog is based off of one of her previous posts about Chain!

[thewinter-eden]

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 PART 2 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.

You.

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!

PART 2 INFO

tag list:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @its-stayville-forever

[harunayuuka2060]

Kid Akihiko: *6 years old*

His maid: My lady, do you like your new dress?

Kid Akihiko: ...

Kid Akihiko: *fake smiles* I love it!

His maid: *sighs in relief*

Kid Akihiko: *still smiling* Nanny? Is there any news about my little brother?

His maid: Oh, Young master Yuurin will arrive home today.

His maid: Are you excited to finally meet him?

Kid Akihiko: *nods*

His maid: *smiles* That's good, Lady Akane. But don't overexert yourself.

His maid: We don't want you getting sick.

Kid Akihiko: Okay~.

Yuurin's mother: It's good to be back, isn't it?

Yuurin's father: Come here, son. Let your father carry you this time.

Yuurin's mother: *chuckles* But I'm not done with him, dear.

Yuurin's father: Let me bond with him at least.

Yuurin's mother: No can't do~.

Kid Akihiko: *watching his parents dote on Yuurin*

Kid Akihiko: ...

Kid Akihiko: *decides to approach them later*

Their mother: Akane, I love your dress today. It's cute and stylish.

Kid Akihiko: *smiles* Thank you, mother. Nanny sewed this dress for me.

Their mother: Did she? *chuckles*

Their mother: Ah! Before I forget!

Their mother: Yuurin? This is your older sister. Say hi to her~.

Baby Yuurin: *looks at Akihiko* *then her eyes sparkle*

Kid Akihiko: !!!

Their father: Looks like our son wants to play with his sister.

Their mother: Hmm... Alright.

Their mother: But don't tire yourself out, Akane. *smiles at them*

Their mother and father: *takes their leave*

Kid Akihiko: ...

Baby Yuurin: *approaches her brother*

Kid Akihiko: *expecting to be called "sister"*

Baby Yuurin: *hugs Akihiko* Nii-nii!

Kid Akihiko: ...

Kid Akihiko: Huh?

Leona: So Yuurin recognized that you were her brother on your first meeting? *talking with Akihiko on the phone*

Akihiko: *chuckles* Yes. I was really happy that time.

Akihiko: Eventually, I had to teach her to call me "sister" when someone was around. Besides, we didn't want to be caught.

Akihiko: But whenever we were alone in the house, we would play dress up and I would lend her my clothes.

Akihiko: While she, on the other hand, would draw me a fake mustache on my face.

Akihiko: Good thing she never used a permanent marker.

Leona and Akihiko: *chuckles*

Yuurin: Aki, were you on the phone with someone? Your line was busy.

Akihiko: Oh, yes. I was chatting with a friend. *chuckles*

Yuurin: I see.

Akihiko: Yuurin?

Yuurin: Yes?

Akihiko: Brother loves you, bluebell.

Yuurin: ...

Yuurin: *smiles* Me too, Aki.

Akihiko: *chuckles* Why did it take you a second to answer?

Yuurin: Because you said it out of nowhere.

Akihiko: Hmm... You're making me sad now. Just kidding. *chuckles*

Yuurin: *shaking her head*

Leal: Master Akihiko-

Akihiko: *has coughed up blood after his phone call with Yuurin*

Leal: ...

Leal: Let me clean you up.

Akihiko: Yes. Thank you, Leal.

Leal: ...

Leal: It seems your condition is getting worse.

Akihiko: I didn't ask for your comment.

Leal: ...

Leal: I'm sorry.

Akihiko: ...

Akihiko: You do not need to worry yourself.

Akihiko: I'll manage to hold on until Yuurin's debut... no, it'll have to be a week after her 18th birthday.

Akihiko: I won't make her sad on her special day.

Leal: ...

Leal: As you wish, Master Akihiko.

[another-lost-mc]

candy prompts: leviathan + spicy + spooky

leviathan is your biggest fan. he doesn't realize that you're his biggest fan too.

pairing: leviathan x siren!gn!reader

content: nsfw. monster!au (reader is a siren). leviathan has two cocks. implied oral sex (levi receiving).

word count: 1k omg how did this happen

a/n: I like to imagine that aquatic races of the devildom worship and totally want to bang the grand admiral.

This isn't the way tonight's backstage meet & greet with one of his favourite idols was supposed to go.

Levi bought the most exclusive package as soon as the pre-sale link arrived in his Dmail. On the day of the concert, he put on a t-shirt featuring your logo, and he even shrugged on the new zip-up hoodie that he bought in the VIP section before the show. He waited in line with the other backstage pass holders so he could get an autograph and photo with you. Some of the lust demons in line ahead of him were radiating pheromones so strongly that it made his mind groggy, and he shook his head to dissipate the fog of giddy excitement that permeated the air around him.

When it was finally his turn to see you, the other fans had already been escorted away by security. He glanced at you nervously from under the hood he pulled over his head to conceal his identity; it wasn't a secret that the Avatar of Envy was a fan of Devildom's top idols, but he didn't like the unwanted attention from randoms in the crowd.

He handed you his poster and backstage pass to sign and he hoped the tremor in his hands wasn't too noticeable. The black marker squeaked against the thick paper and plastic. You smiled at all your other fans earlier, but even from his place at the back of the line, Levi thought your smile looked forced and insincere. He would know-he's forced that same expression on his own face countless times.

"Th-thanks," he mumbled when you handed him his autographed merch. He cradled them delicately in his arms so that they wouldn't get wrinkled or torn.

"Fans can get a selfie too," you reminded him with a gentle smile. "But maybe we can find a nicer backdrop than this grungy hallway. What do you say?"

Levi glanced around nervously. The security crew that loitered in the area earlier had vanished. There was something enticing about the teasing glint in your eyes but he blinked and the look was gone. He took a deep breath, not realizing how close he was standing to you. When did you get so close? The scent of your fragrance and sweat was staggering and he forced himself to stand still and avoid the temptation to lean even closer. He hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

You beamed wildly and grabbed his hand; he gulped as your fangs tipped over the curve of your lips. "Perfect," you purred before leading him down a dark hallway. "My dressing room is this way."

You were kind enough to take his precious memorabilia and set them down safely before shoving him against your dressing room door. Your lips crashed against his while your hands reached into his sweat-slicked hair. You slid the hood down and cradled his jaw so you could tease the skin of his neck with your fingernails. He broke the kiss with a gasp, and you didn't hesitate to slip your tongue into his mouth and flick it against his before pulling back with a very satisfied smirk.

"I recognized you the moment you stood in line," you admitted, voice quivering with excitement, glassy-eyed and pupils blown wide. "The Avatar of Envy, the Grand Admiral himself, coming to see me perform? I'm flattered."

Levi stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Maybe he was seeing the real you for the first time, the version none of your other fans knew existed. In the privacy of your dressing room you could finally be yourself. The magic that concealed your oceanic heritage slid off you like a veil and revealed your secrets to the demon you worshipped like a god. He was entranced. When he licked his lips to chase the taste of your kiss, it reminded him of salt water and the ocean breeze.

You preened under his curious scrutiny, satisfied that he was captivated by you as much as you were of him. When you realized you had his silent approval to continue, you unzipped his sweater and pushed it down his arms. It fell into a heap on the floor at his feet, but he didn't seem to care.

By the time you settled on your knees before him, the delicate pattern of pearlescent scales replaced your once-smooth skin and frilly gills appeared on the sides of your neck. You gazed at him innocently, your third eyelid blinking quickly over your lovestruck eyes as you nuzzled against the bulge in his jeans. Dainty fingers with long nails flicked open the button at his waistband. You bit your bottom lip between rows of jagged teeth and eagerly tugged down the short zipper next. Both his cocks sprung free when you slid his boxers down. He was panting heavily above you, and you licked your lips with a forked tongue, smirking when his eyes followed the movement.

"I've wanted to meet you in person for so long, sir," you whispered reverently. His cocks twitched when your lips imbued his title with just a hint of lust, and you couldn't resist the urge to touch him anymore. You kissed the tip of one of his cocks and smeared precum across your mouth with a satisfied hum, lapping at the salty taste as your mouth watered, eager for another taste. One of your hands curled delicately around the other cock and squeezed him lightly in your grip. He moaned loudly when your webbed fingers began stroking him in a soft, slick rhythm.

"I think I might be your biggest fan," you confessed in a breathy whisper before closing your eyes and finally taking his cock into your mouth.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

[fullofbees]

My God's Bane (Astarion x F!Tav)

Tav no longer recognizes herself while Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings towards her.

AKA I wrote my own leadup to Astarion's confession scene :3

CW: LOTS of angst, religious conflict/crisis, mentions of past physical, emotional, and sexual abuse (Astarion), mild depictions of gore Word Count: 9,437

He liked to think that he had a talent for reading people at this point. Most wear their emotions clearer than they believe. Even when they hide behind a quiet, joyful, or indifferent mask, everyone slips, shows their hand so to speak, and that’s when he strikes. 

However, when it came to the leader of their ragtag band of weirdos, she was easy. She slipped the moment they met, when he cornered her about killing one of those brain creatures outside the nautiloid crash. She all but ran to his supposed rescue, not thinking twice that the man before her could pose harm. It was as simple as breathing back then, to betray that small boundary of trust when he held his blade to her throat. 

Her heart was on her sleeve, and she extended it to every wayward soul they encountered. With remarkable speed, she was able to secure new adventurers for their mission. She made vows to the tieflings and druids alike, intent on restoring order despite the limited time they had. Whether foe or ally, she sought the safety of all involved – such is the way of a valiant paladin. It was an inconvenience, honestly. 

Ever since they arrived at the Shadowlands, though, Tav’s personality changed.  

Their first day in the darkness brought them to battle between the Harpers and their arachnoid escort. The towering bastard had to go and cast Sanctuary constantly, leaving the rest to pick off the weaker cultists until they could find an opening past his defense.  

Tav had swung the final blows, her blade illuminated in a holy light that was nearly blinding against the shadows. The drider fell, and joined his fellow Absolutists as bloody road markers.  

She was an excitable kind of person, cheering and hollering with the smallest of victories, giddy with triumph whenever her enemies fell. Add Karlach into the mix, and Astarion was positive that sleep would evade the camp that night, the two warriors whooping into the night, drunk off wine and adrenaline.  

But, as she had stood over the vanquished drider, Tav was silent. He could not make out the emotion that crossed her face; reverence – or perhaps mourning, as he watched Tav kneel to close each eye the spider possessed.  

Astarion knew he was the only one to witness it. The others were engaged in conversation as the Harpers so graciously invited them to their little hideout, in the form of an abandoned inn. When Tav stood from the ground and turned, she froze upon seeing him standing there, eyes wide with panic as she fumbled for words to say. 

All she managed was a desperate, “Please don’t tell the others.” 

He didn’t understand why, at the time, he had allowed her to place such trust in him.  

The same night, when everyone was gathered around the campfire, joking and sharing stories over whatever meal Gale managed to throw together, she stared into the flames until one of their companions pulled her mind back to the present.  

“An actual drider,” marvels Wyll, “It would have been magnificent if it weren’t so grotesque. Wouldn’t you agree, Tav?” 

“Hmm?” She hummed, eyes transfixed on the bowl in her hands. 

“The drider,” Wyll tried again, almost in disbelief that she had not heard him the first time, “What did you make of it?” 

Her spoon circled the bowl for the umpteenth time, the sound immensely grating to Astarion’s sensitive hearing.  

“Him,” she muttered. 

“I’m sorry?” Wyll asked. 

“What did I make of him? He’s a person, not an ‘it’,” she corrected with a huff of offense. “That poor man...” 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to pity the creature,” admonished Shadowheart, “It is only fitting that one be punished for failing their Goddess. Really, we were doing it a favor.” 

There’s an unwon arrogance that Shadowheart tends to mince her words with. Usually, he would find her quips amusing, but he wished she would have read the obvious tension.  

“He’s not a creature!” Tav slammed the bowl into the dirt in front of her. The metallic clang of the spoon against ceramic rang out into the stunned silence of those around the fire. 

“He was hurting! Desperate to be seen after Lolth’s rejection... and all it got him was a tadpole from another cruel Goddess!” Tav’s hands clenched into fists, brow furrowed as her eyes focused once again on the flames, “He didn’t deserve to die. I could have-- I mean, we could have done more!”  

“I do not understand,” said Lae’zel, “Why do you show such sympathies for the weak?” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” chimes in Karlach, and though Astarion assumed she would start on another lecture about friendship and unity, Tav did not let her finish. 

“I’m afraid I lost my appetite. Good night,” she said, her meal abandoned as she stomped off to her tent.  

Karlach sighed, shaking her head at Lae’zel. The githyanki had not moved, still perplexed by the situation around her. An uneasy quietness quickly descended upon the group, broken only by Wyll bidding them goodnight. A chorus of muttered ‘goodnights’ followed as they began to disperse. 

Considering it an outburst of exhaustion, Astarion left Tav to stew in her tent. He wished he hadn’t, for she was no better the next day. 

It was normal for her to seek their thoughts while exploring. She’d ask Karlach or Lae’zel for tips after combat, banter with Gale and Wyll, show Shadowheart every damn “pretty” flower she found, and insisted on directing as many vampire jokes as she could at Astarion. It didn’t matter how dreadfully unfunny they were, she always laughed.  

Adventuring was quiet now, as she ushered them from place to place, battle to battle, without a break. They found various victims of the curse, most a century old, but some new and with unfortunately familiar faces. It did not matter how long the bodies had been there, Tav grieved each one, tears streaming from her face as she read letters of their last words. While she bawled at their corpses, Astarion brooded, wondering when he had started to miss her laughter.  

She was praying more often as well, sequestering herself alone in whatever corner she could find and frantically whispering. Once, when she ceased her incessant prayer, Tav appeared to be locked in some kind of trance. She did not react to sound or touch, the whole of her eyes overtaken by a ghostly, lavender hue. She stayed that way for two hours.  

Everyone saw the tears that streamed from her eyes when her mind had returned from its journey, but she refused to answer their questions.  

Karlach approached him one night, nearly a tenday after Tav’s original outburst, telling him he needed to figure out what was wrong. He had scoffed at the tiefling; after all, it’s not like he cared about whatever mental issues shared rent with her tadpole. Right? 

“She likes you the most, fangs. If there’s anyone she’s willing to open up to, I'm bettin’ it’s you.” 

He laughed then, loud and boisterous, to hide the rising tide of excitement and anxiety that Karlach’s words had caused.  

“Trying to use me to pry into Tav’s life, are we?” He tsk-ed. Though he smiled, his anxiety had given way to anger. It poked and taunted his deepest fear; that he’s only useful when he can be used. It’s so painfully obvious that’s all he’d ever be, that even sweet Karlach knew it.  

But something besides the tadpole lurked around in his mind; why does he feel bad about tricking Tav? That is his whole plan, is it not? Use the strong sword-wielding lady to safely travel back to Baldur’s Gate, she dices this stupid cult and Cazador into pieces, and then he dumps her, finally free from any master’s grip.  

He banished the intruding thought instantly, bottled it as deep as it could go, for the looming answer to his question threatened to make him sick. He is undead, a creature of the night, an external parasite that feeds on Tav at night until he can find someone, something, better. His skin is cold as ice and his heart no longer beats. He has no heart to give; or so he tells himself. 

“You know that’s not the case,” Karlach had chastised, seemingly offended he could suggest such a thing, “We’re all worried. You can pretend all you want, but I know you are too. You can help her, Astarion.” 

Now that was a curious sentiment. ‘Help’ is numerous in its contexts; Cazador certainly considered himself helpful, merciful even, as he watched his new spawn vomit blood and dirt after clawing out of their tombs. The word implies a give and take, and the world is far more eager to collect than it is to provide.  

To put it plainly, he had nothing to offer their melancholic leader; he is nothing and has been for a long time. Still, Karlach had come to him, apparently unaware of his obvious lack. Perhaps he should hear her out. Perhaps she saw something in him.  

“And just how should I ‘help’?” Astarion asked, condescendingly drawling the question out, rolling his eyes for good measure.  

He saw how the edge of Karlach’s lips twitched, how her eyes narrowed, the way her mechanical heart roared to life with a bright spark before settling back into quiet embers. In poetic irony, it seems that he burned her.  

“Hells below, Astarion,” she nearly yelled, exasperated, tired, and practically begging him to cooperate. He doesn’t blame her for the outburst. Without the annoyingly bubbly attitude of Tav, the tension between party members had been amplified and pulled taut. They all may very well snap soon.  

“I’ll see what I can do,” he dismissed her then, attention focused back on the tome he had in his hands. But his mind did not process the words on the page. He reread the same line damn near ten times before he gave up and went to bed instead. 

His rest was anything but; it was fitful and full of sorrow.  

It was times like then when he wished he could slumber like every other living creature. When his victims and fellow spawn would speak of nightmares, they told tales of distorted visions and intense fear. His waking hours were already plagued with such issues, he could easily handle the nightmares. But no, instead he was cursed to revel in his own pain during his meditative rest, reliving and experiencing his own terrifying truths on repeat.  

That night, he tried searching for something he could do for Tav. Something that the others could not; something to prove his value to her. He did find it. It didn’t take him long at all.  

All he had to offer his little troublesome Tav was his body.  

And it broke him.  

He spent that night with the realization that this is who he is and always will be. A body to be used and used and used and used and used and used and used and u s e d....... 

Thankfully, Tav had asked him to stay at camp that morning. Even though he teased her with his usual, “Darling, I thought we had something special,” she could barely manage a smile, and muttered her thanks before flittering about camp in preparation.  

It was probably for the best, knowing how useless he would have been with that morose epiphany swimming in his mind. Though awake, the uneasy feeling from the night did not dissipate. His emotions were all over the place, that much he was sure of, but they had always been identifiable. Agony, desperation, emptiness.  

Now new and uncertain feelings – gods how he detested the word – seized his chest. Images of Tav pestered him the entire day; the bags under her eyes, the unkempt hair, the dying light of her spirit. Karlach was right, he was worried.  

Still, he could not find the source of his worry. He’d spent the last 200 years surrounded by shambling corpses and their victims alike. They slept like dogs, were beaten like beasts, so really, who was he to judge for a bad hair day?  

Astarion saw no use driving himself mad about it, after all, he had always warned her that her heroism couldn’t last forever. He spent that day doing what he does best when he finds himself without her company, distracting himself with enough shit wine and even shittier books. He didn’t think his tolerance would be shit too. 

Words had soon blurred together, and despite the book’s distinct lack of arcane knowledge, the letters seemed to arrange themselves in puzzles. He slammed the tome shut, opting to sit in the privacy of his tent and will away his growing headache. While his thoughts were no less jumbled, the feelings from before were becoming clearer.  

Worry; The presence of the undead made it impossible for him to feed on anyone other than Tav. Even though she always assured him that she did not mind, he felt like he was using her, and for the first time in a long time, he felt bad about being such a devious bastard. 

Rejection; He’d never tell, but the absence of Tav returning his superficial flirtations left him feeling empty. He tries to tell himself that it isn’t him, it isn’t his fault, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less to not have her affection. 

Fear; He would give his body to her, if it would make her happy. Thousands before her had found pleasure in him, it would be easy for him to allow her the same. He wanted to believe that he’d be selfless, place her needs and comfort above his own; but he knew he could not. He is selfish. Could she want a selfish man? 

It dawned on him then, what this cocktail of vulnerability and yearning was. The cause of his worry, the source of his comfort, the reason he felt like an idiot. He lov- 

The party had arrived back at camp, and he had stumbled to his feet to meet them, for how would it look if their charming vampire companion was found sulking and brooding in his tent. Karlach immediately shed her armor, talking about how stuffy it felt to be metal-clad. Gale carried a sack with the night’s dinner ingredients in hand and grumbled about the pain in his knees as he knelt to light the fire. Lae’zel, despite her stoicism, appeared happy, covered head to toe in the blood of the fallen. 

Tav looked no worse than she had for these last few days, and that ought to count for something. He watched as she removed the outer pieces of her armor, wincing when the harsh edges dug into new and old bruises alike. She picked up a rag and a small mirror, wiping away the blood from the cuts on her face.  

The sight of the crimson spilling from her skin reminded him of his hunger. Their quid pro quo arrangement had been forgotten in her despair, and he was desperate at this point for anything she would give him. Blood, sex, shallow praise, whatever she had to offer.  

Oh, right. 

He had yet to offer himself again, so what reason would she have to keep up her end of the deal? 

He downs the last of the wine in his goblet, swallowing the intoxicating substance just as the reality of his situation swallows his hope. With measured steps, he approached her tent, taking quiet yet deep breaths to ease the misery he felt knowing he’ll never be more than this. He opened his mouth to call her name, but Tav released the ties holding back the rainfly of her tent and shut them all out. 

That should have been it, but his drunken mind reminded him of his promise to Karlach, and his predatorial hunger lurched at the idea of another night unsatiated.  

Once the others were asleep, Astarion snuck into her tent, part and parcel to their routine since she first discovered his true nature. It was easier for him when she was asleep, not that the sharp pinch of his fangs left her totally undisturbed; but to approach while she was awake only guaranteed in his mind that he would end up on his back again.  

Tav was facing away from him, lying on her side, a formerly white linen sheet covered her sleeping form. Nothing was amiss as he had stalked closer, brushing the strands of hair away from her neck, his mouth unbelievably dry. He knelt, the perfume of her blood wafting sweetly from beneath her skin, as he placed his hand on her shoulder to steady himself.  

She awoke then, the force of her sitting so abruptly pushed him back and sent him stumbling. He had, thankfully, caught himself with his hand before falling into the dirt. Still, he was equal parts annoyed at dinner being interrupted and worried that he was caught.  

“Hells, Astarion, you scared the shit out of me,” she whispered. 

“And you almost broke my nose,” he chastised; not a total lie, but an exaggerated one, nonetheless.  

Tav rolled her eyes at him before letting herself fall back against her bedroll again, “Oh, you poor thing, want me to kiss it better?” 

At least she appeared to be feeling better, back to the self that loved teasing him.  

“If you’re offering, who am I to say no to the hand that feeds?”   

Upon realizing that he would not be allowed to dine and dash, Astarion straddled her thighs, ready to bargain for what he needed. He let his hand rest on her hip, soothing circles through the fabric of her nightwear.  

“Yea, s’pose you can’t say you won’t bite,” she said through a drowsy laugh. 

He allowed his hand to wander then, down the inside of her thigh, fingers trailing along the seam of her pants, “As if the lady would protest my bites.” 

With a kiss pressed to her lips, Astarion silenced any innuendo or proposition she may have made. He did not want to hear it, could not stand the idea of her confirming all the horrid things he thought about himself.  

This unspoken deal only served to remind him of how temporary freedom would be. At worst, he would return to Cazador, and the bastard would tell him how lucky he should feel, how there were other mortals dying to be in his position. He wished he could tell him that adding an ‘s’ before ‘pawn’ doesn’t make being a puppet any more lucrative.  

She promised that she would not let that happen. She promised to free him from his master’s chains, but what comes after? He would still be bound to the night, doomed to prowl moonlit streets for an eternity. Killing would still be his status quo, whether mammal or mortal, in order to satiate his hunger.  

Would she stay with such a monster? 

Thoughts he did not want to entertain had barged to the forefront of his mind again, and he knew he needed to move this along. At least with sex, he could force those thoughts away, bottle them back up, and allow his body to numb. At least, this way, he survived another day. At least her body is warm. 

At least—anything he can say to himself to justify another night on his back and to ignore the resentment building in his heart. 

Her lips had parted in a moan, and his tongue quickly lay claim to her mouth, as his hand finally cupped her sex. She gasped, and as his mind had started to drift off into the numb void, he had been pulled back by the feeling of her hand pushing against his chest. 

When he separated himself from her body, Astarion wanted to scream, wanted to shake her; why did she insist on taking the lead? It would be easy with him on top; he wouldn’t have to look at her, to feel her weight on top of him. Must she be so difficult? 

“I don’t want to have sex tonight.” 

What-- 

He looked down at her then, saw the flush in her face, felt how her hands fiddled with the ruffled collar of his shirt but harbored no intention to remove the clothing.  

“I’m not really in the right headspace for that,” she explained, “Plus, I can taste the wine on your lips...” 

“Right, well...” He didn’t know what to say.  

Astarion was frozen above her, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Awkwardness had settled over them both, each one terrified of scaring the other off should they move or speak. Until, the dots connect in her head and she practically launched herself upright, almost smacking herself into him again. 

“You haven’t fed since we got here, have you? Shit, I’m sorry!” She said as she pulled her hair to the side, exposing the column of her neck.  

Any other time, he might have shoved her away, storming out of her tent as his hunger gave way to the embarrassment of it all, his crumbling ego unable to cope. But as she all but dragged his mouth to her skin, urging him to drink, Astarion was thankful that her care outweighed his own pride. 

His fangs pierced her flesh, and she hissed at the pain, but did not complain further.  

He recalled the conversation they had about what their friends would taste like, debating over who would be sweet and who would be savory. Once he had mused that she would be bland, only if to rile her up, but the depth of her lifeblood had truly surprised him.  

She is a winter’s mulled wine, deceptively simple at first yet brimming with spice as she settles on his tongue. Hints of citrus tease his palate, the last taste of summer’s sweetness yielding to the zest of cinnamon and clove. It was gone as soon as it came, leaving its enjoyer to eagerly await the next mouthful.   

As he drank from her, he had felt the echo of a memory in his chest, of his younger days scribbling away next to a hearth, of a man who made his heart flutter and his skin burn with want. The man’s face remains obscured, buried under years of torment, but the feeling is there; the rush of something new and exciting; the naivety of first love. 

With wild hair and soft eyes that regarded him as if he held the entire world, the elf below him had unearthed a humanity he’d long since forgotten. What a wondrous feeling it was; to release all that had been brimming beneath the surface, to give names to the shadows, to feel again.  

Again, her hand pushed against his chest, weaker than before as she mumbles, “O-Okay, I’m starting to get dizzy.” 

His fangs retreated from her skin, and as his lips captured any wayward drops, he realized he did not wish to completely part in that moment. Gently, he laid her down against her bedroll, back on her side. He situated himself behind her, basking in the newfound heat that flowed through his veins, and allowed his breath to even out. Tav was already fast asleep when he turned, wrapping his arm around her and cuddled her to his chest. 

...  

Astarion had made sure to return to his own tent before dawn broke and if Tav had noticed the vampire snuggling her in the night, he was eternally grateful for her silence on it in the morning. He did not want to hear the insufferable taunts and jokes the others would make if the two of them were discovered together. Gale or Wyll, hells, probably even Karlach, would remind him that it’s only natural for two adults to seek out company between their giggles; as if he’s a little boy who's embarrassed about his crush.  

But that is what he is, isn’t he? He’s tucking tail and scurrying away because he’s afraid of others seeing that he is capable of feeling. Brazen displays of emotion, especially ones of love, are signs of a weakness to be exploited. Everything he had ever loved had been taken from him, had been hurt because of him. He could love her, he wants to love her, but it would just be placing a target on her back. Another one of Cazador’s endless lessons.  

She is safer this way.  

For what it’s worth, Tav did appear livelier that morning, bantering with Shadowheart as the cleric healed their bloodless leader, and it earned him a thankful pat on the back from Karlach. 

“Ah, I love the taste of Lesser Restoration in the morning,” Tav hummed happily, arms raised above her head as she stretched the sleep out of her body. 

“I don’t know why you insist on coming to me,” said Shadowheart, “You’re the one who chose to be a walking blood bank, and I know Paladins can cast Lesser Restoration. Why don’t you heal yourself instead of making it my problem?” 

“Because you’re always so charming,” Tav teased, “How do you expect me to resist?” 

“Kicking and screaming, I hope,” deadpanned the cleric. 

“See what I mean? Our own little ray of sunshine!”  

After breakfast, Tav assembled that day’s crew. The idea of a day of physical labor after last night's mental exhaustion made Astarion less than eager to accept her invitation. Still, he had said yes, and donned his armor as he made a quiet vow to himself.

He will always keep her safe in one way or another.  

The day’s mission had involved infiltrating the House of Healing to find something that could be used on this Art Cullagh fellow. Astarion had accepted, by this point, to not concern himself with the details and just assist Tav with whatever heroics she found herself agreeing to. They would happen with or without him.  

The exterior yielded nothing of value, except one half of a pair of warding rings Tav found on the skeleton of another victim. She was somber as she pocketed the ring and read the lover’s note, but composed herself afterwards, and said a small prayer before pushing forward. He had felt some level of pride and admiration, watching as a new strength kindled inside her. There was inflation to his ego as well, a selfish joy in thinking that his mere cuddles could fix her woes. 

He should have known better. Life had never been kind. 

They had entered the House of Healing through an antechamber that reeked of decay and spoiled blood. Infirmary beds were strewn about, and of the few that weren’t outright destroyed or flipped over, they looked less than pleasing without a mattress to cover the rusted springs. Rotting towels, shattered wash basins, and an unknown film covered the floors. Voices echoed from the main chamber ahead, so each step further in was made cautiously. 

They passed through a door to their right and discovered what used to be a woman as she floated before two of the beds, covered in nurses' attire that clearly didn’t know the definition of sterile. She - no, it - paid them no mind as they had approached, gazing down at the implements and bandages before it as if it couldn’t figure out what to do.  

With her hand on the hilt of her sword, Tav spoke first, “Excuse me, ma’am?” 

“Don’t call the doctor yet!” came the soft plea of the creature, “I’ve got potions, sutures - I know I can do this...” It turned to address their fellow nurse, yet startled when it saw the Paladin, “Oh! You’re a patient. This is the children’s ward – triage is back that way.” 

“I have something else I’d like to ask you,” Tav started, but her words faded off as she looked beyond the nurse in front of her.  

Two bodies laid still on the beds, clearly dead, though it was hard to tell if it was from the Shadow Curse or the nurse’s ‘treatment’. 

In an instant, Tav drew her sword, resting the blade in a tail stance, voice low with anger as she asked, “What are you doing with the dead?” 

The nurse regarded her with confusion as she replied, “Not dead, merely medicated. To ease the pain.”  

Tav raised her sword, now bracing her weight in a plow stance, the tip of her blade dangerously close to the nurse’s abdomen, as she snarled, “I asked you a question, creature! What are you doing with the dead?” 

Astarion had watched Tav face countless foes since their adventure together began. Even with the most wicked, she had never been so blatantly offensive. In hindsight, he realized that all those foes had been alive; fought them she must, but always done so reluctantly, and always ready to spare a life when able. There, in the House of Healing, did he first witness her true devotion as a Doomguide.  

Of course, she had told the group of her deity; was overbearingly eager to share it, in fact. Kelemvor; Judge of the Damned; whose symbol featured a skeletal hand raising balanced scales. Tav wears it on her chest – darkened purple stitched into a solid black surcoat that she dons no matter the armor underneath. She told them the stories of her years as a lone wanderer, proselytizing Kelemvor’s wisdom, performing last rites for the dying, and destroying necromancers.  

She was a protector of the living, and a slayer of the undead. 

The creature did not answer her question, insisting that the patients were sleeping and to be quiet lest they wake. The last words the creature heard were Tav’s whispered, “In Kelemvor’s name,” before the blade was plunged clean through its body. It collapsed to the floor, trying to speak, but the blood pooling in its throat only allowed for senseless gurgling.  

Tav placed her foot on the corpse and pushed it into the heap of flesh as she withdrew her blade. Thick, blackened blood congealed on the metal, and Tav held it in a white-knuckled grip as she stepped over the body and towards the beds. 

She took one glance and immediately turned around, tripping on the creature's body as she rushed out of the vestibule, landing on her hands and knees, as her sword skidded across the floor. She did not rise, instead sinking to her elbows as her hands pulled at her hair to the point that Astarion thought she might rip it out.   

Karlach rushed to her side, trying to ease the Paladin up as hushed sobs echoed off the walls.  

“Hey now, soldier,” said the tiefling, taking hold of Tav’s biceps and urging her to sit up, “Don’t go getting soft on me.” 

Shadowheart bypassed the two and peered into the beds before gasping, “It’s Arabella’s parents.” 

Another choked cry broke out from Tav as she finally sat back on her haunches, rubbing away her tears with a grubby hand, “I fucking hate this place.” 

“We all do,” assured Karlach, “But we gotta keep moving forward; don’t want to have worms forever, do we?” 

“No,” came Tav’s hushed response before she stood to her feet. She picked up her sword from the floor, flicking some of the blood off, “Let’s just get this over with.” 

Malleus Thorm was an abhorrent sight. Deciding to take the lead after Tav’s second outburst, Karlach interrogated the cursed doctor about his peculiar treatment plan. He spoke of Shar, of darkness, of absence. The victim strapped to the table was catatonic from the aimless carving of the nurses’ blades, though he was soon comatose after the doctor’s mechanical claws dug into his eyes. 

Tav was antsy behind her, shifting on her feet, practically chomping at the bit to send the undead man back into oblivion. The battle was difficult, but well won. Tav’s anger and adrenaline combined with Divine Smite proved a lethal combo.  

Shadowheart pulled a lute from the corpse of Malleus and held it out to Tav, “I think you might want this.”  

Tav took the lute, strapped it to her back and made way for the exit. Despite the exhaustion they all felt and the rush of emotions Tav must have experienced, she stayed silent. No cries, no curses, not one tear to be found. Astarion felt that agonizing mix of worry and sorrow creep around him. 

He increased his pace until he was able to fall in line with her, their other party members straggling not far behind.  

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked quietly, still not quite ready for his care to be announced to the world. 

She only nodded. 

...  

If he thought their adventures had been quiet before, they were dead silent now. Every fight with another Thorm family member pushed Tav further into despair. Any attempts by their companions to make her smile or laugh were futile. She walked and fought like a zombie, resulting in her near-death numerous times. Lectures about how she needed to mind herself went in one pointed ear and out the other, apparently.

Her silence was only broken by the fits of sobbing that occurred from her tent each night. If she managed to fall into her meditative state, it would end with her lurching forward, gasping for air as she scrambled off into the corner of camp to empty the contents of her stomach. 

Karlach had to take over as temporary leader, and if she had her way, Tav would’ve stayed behind. Yet, when the Paladin appeared every morning with her armor and sword ready, the tiefling couldn’t find the strength to not let her tag along.  

Astarion also insisted that he be allowed on each mission, even if his skills weren’t useful for their goal. For whatever reason, Tav listened to him more than the others, and would only accept his help when she found herself injured. He had to be there for her, even if watching her suffer wore away at his own sanity. He often found himself looking at the warding ring she had silently given him after their fight with Malleus, and wondered if he would ever hear her laugh again.  

Bones, blood, and viscera decorated the entrance hall. The gore was mundane to him, no more unique than a cobblestone street or tavern lights in the dark. The dank and forebodingness of the crypt did not stop him from admiring its beauty. The ruins must have been a marvelous sight in their heyday, brimming with the Lady of Loss’s worshippers as they sought to drown out their sorrow and begged for her guidance amongst the crystalline decor. 

Their group split to investigate the various rooms that surrounded the concourse, with him following behind Tav as she investigated the nook to the right. Through the towering archway, he saw that it was no more than a chamber, perhaps used as foyer for those who came to grieve the Thorm family. More bones were littered across its floor and piled in its corners. He saw nothing novel, yet Tav stopped stock still.  

“Myrkul...”, she had hissed with disgust, hands clenched into fists that shook in splintering rage. 

Peeking over her shoulder, he saw the triangle of femurs that had been constructed in front of the dilapidated desk, a skull perched neatly in the middle. He joined her at her side, casual when he had faced her and asked carelessly, “Who?” 

Truthfully, the name and symbol were of no interest to him; a forgotten name from a bygone era, and most importantly, a deity that had ignored his prayers. She looked up to him then, and the dusty air must have been getting to him, because he swore her gaze softened when their eyes met. 

“Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, a necromancer and prince who ascended to godhood when Jergal willingly parted with his title,” Gale interrupted just as Tav was about to speak. 

Astarion rolled his eyes at the wizard and resisted the urge to pettily stomp his foot against the floor. His look was not enough to kill, but it did have Gale surrendering, hands up in a wordless apology as he had backed away from the two. 

“Correct,” Tav said, breaking the tension she didn’t know had occurred, “He was usurped by Cyric, but the Prince of Lies was defeated by Kelemvor.” 

Astarion was desperate to keep her talking. He’d listen to an entire history lecture if it meant she’d come back to sound mind. Back to him. “What use would a servant of Myrkul have with some Sharran shrine?” 

“It doesn’t matter what ‘use’ they have for it,” admonished Shadowheart, “Lady Shar has decreed that Ketheric must die for his betrayal, and ridding her temple of other disgraces in the process is as much a bonus as it is an honor.” 

Listening to the cleric’s devotion was uninteresting at best, and torturous at worst. He almost pitied the poor girl, blindly following a goddess out of fear of what her memories might hold. 

Astarion had expected Tav to mirror Shadowheart’s enthusiasm, but instead saw her bristle, hands wringing together nervously. She was unrecognizable to him, the proud warrior now hunched in on herself as she gnawed at her bottom lip. Anxiety was radiating off her in waves; she looked like she might vomit. 

His body had moved before he had realized what he was doing, hand reaching for her shoulder to comfort her. When his cool skin had made contact with her chainmail, she recoiled, eyes wide and breath unsteady. Hurt by her reaction, he let his hand fall limply to his side, and gruffly announced that the party should keep moving. 

His patience wore thin as they descended into the abyss below the mausoleum. Gale and Shadowheart both wouldn’t shut up about the various magical auras they were picking up on. Sensing Shar’s presence in the Temple of Shar? Who could have guessed the dark goddess would have been there? Bloody amateurs. 

Tav nearly fell in battle again against the Dark Justiciars that were forever cursed to protect the temple. She was unfocused and reckless, and the shadows had swarmed her after making quick work of the necromancer’s lackeys. To make matters worse, there was still no sign of the devil Raphael had tasked them with killing. There were hundreds of rats, though, and the sight of them left a bad taste in his mouth. 

With some convincing from both he and Gale, Tav finally acquiesced and agreed to return to camp for the evening. Night had developed a new, uncomfortably familar cycle by then, with Tav disappearing to her tent before anyone could say anything to her. She would eat her dinner alone. He would pretend he didn’t hear her crying throughout the night. 

They found Balthazar the next day, and it was the first time he ever saw pure hatred burning behind her eyes. They barely survived, the undead necromancer’s poison draining their strength while his ghouls beat them with decayed teeth and talons. When the bastard finally fell, Tav stood over his corpse, whispered a prayer, and then carved her blade through the fat of his neck. She stabbed her sword repeatedly into his chest, moving down his torso until he was no longer recognizable; just a pile of oozing sinew and flesh. His hulking, sewn-together abomination was the next target of her wrath, and it too was reduced to a pool of guts and blood. 

It was not enough. 

She destroyed the furniture, set the bookshelves ablaze, tore down everything the necromancer kept in his makeshift laboratory. The rest of the party removed themselves from the room, watching silently from the threshold as their near-death leader found the strength to take all of Balthazar’s worldly possessions with her. 

It would have been sexy as hell if it weren’t so concerning. 

She eventually collapsed, falling to her knees, sword clattering to the ground with a metallic clang echoing around the room. Silence followed; stares were exchanged between Astarion and his fellow compatriots, each one wordlessly asking the other what the hell had just happened. 

Tired of walking on eggshells, of not doing something, Astarion walked over to Tav and kneeled in front of her. She didn’t notice him at first, eyes shut tight and chest heaving with labored breaths. He reached out again, placing his hand on her knee. 

She was startled, but didn’t move away like before. Instead, her bloodied hand covered his own, fingers tracing over his knuckles, inadvertently smearing the crimson against his pale skin. When he suggested they retire to camp early, she finally, finally, met his gaze. Glimmering violet swirled in her irises, no doubt the remnants of whatever magic she called on Kelemvor for. It faded away, leaving him with the woman of his adoration, looking broken and lost. 

Clinging to his armor, she staggered to her feet, yet nearly toppled again when she went to pick up her sword. It was instinct really, for him to grab her waist and to keep her upright. He certainly had held her hips in more lascivious situations, but somehow he felt more naked that time. 

Vulnerable. 

He doesn’t think he can keep this a secret any longer. 

… 

This last tenday has been punishing, and Astarion carries its weight with him as he searches the encampment for his wayward paramour. 

He finds her on the staggered rock where they helped Halsin rescue Thaniel, staring out into the darkness. Her posture is relaxed as she leans back on her arms, legs dangling off the edge where the water beats on the stone below. 

The silt crunches softly beneath his boots, and he knows she has heard him approach when her ear twitches. He settles himself beside her, brushing off any stray granules from his armor with a huff of disgust. She giggles. 

It must look comical, how quickly his head snaps up at the sound, searching her face for signs of madness. After how despondent she’s been, he expects to find a vessel, a hollow being with the residue of what was a soul, begging to be let go. 

Instead, he finds her kind smile, as she now swipes away the remaining dirt from his calf, “Not a fan of sand, I take it?” 

For all his prose, there is no poetry, no song, no prayer that could mimic the joy he feels when she teases him. He’s been drowning, his mood anchored to hers, and now she has yanked him from the abyss once again. Is this the feeling all those bards crooned about? That every two-bit novelist dreamed of capturing? 

He had long given up on such fantasies, convinced himself that the very notion of love made him sick. 

Love. 

There’s no use pretending anymore. It is love that he feels for Tav. It’s why he mopes at the end of the night if she dares to speak to him last; perhaps the tad murderous feeling he gets when he sees her acting too chummy with the wizard. It’s the comfort of knowing someone has his back, the safety of her sword shielding him from attack, the promises of freedom sleepily whispered between lips in the night. She is the first breath taken when he surfaces. The sun pales in comparison to the warmth in her touch, though she is just as apt to kiss his cheeks. 

She is back and gods, how he missed her. 

Gods, how he loves her. 

“No, I don’t,” he responds in his bantering tone, “It’s rough... irritating... and it gets bloody everywhere.” 

She hums in agreement, gaze falling to the ground before returning to the river. Silence befalls them again, and he finds himself clamoring for words. He wants to confess his love, sing her praises, ask her what the hell is wrong with her. Anything to fill the silence, he refuses to live in the saturnine hellscape that has been the last week any longer. 

“Astarion,” she beats him to it, “I want to apologize for my behavior these last few days. I put everyone at risk and going forward I’ll be sure to keep everything in check. Can’t have everyone dying because of incompetency.” 

A bit too diplomatic for his liking, and her laughter is much too forced. He’ll need to teach her some proper acting; it’s a miracle she’s survived as long as she has with that disaster of a performance. Aren’t paladins supposed to be charismatic, or is it the weapon that does most of the talking? 

“Oh, you were in a bad mood? I hardly noticed,” he states with all the indifference he can muster. 

She leans into him to playfully jab her elbow into his side, muttering expletives in an elven dialect he hasn’t heard in ages. 

“Seriously, I’m sorry if I made you worry.” 

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he rushes out, hand idly scratching the back of his neck. 

The tension returns, though not as overbearing as before, as questions remain unasked and feelings unshared. It’s a bitter push, as neither is used to talking about their depths, and he doesn’t want to pry; yet a sweet pull, as he remains at her side, wishing for the awkwardness to dissipate. 

“It’s just...” She begins, and though she faces forward, he catches her sneaking looks at him in her peripheral, “There’s so much going on, I don’t know where to start.” 

If he had any blood in his body, he’s sure it’d be racing, his heart thumping wildly in tandem. He thinks she’s ready to talk, and that is half the issue. He thinks, but he doesn’t know; it terrifies and thrills him all the same. He wants to know her – aches for it, if he’s being honest. 

But he is terrified, so sure that he’s going to fuck up and ruin the one good thing he’s had in two hundred years. If she rejects him now, shuts him out for good, he’s not sure he can take it. 

This was supposed to be easy; she was supposed to be easy. 

“It doesn’t matter where you start, I’ll be here for the end.” Shit, shit, SHIT. 

“Astarion,” she gasps, hand over her heart, his name melting into a laugh, “That was actually smooth.” 

He tsks, “I take offense to that. I’ve always been smooth, you’re just too brutish to notice.” 

She laughs again, shaking her head as an enamored smile graces her lips. Her hand brushes stray locks of hair behind her pointed ear and even in the dim glow of the inn’s spell, he can see a blush staining her cheeks. 

But then, she sighs, slow and tired as her fingers soothe circles into her temples, “Can you keep a secret for me?” 

It’s what he’s been pining for, offered on a silver platter, and how could he not say yes. 

He raises his hand to his chest, drawing an ‘x’ over his armor, “Cross my heart and hope to—uh, well, you know.” 

Another chuckle escapes her lips as she adjusts her position, angling herself towards him. 

She swallows thickly before continuing, “Well, I uh—I talked to Kelemvor.” 

“Is that not par for the course for you Doomguides?” He asks incredulously, eyebrow raised and head tilting as he chuckles. 

This time, she does not grant him a smile or a laugh, focused on picking at her cuticles and the dirt under her nails. 

“I haven’t spoken to him since the nautiloid, I figured the tadpole was interfering,” she says hushed, shame and guilt on the edges of her voice. “I was preparing myself for the worst, but what I got was an impossibility.” 

What kind of cryptic bullsh-- She’s been hanging around Withers too much. 

Hundreds of possibilities race through his mind. What he knows of Kelemvor is only from what she has shared; while he did not seem to be a vengeful god, they already have one person burdened with a suicide mission. He could live without the blabbersome wizard, but her? 

He should have known the universe would only offer him misery, to dangle a sweet treat before him and rip it all away before he had the chance to savor it. 

“Did he ask you to sacrifice yourself?” He wants to hear it from her, needs to hear her say those dreaded words so he can make peace before she is nothing more than bones and fading memories. 

Her eyes find his, inflamed with tears she no longer has the strength to shed, “I wish he did.” 

The pain, the anger, the grief of the last few days resurfaces in her voice, that flare of purple sparking in her irises. Astarion does not often find himself shocked, but the callous and tempestuous storm raging beneath her skin leaves him speechless. Instincts tell him he is witnessing only a fraction of her fury. 

Then it ebbs, retreating like the tide, as she takes a deep breath to steady herself. 

“I’ve been having doubts, about my purpose, about this path I chose. I expected Kelemvor to berate me for lacking faith.” 

Her hands go back to tearing at her cuticles. 

“He by no means praised me, but he wasn’t furious, either. He didn’t seem like himself... He didn’t even look like himself. It was as if his passion was gone. I asked him what I should do, and he told me that only I can determine my future.” 

“So? What’s wrong with that?” He was genuinely confused by her demeanor. Self-determination, autonomy, freedom; all the things she promised to help him find and keep, yet she fears them for herself. 

“Kelemvor has been a part of my life since I was a teenager, I’ve devoted myself to him for the better part of two centuries. I don’t-- I don’t know who I am without him.” 

A kindred spirit. 

She clenches her jaw, letting out a frustrated huff, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay a Doomguide to a god who abandoned his own principles!” 

He knows she is bleeding from her nail beds, the lovely scent of spiced wine in the air.  

“I took an oath of devotion, to be honorable, compassionate, and honest. I do not fear death of myself nor my loved ones, for death is not something to be afraid of. It is not something one must seek, but it is what one should embrace should it find you,” She explains, “For the last two hundred and fifty-six years, Kelemvor would remind me of these tenets, and commend me for every valiant foe I slaughtered in their image.” 

As sweet as the fragrance is, he takes her hands in his; they have seen and caused enough damage for the time being. 

“And Kelemvor just... doesn’t care anymore. Every time we saw some poor undead creature cursed by Shar, I was reminded of how he dismissed me, like I was a fool for ever following him in the first place. I was his valiant hero, one his most beloved Paladins, and now what? I’m nothing.” 

“You are not nothing,” he replies in an instant, “You are everything. You don't need Kelemvor to be honorable or compassionate, because you already are those things. He was lucky to have someone as devoted as you, but if he wants to toss you aside, then good riddance; it’s his loss, and everyone else’s gain.” 

Crimson floods her cheeks again, as she stares at him dumbfounded. He fidgets in the momentary silence, the feeling of actually sharing one's feeling still mildly uncomfortable. But then it dissipates, because she smiles at him and brings their clasped hands to rest over her heart. Its beat is comforting. 

“Thanks, Astarion. I don’t know what I would have done without you these last few weeks.”  

“Someone had to keep you alive. I know I said you would make a pretty corpse, but that doesn’t mean I’m eager to see it, darling.” 

“I’m sure Shadowheart would let you have a nibble if I passed,” she says with a laugh. 

“Perhaps, but I don’t think she could compare.” 

The steady rhythm of her heart increases under his hands. She adjusts herself again, scooting closer to him so that she can lean her head against his shoulder. Her eyes close as she relaxes into him, and he feels so relieved at knowing her touch could be so intimate yet still so gentle. 

“There’s just one thing I don’t understand, Tav,” He says, his thumb softly tracing along her knuckles, “Why were you having doubts in the first place?” 

“Oh! Um...” She says, head lifting from his shoulder, “It’s so embarrassing, don’t worry about it.” 

“Don’t you dare hold out on me now,” He pleads as he slings his arm across her back, hand resting on her hip and pulling her in close so he can whisper, “Especially when it comes to gossip!”  

Sagging against his side, she groans out, “You are the wooooorst.” 

He raises his hand to his face, making a dramatic show of clearing his throat before uttering a very sickly sweet, “Please?” 

“Okay, fine,” she huffs before grumbling out something unintelligible. 

“What was that dear? No one likes a mumbler.” 

“Because of you! Because... I like you,” She says, carding her hand through her hair; her walls tumbling and every emotion she’s shouldered alone spilling forth in a maddened haze. 

“I’ve seen hundreds of undead, most of whom I gladly sent back to their graves. They were merely the husks of the people they once were. Any soul left in them was but a dying echo as they pleaded for their suffering to end. I thought I was helping,” she says, voice shaking, “But what if I ended the life of someone who just wanted-- no needed-- a second chance? Was I an arbiter of divine justice, or just some glorified executioner? I started to question everything when we met.” 

His mind is a whirlwind, thoughts simultaneously speeding yet slow. The half of him that yearns to be known, to be loved, is battling against his ever-present fear that he is not worthy of such. It’s a terrifying concoction, one that has him questioning just how accurate Tav’s description of the undead is. He has no idea who Astarion is; he knows who the elven magistrate once was, but who is Astarion the spawn, besides Cazador’s infernal expectations? 

“By no means am I saying that you haven’t suffered, but you are not some hollow corpse, Astarion. Despite everything that’s happened, and everything that has yet to come, you have grown in unprecedented ways. You’ve broken a mold, defied all odds. You’re simply breathtaking...” 

He is, isn’t he? No one has given him enough credit; no one has truly recognized the pure shit he has survived through. No one has offered him the chance or the choice to be better. He’s tired of the untrusting sideways glances, the disgusting feeling of some stranger’s eye roaming his figure. He’s always been expected to fall in line, and today he makes the promise to finally live for himself. 

“When this is all over, I want to stay by your side, if you’ll have me.” 

She looks at him with reverence, like he can pluck the stars from the night sky. He has seen this look before, when she would talk about Kelemvor, and he swears his undead heart nearly beats under her adoring gaze. He has no army to command, cannot turn into mist nor bat; he is practically powerless, and yet she wants him anyway. She believes in him, even though he can’t trust himself. Where he sees nothing, she has found something worth abandoning her god for.  

“I don’t think I’ve heard you this quiet before... are you alright?” 

He cannot find the words necessary to explain his delight. Even if he did, he doubts he’d still even be able to form them, arrange them into proper sentences. The truth has rendered him speechless.  

It doesn’t erase the fact that she sounds hurt, scared even, at the prospect that his silence means rejection. He recognizes the feeling all too well, and if she can overcome its pain to tell him the truth, then dammit, he can do the same. Perhaps he will forever roam darkened streets, but that doesn’t mean all of him must remain in the shadows. He must be honest, expose his own secrets to the proverbial light, and allow her the same choice. 

“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just... feel awful.” 

He hopes she chooses him all the same. 

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan-” 

[corrodedcoffins-blog]

The First Meeting

main masterlist

spencer reid x famous!reader Universe

word count: 4.1 k

warnings: stalking, murder, character asking to die (if I missed something please let me know)

Today was supposed to be an easy day for the BAU. It was a paperwork day, no case, no one dying on their watch.

These were some of Spencer's favourite days, don’t get him wrong he loves being in the field and profiling killers, and when they arrest an unsub, that’s the best feeling.

But having days every now and again where they don’t have to travel and Spencer can read and reflect on their previous case, he greatly enjoys it. And he can’t say he’s the only one, but he can say he’s the only one that uses paperwork days to do paperwork.

Penelope walks in the glass doors humming a tune, foreign to Spencer.

“You got that James Dean day dream, hmm hm mhmmm, I got that red lip classic” 

“What’s got you so happy, babygirl?” Derek says, from across Spencer.

“Um, because The Met Gala is tonight! Biggest night in Fashion! And no case means I can watch it.”

“Oh, I must have forgot to put it on my calendar.” Derek, sarcastically remarks while getting up and out of his chair on his way to refill his coffee cup. All the while JJ comes rushing the bullpen, giving the rest of her co-workers a sympathetic face.

“Just when I thought, we would have an easy day.” Emily mumbles getting out her desk chair and walking away with JJ.

“Wally Melman, a music producer in New York, was killed two weeks ago, and Natali Ryan , a singer and songwriter, was killed 4 days ago also in New York.” JJ says while the screen behind her shows pictures of the crime scene.

“The police said they found pictures with the victim's face with ‘You’re Next’ written in red marker across their face. Suspected to have gotten in the mail.”

“And why have they called us now?” Derek says, clearing knowing there was more JJ was going to say but wanting her to get to it quicker. 

“Yesturday, another singer/songwriter, by the name of Y/n L/n-” 

“Oh. My God!” Penny interrupts JJ, having come in to tell the team an update she had gotten from the NYPD. “uh- sorry, I’m sorry.. Um, the NYPD wants a couple of us to go straight to the crime scene once we land, and that the next vic- uh Y/n L/n I suppose- is at the station waiting.” Penny says, turning and leaving after finishing her sentence. 

“Okay everyone, wheels up in 30. JJ can fill us in on the jet.”

When the team arrived in New York, Hotch sent Rossi and Emily to the recent crime scene, and JJ to talk to the media, while himself, Spencer, and Derek went to the station.

When the three got to the station they were shown the note Y/n had gotten from the unsub, different to the others, hers having ‘You Owe Me’ written across her face instead. The team walked into the room they were told Y/n would be in.

Spencer knew she would be pretty, everyone in Hollywood was gorgeous that’s how it worked, but this girl was easily the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon, even with her bleached hair that he could assume was a split second decision.

She sat on a chair next to one of the officers' desks, as if she was like everyone else and not a world-wide popstar. Y/n and her manager Joe look up, hearing footsteps walk into the room. She stood up to shake Hotch’s hand. 

“Hi, I’m Y/n, it’s nice to meet you and thank you so much.” “Of course” 

She goes to shake Derek hand, saying a greeting similar to the one she gave Hotch, then she comes face to face with Spencer, or possibly- not definitely the most beautiful man she has ever seen, sticking out her hand she says, “Hi, nice to meet you..”

“Dr. Spencer Reid- or just Spencer, you don’t have to call me doctor.” “Nice to meet you Spencer.” Y/n stays looking at Spencer maybe a second longer than she should have. It’s just so hard to look away from a man that beautiful. When Y/n does finally look away, she takes a seat and they begin their questioning. 

“How well do you know Natalie Ryan?”

“Uh, we talked when we were at the same events and were always friendly, but we weren’t friends.”

“How about Wally Melman?”

“What?” 

“Wally Melman, he was a producer who was killed a couple months ago.” Spencer jumps in, making Y/n turn to address him, while she asks her next statement .

“The paper said that it was a robbery.” “The paper was wrong.” Derek responded quickly.

“Did you know him?” Hotch asks, wanting to get back to the questions he has for Y/n.

“I wanted to work with him on my last album, but he started working with..” Y/n cut herself off.

“Who?” Spencer asks concernedly, seeing the scared look on Y/n's face.

“Natalie Ryan, and they beat Y/n for song of the year” Joe says while Y/n is setting her face to rest in her hands, trying to comprehend what was happening.

“Do you ever have the feeling that someone is following you, or watching you?” Derek asks.

“Only every second I spend outside my house. I have fans, and paparazzi following me everywhere. It’s part of the job.” 

“Do you ever get repetitive phone calls, hang ups, or gifts sent anonymously?” Spencer asks.

“I receive flowers, Lilies, my favourite. The seventh of each month they get sent to each of my homes, they just show up on the doorstep. Never a note, nothing.” 

After a few more of their questions it just becomes too much, knowing that these people are being killed because of her or ‘for’ her and Y/n gets up and leaves the room. Not being able to actually leave given the cameras outside, she doesn’t get too far. And Spencer is right behind her.

“Y/n wait!”

“Can you explain what the hell is going on?”

“Well, it’s still rather speculative, but it appears there’s a delusional assassin who’s killing people to help further your career. It probably started as a stalker. An erotomaniac stalker. There’s a psychopathology of the evolution of these types of stalkers and the fact that he’s contacting you indicates that he believes you owe him something. This model frequently concludes itself with one of two possibilities, either the stalker will kill himself or he’ll kill the object of his affection.”

If Spencer wasn’t talking about the possibility of Y/n’s untimely death, she would have had more time to find Spencer’s rambling and seemingly never ending knowledge hot.

Y/n had gotten home from her time at the station, hoping to be able to relax as she has the Met tomorrow night. But when she had gotten to her front door the yellow notepad paper taped onto it caught her eye.

After reading the note she called the station immediately. The BAU had arrived looking over the note, Y/n was in the room but not listening, she onlys snaps back into listening to the conversations when she hears Spencer. 

“In English?” one of the officers asks.

“That is English actually.” Y/n smiles at that, while Spencer continues, getting cut off by Derek not too far into his explanation. Y/n finally speaks up, after the team starts talking about how she should continue, as if she isn’t there.

“I’m standing right here guys..”

“If we did remove you from the street, you couldn’t stay here, we would have to take you to an undisclosed location.”

“I have a fitting here in 30 mins, and the Met tonight, then I’m all yours. Look, I don't want to be afraid of this lunatic.”

"We can clear all but essential personnel, and up your security.”

“Derek and Spencer will stay here with you.”

“Okay.”

The team getting Y/n ready for the Met have set up, Y/n just finished getting hair and makeup done in just her underwear and a robe. Spencer walks up to Y/n while she’s opening a greenhouse ginger shot to drink.

“I’m sorry if I was insensitive earlier.” Spencer says, referring to when he followed her outside of the questioning room and told her there was a possibility this stalker/assassin guy will kill her, just a tad insensitive.

But nonetheless Y/n responds with, “It’s fine, you were just doing your job, right?” “Yeah.” Y/n takes her ginger shot with a look of remorse on her face. She reaches for the soda in Spencer’s hand, to wash it down. 

“You don’t mind sharing with me do you?”  Spencer quickly shakes his head mumbling a quick ‘no’ while Y/n’s team calls her to get into the dress, Y/n takes off the robe she was wearing, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen, then throwing the robe over a nearby chair. Now standing in just her underwear she smiles at Spencer before walking over to the team helping her get into the dress.

Leaving Spencer to watch her as she subtly sways her hips slightly more than usual when she walks. Spencer takes a sip of the soda Y/n had handed back after taking a sip, Derek coming over to tease Spencer about the scene he just watched.

“You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” “Shut up.” Spencer says as he walks away. “Go get ‘em, lover.”

Y/n didn’t get to stay at the Met nearly as long as she wished. With double the security and Spencer there with her, she knew she wouldn’t have the night she was hoping for, but maybe something close.

But as she danced with Tom Hiddleston, Spencer got the call to take her to the safe house. Spencer didn’t really want to interrupt Y/n dancing on who he assumes is  another famous person, but he had to, for her safety. 

“Um- Y- Y/n we have to go.” Spencer says while struggling to gain her attention.

“Really?” “Yeah..” “Okay” she sighs, turning to Tom, mumbling an apology and some fake excuse.

They got to Y/n's home. Spencer rambling about safety measures Y/n should take. “You should also probably change all your phone numbers.” “I’m unlisted.” “Anytime you call an 800 number or an 888 number your phone number’s put into a data bank that’s then sold to telemarketers. If someone gets your cell phone number they can go online and research all your records.”

Y/n looks at Spencer expecting him to continue, but when he doesn’t she assumes he’s done, and gets up to walk into her kitchen, saying as she gets up, “You’re very cute when you ramble.” Causing Spencer to freeze but when she turns the corner out of his sight he rushes to keep up with her.

“You should also probably carry a piece of paper and a pen with you wherever you go in case you see any suspicious licence plates that often reappear.” Spence trails of looking closely at a collage hung up on Y/n’s wall 

“It’s a photographic collage. I like how obscure it is.”

“You should also get a dog. Like a guard dog of some sort.” Spencer says, staring intently at the collage but not acknowledging what Y/n said about it. 

“I don’t think so, I'm a cat person. Dogs are not for me… Earl grey good?”

“Wha- what?”

“Tea, do you want some tea?”

“Uh yes, yes sure.”

“Okay” Y/n says smiling at his nervousness.

Y/n walks into the living room, in her swimsuit with a robe overtop, coming to stand next to Spencer while he stares intently at the picture collage on Y/n’s wall. 

“Are you feeling anything?” “There is something definitely appealing about it.” “That’s a start” Y/n says while chuckling.

Turning on her heels towards the back door to the pool. This catches Spencer’s actions wondering what she's doing, he asks, “What are you doing?” “Going for a swim.” Y/n responds nonchalantly. “What? No, Y/N!” Spencer yells following her, but before he can reach her she dives into the pool.

Swimming up to the surface and wiping her face with her hands. She looks so gorgeous, she looks like a movie star, which is not far off. But Spencer really shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful she is when he’s job is to keep her safe, and her being out here is not safe.

“Y/n, you cannot do this.” “Just a few minutes?” She ‘asks’ while giving Spencer puppy dog eyes. “Go get a suite in the house.” “What? No, I’m not going to grab a suit. Are you kidding me? No.” Spencer says in that high pitched tone he does, she’s only heard it once before, but she can’t help but find it so cute.

“Join me.” “No, I’m going to join you.” “Why not?” “You’re being pursued by a psychotic killer who shoots people in the head!” “I’m not going to stop living my life because of him.” Y/n turns to float in the water. “Y/n, I’m begging you. Will you please get out of the pool?”

“Come on, Spence, you should live a little.” “Live a little? I’ve not known you for 24 hours, I feel like I’ve already aged 10 years.” “Ugh, I can’t be that bad.” “Yes, you are that bad.” Y/n turns off of her back and starts to swim to the edge of the pool Spencer is standing at. 

“Fine, but can you help me out at least?” She says putting on an innocent face as if she really did want help out of the pool. When Spencer leans down to grab her hand to help her up, Y/n pulls him into the pool causing a big splash following after Spencer falls in. 

Which then causes a laugh to come from Y/n as Spencer rises to the water's surface. 

“Yes, very funny. Laugh it up, Y/n. Hilarious. My gun’s wet. That’s just great” Spencer swims to the edge to get his gun out of the water, Y/n swimming behind him, still chuckling. 

“My clothes.” “I told you to grab a suit.” 

While Spencer looks down at his wet chest, Y/n’s hand comes to rest on his peck, causing Spencer to look up at Y/n. When he looks at her, she is already looking in his eyes, her eyes asking the question ‘do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?’ the answer being ‘yes’ as Spencer starts to lean in. Not knowing what he’s doing, leaning in to kiss Y/n L/n global superstar? Who does he think he is, thinking she would want to kiss him? But contrary to Spencer's beliefs, Y/N leans in too, pulling his body closer to hers faster by his tie. As their lips collide, it feels as if the world slows down. For the first time in a long time Y/n feels normal, regular, ordinary, in the best possible way. She feels in the way Spencer's lips are moving against hers that he doesn’t want her for her fame, or looks, but for her. Just her. But then Spencer pulls away. It had only been a couple seconds, how could a kiss that short hold that much emotion? Spencer’s words stop her from thinking too much. 

“This is completely inappropriate.” “Spence..” Y/n looks into Spencer's eyes only looking away when she closes them and pulls him into another kiss, by his tie. This kiss, still sweet and emotion filled, yet rougher, as if they had gotten that much more comfortable now versus 15 seconds ago. Their lips move together roughly, Y/n tongue brushing Spencer’s lips looking for access, which causes Spencer to move his lips back from Y/n’s again. “No, there’s this thing called transference.” Spencer says, all the while Y/n is trying to recover from the best kiss of her life, and Spencer has no idea. “Do you not like me?” “What?” Spencer says quickly like him not liking her, and is just the most insane idea in the world, and truthfully that’s not far off. “Was that kiss not good?” “No- no it was very good.” “Because I like you.” “I like you too. It’s just I’m a federal agent. You know. And I’m supposed to protect you.” “Then you should keep me close.” Y/n mumbles moving her lips to Spencers again. Spencer pulls back to start talking again, as Y/N’s kisses move to his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin every so often, the first nibble causing Spencer to let out a surprised noise that quickly turns into a moan. “I’m just, hmm.. I’m a little worried, you know? We’re in a pool.” “Are we?” “And it’s uh.. We’re pretty much exposed.” Y/n moves to give Spencer's lips a quick peck, before responding to his concerns. “We have cops. We have cops posted out front.” Y/n cuts herself off to kiss Spencer again, “There are coyotes out back.” Y/n pauses looking at Spencer’s lips, while licking her own, then shooting her eyes up to Spencer’s “And then it’s just you and me.” Y/n moves her lips to be hovering over Spencer’s their noses rubbing against each other, it feels much more intimate than just kissing him, breathing in the after shave and cologne mixed with chlorine soaked into his skin is a smell Y/n would never get sick of, no matter how much she hated the smell of chlorine. She moves her lips back to the spot she found on his neck that makes him the most reactive. “Stop- I have to tell you something.” “What?” “I didn’t want to tell you this before, because I was a little bit worried… I didn’t know how to say it, but I can’t not tell you.” “Spence, just tell me. What is it?” “Your manager, Joe… Hotch went to check on him, but he got there too late.” Y/n looks into Spencer’s eyes any ounce of a look that would tell her he wasn’t serious. Because Joe couldn’t be dead. Not because of her, Joe was like family, no matter how weird he was. Joe was always there. Y/n turns away not being able to look at Spencer, “How could you-” She turns back to him, looking Spencer in the eyes as she aks, “How could you not tell me?” “I was afraid you’d be upset.” “You knew? How could you know and not tell me?” “Y/n, I’m so sorry” Y/n moves towards the edge of the pool to pull herself out, Spencer trying to help her. “Don’t- Don’ touch me! Please, don’t touch me!” Y/n gets out walking back into the house with a towel around herself, leaving Spencer in the pool.

Spencer walks into Y/n’s living room, seeing her sitting on her couch crying, he wants to comfort her. Just don't know how. “Y/n?...Are you still… Are you okay?” “Joe was like family.” Hearing Y/n cry hurts Spencer more than he thought possible from a girl he met not even 24 hours ago. “It’s just so hard to trust people in this industry, you don’t know who to believe.Everybody wants something from you. And I felt- I thought you were different.” “I know I should have told you.” “I told him not to.” Rossi cuts in having heard most of the conversation from behind Spencer. “He was only following my orders.” Rossi pats Spencer's shoulder while leaving the room. “The last time I could really trust people was when I moved to Nashville.” Y/n says, all the while Spencer is decoding the picture collage on Y/n’s wall. “Nashville, you said you lived you Houston street? And you were on KZ fm in high school?..” “Yeah..?” When Y/n sees the way Spencer is intensely staring at the collage she also gets up, to stand next to him. “I need to take this thing about.” Spencer says while not looking away. “What?” “I’ll put it back. I think I see images of you. Guys!”

Y/n stands to the side with Derek while Spencer and Emily are putting the pieces together. “Y/n, it looks like someone has been stalking you for years.”

“Yeah, this tells your whole life story. Awards, Billboard charts, Albums.” 

“Everything since moving to Nashville.”

“Who gave you this collage?” Derek asked, leaning over the island counter. “Um- he did” Y/N says pointing at a picture on the collage. “Who is he?” “Uh- Parker Dunley, I don’t really know him, he just owns a gallery I go to sometimes.” 

Spencer gets off the phone quickly turning to Y/N. “Y/N, do you someone by the name of Veronica Hartley?” “Roni? Yeah, of course I know her. I’ve known her for years. She’s one of my assistants.” Their conversation gets cut off by Y/n’s phone ringing. “What is it?” Spencer asks, seeing the way her eyes widened when she read the caller ID.

“That’s her calling now.” 

“Is she calling from her cell phone?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Y/n, we think Roni’s the stalker.” 

“No- No way.” 

“Answer the phone. Act completely natural, the longer you keep her on the line the more likely we’ll be able to trace the call.. Trust me.” Spencer walks away to call the team, while Y/n answers Roni’s call.

“Hello?…Roni?...” Spencer turns to Y/N and gives her a signal to keep talking.

“Rons?... You’re tired?......I saw you today?.... I don’t know what you’re talking about.. I remember.. Roni, that was just one weekend…”

“Y/n” Spencer whisper yells, after getting off the phone with Penny, finding out Roni’s calling inside the house.

“How did she get inside?”

“She has keys.”

Spencer starts searching the house Y/n walking behind him. When they get up to a guest bedroom, Y/n feels the barrel of a gun being pressed to her skull, Spencer quickly turns around. 

“Put down the gun.” Roni demands. “Roni..” Spencer says while lowering his gun. “Don’t call me ‘Roni” you don’t know me! Come on, Y/n, let’s go. We have to go, baby. Come on.” Y/n looks in Spencer’s eyes begging him to do something. “Roni, don’t hurt her. You don’t need to hurt her.” “You don’t know anything. I would never hurt her. I created her" "No you didn’t.” “Yes, I did you stupid, ungrateful, little bitch.. I can’t believe I ever loved you.” “Roni, she.. She loves me now.” Roni moves her gun from pointing it at Y/n’s head to pointing it at Spencer. “She told me so. When we were in the pool. She kissed me. Now she loves me okay?” “No.” “Tell her we kissed in the pool.” “No!’ Roni yells this time switching from pointing her gun from Spencer to Y/n. Y/n looks at Spencer hopefully to tell her the next move, when he nods his head at her she says, “Yes, we kissed.” Roni then pushes Y/n, and Spencer tackles Roni to the ground, grabbing her gun, and pointing it at her. “Kill me! Please. Kill me! I’ll be so much happier!” But Spencer shakes his head, lowering the gun as he says, “No, we’re going to get you some help.” 

Y/n is standing in the station talking to her publicist, while news vans are lined up outside.

“I don’t want any media.” “Come on, Y/n” “No. No media.” “Okay, no media. Let me deal with these guys then.”

After Y/n’s publicist leaves, Spencer walks up to Y/n. “I wish we didn’t meet under these circumstances. More normal maybe.” “Y/n, believe me, no matter how we met, I’m glad we did.” Y/n feels her whole body, warm at that, she turns her head, knowing Spencer can see the blush on her face. They’re interrupted when Derek yells for Spencer. “Hey, Reid. Come on, we got to move.” “Well, um- here, take this.” Y/n passes Spencer a receipt she had written her new number on. “Would you- if it’s okay with you, give me a call.” “Yeah, I would love to.” Rossi comes walking over. “I hate to intrude, kid, but we’re waiting.” “Yeah- yeah a second.” “So- call me, I’ll be waiting.” Y/n turns to walk away, but Spencer puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Y/n turns towards Spencer, he puts his hand on her check, Y/n leaning into his palm, turning her head slightly to press a small kiss into his palm, before walking away. 

[reaper2187]

Caitlyn x female prisoner reader

Prisoner's help (part 2) pev | next

Y/N and Caitlyn walked through the bustling streets of Piltover, the city’s vibrancy a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the prison. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that intertwined with the city's golden glow. As they moved deeper into Piltover’s heart, Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Caitlyn. The Enforcer’s focused demeanor and unwavering stride spoke volumes about her dedication, but Y/N sensed something more beneath the surface—something personal driving Caitlyn’s actions.

They arrived at the Enforcers’ headquarters, a towering structure that loomed over the surrounding buildings. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, filled with the hum of activity. Enforcers hurried about, their faces etched with concentration and worry. Caitlyn led Y/N to a briefing room, where a large map of Zaun was spread across the table, marked with various pins and annotations.

“This is where we’ll be working,” Caitlyn said, pointing to a cluster of markers. “There’s been a surge of criminal activity in this sector. Smuggling, illegal experimentation, and reports of new, dangerous technology.”

Y/N studied the map, recognizing some of the locations. “I know these areas. They’re controlled by different factions, each with their own agendas. If we go in unprepared, it’ll be a bloodbath.”

Caitlyn nodded. “That’s why I need your expertise. You have contacts in Zaun, people who trust you. We need to navigate this situation carefully, or we risk escalating the conflict.”

Y/N leaned back, crossing her arms. “And what exactly are we looking for?”

“Information,” Caitlyn replied. “We need to find out who’s behind these operations and what their endgame is. Our goal is to dismantle their network from the inside out, without drawing too much attention.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Easier said than done. Zaun isn’t exactly friendly territory for Enforcers.”

Caitlyn’s expression hardened. “That’s why we’re doing this together. Your knowledge of Zaun, combined with our resources, gives us a fighting chance.”

There was a moment of silence as Y/N weighed the risks and rewards. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. But we do this my way. No unnecessary heroics, no drawing attention. We blend in, gather intel, and strike only when we’re sure.”

“Agreed,” Caitlyn said, extending her hand. “We leave at dawn. Rest up and be ready.”

Y/N shook her hand, feeling the weight of their pact. As she turned to leave, Caitlyn’s voice stopped her.

“Y/N, one more thing,” Caitlyn said, her tone softer. “Thank you. I know this isn’t easy, but I appreciate your help.”

Y/N looked back, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just remember, Kiramman, this is a temporary alliance. Don’t get too comfortable.”

Caitlyn chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The next morning, Y/N and Caitlyn made their way to Zaun. The transition from Piltover’s gleaming streets to Zaun’s shadowy underbelly was stark. The air grew thicker with smog, and the buildings became more dilapidated. They moved cautiously, avoiding attention as they navigated the labyrinthine streets.

Their first stop was a rundown tavern known for being a hotspot of information. As they entered, the din of conversation hushed momentarily before resuming, patrons casting curious glances their way. Y/N led Caitlyn to a corner table, signaling the bartender for two drinks.

“We need to find a contact,” Y/N said quietly. “Someone who can give us the lay of the land.”

Caitlyn nodded, scanning the room. “Any suggestions?”

Before Y/N could respond, a grizzled man approached their table, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Y/N. “Well, well, look who’s back. Thought you were gone for good.”

“Miss me, Orin?” Y/N replied with a smirk.

Orin grunted, pulling up a chair. “What brings you back to this cesspool?”

Y/N leaned in, her tone serious. “We need information. There’s been an uptick in activity, and we need to know who’s behind it.”

Orin glanced at Caitlyn, suspicion evident in his eyes. “And who’s your friend?”

“A temporary ally,” Y/N said. “We have a common goal. Now, can you help us or not?”

Orin sighed, scratching his beard. “Depends on what you’re offering in return.”

Y/N pulled out a small pouch of coins, sliding it across the table. Orin inspected it, nodding in satisfaction.

“Alright,” he said. “There’s been a new player in town. Calls himself The Chem-Baron. He’s been uniting the smaller gangs, pushing new tech and drugs. Rumor is, he’s got connections higher up, maybe even in Piltover.”

Caitlyn frowned. “Any idea where we can find him?”

Orin shook his head. “He’s a ghost. Moves around, never stays in one place for long. But there’s a warehouse in the Sump where his men operate. Might be a good place to start.”

Y/N nodded. “Thanks, Orin. You’ve been helpful.”

As Orin left, Caitlyn turned to Y/N. “A Chem-Baron with ties to Piltover… This is bigger than I thought.”

Y/N’s expression was grim. “Welcome to Zaun, Kiramman. Things are never as simple as they seem.”

As night fell, Y/N and Caitlyn approached the warehouse in the Sump. They moved silently, using the shadows to their advantage. Peering through a cracked window, they saw several men inside, loading crates onto a truck. The crates were marked with strange symbols, ones Y/N recognized as belonging to a notorious chemist.

“We need to get closer,” Caitlyn whispered.

Y/N nodded, leading the way to a side entrance. They slipped inside, sticking to the shadows as they observed the operation. It was clear this was more than just a smuggling ring—it was a well-coordinated effort, with advanced technology and resources.

Suddenly, a noise behind them made them freeze. Turning slowly, they found themselves face-to-face with a tall, imposing figure. His eyes glinted with malice as he regarded them.

“Well, well,” the man said, his voice dripping with menace. “Looks like we have some uninvited guests.”

Y/N and Caitlyn exchanged a glance, knowing they were in deep trouble. They had stumbled into something far more dangerous than they had anticipated. As the man raised a weapon, they prepared for a fight, knowing this was only the beginning of their ordeal in Zaun.

To be continued…

[skellymom]

"Dance of Rebellion"

My Hunter doodle. Paper and Caliart markers.

I always thought Hunter's body type lended itself to a gymnast or dancer.

FINALLY sat down to draw. It's been a long while. Hoping to post the full doodle this week. My phone camera lens was cracked and a new (used phone) arrived.

[radianttulsibabe]

because my very real-time post about my garden blooming in freezing weather apparently wasn't up to par, I will grant the boon of @zeherili-ankhein and make a post about what happens when one asks Sri Krishna for water.....

Careful what you wish for...sometimes spurring a river to quench thirst can result in consequences greater than one is prepared to accept...

A long, long time ago, in a land far beyond India, Lord Ram and Lady Sita lived 14 years in exile from their kingdom, called Ayodhya.

During their journeying in the forest, they were often without water. Sita was becoming exceedingly weak from exhaustion- she was a princess from a fine kingdom-not a woman built for the long hot days of the dense jungle forests.

On a day when her constitution was rapidly weakening, Lord Ram went in search of water. But as the life force of his Shakti was fading, his journey came without luck.

A peacock heard of the Lady's failing constitution and would not let the incarnation of Lakshmi perish, in exile, in an untamed wilderness. The peacock greeted Lord Ram and offered to guide him and his family to refuge, and to the water which they needed so desperately in order to survive. However, with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

As the forest was dense, and the peacock was quicker to fly than to walk, only the dropping of the peacock's feathers from his tail for a marker would allow the travelers to arrive safely to the water source- in time to save the life of the Lady Sita.

With each dropped feather, the life's journey for our peacock came nearer to its close. When the family finally arrived to the water's edge, the peacock lay at the bank- the feathers missing from his once glorious tail.

In return for such a sacrifice, Ram promised to ever honor the peacock. In each incarnation following, the Lord Vishnu adorns himself with gifted feathers shed from a peacock who found its mate.

As the 8th Avatar of LakshmiNaryana, Sri Krishna and Devi Rukmini continued to honor the sacrifice from the life of the devoted peacock they met as Ram and Sita. Sri Krishna wore the feathers in his crown and MaaRukmini tended the birds that needed her care.

When MaaRukmini found herself again traveling without water and a weakening constitution, Sri Krishna stomped his foot into the earth. Where he struck, a spring rose up to quench her thirst.

The first drink from this new river was offered to the Queen of the Dwarkadish. The Sage Durvasa offended by her receiving the first offering instead of being asked himself if she could take the first drink- according to the customs of the time- cursed the two to live 12 years of exile.

As LakshmiNaryana only ever incarnate as a pair, the separation of the two parts of their soul caused much grief for MaaRukmini. Her consolation was the beauty of the forest created around the new River Ganga by the gods who sought to bring comfort to their MahaRani.

Their separation came to be redefined into a lesson from their 8th incarnation. It also came as a time to grow the newly formed river Ganga into a beautiful and powerful landmark. As Durvasa began to understand his folly. He pleaded with the Divine couple for clemency.

Unlike the noble peacock who immediately recognized the divinity-and without hesitation, gave the ultimate sacrifice to his Lord and Lady- Durvasa let his pride become offended by the acts of Naryana providing sustenance to Lakshmi before giving concern to another.

Are many not the same in their pride? is pride greater than devotion to that which the creator deems worthy of his attention? do not many seek to first take from the heart of Vishnu before he is able to even sustain the needs of his Shakti? Do not summer flowers blooming in winter take as much of a miracle as water coming from the earth at the command of its creator? Each petal grows with the same fervor of the water that courses in a river; each atom carries a role of equal importance in the divine story of this world.

Anywho, thanks for reading through to the end of story time with Rukmini! have a lovely day. remember to light sambrani dhoop for Lakshmi this week she would probably really like that.

<3 Rukmini

[o2studies]

23:37 || ༻`` 26 Dec 24 — Friday

Overall a very productive day, however I still procrastinated a ton by doing less important and urgent tasks, (despite needing to get a few things done before the 31st).

My chemistry notes are finished. I'll read through and highlight the last booklet another day, but as we haven't gone over it in class I won't make any notes on it yet. 🦎

I roughly sketched out my final piece for art! (I'm doing a 3D painting set rather than sculpture) I do have to change one of the sketches (there are 4 side boards + 1 top board) to sign up with the others properly and I'm waiting for my gesso to arrive because with the amount of heavily watered down paint I've used, the wood needs sealed in. Also, why is there no affordable (white) gesso anywhere anymore??

I fully finished an art study with my new acrylic paint markers and I'm in love with them! They're so smooth and the colours are really nice

I also started carving out another lino board for more prints (I really hope this will come out a lot better than my last one....)

Day 100 clean!!! 🎉 K is the absolute sweetest, I told her it was day 99 yesterday and she remembered and congratulated me today 😊

Day 0

Floor time ✅️

I've also made plans with some friends for New Year's and I cannot wait!!! // 🍊

[lasenbyphoenix]

My new birth certificate with my gender marker change has FINALLY arrived!

I'm now officially a dude!

[yougavemeyourheartyouknow]

On thin ice (Hockey player! Miguel O’Hara x Figure skater! Fem! Reader)

A/N: Hiii Im back from my mini break :) I wanted to write more, but I wanted the next chapter to begin a certain way so I’m making this one short hehe. Excuse any typos and grammatical errors. Miguel probs being ooc

(Y/N)- Your Name

Cursing, funny little hehe drama, Miguel being Jealous, ansty (?) (Like, If you squint)

Word count: 1k

Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee.

—

It’s been 3 weeks.

It’s been 3 weeks since you were in that practice room with Miguel O’Hara.

It’s been 3 weeks since you kissed Miguel O’Hara.

It’s been 3 weeks since you started to avoid Miguel O’Hara.

You didn’t do it on purpose, at least not at first. The day after the very overdue make out session, you told yourself that you would wait a day or two before you talked to him about it, in an attempt to get all your thought in order. Then, that day or two turned into three… then four, then a week, then 3… and at this point, it would be too awkward if you finally decided to face him. What were you even supposed to say after ignoring him for 3 weeks? “Hey Miguel, sorry I basically ghosted you after we made out, even though I said I’ll talk to you afterwards.” You’d rather die of embarrassment. So now you found yourself purposely avoiding him, and although your boy problems should be the last of your problems, they wouldn’t leave your mind.

As you came out of the bathroom, tossing your hairbrush onto your semi-messy bed, you let out a heavy sigh as you saw Kate finish fixing the whiteboard calendar that hung in your dorm room for the new month of October, on the third Friday, she had wrote “MIDTERMS,” in big red Expo marker, and on the following Friday she had written “REGIONALS” in the same way. The two words made your stomach twisted, and for once in the past three weeks, your mind was finally off the topic of the hockey player you had kissed.

“You know staring at the board won’t make those words go away.” Kate said, snapping you out of your thoughts as she capped the Expo marker, you let out lips curl down into a frown and your thumb’s fingernail started to tap repeatly on the surface on your ringer finger’s nail, a habit you've developed when you're nervous, because you knew she was right.

“Can’t you let me pretend at least?” You were joking of course, before making your way over to where you had your gym back half-hazardly thrown at the foot of your bed, zipping it open and checking of all your skating gear was in the bag.

“You’re overly stressed, what is it? Midterms, Regionals, or Miguel?” She asked with a head tilt, hey eyebrow going up with the question.

“All the above…” you mumbled under your breath as you finish rummaging through your bag before zipping it close and throwing it over you shoulder.

“You’ve got this.” Kate sent you a sympathetic smile, which you returned before leaving your shared dorm.

—

You told yourself no skating on the weekends as an attempt to keep yourself from over stressing yourself, but here you were, in the middle of the rink on the first of October, on a Sunday. To be fair, you weren’t practicing, you were just going to practice some jumps and spins, holding to get your mind off everything that’s been transpiring in your messy life. It was honestly a miracle that when you arrived that the rink was empty. You were in the middle of going over your triple lutz, each time you came back down on the ice your landing was wobbly, that is if you landed it. Most of the time you couldn't land it at all, it’s a move you’ve been trying to perfect for months now. Hoping to have it down before coach Kavinsky could have choreographed the long program in hopes to get more points from the judges, but unfortunately you still had too much trouble with it. It would have been a risky move to put it in the program.

“You should probably take a break from that move before you end up black and blue.” The voice rang out through the empty rink, causing you to lose concentration and fumbling the move again.

“Fucking hell, Logan. You should know you can’t do that shit…” you groaned as you slowly gathered yourself to get your body off the ice after falling. Logan chuckled and shook his head, his hands going into his pockets as he walked towards the entrance of the rink, taking the guards off his skates.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re right…” He mumbled with a small smile as he helped you up, “I just wanted to check on you. I know you like to come here when you’re stressed.” He added in a more serious tone.

“Yeah I’m…” your words trail off, a heavy sigh leaving through your nose instead. Logan, already knowing your answer just gave you a sympathetic frown, rubbing your shoulder before pulling you into a hug.

—

“She’s already told you that she’s not dating Logan-“

“I don’t care Peter.” Miguel growled, leaving the stadium, shoving past the front doors and angry stomped to his car in the parking lot. Peter followed behind him. While you and Logan were in the middle of your beautiful friendship moment of reassurance, neither of you noticed Miguel nor Peter making their way to the ice with their gear on and hockey sticks in hand. But upon seeing you embracing your skating partner, he quickly turned back around and made his way back into the locker room, changed back into his regular clothes, then (quietly) storming off and out of the building. “You expect me to believe that bullshit!? She’s all over him, like she wasn’t all over me 3 weeks ago!” He yelled as he throws open his back car door and angrily throws his bag and hockey stick into the back seat, Peter also putting his stuff in the back, but in a more calm manner.

“Miguel, that’s her skating partner. Not to mention her best friend.” Peter tries to reason with his friend as they both go into the car. “Obviously they’re gonna be close. If she was dating Logan, do you really think she would have let you kiss her? Let alone return the kiss?”

Miguel didn’t respond to Peter’s question, instead just letting out a small huff of air and a grunt. His hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles began to turn white.

If you wanted to play that kind of game, then fine. He’ll play. He’s the best player on the team after all, this little cat and mouse will be easy for him.

—

Taglist: @tayleighuh @cowboylikeevie @coralineyouareinterribledanger @jukioku @loser-alert @migueloharaspookiebear @serpentstarr @littlexscarletxwitch @darksidescorner @sukioyakio

[miupow]

dark content christmas ideas ~~ (*/ω＼)

— a mafia boss’ christmas gift from his henchmen is the daughter of a rival mob boss

— thinking about christmas with my kidnappers tyunning,,, sweet daddy kai giving u toy catalogs and markers wanting u to write a letter to santa and make a list of gifts you want,, and meanie tyun getting nasty w u because u wrote that your christmas wish was to be let go 😭

— a hungry vampire using the holiday spirit to his advantage by arriving at ur doorstep begging for help… no don’t call an ambulance, he doesn’t need one ! won’t you just let him in and take care of him and his wounds? its the season of giving after all~

— an evil scientist has finally finished working on his most important creation, just in time for christmas, and he plans on giving it to his henchmen as a gift for all of their hard work <3

— an alien comes to abduct you and do god knows what with you, but you manage to convince it to let you go as long as you explain to it the meaning and purpose of christmas (this one isn’t as much dark content as it is just silly lol)

— a pervy college boy is spending his winter break with his roommate and close friend back at his home… and is determined to get into his hot milf moms pants before the new year

[rafesslxt]

🐰 secret bunny⎥ rafe cameron

part 1 ⎥"welcome back"

「 ✦ 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞.✦ 」

summary: Scarlett, JJ's cousin comes to visit him after 4 years, surprising everyone. But even than, what would be a day on obx without a fight between the Pogues and Kooks?

word count : 2436

warning: memory of losing someone, death, shooting,JJ pulling out his gun, English is not my first language

JJ's POV:

"So when did you want tell us that you - or should I say we - get a guest over the summer?" I shrugged my shoulders. "John B knew it." "Wow, so a complete stranger spends the whole summer with us and you don't think it's necessary to tell us?" Kie raised her eyebrows in a huff and pierced me with her gaze.

I looked at my watch and got up. " Yes, and I have to go now. By the way, you know her. It's my cousin Scarlett and I didn't tell you so you wouldn't make such a big fuss like last time until she felt uncomfortable."

"What? Scar is visiting us? Today?" Pope almost screamed. "See! That's exactly why I did not tell you!" " When was the last time she was in outer banks?", Kie asked. " I don't know, I think 4 years ago?" "I hope she hasn't changed and is still as cool as she used to be."

I left the house and took John B's Van to get Scar from the ship she came on.

Scar's POV:

It had been a long time since I've been here and yet the air smelled exactly as I remembered it. I had missed the warm weather and the nice people, but the older I got, the more and more responsibilities I had at home. Besides college, I helped my parents with the marketing of their company. They were markers in New York and I supported them with their website and Instagram profiles. In addition, I would occasionally take photos of the houses for sale.

As much as I loved helping my parents, I was glad to have a break from everything and finally visit my cousin JJ. I missed him from time to time, but we never had much contact when I wasn't here. As soon as I arrived, however, we were inseparable as children. Talk about the devil.

"Scarlett!"JJ yelled, who just got out of a van. "JJ!" I smiled and jumped into his arms. "How's my favorite cousin huh?" I laughed and hugged him tightly before letting him go. "Good, I'm your only one." I took a closer look at him now that he was standing in front of me.

He had grown a lot, his face looked the same as it did 4 years ago, just a little more mature. He looked more athletic and his style hadn't changed much either. He still looked like a typical surfer boy from the movies. The girls here had to kiss his feet.

JJ took my luggage and put it in the back of the van. "I'm surprised you didn't come on your bike." I knew he loved to ride his bike and I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd come on it instead of the van.

"We'll ride it soon enough," he winked at me and got into the van. " So? Go on, tell me. How are you little one?"

During the car ride, JJ told me everything that had happened in the last few years. His life hadn't really changed and his circle of friends was still the same as 4 years ago. I told him everything about home, how my family was and what I had been doing for the last few years.

We arrived at a small hut where John B lived, as far as I could remember. Excited, I got out of the car and helped JJ unpack my luggage before we brought everything inside. "This is where you're going to live for the next 6 weeks."

We went out onto the terrace where the rest of the Pogues were sitting. " Oh my god, hey." I felt myself getting a little emotional seeing everyone again after such a long time. "Scar!" John B was the first to ask how I was and hugged me tightly. Then I hugged Pope and after him Kiara. "Kiara. I'm surprised to see you here. Are you a Pogue now too?" I smiled and pointed at the others. Kiara was always better off with the Pogues than with the Kooks. Who on the island cared more about the turtles than her?

" I needed a change of scenery from all the glamor." she shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and smiled back. But as quickly as her smile appeared, it disappeared again when I asked my next question. "Do you know where Sarah is today? I wanted to meet her when I've settled in. Why don't you come with me if you want?" She just shook her head. "You know, Kiara and Sarah aren't really friends anymore. There was this thing..." Pope began. "This thing, exactly. That she's a bitch, you mean?" She looked annoyed at Pope.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know that." Sarah had never mentioned anything. Back in the days, we spent almost every day together. Kiara, Sarah and me. I wondered what could have led them to no longer being friends. " But have fun with her anyway. Hopefully you'll see as quickly as I did that she's a snake."

"There's a party at the beach tonight, you'll definitely meet her there," JJ assured me. I exhaled deeply. I was beginning to get the feeling that a lot had changed in the time I had been away.

In the evening

I went to take a shower and changed into some new clothes as I was already sweaty from the warm weather and the trip here. "Hey John B, thanks again for letting me stay here with you. " I knew that his father had been gone for a long time now and probably couldn't imagine how hard that must be for him. " No problem, JJ's family is my family too. Well, except for your uncle. " My uncle was the reason I spent my time in the Outer Banks at John B's. My parents and JJ didn't want me to sleep over there because they knew what Luke was like. Besides, JJ assured me that he slept at John B's most of the time anyway.

I chatted with John B for a while until the Pogues arrived. Together we went down to the beach where I met many familiar faces again. Including Sarah's. "JJ I'll be right back." Before he could answer, I ran to Sarah. "Sarah?" A wide smile appeared on my lips as she turned around. " Scarlett!" I probably heard my name for the 1000th time today. Happy that she was as exited as I was, I hugged her tightly and closed my eyes. "Oh my God, I've missed you so much!" she murmured into my shoulder as she returned my hug.

"Look at you! You're even more beautiful than last time!" she said, making me spin around. "What about you! The boys here must all be after you, right?" Embarrassed, she looked down at the floor and something clicked in my head. "Don't tell me! Do you have a boyfriend?" " Yes, his name is Topper. He's over there with his friends." I looked in the direction she was pointing. A boy named Kelce was standing next to Topper with another guy. I couldn't tell who the third one was because he had his back to us.

Sarah waved Topper over and he followed her hand like a puppy until he stood next to us.

"Topper, this is my friend Scarlett. Scarlett, this is my boyfriend Topper." she introduced us. " Ah, Scarlett. Sarah has talked a lot about you, especially the last few days." "Scar is enough and I'm pleased to meet you. " I shook his hand. I wish I could have returned his words, but Sarah hadn't said a word about him, which surprised me a little.

Rafe's POV:

"Where is he going?" Kelce asked me. "What? Who?" I followed Kelce's gaze. Topper ran to my sister who waved him over. I wasn't really surprised at that. She had him wrapped around her little finger since day 1. What did surprise me was who was standing next to my sister. "Who's that girl next to Sarah?" I asked Kelce. "I think that's Scarlett. Topper had mentioned something about Sarah being happy because she was coming to Outer Banks today. " He shrugged his shoulders and continued. " You know I hardly listen to him when he talks about Sarah."

My eyebrows drew together. Scarlett? Why did her name sound so familiar? Kelce seemed to have noticed my look " Man, that's Scarlett! She used to play with Sarah and Kiara. It's been years since she was here. "

Suddenly I could remember her. Scar. Kelce was right. She used to play with Sarah and Kiara at our house.

I took a closer look. Her long blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders. I could already see her curves from here. Damn, she's grown up. I licked my lips and took a few steps closer. "Watch out before something flies into your mouth." Kelce laughed loudly. I closed my mouth and punched him lightly in the ribs. "Shut the fuck up."

Scar's POV:

"I'm throwing a costume party at my house tomorrow. My dad and Rose are going to the Bahamas for the weekend. Why don't you come over if you want? Then I can introduce you to the rest of us.", Sarah suggested. "That sounds great. Is there a theme? Or a dress code?" I asked to make sure. "No. You can come as whatever you want." That meant I would definitely have to go shopping tomorrow.

We chatted a bit more with Topper when JJ and John B joined us. "Hey Sarah! Can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?" JJ offered Sarah. Sarah looked at the beer and then at JJ " No, but thanks." " Oh sorry. Is it not fancy enough for you?" A little irritated, I looked at my cousin. "JJ, she doesn't want anything." Sarah smiled at me and said " No, we were just leaving."

Now I was even more puzzled. We had been talking normally. Why were they just leaving? The atmosphere quickly became tense. I wondered if Sarah already knew what was going to happen.

"Hey, you know what? I'll take it." Topper said and reached for the red cup, but JJ pulled his hand away.

"If you said pretty please, maybe. But you didn't." " Oh really pretty please? Pretty please?" " So Sarah, you can have it." JJ tried to give his cup to Sarah again but Topper interrupted him by tipping the cup into JJ's face. "She doesn't want it, you dick!"

JJ tried to reach for Topper but John B intervened." Hey JJ. Come on he's not worth it man." He pushed him back more while I ran to JJ's side. "JJ what was that about? What's your problem with each other?" Before I could get an answer Topper shouted "Dirty Pogues!"

John B let go of JJ, stormed towards Topper and pushed him back. It only took a few seconds for them to start punching each other. John B fell into the water and turned around. "Hey John B, don't make me drown you like your old man, all right?" John B got up and rammed Sarah's boyfriend to the ground.

Slowly everyone gathered around and shouted: "Fight!Fight!Fight!"

"John B! Stop it!" I screamed, as did Sarah next to me. Kie joined in and yelled "Guy's stop it!" JJ and Pope cheered their friend on as he slammed his fist into Topper's face. "Stop cheering him on! Stop it you idiots!" I screamed into their faces.

They continued to fight and it didn't seem to stop until Topper got the upper hand and threw John B into the water and pushed his face under the surface. My stomach turned at the sight. Why didn't anyone intervene?

Sarah screamed Topper's name in vain. " JJ do something! He's drowning your best friend!" I wiped my face in panic. This was not how I had imagined my first day in Outer Banks. Suddenly JJ came up behind me and ran straight towards them. Just as the weight on my heart dropped, my eyes caught sight of something sparkling silver in JJ's hand.

He held a gun against Topper's head. "Yeah, you know what that is." Everyone started running away when they saw what JJ was holding against Topper's head. "JJ! Put the gun down." Sarah tried to speak calmly to him and took a few steps towards them. " Did you say something, princess?" " We're good! We're good! All right? Come on, man!"

" Kie! Can you check your psycho friend please?" Sarah called out to Kiara. My eyebrows drew together at her statement.

"Okay everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" JJ screamed and shot into the air. My whole body flinched at the sound.

"Aaron! Can you hear me! Please say something!" I shook his body as hard as I could but got no response. "Please please get up! We have to get out of here!" Tears were streaming down my cheeks and snot was coming out of my nose. "Scar, I love you. Tell mom and dad I love them too okay? Please. " " No! No! Get up come on! Please someone help us!" I screamed but no one came. Everyone ran like crazy through the streets and tried to hide.

" Scarlett! Are you okay?" Kiara brought me out of my thoughts when she touched me on the shoulder. I jumped and looked at her. "Scarlett, you're crying." She pointed at my face, which I wiped with my sleeve seconds later. I nodded and ran over to JJ.

Pope yelled at him and pushed him. "Are you crazy? What have you done you idiot!" "What did I do? I saved him!" They continued to argue until Kiara intervened. " Hey! That's enough guys!" JJ looked at us. I saw him look at me and recognize my red eyes. " Shit, Scar. I'm sorry, I- " " Can we please just go? Everyone's gone home anyway.", I said and went to John B who was still in the water. I helped him up and handed him to Pope.

After we had gathered all of our things, we walked to John B's hut. I changed straight away and layed down. Kiara and JJ stayed here too. Pope went home because otherwise he would be killed by his dad if he didn't show up. I had a hard time falling asleep that night with my hand around my pendant that was hanging from my necklace. Hopefully tomorrow would be a better day.

—

Let me know what you think 🫶🏻

part 2

Secret Bunny Masterlist

xoxo sarah

[coldbanana1331]

How the JJK mean react to you drawing on a beard

fem! reader

category:fluff ♥️💋

Idk why but I thought this was hilarious and wanted to share it with the internet 🛜

Gojo

As you sat in front of the mirror, armed with a marker and a mischievous grin, you couldn’t help a giggle at your own weird humor. Your boyfriend, Gojo Satoru, was on his way back home, and you had a little surprise in store for him. With swift strokes, you drew a comically, elaborate beard, with twirl mustache, and admired your handiwork.

Moments later, the door swung open, and in walked your boyfriend, completely oblivious to the transformation you had just undergone. You suppressed your laughter and did your best act nonchalant, innocently rearranging some papers on the table. As he entered the room, his eyes narrowed, a hint of confusion and his gaze.

“What’s up babe?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at your suspicious behavior. Trying to play it cool, you turn to him with an innocent smile.

”Oh hey! You’re back already? How was your day?” You asked, trying to maintain a poker face while a fake beard was mercilessly plastered against your face.

His eyes widened as he took in the site, clearly struggling to contain his laughter. He cleared his throat and composed himself before replying, his voice teasingly serious.

”Um, it was alright, but I don’t remember you having some facial hair before I left. Did you discover a hidden talent while I was out?”

You struggle contain your laughter as well, playing along with this quip. “Oh this?” You stroke your beard a little. “Well I uh…it’s in the genes. What you don’t like it?” You tease.

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Well I must say that’s some impressive “genes” you’ve got there.”

Both if you burst into laughter before you had scurried off to scrub the beard raw. After all you did have work in the morning.

Nanamin

You have been dating for a few months now and he has always been very serious and focused on his duties as a sorcerer. You hope this little joke will help him lighten up and show a more playful side.

When Nanami finally arrives, he is dressed in his traditional jujutsu sorcerer attire, his expression stoic and determined. He barely acknowledges you as he greets you and goes to take off his shoes.

You stand in front of him, proudly displaying your drawn-on beard, waiting for his reaction. However, Nanami's expression remains unchanged as he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

'What is that?' he asks.

You dramatically stroke your drawn-on beard and pose confidently.

'It's my new beard! Do you like it?' you ask, trying to hold back a smile.

Nanami's expression softens slightly as he tries to hold back a small smile of his own.

'It's...interesting,' he responds, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck.

'Don't you think it suits me?' you tease.

Nanami looks at you, a softness in his eyes as he leans down to kiss you.

'You always look beautiful to me, with or without a beard,' he says, making your heart skip a beat.

You chuckle and playfully swat his arm.

'Cheesy, but I'll take it,' you say, grinning.

Nanami smiles and pulls you closer, his serious facade melting away as he enjoys this playful moment with you.

'I suppose I can lighten up a little,' he admits, causing you to laugh and pull him into a hug.

You spend the evening together, enjoying each other's company and your little joke. And even though Nanami may still be serious and focused on his duties as a sorcerer, you know that he also has a playful side that you will always cherish.

Choso

As you finish drawing on the fake beard, you can't help but stifle a giggle. Your boyfriend, Choso, is always poking fun at your little quirks, and today, you're going to give him a taste of his own medicine.

With the beard securely in place, you walk out to the living room to greet Choso. He's sitting on the couch, flipping through a book with his usual bored expression. You hold back a laugh as you try to maintain a serious face.

'Hey, babe. What's up?' you say in your best serious voice.

Choso looks up at you, taking in your 'bearded' face. He raises an eyebrow and gives you a suspicious look.

'What's going on with your face?' he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You immediately drop the act, bursting into a fit of laughter.

'I couldn't resist!' you say, finally removing the fake beard.

Choso shakes his head, a small grin playing on his lips.

'You are something else,' he says, a hint of affection in his tone.

You both collapse onto the couch, laughing and joking around like the silly couple you are.

As the laughter dies down, Choso pulls you in for a kiss.

'I love that you keep me on my toes,' he says, his eyes full of love.

You can't help but smile, grateful to have such a wonderful and boyfriend like Choso by your side.

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart

New York City ||| September 1988

I was standing You were there Two worlds collided And they could never tear us apart…

 - “Never Tear Us Apart”, INXS (1988) [click here to listen]

~~~~~

The taxi glided to a stop in front of the Plaza Hotel. A bellman opened the door before the passenger finished paying the driver. With a quick thanks the passenger exited the taxi, squinting in the early afternoon sunshine, nodding a hello at the bellman and his top hat.

Quietly the man entered the hotel and crossed the lobby.

“Hello,” he greeted the woman standing behind the Guest Services desk. “I’m here to see Colum Laird.”

“Certainly. Your name, sir?”

The man pulled a business card from the breast pocket of his blazer.

Raymond Germain, MD

Private Counseling

New York City

“One moment, please.” The woman dialed a string of digits, speaking softly into the phone.

Raymond waited, glancing around the lobby. A cluster of photographers sat, bored, around a side table. Several young men and women with spiky hair and leather jackets stood in another corner, some clutching record albums and permanent markers. Two women in low cut dresses primped in front of their hand mirrors.

“Dr. Germain? Mr. Laird is ready to see you. Please follow my colleague.”

A man, dressed in a smart suit, appeared seemingly out of the wall. “Right this way, sir.”

Raymond followed him across the lobby, through a set of double doors marked STAFF ONLY, and into an elevator bank.

“The band has booked the entire northwest corner of the sixteenth floor,” the man explained. “It’s configured in such a way to provide total privacy. This elevator is the only way to get up there.”

“I see.” Raymond shifted on his feet, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “How long have they been staying here?”

The elevator arrived, and the man gestured for Raymond to enter. “Three nights so far. From what I understand, they’ve played two sellouts at Madison Square Garden. With the final show tonight.”

The man pressed 16, and the doors slid shut.

“How have they been as guests?”

The man smiled. “It’s hotel policy to not comment on any guest who stays here. But what I will tell you, is that it’s much more sedate than the last time they stayed with us, in ’86. The entire fifteenth floor had to be re-carpeted.”

The doors opened onto a hallway. A short, middle-aged man with shoulder-length graying hair stood in the elevator lobby. A dozen doors trailed away in the corridor behind him.

“Dr. Germain.” He extended a hand in greeting. “Welcome.”

“Mr. Laird. Colum. Call me Raymond, please. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Colum and Raymond in the hallway.

“Well, Raymond – thank you for coming. I know getting up here is a bit unorthodox – but it’s the only way to ensure total privacy. Things have been a bit of a zoo this summer.”

Raymond smiled kindly. “I truly can’t imagine.”

Colum sighed, wiping his eyes. “Fortunately it’s been a bit of a quiet morning. The band and the crew are pretty exhausted.”

A crash from behind the closest door. Followed by a man’s voice, and a woman’s high-pitched giggle.

Colum smiled tightly. “Pay no attention to Angus. His only vice is women - he’s had a menage-a-trois going all tour.”

“I see,” Raymond remarked quietly. Not quite seeing at all.

Colum coughed. “Anyway, let me take you down the hall. They’re waiting.”

Dougal MacKenzie had not provided many specifics about Jamie and Claire Fraser. The broad strokes, of course – that both had been patients at The Ridge last year; that his addictions were alcohol and cocaine and women and hers were pills; that they had been married less than two months. That she was a surgeon.

Oh, and that he was the singer, guitarist, and chief songwriter of just about the biggest rock band in the world.

Raymond hadn’t a clue about Jamie’s music. But Dougal had said it wouldn’t matter. And in more than ten years of knowing each other, Dougal had proved to have impeccable instincts.

Colum knocked on the final door in the hallway. Muffled voices – and then a beautiful woman opened the door.

“You must be Dr. Germain.” She extended a warm hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Claire Fraser.”

Raymond took her hand between both of his. “Raymond. And the pleasure is all mine, Dr. Fraser.”

She smiled kindly, surprised. “Claire, please.” She tilted her head, just a bit. “Have we met before?”

Raymond returned her smile. “I don’t think so. I’m sure I would remember.”

Colum quietly stepped away and padded down the hallway.

Claire gestured behind her. “Please do come in.”

to be continued��