#and the constant paranoia and vigilance

[mssalo]

safety - Part: I

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

4k

Enjoy!

Part II Part III Part IV Part V

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who sought peace or ease.

He’d spent too many years living a different kind of life-one built around routines of survival, discipline, and a level of alertness that never quite faded.

Now, back in Texas, he carried that constant vigilance like a second skin.

He’d settled in a small, secluded home just outside of Austin.

The area was quiet, isolated, the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions.

The locals respected boundaries, and Joel had made his clear. He kept to himself, lived a simple life, and preferred things that way.

People complicated things—something he wasn’t interested in anymore.

Most of his days followed a routine that he clung to with the same intensity he had in the service.

Early mornings were spent with coffee and silence, the smell of pine trees drifting through the windows of his old, weathered cabin.

Afterward, he'd take to the woods, either hunting or just walking trails he knew as well as the lines in his hands.

Out there, he could let his mind focus on something tangible—the tracks of a deer, the feel of the rifle in his hand.

There, his senses sharpened again, always on alert.

Joel’s awareness never dulled, not even after all these years.

Every noise, every shift in the wind or crunch of leaves beneath his boots, kept him on edge.

He was always scanning his surroundings, ready to react.

He knew it wasn’t just about the hunt.

It was the way his brain had been wired, after all the years of needing to be ready—whether it was for survival or something worse.

It wasn’t paranoia, just the reality of a mind that had been trained for danger. He told himself.

He didn't see many people. He didn’t want to.

But the thing about always being on edge was that it left little room for rest.

At night, the memories clawed their way in—images he’d rather forget but couldn’t.

Sleep was shallow and rare.

Even when he managed to drift off, he was often jolted awake by some phantom noise or sensation.

And once he was up, it was hard to shake the feeling that something or someone was out there.

He’d get up, check the locks, sometimes even patrol the perimeter of his land just to make sure.

In the quiet of his cabin, with only the crackling of a fire or the hum of the wind for company,

Joel would pour himself a drink.

Whiskey, usually. Something to dull the noise in his head, to take the edge off the constant tension that never quite left him.

But he never drank too much. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to stay sharp, always ready—just in case.

His life wasn’t complicated, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need company or connection, not anymore.

He kept things simple: survival, routine, and the solitude of the Texas wilderness.

It asked nothing of him, and in return, he didn’t have to share the parts of himself he’d buried long ago.

· · ─────

Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had become part of his routine, and after tossing and turning for hours, Joel would get up, make coffee, and try to focus on the small tasks that anchored him.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Joel Miller pushed the key into the ignition of his truck, the familiar rumble beneath him a small comfort in an otherwise uneasy world.

He had always been an early riser, but lately, the habit had turned into more of a necessity.

Driving out into the quiet Texas morning was one of those tasks.

The roads were mostly empty, and Joel preferred it that way—less to watch for, less noise, fewer things to trust.

He liked things simple.

Routine. Predictable.

After everything, it was easier to stick to what he knew, to keep the world at arm's length.

It was safer.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the road ahead and the landscape around him.

There was no telling who or what could be out there, even in a sleepy Texas town.

He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, not after everything he'd seen.

Trust was a currency he couldn’t afford to spend, not anymore.

He kept the radio off, preferring the silence. It gave him space to think, to process.

Most of the time, though, it just made him more aware of the quietness around him.

Every little creak or snap of a twig was magnified, every shadow cast by the rising sun something to take note of.

He didn't trust the peaceful exterior of the world anymore.

Too much could change in an instant.

It was exhausting, always being on edge like that, but Joel had learned to live with it.

He couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.

As he drove further down the road toward the camping&outdoor supply store, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a flicker of motion between the trees.

His heart quickened, and his foot instinctively lifted off the gas pedal.

He slowed down just enough to check the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the tree line.

Nothing. It could’ve been an animal, but Joel’s mind didn’t let him settle on that.

Even when he convinced himself it was probably just wildlife, he remained alert, tension rippling through his muscles.

"Could be anything," he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ain't takin' chances."

The camping store was a bit of a drive, but Joel didn’t mind.

The solitude of the open road helped him clear his head, as much as his thoughts would let him, anyway.

Hunting was something he could still rely on.

He didn't need anyone else for it, and it gave him an excuse to get away from people.

He wasn’t much for conversation these days, always keeping interactions short and transactional.

He liked the supply store too; the guy who ran it knew not to ask too many questions, just handled the sale and let Joel be.

It suited him fine.

As the store came into view, Joel exhaled, his mind already running through what he needed to pick up.

The truck tires crunched against the gravel as he pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that allowed him a clear view of the entrance and the surrounding area.

Old habits.

Joel turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to observe the store.

His hand absentmindedly reached toward the glove compartment, where his gun was stashed, just in case. He didn’t need it often, but knowing it was there kept him grounded.

After a few seconds of scanning the area and feeling satisfied that nothing was amiss, he stepped out of the truck.

The supply store wasn’t busy, just a couple of people browsing inside.

As Joel stepped into the store, the familiar scent of leather and canvas greeted him. Country music hummed low in the background, and the quiet atmosphere brought him a sense of calm.

The simplicity of the place was something he appreciated—straightforward, nothing complicated.

Just the way he liked it.

His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the back, scanning the shelves for the hunting gear he needed. It was his routine, one he kept to himself.

The sudden crash jolted him like a gunshot.

Joel’s instincts took over, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

His hand flew to his side, fingers brushing the handle of the knife he always kept on him. His eyes darted around the store, scanning for threats, muscles coiled tight and ready.

He felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the kind that came from years of having to be on guard every second.

His heart pounded, the edges of his vision sharpening as he prepared for the worst.

But then, he saw her.

Just a girl. Bending over, trying to gather the gear she’d knocked to the floor. No threat. No danger. Just her.

Joel exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as the world settled back into place.

He let go of the knife, though his pulse still hammered in his ears. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to trigger that reaction. Not here. Not now.

But for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

She was clumsy, but calm—no panic, no rush to fix what she’d done.

It was as if she was used to things slipping from her hands, not bothered in the slightest. That softness, that ease, it drew him in like nothing else had in a long time.

And even though the tension from the noise had faded, he found himself still rooted to the spot, watching her.

His eyes trailed over her, catching the way her long, soft looking, hair tumbled down her back, how her tender fingers fumbled with the items before her.

She was a mess of soft edges, and he hadn’t seen anything that soft in years.

He’s not used to that.

His world had become hard, sharp, filled with things that made sense, with people who didn’t get too close.

People like him, always on edge, always prepared.

She stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Joel saw her face.

Young. Too young. Early twenties, maybe.

Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her lips parted in what looked like mild embarrassment as she glanced around at the mess she had made.

But it was her eyes that hit him the hardest.

Doe eyed, wide, bright, completely unguarded.

So easy to read.

She looked right at him, her gaze catching his, and Joel’s breath hitched in his chest.

What was this girl doing? Looking at him like that?

She wasn’t supposed to look at him that way—not with that kind of openness, that kind of… trust.

Her blush deepened as her gaze flickered to the ground, but not before Joel saw it creep up her neck, warming her face.

She was blushing because of him.

When was the last time that happened?

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, her voice light, soft, but not the irritating kind of soft.

It was smooth in a way that made something settle in Joel’s chest. Normally, he hated small talk.

People’s voices grated on him. But hers didn’t.

Her voice wrapped around him, warm and gentle, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joel didn’t hate it.

“I didn’t see you there,” she continued, letting out a nervous laugh, her hands brushing against the fallen gear.

“I swear, I’m always knocking things over.” She smiled shyly, that blush still clinging to her cheeks, and Joel’s chest tightened again.

She was yapping—just rambling on in a way that would’ve made him turn his back on anyone else. But he couldn’t move.

He was locked in place, listening to her soft, musical voice as if it was something he hadn’t heard in years.

Maybe because it was. Maybe because no one ever talked to him like this anymore.

Most people avoided him.

They saw the hard set of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes, and they stayed far, far away.

And that was just how he liked it. Less mess, less trouble.

But not her. She was still standing there, babbling about how clumsy she was, her voice a soft hum in his ears.

Joel felt something shift inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t know her.

Shouldn’t care about her babbling, or the way her scent—something fresh and sweet—drifted toward him, making his head swim.

But here he was, standing there, drinking in her voice, her scent, like he hadn’t been around anyone like her in years.

Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.

Joel cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak, though his voice came out rougher than he’d intended. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered, his words gruff, but his feet still rooted to the spot.

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up.

The warmth in them caught him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for that.

“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said with a small, bashful laugh, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “Most people would’ve.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?”

She shrugged, glancing at the gear still scattered on the floor. “I’m kind of a mess.”

Her words didn’t sit right with him. How could someone like her—someone so soft, so full of light—call herself a mess? He is a mess.

But before he could respond, she smiled again, her lips curving up in that sweet way that made his chest tighten all over again.

And that scent… God, he couldn’t place it, but it clung to her, swirling around him like a warm blanket.

His mind raced, cataloging every little detail about her.

Her soft pretty eyes. The way her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle just a little. The way she smelled, like fresh air and something sweet. Vanilla?

He was reading her, studying her like he used to study his surroundings, picking up on every detail.

But none of it made sense. She didn’t make sense.

Normally, he’d be long gone by now. His thoughts already moving on.

But she was still talking, still smiling up at him, and instead of walking away, he just… stared.

She cleared her throat again, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at him.

“Do you work around here?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little shyer.

Joel blinked, realizing he hadn’t said a damn thing in what felt like minutes.

He shook his head. “Nah, just pickin’ up some things.” His voice sounded foreign to him—rough, cold, not at all the kind of tone that matched the warmth she was giving him.

But she didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving up in that smile again.

“Oh, cool. What are you picking up?”

Joel stared at her, unsure of why she was still talking to him, still smiling at him.

But he found himself answering her anyway. “Just some gear. Hunting stuff.”

Her eyes brightened, her smile widening even more. “Oh, hunting! That’s cool. I’ve never been, but I always thought it seemed kind of… peaceful, you know? Just you and nature.”

Peaceful? Joel had never thought of hunting as peaceful. Necessary, sure. But peaceful? Not in the way she was describing.

He grunted, not sure how to respond, but she just kept smiling, her voice still light, still soft.

“Oh, gosh,” she said, standing up with a bundle of fallen gear in her hands, a sheepish smile on her face. “I could never hurt an animal, though. I don’t know how people do it. Like, I get hunting and all, but... me? No way. I’d be useless out there.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, still caught between the sharp edge of his earlier reaction and the softness of her voice.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding slightly, feeling more awkward than he had in years.

“Well,” Joel grunted, his voice a little rougher than intended, “it ain’t about enjoyin’ it. It’s necessary. You do what you gotta do.”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.

He should’ve. He should’ve grabbed what he needed and left.

But something about her—her scent, her smile, her softness—kept him rooted in place.

He wasn’t good at this. Talking. Interacting. Especially not with someone like her—someone who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be avoided.

But she was smiling at him, her eyes wide and innocent, like she wasn’t aware of how the world really worked.

Before he could say anything else, he saw her blush deepen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

She was nervous, but not in the way people usually got around him.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t backing away.

She was blushing because of him.

Hm?

As the awkward silence stretched between them, Joel cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her while she kept talking, her soft voice filling the space between them.

He needed to go.

This whole interaction had lasted far too long, longer than he was comfortable with.

His chest tightened with a mix of confusion and frustration, and he could feel the tension creeping into his limbs, urging him to move, to walk away.

She was still smiling at him, her eyes bright, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“Right,” Joel muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.

“I should… get goin’.” He nodded awkwardly toward the hunting gear in his hand, using it as an excuse to leave.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with a hint of confusion.

“Oh, sure! No problem,” she said quickly, her voice still sweet, but there was something softer in it now, like she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done wrong.

Joel could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step he took.

He forced himself to keep walking, not allowing himself to glance back, not letting himself think about the way her scent still lingered in the air around him.

As he pushed open the door of the shop, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building inside him.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Have a good day!” she called after him, her voice still light, still warm.

Joel didn’t respond.

He just kept walking, his boots heavy against the gravel as he made his way to his truck, his mind already trying to shove the whole interaction into the back of his mind.

It shouldn’t have affected him like that.

Joel climbed into his truck, the door creaking as it shut with a heavy thud.

The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the horizon, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sat there, staring straight ahead.

He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest.

That girl—he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t make sense.

Her smile. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him.

The softness in her voice, the way she smelled—fresh, sweet, and somehow... so pure.

His brow furrowed as the memory tugged at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt much of anything, to be honest.

And yet, there it was. Something stirring inside him, something he couldn’t ignore.

With a grunt, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

He needed to get his mind straight, back to reality, back to the things that actually mattered.

Surviving.

Not some girl in a supply shop.

It couldn’t be because of her.

But as he shifted the truck into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened even more.

He couldn’t deny the physical reaction in his body—the tension building low in his gut, the heat rising through his chest.

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his breath catching for a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed it before, hadn’t allowed himself to.

But now, as he adjusted himself, the realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He was hard.

His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of it settling low in his gut.

How long had it been?

He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like this, the last time his body reacted this way.

But it couldn’t be because of the girl in the shop, right?

“Jesus.” He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to dwell on it. “There was no way.”

She was just a kid. I mean, a woman sure. But so young, soft, innocent.

Completely the opposite of everything he was—everything he’d become.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, his mind racing.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, shouldn’t be feeling this way.

But the more he tried to push it down, the more it rose to the surface.

Her voice, the way she’d blushed when she looked at him, the scent of her clinging to the air around her like a warmth he hadn’t known he needed.

Joel shifted again, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He’d drive home, clear his mind, and forget about it.

Forget about her.

But as he drove down the empty road, the tension in his body only seemed to build. It had been years. Years since anyone, or anything, had made him feel like this.

And the truth gnawed at him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

It was because of her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

moodboard:

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

New series incoming!! Thank you for the nice comments, they make me the most motivated to keep writing. :)

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ ["REALISTIC" GHOST BF HEADCANONS] ¡! ❞

@ pls don't be mad, he's just no cute and overly caring, girl dad, princess gf guy yk

@ Don't expect long, heartfelt conversations or flowery compliments. His affection would likely be shown through subtle actions and gestures. He'd be incredibly observant, noticing small details about you and your preferences, and acting on them without fanfare (e.g., remembering your favorite coffee, making sure you have what you need without being asked).

@ Given his line of work and likely past experiences, trust would be the absolute foundation of any relationship with him. It wouldn't be given freely. You'd earn it through consistent reliability, discretion, and understanding of his need for privacy. Once earned, it would be fiercely protected.

@ His life is clandestine. He wouldn't share operational details, and he'd likely maintain a very private personal life. A partner would need to be comfortable with not knowing everything, and with him disappearing for periods with no explanation. Prying would be a serious breach of trust.

@ Public displays of affection would be rare to non-existent. Private affection would be more about quiet comfort and reassurance than grand romantic gestures. A hand on your back, a brief touch, or leaning into your space would be significant signs of his affection and comfort with you.

@ He's a highly capable individual, and he'd likely be attracted to someone who is similarly capable and independent. He wouldn't want to feel like he needs to constantly protect or coddle his partner. He'd respect someone who can handle themselves.

@ His world is chaotic and dangerous. A partner who brings a sense of calm, stability, and normalcy to his life would be invaluable. He wouldn't seek drama or conflict in a relationship; he'd crave a safe haven, unknowingly.

@ He's not likely to be an emotional confider. He's trained to compartmentalize. You might be a source of quiet emotional support for him, but don't expect him to openly share his vulnerabilities or seek comfort in the traditional sense. His comfort might come from simply being in your presence.

@ Building a relationship with Ghost would require immense patience. He wouldn't rush into anything, and he'd likely test boundaries and trust over time. Understanding and accepting his unique way of being would be crucial.

@ There is no true "off-switch" for Ghost. His situational awareness, threat assessment, and general vigilance would be constant. You would observe him always scanning rooms, noticing exits, and being acutely aware of his surroundings, even in supposedly relaxed settings. This isn't paranoia; it's ingrained survival.

@ He's witnessed and performed unspeakable acts. To function, he likely maintains a significant degree of emotional detachment. This isn't a flaw in a relationship; it's a necessary professional tool. Expecting him to be openly expressive or emotionally vulnerable about his work (or even personal feelings) would be unrealistic and likely counterproductive.

@ When he does communicate, it's often direct, concise, and focused on the necessary information. Small talk, extensive personal revelations, or open-ended emotional discussions would be difficult for him. Over time though, he will talk more and more with you, but he rather lets you talk while he listens than actually saying something himself.

@ As mentioned before, public displays are out. In private, physical touch would be more about quiet comfort or a means of connection rather than passionate romance. A firm, reassuring grip, a hand on the small of your back to guide you, or simply being close in proximity would be significant. He's not built for grand gestures of affection.

@ Think about his discipline. He'd have routines, likely related to fitness, readiness, and personal maintenance. These would be non-negotiable. A partner would need to respect these established habits and perhaps even adapt to them.

@ He wouldn't integrate a partner into his professional life, ever. And his professional life would intrude on his personal life constantly. This creates a significant divide. You would need your own robust life, friends, and interests, as Ghost couldn't be your sole source of social interaction or emotional fulfillment.

@ If you needed something done, or if there was a problem, he'd approach it with a solution-oriented, practical mindset. He wouldn't complain; he'd act. This extends to personal matters too – if you had a problem, he'd likely focus on fixing it efficiently.

@ He might not fill a room with conversation or laughter, but his presence would be strong. For a partner, finding comfort in silence, in shared space without the need for constant interaction, would be vital. His "being there" would be more meaningful than his words.

@ Whatever trauma or experiences shaped him into Ghost, they are deeply buried. Attempting to "fix" him, delve into his past, or demand explanations for his guarded nature would be a fundamental misunderstanding of his character and likely lead to him withdrawing further.

[purplehoover]

Celestia and Luna Redesign!

merely because I was bored, and that this was also put on hold for months- I'm deciding to post it now, though!

The brightest light in the daytime sky, and the comforting glow of the night, these two sisters work together as one.

Celestia is the more talkative of the two, and is often seen with her eyes closed shut- a way to symbolize that she puts her trust in Luna to keep watch as she speaks her wisdom.

Luna is quieter, but has taken on the role of being the voice of Twilight's mentor. Her words speak of truth, often having her perceived as "harsh" and "stone-cold" when she refuses to speak white lies.

While the two have been in harmony, they have had their times of weakness- Causing one or the other to split away from their combined form, the dance between the moon and the sun ceasing. The sisters have forgiven each other, but they remain ever vigilant- always watching each other's backs and minds.

Nightmare Moon is formed through Luna's perception of her sister becoming warped, leading to her becoming paranoid that Celestia is draining her power in order to keep the sun in the sky longer. Luna's paranoia becomes so intense that she forces the split, her distress leading to her becoming Nightmare Moon. With that change, the moon becomes locked within the sky, creating a constant twilight as the sun is unable to rise, leading to distressed animals and famine. The mane six are the ones to bring Luna out of her paranoia, Celestia becoming too focused with trying to restore the order of day and night to help her sister.

Daybreaker is formed through Celestia's power being challenged and distorted through Discord, afflicting her mind, much like her sister. Instead of paranoia, she's full of internalized wrath, for what her sister caused over "some stupid thoughts"Daybreaker, like Nightmare Moon, locks the sun in the middle of the sky, making night impossible and leading to drought in equestria. Luna eventually breaks through her sister's anguish and anger, breaking Discord's influence on her, forgiving her sister at the same time for putting their home first before her. This process creates a solar eclipse.

COMING SOMEDAY: Princess Cadance and Queen Chrysalis - The insectoid alicorns of healing and solitude.

[rosevette]

·.༄࿔ TAKE ME TO PARIS part 2. my mlist

𝒋𝒐𝒉𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒌 & 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒕 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

💋ྀིྀི résumé : the gifts won’t stop, along with john’s paranoia. he won’t even let you out of the hotel.

1.6k words + tags : dumb, ‘naive’ !reader, manipulation, fantasizing, smut, age gap, pet names, fingering, slight non-con, evil intent, brat-taming⭑

୭ৎ … im so sorry yall had to wait so long for this, but im finally finished !! more chapters to come, and I hope you enjoy…if there are any error, ignore! (part 1 here) - sincerely, rose

DAYS PASSED, and John's concern only seemed to intensify. He hovered nearby constantly, his watchful gaze never leaving your side, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. The gifts from Marquis didn’t stop either, a jewelry a day.

At first, you found John’s behavior endearing, a testament to his unwavering dedication to keeping you safe. But as time wore on, his constant vigilance began to chafe, leaving you feeling suffocated by his overbearing presence.

"I'm just going for a walk, John," you protested, attempting to slip past him as he stood guard by the hotel entrance.

His grip tightened on your arm, his eyes flashing with undisguised worry. "I can't let you out of my sight, not with him out there," he insisted, his tone firm and resolute.

Frustration bubbled up inside you as you shook off his hold, refusing to be caged like some delicate bird.

"I'm not a child, John. I can take care of myself," you snapped, storming towards the door, before the brooding man stopped you and held his position in front of the door.

“I said no.”

His voice was cold, you were getting on his nerves. Paranoid or not, he couldn’t let you go outside.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, my patience has already been thrown out the window.” He glared at you, you could tell he wasn’t joking, but you just can’t help but to talk back.

“You’re such a brute. You can’t keep me here fore—“ You widened your eyes, feeling a hand read gently on your mouth. Fluttering your eyelashes to John’s gaze, your face flushed, your eyebrows narrowing.

“Stop being a brat.” He murmured, his words slipping smoothly through his lips.

Before you knew it, his body already pressed against yours firmly, his weight leaning you against the flat surface of the wall, secluded in your room.

“I’m just looking out for you, is that so hard to understand?”

As John pressed you against the decorative wallpaper, his firm grip sending shivers down your spine, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. His proximity ignited a fire within you, stirring desires that had long lain dormant.

With a defiant smirk, you met his intense gaze head-on, the heat of his breath mingling with yours as you leaned in closer, the tension crackling between you like electricity.

"You're not my keeper, John," you countered, your voice laced with equal parts defiance and desire. "I can take care of myself."

But before you could utter another word, John's lips crashed against yours, his kiss fierce and demanding, leaving you breathless and dizzy with longing. His hands roamed your body with a possessive urgency, igniting a fierce hunger deep within your core.

“Do you understand what no means?” He leaned back, scoffing at your flushed state. Now turning your body around to face him, his eyes trailed your body top to bottom, your heart pacing, knowing what was next.

With a gasp, you melted into him, your resistance crumbling beneath the weight of his passion. Every touch, every caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building to a fever pitch that threatened to consume you whole.

It didn’t take long until you felt his hands start to trail up your silk dress, his hand could be seen rubbing along your thighs through the thin fabric. Each whimper you gave was met with a smirk from John, only fueling his ego.

“Seems like this brat is already so wet for me. Is this what you wanted? To push my buttons to end up like this?”

Your breath hitched as John’s hands explored the curves of your body, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you with every teasing touch. His words, though laced with arrogance, only served to stoke the flames of your desire, igniting a primal need that begged to be sated.

With a low whimper, you arched into his touch, unable to deny the intoxicating effect he had on you. “N-No I didn’t mean to I…,” you murmured, your voice dripping with seduction as you trailed your fingers along the contours of his chest.

The tension between you crackled with raw intensity, each touch, each whispered word fueling the inferno of passion that raged between you. Lost in the heat of the moment, his fingers eventually met contact with your wet folds, a moan slipping past your lips.

“J-John..” you croaked, squinting.

“I told you there would be punishments for your behavior.” You couldn’t even reply back in time when he had slipped a finger inside your wet hole, gasping into the air. A few pumps from his digits already made you a moaning mess.

Your words caught in your throat as John’s touch sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, rendering you speechless as ecstasy washed over you in dizzying waves. His fingers, skilled and knowing, delved deeper into your core, igniting a firestorm of desire that threatened to consume you whole.

Every pump, every stroke sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your moans echoing in the air as you surrendered yourself to the overwhelming pleasure that John bestowed upon you. His touch was like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, leaving you craving more with each passing moment.

He smirked, eventually pulling his fingers away to bring to his mouth, tasting you. You widened your eyes, wondering why he stopped as jaw hung open, your poor cunt soaked and wanting more.

John’s smirk only deepened as he savored the taste of your arousal on his fingers, his gaze locked with yours as he drank in your reaction with undisguised satisfaction. Your widened eyes and parted lips spoke volumes, your confusion and desire swirling together in a heady mix that only fueled his own arousal.

“Such a sweet little thing,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sinful promise as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “You want more, don’t you?” He laughed wickedly. This was your punishment. He wasn’t going to continue, he was going to make you wait for it.

He scoffed, leaving you breathless and aching for more as he reveled in the power he held over you. Your body throbbed with need, every nerve on edge as you craved his touch like a drug.

“Clean yourself up, darling,” he said casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired between you.

Confusion and frustration warred within you as you struggled to make sense of his abrupt change in demeanor. Had it all been a game to him? A cruel joke at your expense?

With trembling hands, you gathered your wits about you, forcing yourself to stand on shaky legs as you attempted to compose yourself. But the memory of his touch lingered like a fever dream, leaving you reeling in its wake.

Now stepping out of the steaming shower, you sighed to yourself, thinking back to John’s advances just an hour ago. You should’ve known he had a trick up his sleeve just to toy with you.

Before you could dwell on the thought any longer, your phone rang, startling you out of your reverie. Glancing at the caller ID, you frowned in confusion at the unfamiliar number. Hesitantly, you answered, bringing the phone to your ear.

"Bonjour, ma chérie," a smooth voice purred from the other end, sending a chill down your spine.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Recognition dawned on you as you realized who was calling. "Marquis," you greeted evenly, masking the tremor in your voice. “How did you find my number…”

"Ah, I know a guy," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "Tell me, have you been enjoying my little gifts?"

Your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I appreciate the gesture," you replied tersely, forcing a note of indifference into your tone.

Deep down, you weren’t scared or threatened that the man called you, in fact, you welcomed it. Perhaps you could use this as payback for John?

The Marquis's laughter echoed in your ears, he had noticed your tone of voice . "Oh, ma chérie, you wound me," he purred. "But tell me, have you left Paris? I haven’t seen you anywhere…”

Yeah, thanks to John. You thought in your head.

“I simply admire beautiful things, and you, my dear, are the most exquisite masterpiece of them all. A shame I haven’t seen you since the auction.

Despite the danger and warning bells ringing in your mind, a rebellious spark ignited within you at the Marquis’s words. You couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through you at the thought of defying John, of embracing the danger that lurked just beyond the shadows.

As the Marquis’s laughter echoed in your ears, you felt a surge of defiance welling up inside you.

“I’m still here, Marquis,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of mischief. “And I must say, your absence hasn’t gone unnoticed either.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a low chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. “Ah, so you’re still playing games, ma chérie,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement. “I must say, I do admire your spirit.”

The Marquis’s laughter filled the air once more, a sound that sent a thrill of anticipation racing through your veins. “Well then, my dear,” he purred. “Let’s see just how far that taste for danger will take you.”

the end ! part 3 in progress…

© rosevette 2024 . do not copy !

[thedensworld]

Sweet Truth | C.Sc

Pairing: gangster!Seungcheol x reader (ft. detective!Mingyu)

Genre: angst, fluff, action

Summary: The relationship become unstable and lot of things happened. It's time for truth to be revealed

Read Sweets Macaroons for the reference.

Seungcheol's head spun with dizziness as he tried to process the sudden turn of events. The revelation that one of his trusted people was actually a cop, spying on his every move, sent shockwaves through his organization. Now, they were forced to retreat and hide in a secretive location, while the authorities scoured Seoul in search of him.

Amidst the chaos and danger, Seungcheol's thoughts were torn. On one hand, he had to ensure the safety of his people, protect his organization from crumbling under the weight of betrayal. On the other hand, tonight was his anniversary with his girlfriend, you. He had promised to be there, to celebrate your love together.

But as the pressure mounted and the stakes grew higher, he realized that fulfilling both promises seemed impossible. His heart ached with the weight of responsibility, torn between loyalty to his people and love for you. He wanted nothing more than to be by your side, to hold you close and forget about the dangers lurking in the shadows. Yet, the reality of their situation loomed large, forcing him to make difficult decisions.

Seungcheol found himself holed up in their secret sanctuary with Jeonghan and a handful of trusted allies, their presence providing a thin veil of security in the midst of uncertainty. With only a burner phone in hand, he refrained from reaching out to you, knowing the danger it could pose if the authorities traced any connection between you and him. His heart weighed heavy with concern for your safety, yet he couldn't risk putting you in harm's way.

He trusted Jun to check on you, knowing that you would likely still be at your bakery, preparing to close for the night. Jun, once a trusted member of your staff, had been tasked with a different mission—keeping you safe without your knowledge. After you discovered this, Seungcheol had swiftly ordered him to cease all surveillance on you and resign from his position. It was a bitter pill to swallow, realizing that he couldn't get any updates anymore about your daily activities.

For four agonizing months, Seungcheol had been living in the shadows, cut off from any information about you except what you shared directly with him. The void of not knowing gnawed at him day and night, tormenting him with thoughts of your safety and well-being. His life had become a constant dance with danger, ever since the fateful transaction with the Chinese drug seller that had put him squarely in the crosshairs of the law.

The constant threat of being hunted by the authorities cast a dark shadow over every aspect of his existence, tainting even his most cherished moments with you. Gone were the days of carefree meetings and stolen kisses. Now, every interaction was tinged with the heavy weight of survival, as Seungcheol remained on high alert, vigilant against any sign of danger that might threaten both himself and you.

The once vibrant connection between you now felt strained, suffocated by the secrecy and paranoia that enveloped his world. Seungcheol longed to hold you close, to share in the simple joys of your love without the looming specter of his illicit industry hanging over them. But deep down, he knew that exposing you to his dangerous world was a risk he could never justify. The thought of putting you in harm's way was unbearable, and so he kept you at arm's length, shielding you from the darkness that consumed him, even as it tore him apart inside.

"Hyung, Jun has sent an update about Y/n," Jeonghan said, passing Seungcheol his tablet so he could read the message for himself. Seungcheol's breath caught in his throat as he scanned Jun's message. It hinted that you might be returning home earlier than usual, prompting Jun to head to your apartment. Frustration twisted his features as he absorbed the information, a knot of anxiety forming in his chest.

The thought of you potentially arriving home earlier, expecting to find him waiting there, sent a pang of guilt coursing through Seungcheol. He cursed under his breath, torn between the desire to see you and the fear of putting you in harm's way. With each passing moment, the weight of his double life pressed down on him, suffocating him with the knowledge that his actions could endanger the person he loved most.

As he awaited further updates from Jun, Seungcheol couldn't shake the gnawing sense of unease that gripped him, knowing that every decision he made could have devastating consequences for both himself and you. As Seungcheol and Jeonghan calmly discussed their next strategy, a sudden interruption shattered the peace—a phone call from Jun. Seungcheol's heart leaped into his throat as he swiftly abandoned the conversation and answered the call.

His eyes widened in shock as he listened intently to Jun's words, every syllable sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Kim Mingyu took her," Jun's voice crackled over the line, each word striking Seungcheol like a physical blow. He felt his muscles tense involuntarily as the gravity of the situation sank in. Mingyu, a rival in their world, was not to be underestimated, and the thought of him having you in his grasp sent a chill down Seungcheol's spine.

With a sense of urgency gripping him, Seungcheol rose from his seat, his mind racing as he processed Jun's report. Mingyu's actions threatened not only you but also the delicate balance of power within their underworld. As he listened to Jun's account of the events unfolding, Seungcheol's emotions roiled within him—a potent mix of fear, anger, and determination.

In that moment, everything else faded into the background as Seungcheol's sole focus became the safety of the person he loved. With a steely resolve hardening his features, he knew that he would stop at nothing to ensure your return, even if it meant facing off against his most dangerous adversaries.

"Kim Mingyu, the stupid cop!" Seungcheol's voice seethed with anger, his fists clenching at the mention of his rival's name. The audacity of Mingyu's actions, resorting to kidnapping to further his agenda, ignited a fierce determination within Seungcheol. "So this is how he wants to play the game? By kidnapping her?" Seungcheol's words dripped with disdain, his mind already calculating his next move. Mingyu had chosen the wrong opponent, Seungcheol vowed silently to himself, his resolve hardening with each passing second.

Seungcheol's heart plummeted as Jeonghan's phone rang, the sudden intrusion breaking the tense silence that hung in the air. With a sense of foreboding, he watched as Jeonghan's expression shifted from confusion to alarm upon seeing the caller ID.

"It's Mingyu," Jeonghan announced, his voice tight with apprehension as he answered the call. Seungcheol's grip tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles white with tension as he waited for Jeonghan to relay the message.

The air seemed to grow heavy as Jeonghan's eyes widened in shock, his breath catching in his throat as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line. Seungcheol's heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation of Mingyu's words gnawing at him like a relentless predator.

"What does he want?" Seungcheol demanded, his voice edged with thinly veiled hostility as he leaned in closer, desperate for any shred of information.

Jeonghan's hand trembled slightly as he held the phone to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration as he strained to make out the words. Suddenly, his eyes widened in horror as he held the phone out for Seungcheol to see.

"It's a picture," Jeonghan whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned the screen to face Seungcheol. The color drained from Seungcheol's face as he stared at the image displayed on the screen—a chilling snapshot of you, lying unconscious in the back of a car, your face pale and lifeless.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Seungcheol processed the sight before him. Mingyu's sinister message was clear—your safety hung in the balance, a pawn in his twisted game of cat and mouse.

A surge of fury coursed through Seungcheol's veins as he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms with barely restrained rage. Mingyu had crossed a line, and there would be hell to pay for his audacity.

"Where is he?" Seungcheol's voice was low and dangerous, his eyes blazing with a fiery intensity as he fixed his gaze on Jeonghan. Every fiber of his being screamed for retribution, for swift and merciless justice to be served.

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his own expression mirroring Seungcheol's steely resolve. "He didn't say," he replied, his voice tinged with frustration as he relayed Mingyu's cryptic message.

Seungcheol's jaw clenched as he processed the information, his mind racing with possibilities. Mingyu may have thought he held the upper hand, but Seungcheol was not one to be underestimated. He would stop at nothing to ensure your safe return, even if it meant facing off against his most formidable adversary yet.

With a sense of grim determination, Seungcheol knew that the time for waiting and hesitation was over. Mingyu had made his move, and now it was Seungcheol's turn to play the game. And this time, he would play to win, no matter the cost.

*

You are innocent, that's what Seungcheol needed Mingyu to know. As his mind divided into two, his people and you, Jeonghan approached him with urgent news – Mingyu was on the line. Seungcheol wasted no time, seizing the phone and pressing it to his ear, the weight of impending danger bearing down on him.

A scream, muffled yet unmistakable, pierced through the phone, seizing Seungcheol's heart in a vise-like grip. Mingyu's laughter followed, chilling and sinister, as he issued his ultimatum: "Come to me or I kill her."

Seungcheol's eyes squeezed shut in anguish as he uttered his defiant response, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and resolve. "No police should harm an innocent citizen."

Mingyu's laughter grew more derisive, his taunts cutting deeper with each cruel word. "She dated you, Seungcheol. How can you be so sure she's innocent?"

Seungcheol's jaw clenched, his resolve hardening as he fired back, "She doesn't know anything about my job."

But Mingyu's retort was swift and cutting, a cold reminder of the tangled web of deceit they were ensnared in. "Oh, she may not know now," Mingyu sneered, "but she'll lead you straight to me soon enough."

A desperate cry tore through the phone, your voice echoing with terror and pleading. "No! Don't come find me!"

Seungcheol's heart clenched at the sound, a swell of guilt and anguish washing over him. What had Mingyu told you about him? Had he already poisoned your mind against him with his lies?

As doubt gnawed at his resolve, Seungcheol knew one thing for certain – he would stop at nothing to protect you, even if it meant confronting the darkest shadows of his past.

"Can I talk to her?" Seungcheol pleaded with Mingyu, desperation lacing his tone. Jeonghan, who watched the whole scene unfold, gasped in surprise. For the first time, he witnessed his formidable superior pleading to someone else.

"Seungcheol..." he heard you whimper his name breathlessly. "Don't you dare come to me..."

Seungcheol sighed heavily, his heart twisting with worry. "How can I not come to you? You're in danger, baby."

"I'll be fine," you said, but Seungcheol didn't buy it. He could hear the tremor in your voice, the underlying fear that threatened to consume you.

"Kim Mingyu..." Seungcheol's words were cut off as the phone call abruptly ended. Kim Mingyu was a menace, a ruthless cop who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals. Seungcheol knew that all too well.

Mingyu's vendetta against Seungcheol stemmed from one simple fact – Seungcheol held a crucial piece of evidence, a file that exposed Mingyu's ties to the Russian organization, Klinok. This organization was notorious for its involvement in drug trafficking and human exploitation, and Mingyu would go to any lengths to protect his secrets.

Seungcheol clenched his fists, frustration simmering beneath the surface. Mingyu's interference threatened not only his own safety but also yours, dragging you into a dangerous game neither of you asked to play.

As Seungcheol paced the room, his mind raced with thoughts of how to outmaneuver Mingyu and protect you from harm. But with Mingyu holding all the cards, Seungcheol knew he had to tread carefully.

Jeonghan watched his superior with a mixture of concern and admiration. Despite the dire circumstances, Seungcheol remained steadfast in his determination to keep you safe. It was a side of Seungcheol that few had seen – vulnerable yet resolute, willing to risk everything for the person he loved.

With Mingyu's threat looming over them, Seungcheol knew that time was running out. He needed to find a way to outsmart Mingyu and rescue you from harm's way before it was too late. But as the minutes ticked by, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, threatening to crush his resolve.

"Jeonghan," Seungcheol called out, his voice tinged with urgency, "I need you to help me with a big favor."

Jeonghan turned to face Seungcheol, his expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and concern as he awaited further instruction. "What should I do?" he asked, ready to lend his support in whatever way necessary.

"I need you to handle everything," Seungcheol began, his tone grave and serious. "I need you to choose your assistants carefully."

Jeonghan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?" he mumbled, struggling to comprehend the gravity of Seungcheol's request.

"I need you to cover for me," Seungcheol clarified, turning to face Jeonghan directly. "I can't do this anymore."

As the weight of Seungcheol's words settled over them, Jeonghan couldn't believe what he was hearing. Seungcheol, the formidable leader of their organization, was entrusting him with the responsibility of leading in his absence. It was a momentous decision, one that Jeonghan never anticipated.

"Seungcheol, are you sure about this?" Jeonghan asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I mean, I'm honored, but..."

Seungcheol placed a reassuring hand on Jeonghan's shoulder, his expression grave yet resolute. "I trust you, Jeonghan," he said firmly. "You have the strength and the wisdom to lead in my stead. I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't believe in you."

Jeonghan felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. To be entrusted with such a significant responsibility by someone he respected and admired meant more to him than words could express. He nodded, determination shining in his eyes.

"I won't let you down, Seungcheol," Jeonghan vowed, his voice filled with conviction. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect our organization and keep our people safe."

Seungcheol nodded, a small yet appreciative smile gracing his lips. "I know you will, Jeonghan," he said, his tone filled with confidence. "Now, go. Our people need you."

With a final nod of acknowledgment, Jeonghan turned and set off to fulfill the daunting task that lay ahead. As he stepped into his new role, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. But with Seungcheol's faith in him as his guiding light, Jeonghan was ready to rise to the challenge and lead their organization into a new era.

*

Seungcheol drove to the address Mingyu had sent him, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. He couldn't believe that a police officer could stoop to such despicable acts. Not that Seungcheol hadn't done his fair share of questionable deeds, but he had never crossed certain lines. Yet, here he was, forced to confront the dark reality of Mingyu's actions.

As he navigated the streets of Seoul, memories of his past deeds weighed heavily on Seungcheol's mind. He had never claimed to be a good person – far from it. But seeing you, with your unwavering love and adoration, had stirred something deep within him. It had made him question the path he had chosen, and whether he could ever truly leave behind the life of crime he had embraced for so long.

Before the chaos ensued, Seungcheol had been meticulously planning the organization's future, laying the groundwork for a smooth transition before he announced his retirement. It was a decision fueled not only by his desire to settle down with you but also by a newfound sense of responsibility and a longing for redemption.

As he neared the address Mingyu had provided, Seungcheol's heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He knew that confronting Mingyu would be dangerous, but he was willing to risk it all for the chance to rescue you from harm's way. With each passing moment, the weight of his decisions pressed down on him, threatening to consume him with doubt and uncertainty.

But as he pulled up to the designated location, determination hardened in Seungcheol's eyes. No matter the outcome, he would stop at nothing to ensure your safety and bring an end to Mingyu's reign of terror. With a deep breath, he stepped out of the car and prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

Seungcheol entered the old building, his senses on high alert as he scanned his surroundings. The dimly lit corridors were eerily quiet, save for the occasional creaking of floorboards beneath his feet. His heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight of several unconscious bodies strewn across the floor, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked within.

With each step he took, Seungcheol's worry for your safety intensified. He couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you were so close, yet so far from his reach. Determination flared within him as he pushed forward, his mind focused solely on finding you and bringing you back to safety.

As he ascended the staircase to the floor above, the sound of voices grew louder, mingling with the unmistakable echoes of struggle and conflict. Seungcheol's instincts kicked into overdrive as he hastened his pace, his muscles tense with anticipation.

Seungcheol froze in his tracks, the sound of the gunshot echoing through the corridors like a thunderclap. Dread washed over him, threatening to paralyze him with fear as he contemplated the possibility of Mingyu harming you. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of the stakes at hand.

For a moment, Seungcheol's mind raced with a million possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. His breath caught in his throat as he braced himself for what he might find on the other side of that door. But amidst the chaos of his thoughts, one thing remained clear – he couldn't afford to hesitate. Not when your life hung in the balance.

With a steely resolve, Seungcheol pushed open the door, bracing himself for the unknown. But what greeted him was far from the worst nightmare he had imagined. Mingyu lay on the floor, wounded, while you stood beside him, gun in hand, your eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and urgency.

Beside you stood Seungkwan, your baker, his expression mirroring yours as he held his own weapon tightly. Seungcheol's mind reeled at the sight, trying to process the unexpected turn of events unfolding before him.

As your eyes met his, you wasted no time in rushing to his side, gripping his hand firmly and gesturing for him to follow. Seungcheol's confusion gave way to a deep sense of trust in you, and he followed your lead without hesitation, his instincts telling him that you knew what needed to be done.

"We're just gonna leave Seungkwan?" Seungcheol's voice trembled with uncertainty as he glanced back at the injured baker.

You nodded reassuringly, motioning for him to get into the car while you took the driver's seat. Seungcheol's mind was spinning with questions as he settled into the passenger seat. Since when could you drive? It was just one of the many revelations that tonight had brought.

As you drove with determination, Seungcheol's thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of events. How had you survived? How had you managed to shoot Mingyu? And why was Seungkwan there?

Lost in his thoughts, Seungcheol barely registered your voice as you spoke beside him. He turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and concern. "You okay, baby?" you asked, your words cutting through the chaos in his mind.

Seungcheol was taken aback. Wasn't it supposed to be his line, reassuring you that everything would be okay now that he had saved you from Mingyu? But the roles seemed to have reversed, leaving him bewildered and uncertain.

You guided Seungcheol to a building, and he followed you inside, his senses on high alert. Once you were safely indoors, Seungcheol pulled you into his embrace, relief flooding through him as he held you close.

"I'm glad you're fine," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur, feeling the tension drain from his body.

You chuckled softly, your breath warm against his chest. "Didn't I say it on the phone call that I'll be fine?" you murmured, tightening the hug as if to reassure him once more.

Seungcheol couldn't help but smile at your words, but his curiosity gnawed at him. "What happened?" he asked, his tone gentle yet demanding, a silent plea for the truth.

And as you began to explain, Seungcheol realized that he wasn't the only one with secrets.

*

"Welcome to Sweetie..." Your cheerful voice faded once you realized who had entered your shop. Your former superior, Hong Jisoo, and your colleague Seungkwan stood there, exuding an air of calm and collected confidence. It was clear from their composed demeanor that they had expected to find you here.

"It's been a long time, Agent Sweet," Director Hong said, smiling as he took a seat at one of the tables.

You were relieved that the shop was empty, with Jun out on an errand to the market, getting your weekly stock filled. The timing, at least, was fortunate.

You sighed, maintaining a polite smile. "Is there any sweet that you prefer? We have the viral Cromboloni here," you said, trying to keep up the pretense of normalcy, as if he wasn’t someone you had worked with for half of your life.

Seungkwan walked to the door and flipped the open sign to closed. You opened the drawer under the cashier machine, reaching for the box inside where your gun was stored. Jisoo cleared his throat and signaled Seungkwan to join him.

"Can we have two Americanos and two of those Cromboloni, please?" Jisoo asked, his tone deceptively casual.

You silently took your gun and tucked it into your apron pocket. Noting their order, you began to prepare the coffees and desserts. As you placed the desserts in the microwave, the reflection in the microwave's door showed Seungkwan moving towards you. Reacting instantly, you dropped the dessert, pulled out your gun, and pointed it directly at his forehead.

The sight made Jisoo smile with satisfaction. "Still got those instincts, Y/n," he remarked, standing up from his seat. He gently lowered your gun from Seungkwan's forehead. "Let's not make a mess. Your boyfriend wouldn't like it."

Your gaze shifted to Jisoo, eyes narrowing. "You've been tracking my boyfriend?"

Jisoo shrugged nonchalantly. "He's not exactly hard to find. A bit popular, isn't he?"

There was a pregnant silence before Jisoo finally confessed the true reason for their visit. "We want you to come back," he started. "Our team needs you. We’ve been in a state of emergency since you left."

You put your gun back into your pocket, then bent down to clean up the dessert you had dropped. "You’re the only person who knows why I’m not coming back, Director Hong," you said, your voice laced with frustration.

Jisoo sighed and gestured for Seungkwan to sit back at the table while he spoke to you. "Listen, Y/n, we all need you. The country needs you. You were in the field for 15 years. You’re the only one who can do this."

"Why? Why am I the only one?" you demanded, standing up and looking Jisoo directly in the eyes.

"Because you’re S.Coups's lover," Jisoo reasoned.

You sighed, "That's the exact reason I left this job," you whispered, ensuring Seungkwan couldn't overhear your conversation.

Two years ago, you were assigned to investigate Yoon Jeonghan, a man rumored to be running the largest illegal weapons industry. This bakery was a front, strategically placed near their operations. During your investigation, you discovered that Yoon Jeonghan was just a right-hand man. Then you met Seungcheol, who frequented your bakery a little too often. He asked for your number and managed to distract you from your mission. Soon, you learned that Yoon Jeonghan worked for Choi Seungcheol, the real S.Coups.

You were assigned to capture them, but you refused and left the job before officially dating Seungcheol. Despite leaving the agency, you sensed someone was still spying on you. Boo Seungkwan, your junior, had been watching you under Jisoo’s orders..

"We don't want S.Coups," Jisoo exclaimed. "We need Klinok." He began to explain, his voice grave. "Klinok has been taking over the industry for years, and if they get their hands on weapons, we'll be in big trouble."

"Klinok has been targeting S.Coups since earlier this year. We need to save him; he has the critical data we need to bring Klinok down."

You were baffled by the revelation. "Are you serious?" you asked Jisoo, your mind racing.

Jisoo nodded solemnly. "That's why I said you're the only one who can do this."

"Seungkwan will help you. He'll apply as a baker here. He's quite good at it," Jisoo added, glancing at Seungkwan.

Seungkwan scoffed, "Excuse me, I'm not 'quite good.' I'm very good at baking."

Jisoo chuckled before turning his focus back to you. "It's your choice, Y/n."

You stood there, weighing your options. The peaceful life you had carved out was slipping away, replaced by the dangerous world you had tried to leave behind. But if Seungcheol was in danger and you had the power to help, how could you refuse?

Taking a deep breath, you looked Jisoo in the eye. "Alright, I'll do it. But remember, Seungcheol's safety is my top priority."

Jisoo nodded, a look of relief washing over his face. "Understood. We'll do everything we can to protect him."

You glanced at Seungkwan, who gave you a reassuring nod. "Guess we're in this together, then," you said, a determined glint in your eye.

*

"Baby..." Seungcheol brushed a strand of hair away from your face as he listened to your explanation, his voice barely above a whisper. He struggled to process all the revelations. "So you knew I was hiding my work from you?" he asked, feeling a pang of guilt.

You nodded, reaching for his hand. "It's not like I wasn't hiding something either. So we're even," you said with a gentle smile, trying to ease his heavy heart.

He pulled you into his embrace again, rubbing your back and whispering, "I'm just glad you're okay. That could have been so dangerous, baby..."

You chuckled softly. "I've been doing this for half of my life, love. Danger is nothing new to me."

"Still," he insisted, "what if Mingyu had done something to you?"

You smiled at his concern and pecked his lips. "It was anticipated. Kim Mingyu has been working with Klinok for a long time, and he's been seen around my bakery this month. He was definitely trying to get to you by using me."

Seungcheol cupped your cheeks, rubbing them softly. He kissed your forehead with so much affection before pulling you into another embrace. "Thank you for saving me," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "And I'm sorry that I've been hiding all of this."

You held him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "We're in this together now," you whispered. "No more secrets."

He nodded, resting his chin on your head. "No more secrets," he echoed, his voice resolute.

In that moment, despite the chaos and uncertainty, you both felt a sense of peace. You had each other, and that was all that mattered. Together, you could face anything.

Ring

"That must be Seungkwan," Seungcheol said, pulling away and ending the make-out session you were enjoying before the night could end.

You groaned and picked up the call. "Agent Sweet speaking," you answered, your tone clearly upset. Seungkwan could easily detect your annoyance.

"Klinok is on his way to the harbor. He expects Kim Mingyu in an hour. Let's catch him," Seungkwan informed you, and you immediately ended the call.

"I'm sorry, baby. But work is calling," you mumbled while buttoning up your shirt and ensuring you had your weapon and necessary gear.

Seungcheol watched you from the couch, a smile playing on his lips. "You look hot like this," he remarked.

You smiled back, "Baby," you called him, "I look hot whether I'm wearing an apron or carrying a gun." You leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

"I'll be back. Wait for me, okay?" you said, your voice filled with determination and affection.

Seungcheol nodded, his eyes filled with pride and concern. "Be careful," he whispered, knowing that you were about to step into a dangerous situation, but also knowing that there was no one more capable than you.

[cranbrees-hyperfixation-central]

Darksiders Oneshot (Using a quote as a prompt) 3

Oneshot 1

Oneshot 2 (which can technically be considered a prequel to this one)

“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”

(Image taken from Pinterest)

Egads! You were such a sap!

The Apocalypse had both given you and made you into many things. A swordsman, a sniper, nightmare-prone. Some new friends, many enemies and a crippling fear of being alone. These things could be expected, sure enough, given the nature of such an event. But you certainly never expected to find - oh, dare you say it? Love. That’s what you found. With an angel no less. 

Your love for this man turned you into a sentimental fool with glittery mush for guts. Why else would you be using a colourful set of inks you scrounged from the ruins of an art shop to painstakingly copy up and illustrate the lyrics of a love song? Not just any love song but an old one in your native language, illustrated using your country's traditional art style. 

You really had gone all out. You had written up a translation and even toyed with the idea of translating it into Angelic. After two months of drafting and redrafting it was almost complete. 

Gods, you were so excited to present it to him during your next trip to the White City. The mere thought made your heart feel as if it was going to burst. It had to be as close to perfect as you could get it, after all, Azrael deserved the best of the best. 

Ah, Azrael. It wasn’t just about the song. To you it was a milestone. An extension of trust. For the longest time you had always done your best to dodge and deflect his questions about Humans and Earth. The way he phrased them made you feel like a science project or a zoo exhibit and, in light of recent events, such a topic made you feel miserable as you contemplated all that was lost. 

But soon things would be different. It was time to open up  and what better place to start than with your own culture? Your mind raced with all the things you could tell him, all the pathways to explore. Hopefully you won't cry too much.

You were jolted out of your lovestruck state when a hand clapped down on your shoulder. It was so unexpected that you panicked and began to reach for a weapon before remembering where you were. Of course, in this new world of constant vigilance and paranoia, no threat would be able to get within 3 miles of the Bastion without the alarm being raised. It was a nice kernel of safety to cling to. 

The hand belonged to Sabine, your apocalyptically bestowed best friend and decidedly not a threat. You offered an apologetic smile and she snickered but didn’t acknowledge your fright. There was no point really. Not a day went by where someone wasn’t startled by a loud noise or unexpected touch. Not a night went by where the solemn silence of the sleeping quarters wasn’t shattered by the screams, wails and sobs of those haunted by the most blood-curdling memories. If every instance of this was acknowledged then no one would talk about anything else.

Once Sabine saw that you had recovered from your scare she cheerfully pointed finger guns at you and said, “you’re up!” She fired each imaginary gun in turn, complete with sound effects and all. 

You knew exactly what she was referring to - watch duty. A task in which all adults of sound-ish physical and mental health were obliged to participate. Each day was divided into six hour shifts and everyone listed on the rota had to complete at least one per day. It was a very tedious and mentally labourious task, at times it was difficult to stay alert for the full duration of the shift.

For the next six hours you would do nothing but stare into the middle-distance while occasionally patrolling the perimeter. 

Joy.

So much to look forward to.

You bade farewell to Sabine, who was already stretched out on the bedroll you had just vacated, and trudged along the long, echoing halls of the Bastion to your assigned post. 

The Bastion, despite its fancy name, was an old secondary school that you and the other survivors had been living in for around a year. It was only called such because it sounded a bit better than “the school” or “camp”.

In a similar vein the fence that surrounded the school had been dubbed “the Bulwark”. It had been fortified within an inch of its existence, complete with a walkway and watchtowers all along the perimeter. 

Your position today was above the main gate. You arrived and greeted your shift partner - a grim and grizzled man named Joshua. He grunted into his silver whiskers in response. You liked Joshua but you were never concrete sure if he returned the sentiment. The both of you had very little in common and most attempts to draw him into conversation failed. So it had been quite the surprise when you and Sabine had had some small success at getting him to play D&D as a way to pass the time.

For the next two hours time turned to sludge, Joshua broke the silence only once to tell you that a demon nest had been discovered in the charred remains of the next town over. You were a little disturbed to realise that a thrill of excitement ran through you in response to the news. 

It’s just that no one had seen hair or hide of any kind of threat in nearly two months since the warriors of the Bastion had systematically destroyed any gatherings of any anythings. With the relative safety of the Bastion and the surrounding area secured, primordial monkey brain began to relax…just a little.

Although it was nice not to feel so wound up all the time, you were worried that you would become lazy and complacent without hypervigilance and throat-choking fear to keep you humble. 

Watch duty wasn’t always such a drag. Until recently you would spend the whole six hours with your heart lodged firmly in the back of your throat. Your brain liked to taunt you too, conjuring faint noises and flickering shadows that left you reaching for your rifle everytime. But nothing had crawled out of the ashen grey gloom in a while. 

Therefore, it came as quite a surprise when there was a sudden flash of soft golden light and a tall angel appeared across the street from the main gate. 

There was a great roar of dismay all along the front-facing wall of the Bulwark as its stationed sentinels all leapt to their feet, reaching for weapons and screaming warnings to those further back. You did too, slinging your rifle off your shoulder. 

The angel, not expecting such an explosive reaction, flared his wings in alarm. 

You blinked.

Wait…you knew those wings! You knew that angel!

Your angel! Azrael!

“Wait! Hold your fire!”, you bellowed.

The voices began to quieten and people hesitantly lowered their weapons.

“Hold your fire”, you repeated, “I know him, he isn’t a threat.”

Weapons were lowered all the way as your fellows turned to look at you. You withered under their gaze. 

Azrael, seeing the commotion he had caused begin to die down, took a tentative step towards the gate. Weapons began to creep up again and he hastily returned to his previous position.

Now that the shock of Azrael’s sudden manifestation had worn off, some began to cast apologetic glances at you, guilty of daring to threaten the sole occupier of the Bastion’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list. But you were guilty of the same crime. You shuddered to think of what might have happened if you didn’t recognise him in time. The mere thought made you nauseous. It was impossible to imagine even a single reason for wanting to hurt Azrael. It would have to be something truly awful.

Azrael’s voice drifted up to you, “Please, I must speak with you”. His expression was…solemn. You offered him a nod and half a smile in response.

Things had calmed down considerably and the Bastion’s guardian’s returned to their posts. However Azrael’s ‘Do Not Kill’ list privileges started and ended with ‘will not be shot on sight’, there was no way on Earth the main gate would be opened to let him in…or you out. Undeterred you attached a rope to the wall and clambered down before running to Azrael.

Joshua’s gruff voice followed you, “You be careful, ye hear?”

He glared at Azrael suspiciously as he added, “Don’t go too far and holler if you need help, ye hear?”

You smiled and gave him a thumbs up before grabbing Azrael by the hand and towing him away from the Bulwark. He stayed silent as you walked along the sideroad the former school sat by. 

The feeling of many eyes piercing your skin had long since faded but spidery unease tickled your spine and made you feel all jittery-like. You frowned. Why was that? You stared down at the giant hand in your grasp. Then up the arm it was attached to.

Azrael was…tense. Very tense. Enough to make your skin itch. You let go of his hand as the main road came into view, whatever feeling that swirled around him felt like the stifling humid heat of a slow, sludgey summer afternoon. It was unbearable.

You tried to clear the air a little, “What’s the matter Az? You have a face as long as a wet week, has somebody died?”

Your admittedly shitty attempt at humour failed miserably, your words laying crumpled on the ground between you like a corpse.

For all you knew someone really could have died and you were just making things worse. Azrael did not answer your question but instead stared mournfully down the main road, a long strip of cracked and dilapidated tarmac that streaked down a steep hill. At the bottom lay the burnt out ruins of the town that once existed there. 

His pearly eyes hovered here as he finally spoke, “Long have I wished to gaze upon the Kingdom of Man. Many told me that my interests should be directed elsewhere. That Earth was not a subject worthy of study, that no glory was to be found here. I yearned to one day see Earth with my own eyes and walk among its people…to see the wonders of this world for myself…but now it is destroyed and it-”. 

He cut himself off here and you frowned deeply as you worriedly scrutinised his face. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth.  Your heart began to beat a little faster although you could not yet pinpoint the reason why. Maybe it was because your mind had helpfully filled in the gaps for the sentence he hadn’t finished and you were not a fan of the end result. 

“Azrael…”, you began nervously as you drew near to him again, reaching forward to stroke his wings, “what are you trying to say?”

Azrael did not answer. His feathers, usually so soft and silky, were dry and brittle. Many were ruffled and seemingly bent out of shape, some even fell out as you ran your fingers through them. Someone had not been maintaining his wings very well at all. 

Azrael had always been so meticulous about wing-care, he had even roped you into helping a couple of times. Some of your fondest memories with him were the endless hours spent rubbing various substances into each individual feather while music played from your phone - a technological curiosity from a life long long gone. 

You wouldn’t let him examine the phone, you rarely answered his questions about the music you played. Perhaps you had not always been the kindest to him.

If he had been neglecting himself then something was clearly very wrong and a tiny voice whispered that maybe it was your fault. 

Azrael still hadn’t spoken. You peered up at him. His falcon face was damp with sweat and his wings trembled, feathers rustling like autumnal leaves. You didn’t even know that angels could sweat. You tugged on his sleeve like a little child. 

“Azrael, something is wrong, I can feel it”, you said insistently. You tried to meet his gaze but he turned his head away. A flash of irritation splintered through your chest. What on Earth was going on? 

“Azrael-”, you began, your voice dagger-sharp. 

Whatever you were going to say next died right there in your throat as Azrael’s head whipped around and he gave you the most wild-eyed look you had ever seen. He looked like a cornered animal.

Finally he spoke. Breathlessly. Falteringly. Like every word had to drag itself arm over arm across his tongue. 

He spoke your name. Then. “I do not want to do this, but I cannot keep this to myself any longer. You deserve to know this. I must confess…that I have not been entirely...truthful with you.”

You relinquished your hold on him and retreated several steps away. You knew for certain that you were standing on the edge of a tall cliff face, staring out at the dark, dark sea while the wind battered you mercilessly. Whatever was said next was going to send you tumbling into those frothing wild waters below. 

You didn’t want to hear it but you might as well jump. Heave ho. Hop.

“What do you mean by that?”, you said while eyeing him warily. 

Azrael doesn’t speak. Fucks sake. 

“What do you mean by that?!”, you said again, louder this time, your voice cracking. 

He flinches, wings flaring. You got the Angel of Death to flinch. So he starts speaking. Oh he starts speaking alright. Horrible, horrible, fetid, cursed, stinking words. The more he speaks the more you wither away, a gaping chasm yawning where your cracked heart used to be. He talks and tells the awful truth and you feel your world crumble around you for a second time. 

You listen as the Azrael you loved, adored, thought you knew, swirled down the drain. Though naming names, the only finger he points is at himself, and he was right to do so. 

This ‘Abaddon’, blinded by hubris, hatched forth the terrible plan from his venomous mind. This ‘Ulthane’ forged the howling blade poised to end All. 

But who wielded the Blade? Who said the Words? Who broke the Seals? 

Him.

The Angel of Death. Perhaps the truth had been staring you in the face this whole time. 

His words, once so soft and comforting, writhed through the air like insidious vines. “I broke the Seals”, he whispered. At first you raised your hands, stepping back rapidly, as if you could stop his words from reaching you. Now you stood in silence, staring down the main road. The 10 feet between you might as well have been 10 miles. Your eyes wander sightlessly, focusing on nothing in particular. The skeleton of a tree, claw marks in the tarmac, mountains of rubble, the sunless sky. 

Everything.

Everywhere.

It’s all his fault. It’s all his fault. He did it.

But-...but-...but-....he’s Azrael. 

No one as kind and as warm as Azrael could possibly-

He was supposed to be different from the rest.

He might still be speaking but you can’t hear him over the rush of blood in your ears as you stare numbly at your boots.

The syllables clack together meaninglessly like pebbles in a bucket. 

Azrael watched you. There was no sound. There was no movement. He expected tears or rage or both. He deserved that. What he didn’t expect was laughter. Or perhaps laughter but only if someone who was unfamiliar with the concept read a brief description and attempted to emulate it. 

Your mouth hung open in what could have been a wide smile but the sound that emerged perfectly matched your hollow, dead-eyed expression. 

Fuck, this has got to be a joke. One giant, cosmic joke. All of it. A giant, cosmic joke. Perhaps the Creator had written this in the stars for its own amusement. 

During the Apocalypse you had established several truths to live by. 

Demons were cruel and should not be trusted. 

Angels dripped with disdain and would not hesitate to show that and therefore should be avoided just as much as Hellspawn. 

If you ever, by some miracle, found who or what destroyed your home, you were going to kill it yourself.

But Azrael…”I thought you were different”. You are surprised by how calm you sound. Surely you should be incoherent with rage by now. Yet all you felt was the sting of your empty chest, the ghost of your heart beating its war drum beat. 

You turn back to Azrael and he freezes under your wolfish stare. 

There’s just one thing you can’t quite comprehend. 

“You knew”, you hiss, “you knew that the End War would destroy us. You knew, and yet you went ahead anyway”.

Azrael looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“It was not meant to end this way! We were only meant to destroy the Dark Ones!”Azrael steps towards you, hand outstretched, but you recoil away from him. 

You still don’t understand. 

“But you knew!”, you paused, indignation growing, eating away at your voidish calm, “I thought you cared about us…I thought you were different. You never cared did you? You’re a liar!”

Azrael stepped forward again, enormous wings spread as though to shepherd you into his arms. He longed for your warmth, though he didn’t deserve it. You didn’t want to feel his ever again.

You growl, lips pulled back and teeth glinting, swatting at the encroaching feathers.

He’s wringing his hands now, “That is not true! Of course I care-”

“YOU BROKE THE SEALS YOU LITTLE BITCH”, you roar, repeating his own confession back to him.

Now it’s his turn to recoil. 

Breathing heavily you endeavour to reign in your viperous wrath. Contain it. Part of you suspected that he expected and maybe even wanted your rage. You refused to deliver any further. 

But that primordial snake writhed in your guts and chewed on your soul. You barely hear him when he stammers, “The seals were reforged! Everyone was meant to believe that Hell had invaded Earth first and that the forces of Heaven were delivering them to justice!”.

The silent grey world around you threatened to swallow you both. 

“And look how that turned out”, you spat. You shook your head bitterly. Billions upon billions of lives ended. Thousands upon thousands of years worth of history reduced to ash.

And it wasn’t even on purpose.

The extinction of a race and the destruction of a planet was just collateral damage from a war born out of one man’s awesome display of arrogance and another man’s inability to say no, even in the face of what he knew to be right. 

You shoved your hands in your coat pockets out of habit and your hand brushed against something soft. Ah yes. That. You pulled it out.

It was a very small sock, the cartoon characters that danced across the woven fabric were barely visible under the thick layer of dried blood.

Demons weren’t the only ones fond of tormenting those they deemed lesser than themselves.

You couldn’t save her. Maybe that’s why you had kept it. To remind you of your mistakes. 

You hear your name. Azrael again. Suddenly you are submerged in calm but there is no simmering anger. All your bones are filled with lead. 

“You must believe me when I say that I am truly sorry for what I have done. I never wanted this to happen.”

You’re so tired. 

Azrael is trying to touch you again.

The audacious little twat has the gall to place his hands on your shoulders. You can’t summon the energy to push him away. You should have seen this coming.

Do you forgive him? Not at all. You never will. There will be anger and tears. Not now, but soon. 

You look up into those iridescent eyes you used to love so much and sigh deeply. 

“Your apologies are redundant Azrael. It fixes nothing, it won’t bring back the billions of people you murdered.”

You see moisture collecting at the corners of his eyes and you quickly look away. You refuse to pity him. Refuse to sympathise.

His hands are back at his sides. 

“Give me your hand”, you command quietly. He duly does so and into his palm you inter the little bloodstained sock, then you gently fold his fingers over it until it is clenched tightly in his fist.

“I can’t control what you do with this, but let it be a reminder of your greatest mistake”, you say.

Azrael’s fist trembles. 

“She wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you”, you whisper. 

There was a pause. 

“Azrael”, you say, louder now. His head snaps back up. Your expression is unreadable and your tone is flat as you unhook your rifle from your shoulder. It dangles limply in your grasp. The bayonet is thin, but long and sharp. 

“Should you have the misfortune to cross paths with me again, you may find that I will do everything I can to make sure it doesn’t end well for you”.

You don’t wait for a response, there is nothing more left to say. You return the rifle to your shoulder, turn, and walk away. You become smaller and smaller. Farther and farther away. Then the mist veils you and you are gone. 

Thank you so much for reading. If you have coin to spare I implore you to commission my friend who is an amazing artist (and also in the Darksiders fandom). If you like what you see above and have an idea that you want to see written then don't hesitate to check out my own commissions post.

[bestest-brackets]

Round 3

Most in Need of a Hug Bracket

Who is Most in Need of a Hug?

Vote and reblog to support your favorite!

Propaganda below the cut

Homura:

(None submitted)

Ford:

In the Book or Bill, we learned that Bill would physically harm Ford with things like hammering a nail through his hand while possessing his body. He also emotionally abused him by saying horrible things like "if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?" and saying that Ford was his property. Ford was desperately trying not to sleep to avoid Bill taking control and living in a state of terror and paranoia. Then he was pushed into the portal and lost everything he still had, spending the next 30 years roaming between dimensions where there were many threats to his life. This is his mindset about his life as written in Journal 3. "The life before me is one of constant solitary vigilance against the unimaginable insanity that is Bill Cipher." He decides to devote his life to defeating his abuser with no expectation of ever finding anyone who will understand him or help him. When the portal is reactivated and he returns home, he finds out that his brother had been impersonating him for 30 years and no one had realized it wasn't Ford. Imagine how that would feel. Wouldn't that just feel like confirmation of what Bill said about no one missing him? Ford wrote in Journal 3 "I feel like a dead man's ghost haunting a strange fun house mirror version of his past life." And regardless of Stan's intentions, Ford initially viewed the Mystery Shack as a mockery of his interests which were important to him due to his insecurity from being bullied about his six-fingered hands. He wanted to study the strange and unusual since he felt like he himself was strange and wanted to find somewhere he could belong. In Journal 3 he wrote this about his childhood. "I would hide in the library, poring over books about the supernatural and searching for other freaks of the world like me." The study of the paranormal is deeply personal for Ford. He connects it directly to his own identity as someone who is strange and doesn't fit in. But Stan was approaching it as a way to make money (for understandable reasons) but in the process he made silly fake creatures for tourists to come laugh at. So Ford saw it as "a hokey freak show that mocks everything about the study of the paranormal" (quote from Journal 3) And he found out that a rift was forming and the apocalypse could be coming. When Weirdmageddon does happen, Bill tortures him with electricity and then threatens to kill his great niece and great nephew to try to force Ford to let him back into his mind. This man has been through so much and I would like to give him a hug.

When his former "Muse" Bill revealed to him that he had indeed betrayed Ford by making him construct a portal that unbeknownst to him would cause the apocalypse and destroy the Earth, Ford was tortured psychologically and physically by him for about a month straight. He had also been recently left alone by his only friend who he wasn't able to locate again and made it clear he didn't want anything to do with Ford anymore, due to Ford's foolish plan which Ford didn't yet know was based on Bill's betrayal. During the month of torture, Ford had hallucinations and paranoia, hearing whispers and seeing his eyes everywhere. He would wake up with horrible injuries from Bill possessing while he slept and hurting him in various ways, like by scratching a door tirelessly or hammering nails through his hands. Bill once showed Ford a reel of this type of torture inflicted on his body, including forcing him to swallow spiders, embarrassing him publicly around the town, etc. His eye would also hurt and bleed from the possession. Bill also once forced him to wake up on top of a snowy roof, nearly frozen to death, as a threat of forced suicide + a message that Ford was his personal toy to tease, and he attempted to call Ford's beloved estranged brother to tell him that Ford never loved him and was going to jump into a frozen lake. After enduring this torture, a fight with said brother resulted in Ford getting accidentally thrown into a portal which stranded him in the multiverse for 30 years, hopping from dimension to dimension, never finding home, sometimes in absurd dimensions, but also in places and circumstances that he called cruel or we know caused him fear or pain. When he finally came back home, his identity and name had been taken away and his house completely changed (justifiably by his brother, but nonetheless). Shortly after his return, the apocalypse was kickstarted by Bill, who turned him into a statue, then turned him back human in order to torture him extensively to attempt to extract information from him. In order to end this apocalypse, he had to agree to a plan which would take away his brother's memories, whom Ford always loved despite it all and had just started to take steps to reconcile with, which would mean Ford would always be a stranger to his brother. (Luckily Stan recovered his memories <3 after Ford did a lot of work to help him, apologizing abundantly for all his mistakes in the meantime.) FORD PINES NEEDS A HUG!!! I hope he gets plenty from Stan, Fiddleford, and the rest of his family, but he deserves it.

[the-bi-space-ace]

Writing Echo & the effects of Skako Minor

Discussions of trauma, CPTSD, and PTSD.

This will be a lot of personal opinion so take it with a grain of salt but I wanted to touch on writing Echo as someone who has CPTSD. Personally, I think after what he experienced on Skako Minor Echo would have CPTSD. The very basic thing you need to know is that PTSD and CPTSD are two different things. Symptoms overlap, they often get lumped together, but there are differences. From what I have learned from therapy and doctors PTSD happens from a single traumatizing event. Something happened, an accident, violence, etc. and it has stuck with you. CPTSD occurs when someone has multiple traumatizing events throughout their life that all compound. So if you grew up in an abusive household, experienced outside violence, and had several life altering events, that would be the perfect breeding ground for CPTSD. It is not one event. CPTSD comes from the fact that it is multiple things on top of each other, all working together to make your PTSD complex in nature since it comes from a web of things instead of one event.

After Skako I think Echo would suffer from CPTSD mainly because he has experienced several traumatizing events over and over again. The explosion, being tortured, being experimented on over and over again, and finding out he has been used as a weapon, along with his injuries sustained in the battle of Anaxes all compile together. This is what I base this off of.

With that in mind I wanted to talk a little bit about some symptoms and how this could translate to Echo as a character.

One can experience shaking (imagine Crosshair early season 3), paranoia, anxiety, and difficulty sleeping. I have seen Echo portrayed often with nightmares, which I think is a great route to go, however I want to offer up other ways you can show his difficulty living with CPTSD. Physical symptoms are one thing and definitely make life more difficult but what about the mental ones?

One challenge can be constantly feeling like the other shoe is going to drop. There can be waves of feeling okay and stable and then other periods of constant vigilance and anxiety. When things are good you could think ‘how much longer until it is all gone? How long do I deserve safety and happiness?’ These fears are often completely unrealistic but your brain cannot determine that in the moment.

I think Echo could struggle with this. I want to imagine that this is part (not all) of the reason he wants to badly to do more and part of why he does not really want to retire. He doesn’t understand safety anymore. He’s still more comfortable in chaos and vigilance. Safety would likely feel unsafe to him. At least, for a while. Truthfully, survivors guilt and his own loyalty and personality are all wrapped up in there too but imagine if there was another layer.

What if he is clinging so desperately to helping because tomorrow he could be swept away again. Or he won’t be able to save anyone. Or somehow Tambor will catch up with him. Or maybe, just maybe, he becomes the algorithm again. He snaps right back into it mid mission. He’s taken over and can’t be saved. He attacks his loved ones. He can’t help it. He could hurt them. What if he hurts them! Safety may frighten him so deeply he can’t even begin to think about it. His brain won’t let him. It won’t let him cling to that thought because it can’t be real it will be danger. It has to be.

It doesn’t have to be rational because CPTSD is not rational. Your brain and body are trying to protect you. It has learned that you are in danger and it is not comfortable with safety anymore. It will protect you even if you are perfectly safe. Even if that means telling you lies.

And none of this makes him weak. He’s confident in his skills, he’s a force to be reckoned with. He’s lethal and loyal and kind hearted and not at all weak. His strength and compassion are things to look up to. I love Echo. He’s dedicated to saving his loved ones, he’s been through so much, and he has never ever given up despite the challenges. I think he is wonderful and such a rich character for storytelling. It certainly isn’t necessary to include this when writing Echo but if you’re looking for other ways for his trauma to manifest this may be an interesting route to explore.

have the best gif of Echo ever as a treat for reading this far

[onesidedradiostatic]

aromantic alastor headcanons for aro-week (with some ace in there as well, because I think for alastor those things are so entwined, it's hard to separate them):

tried going out with girls a couple of times when he was alive, to make his mother happy, but always found a way to extricate himself from the attachment. this ties into his learning how to have complete control over any situation he's in

I wonder as well about whether or not he "passed" as white, or whether his community knew that he was creole, and how that affected his dating opportunities, and his paranoia, his need to be in control, basically his constant hyper-vigilance

got a lot of fanmail for his radio host work, women (and men, but more furtively) loooved his voice. this was acceptable, because (apart from some of the weirder ones) he could use this as a metric for how accepted he was in society, as well as how well he was passing -- both in terms of race and orientation, but also youknow, as someone who is definitely not clockable as a serial killer

although of course we know he also enjoyed company. he'd go out drinking and dancing a lot. was mimzy a bit in love with him? I just like the idea that people kept being incredibly taken with his charm and his politeness and his poise, because he does have all those traits. whether he notices...? (no). I mention this point not so much as headcanon, I just like that alastor as aroace and repulsed on both of those points, was never a shut-in about it. he's always been very lively (ha) and outgoing, and clearly likes being in the company of others... but maybe that last point has gotten to be a little difficult during his time in hell, due to having to be so careful about showing any kind of emotional "weakness." speaking of...

post-death became a more extreme version of himself -- that is, a man on a mission to be in control and create emotional distance between himself and others through the power of voice, rather than having to faff about pretending emotional connections where there were none. very suited for hell because of his precarious political lived reality whilst alive, and because hell is built on who has power and who doesn't. these are rituals he understands better than the strange romantic ones during life

the smile as mask and unhealthy coping mechanism -- wonder if when he was alive people swooned over his having a lovely smile (as well as its being useful to placate and to disorient people who had more violent intentions, and in both cases potentially to lure in victims). so the smile likewise became the most extreme version of itself. the smile in essence as the signifier of someone who doesn't fit into any boxes and needs to hide that fact, both by being mixed race and aroace, but then the smile itself becomes something that effectively owns him, because he literally cannot let it drop, ever (honestly if alastor ever stops smiling, it'll be the biggest gasp moment on this show)

all that being said, surprising connections do occur: rosie, I think, sees through him from the beginning, and she's so disarming (ha, disarming... cannibal joke) that she never feels like a threat + they're both cannibals, so there's a relaxed kinship there and maybe she reminds him of the parts of home he (secretly) misses a bit

I wonder how rosie figured out that alastor wasn't into dating. I think at first she might have thought he was gay, but then quite quickly seen that that's not it, he doesn't even like men much, and she feels like she's been around the block enough to piece together peoples' natures from one of a million other people she's known, so way before she knows the terminology, she knows, and crucially, she never judges or tries to force the point

I wonder how vox and alastor met -- whether vox was able to gain power on his own and this attracted alastor's attention, or if alastor saw something of himself (that turned out to be surface level) in vox, that is, they both wear smiles as masks, they're both presenters, their mediums may be different, but their aims feel similar. perhaps alastor was comfortable enough in hell at this point -- probably in a way he never was whilst alive -- that he was feeling magnanimous towards what must have felt a bit like an upstart. and most importantly, the constraints of alloromantic ideas are a comfortable 20 years in the past by now, alastor can barely remember that this was ever anything that was expected of him, or that others' could possibly feel about him

cue vox falling head over heels, the way people so often did while he was alive, and he... does not notice at all (barely a headcanon). I kind of feel like I don't have much to say on these two, because this blog is already a treasure trove of vox and alastor hcs!

I think rosie is the only one who knows alastor is aroace, although... maybe husk? not in so many words, but he knows alastor isn't interested in those things. nifty Does Not Notice Nor Care (in a good way). charlie i will forever think will at some point do a deep-dive on modern queer lingo and get everyone flags (this is practically word of god canon considering that older piece of art you shared). vox definitely doesn't know. val....... sort of kinda knows but in an evil way. vaggie does not care, but she'd be chill about it. mimzy... I don't think knows, mainly because she never cared to think about his behaviours, as someone who's quite self-centered on what alastor is to her. jeez, who am i missing... angel, does not know, head empty

speaking of angel, I think if he ever found out, especially with where he's at in his journey rn, would be very unhappy in some way about having stepped over his boundaries so often so casually at the beginning. dunno how he'd act about it, but i like the idea of vigilantly (and crudely, and bluntly) supportive angel if they ever manage to get alastor out on the town. more on the ace side of things but i can see him going: "do not try to fuck this guy! this guy is unfuckable!"

(i like hypersexual and deeply romantic angel + sex and romance repulsed alastor as unlikely friendship in my head. opposites finding common ground type stuff is always good)

at the end of the day, alastor living and dying in an amatonormative world and having to orient himself within that by building walls that persist/worsen after his death because of the culture of hell being predicated on who controls whom, veeeeery slowly discovering that he can be vulnerable on his own terms without people demanding things from him that he cannot give (smthinsmthin the hotel gang as the opposite of vox in that sense -- not only that sense, but also that)

also something about imagining his mother hoping he'd find a nice girl and settle down (in the way parents often do, because that's the metric of happiness right.....) and how he never could give her what she wanted, and maybe feels some very locked away guilt about that, which he thinks he'll never be able to deal with because his mother is in heaven, but perhaps in this story she'll get to see what he's built with the people at the hotel and that's really all she wanted for him in the end

OH MY GOD ANON THIS IS ALL SO GOOD?? THANK YOU SO MUCH HAHAHA. happy aro week everyone!! (x2)

[illustrationist-of-the-stars]

How the hell Yuu!Boothill gets to keep his gun??

Welllll, long story version, during the earlier arc's he actually doesn't tell anyone about his milimeter gun that somehow made it during the dimensional transport mostly due to his mistrust with the new world and with Dire Crowley himself which is fair to be honest, and a mix of vigilant paranoia that NRC might still be some weird dangerous cult thing except of being an eccentric school it claims to be so the witholding information by the half-student having possesion of a GUN of all things sort of never came on topic due to Yuu!Boothill's instinctual need to have a weapon of all times because of his previous job of being a bounty hunter and his current lifestyle in general.

From the previous post, after he gave a warning shot at Riddle and getting busted by the existence of it when Crowley was supervising the Adeuce duo during the Heartslabyul arc, it got took apart and confiscated swiftly after the Overblot was settled. Of course, Yuu!Boothill was distraught about this, with the added stress of having his previous robot enhancements undone and reverted back to his human self by some unknown force and having his only beloved weapon stripped away from him that holds unimaginable history and blood on it, he'd try his hardest to get the only constant back to him but ended up giving up in the end.

After awhile, Crowley's (self-proclaimed) boundless kindness and owing Yuu!Boothill a lot with dealing three Overblots so far, ended up decided to give in and reward him an actual stone-powered phone that actually works in this world and his gun back but on the added restricted condition that the bullets that come with it stay within his possesion and the safety stays on regardless of the situation Yuu!Boothill is in because the safety of the college must be upheld even if it clearly should be in question with the past incidents before this. It's one hell of a hard bargain but he bregrudingly takes it just so he can have something familiar back again in his hands.

So yeah, tldr, he still has his gun, he's just under very super strict supervision at the moment and is unable to actually use it after the Heartslabyul arc without getting the Headmaster's ire which considering how Yuu!Boothill is, he's on super thin ice regardless lmao

[blackenedsnow]

Hiii, I really liked your work and I wanted to ask The postal dudes with a male partner? (Sorry my English is not that good 😔)

the dudes with a male s/o ; headcanons

WARNING: Homophobia, violence, mental health themes

PAIRING: Postal (1) Dude x (Male) Reader, Postal (2) Dude x (Male) Reader, Postal (3) Dude x (Male) Reader, Postal (4) Dude x (Male) Reader, Postal (BD) Dude x (Male) Reader,, Postal (Movie) Dude x (Male) Reader,

NOTE: Hi! Thank you so much for your kind words, and I’m so excited to dive into this. Take care, and I hope you enjoy this!

P1 DUDE

Once he decides he loves you, he really loves you.

His paranoid tendencies make him hyper-vigilant about your safety.

The rare times you go out together, the stares don’t escape his notice.

He assumes everyone is judging you, which adds to his paranoia.

Homophobia isn’t uncommon in a place like Paradise, but most people avoid saying anything outright because Dude's aura screams unpredictable danger.

In the sanctuary of your home, he’s surprisingly tender.

He clings to you at night like you’re his lifeline, whispering his darkest fears and hopes.

The intimacy of trust with you is his solace.

Youget mistaken for “just friends” a lot, especially since he doesn’t really express affection in a conventional way.

P2 DUDE

He treats your relationship with a laid-back, “don’t care what anyone thinks” attitude.

He loves throwing an arm around you in public just to see people squirm.

If you’re feeling down about the judgment of others, he’ll crack a joke to lighten the mood.

If someone’s openly hostile, he’s more than happy to pull out a shovel or Molotov cocktail to deal with it.

Your home is your safe haven.

He’ll cook you meals (badly), share crude jokes, and snuggle on the couch after a long day of wreaking havoc.

His love language is absurdity, but his commitment to you is genuine.

P3 DUDE

He’s the type to constantly tease you, calling you cheesy pet names like “honeybuns” or “snugglebear,” but there’s no mistaking the genuine affection behind it.

In Catharsis, people are more vocal about their opinions.

You’ve both faced crude comments, but Dude's unpredictability keeps most people at bay.

He doesn’t take homophobia lightly and will defend you loudly and obnoxiously.

At home, he’s a clumsy but enthusiastic partner.

Expect him to trip over his words while trying to tell you he loves you, only to brush it off with a joke when he gets embarrassed.

P4 DUDE

Edensin also isn’t the friendliest place for a gay couple, but he doesn’t care.

He’s proud of you and will go out of his way to make you feel loved.

When someone makes a snide remark, he’ll either respond with a firm retort or resort to creative forms of revenge—like tossing dog shit at their house.

He loves quiet evenings, slow dances in the living room, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Despite his life, you’re his calm in the storm.

BD DUDE

He’s tired—of everything except you.

You’re his one constant, and he makes sure you know how much you mean to him through small gestures like sharing his last can of food or holding your hand.

He doesn’t care what anyone thinks.

If someone insults your relationship, he’ll shut them down with a well-aimed headbutt.

While he rarely expresses his emotions, you’ve seen him at his most vulnerable.

He lets his guard down with you, confiding his fears and dreams, knowing you won’t judge him.

MOVIE DUDE

He’s the most outwardly affectionate of the bunch, often making you laugh with his quirky sense of humor.

When someone makes a rude comment, he’ll respond with a witty comeback, leaving them looking stupid.

He’s not one for violence unless absolutely necessary.

He’s always surprising you with thoughtful gestures, like bringing you flowers he “borrowed” from a neighbor’s garden or serenading you with a cheesy love song.

People are often confused about your relationship, assuming you're just friends, but Dude will always find a way to subtly correct them.

[astropookie]

Ascendants at different degrees🦚🦢 pt 2

Venus in retrograde started🎶if your ex comes back or there’s an end, you know what to blame 🤪 jk

Pinterest

Ascendant at Cancer degree (4°, 16° or 28°)

they’re sensitive in a way I think they can manipulate the atmosphere, at least they have this sensitive nature. They could have had a “rebel” era, putting it with “ bc in reality it wasn’t that kind of era, they were being themselves or they needed help and were misunderstood by people around them. that’s why when they grew up they seem more mature, like a mother figure, with their cheesy side, bc they don’t want people around them to be worried and also they have had matured? they constantly idealize the idea of being with someone that ‘ll take care of them, how they have been doing it with everyone. they love food and feeling at home, there’s one person that occupies that big heart. THE BABY FACE.

Ascendant at Leo degree (5°, 17° or 29°)

they don’t know they’re the center of attention until someone tells them. they attract people easily. the way they do things have something unique. childish or excited. when they say or do something impulsive, they think about it and then the worry doesn’t last longer (depends on the moon sign. Idk but the people Ik with ascendant at leo degree have had difficulties at choosing their career, they either are delusional and not have a concrete plan or they have two options. They lack of confidence when’s about their abilities, they’re pessimistic. They could have a hard time analyzing themselves. They need to do sports so they can have a healthy copy mechanism that actually helps them. They’re proud. They’re like little kids running but at the same time with a huge ego. They get bored EASILY and you’ll always find them with their hiperfixation, they can’t live without it, could be tennis, gardening, doesn’t matter. People like them, they do the bare minimum and people sympathize with them. Could be bc of their charisma. They care about what others think TOO MUCH, in a way they don’t care but they do.

Ascendant at Virgo degree (6° or 18°)

omg these people get manipulated easily, you don’t have idea 🙄. they’re not flexible, they try! And they have todo things in their way and they’re in this constant stress when people that’s around them don’t acr the same as them. since details like if you’re eating pizza without a plate and they get mad bc you have to do that and etc. or when they went out and -you can’t lie to me about it- and then criticize or point out things that disgusted them. I don’t want to justifícate them and I’m not going to but that’s how virgo loves? Or acts or how they live? They care and that’s how they show it -and also bc they have a god complex, but beside that..-. THEYRE MANIACS, they have to have their order. They have to heal darling, they have to😩 stop trying to fix others problems or taking too much time on them instead on focusing on your unresolved trauma, bc god you have. that’s why you’re so manipulated and manipulative. Manipulative bc you know exactly what’s the other Achilles’ heel and manipulated bc you haven’t find yet yours and if you had, you haven’t healed it.

Ascendant at Scorpio degree (8° or 20°)

they went though shit that haunts them till now, they’re healing but IS REALLY hard for them to not feel the memory. to not understand things as they come, that life can be unfair. and that not always the ones that made you suffer the most have to pay BY THEIR HANDS, karma exists babe. they’re kind souls that went though a lot and want to protect their loved ones no matter what. they can overthink too much to the point they thought you hated them bc their intuition was confused with paranoia. they’re always on vigilant mood -if they’re not, it’s with the ones they feel more comfortable- and ALWAYS analyze the person before taking the first step. sadly, one of their family could have been part of that insecurity/trauma that accompanies them in the present. bb pls stop blaming yourself for things you have no control and if you had, to learn you’re human ❤️

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

❀ Based on my personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

❀ English is not my first language.

❀ I’m not a profesional astrologer, I just love astrology and I’m willing to learn.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[whimsywhomp]

Forgotten but Not Alone - 2

Part 3 of The Break In series: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Ooooo what's going on with Dorian? Why's he being so straaaaange?

Read on AO3 if you'd rather! :D

The droplets of rain felt like tiny pebbles being hurled at him by now. Back Dorian closed his eyes with a quiet groan. His hair was plastered to his forehead and had been for a while now. His clothes clung to his frame and his grip on his wrist was tighter than ever in an effort to keep what little remained of his body heat to himself.

If one could envy themselves, Back Dorian envied Front Dorian very much right now. The brim of his hat was probably doing an excellent job of keeping the rain drops out of his eyes. Not to mention the front porch. Back Dorian would kill for some kind of overhang. 

He felt himself slouching and snapped his eyes back open, standing up straight again. Front Dorian insisted they keep watch outside and Back Dorian agreed this was the most optimal way to keep an eye on any incoming dangers. So, he did what he thought was best. 

Did it matter that they had never stayed outside during the rain to guard the house? No. The only thing that mattered was security. Front Dorian being bashed in had shaken all of them and it always felt like some small bit of anxiety from the event stuck to them like glue, Front Dorian most of all. It affected all of them. Made them all on edge and jumpy, not that they let it show. Back Dorian probably had it the easiest with keeping that anxiety to himself. He’d always done his best to keep his face towards the backyard and conversation short. If he said a little less with a bit more bite…? Well, no one was any wiser to the reasons behind it.

Now though, this constant vigilance was eating away at him. It was strange to be so tired. Maybe that extra hint of paranoia was more draining than any of them had thought.

He jolted and cursed as a raindrop nailed him in the eye, snapping him from his thoughts. His whole body shivered as he pulled his arms away from his body to wipe his eyes clear. There went the last of his body heat.

“Bloody rain,” he mumbled to himself. He crossed his arms again but the chill of his wet shirt pressing against him made him hiss. 

Too cold. Too wet. Too tired. This was miserable.

It shouldn’t affect him so much though. He’d been doing this for a long time. A little rain shouldn’t reduce him to such a whiner.

He looked out across the dark yard and found it was much harder to focus on anything beyond the concrete pad he was standing on. When he leaned back against the doorframe, he hardly noticed as he rubbed his eyes again to clear the blurriness. The raindrop must still be fucking with him.

As soon as part of his weight was being held by something other than his own tired legs, his knees began to tremble. He huffed then immediately regretted it as water clinging to his mustache went up his nose. A coughing fit, that felt like it pulled at his whole chest, was forced out of him. His throat was sore by the time it subsided, leaving him a bit breathless. Taking in air and swallowing made his throat sting now.

His knees wouldn’t lock to keep him upright. He cast a tired gaze to the backyard and decided to sit down and rest for just a moment. Slowly, he sunk down to sit on the wet ground though he was so soaked he didn’t notice other than the additional chill. The skin on his face ached with each drop of rain that hit it. He wasn’t even thinking as he pulled his knees up and pressed his forehead to them, wrapping his arms around his legs to keep them up. 

“Just a moment,” he murmured to himself, trying not to imagine what the other Dorians would think if they saw him taking a break on the job. “...Jus’ a moment… then I’ll…” 

He didn’t finish the thought as his tired eyes fluttered close.

It wasn’t long before the back door jerked open and light from inside flooded the backyard. That wasn’t what woke Back Dorian though, the shrill cry that followed was.

“What are you doing out here?” You shrieked.

Back Dorian jerked upright though the movement was stiff and uncoordinated. He grunted, trying to wake up and figure out what was going on. He scrambled to get up but the cold had seeped into his joints, locking them up and making him sit back down with a hiss.

“Step aside,” Dasha said, rushing out. She hooked one of his arms around her shoulders and hauled him up to his feet. He tried to grumble something but his lips were too cold to form words. In fact, he was too weak to pull away from Dasha as she guided him further into the house. Water dripped on the floor in his wake as he followed with shaking footsteps.

Tyrell ran ahead, getting another round of towels ready as you shut the back door and quickly trailed after the two. This was the first time you’d seen the front of Back Dorian. He looked like the others in the house but his shirt was black like Front Dorian’s. That was pretty much what you expected. What wasn’t was the paleness of his skin and the bright flush on his face. His eyes too; they looked around but not like they were really seeing anything.

Dasha held him up as Mateo and Parker scrambled to make another blanket nest to set him down in. Tyrell came back as Dasha began to ease Back Dorian down. He would have just collapsed, seemingly having given up on using his legs.

You crouch down in front of him so you can see his face. In the warmth of the house, his entire body shakes violently. He doesn’t say a word as you accept the towel Tyrell offers you and begin to pat his hair and face dry. He takes up the spot next to Back Dorian, offering him a solid and warm surface to lean on.

“Dorian? Are you awake?” You ask softly. Despite his massive size, like this he looks far too akin to a wet kitten left out in the rain.

His eyes lazily move to your face. He blinks and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep but he slowly opens them a crack. A questioning hum is the only reply he offers you.

“We should get him out of some of these wet layers,” Mateo says. 

You nod, helping Dasha keep Dorian up as you and Mateo remove his sopping wet jacket. It’s tossed down with a wet splat. Mateo takes off his shoes and socks too, placing them into the growing pile of Dorian’s clothes.

Speaking of, Front Dorian stirs with all the activity. Slowly, he sits up with a groan of his own, holding a hand to his forehead at a headache that has begun to build there. You look over as he manages to straighten up. His eyes immediately go to the jacketless form all of you are patting dry.

“What… What happened?” He asks groggily. Of course, he knows which Dorian this is and the possibilities are coming to him already.

Irritation runs through you now. “Back Dorian’s been standing in the rain this whole time. Did you know?”

A bit of guilt seems to cross his face as he takes in the shivering form of Back Dorian. “I… didn’t expect to be so,” he pauses, trying to find the words. “So tired. The thought didn’t occur to me until I was dry but still cold.”

“Why was he even out there?”

“Keep… watch…” Back Dorian mumbles ever so quietly.

You look at him in surprise before shooting Front Dorian a glare. “Did you tell him to do that?”

The guilt grows on Front Dorian’s face. He reaches a hand out, placing it on Back Dorian’s forehead. He tries to shy away from the touch, brow creasing as a full body shiver racks his frame. It makes Front Dorian pull away like he was burned. His icy hands had felt like they were being burned by the hot skin he’d touched. 

He swallowed, finally speaking after a moment. “I just needed to keep everyone safe. We’re the only doors leading outside. The only thing I could think was that we were the greatest weak points. We need to be ready… for anything.”

“Well, he’s not ready for anything now,” you snap back. Your gaze softens though as you put a hand on Front Dorian’s shoulder. “I know what happened is still bothering you but you can’t put yourself in harm’s way like this. All of you are weak and shaky now that Back Dorian’s got a full blown cold. Don’t you see that?”

He nodded. He did see. Even still, with both of them in here, he was restless. The pitiful display Back Dorian made on the floor helped to push it back though. His paranoia had made them all weaker. He should have told Back Dorian to go inside. As the front door, he was usually the one calling the shots. The others trusted him to know what was going on. They didn’t question him even when he gave a stupid order like ‘stand in the rain’. He thought he trusted himself too but faced with the effects of his choice, he was having second thoughts about that.

It hadn’t been that long ago he, well Bathroom Dorian, had told you his mental faculties were perfect. Maybe that wasn’t so true anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I… I won’t let this happen again.”

“I hope that’s true for your sake.”

For a moment, there was only the crackling of the fire before Dasha cleared her throat. “Maybe we should lay him down?”

Immediately, Front Dorian stood up to help. Now that the source of the cold was inside and warming up, his shivers were almost completely gone. The headache remained but it was small enough to be pushed aside. He was dizzy for only a moment when he stood but confirmed he was fine to help when you and Dasha tried to protest. 

Him and Dasha picked Back Dorian up and laid him down on the couch. You let Front Dorian handle taking his shirt and pants off so he could be completely dry. Mateo wraps him in blankets as soon as he’s bare and Tyrell takes all the laundry to Washford and Drysdale. Back Dorian will certainly want his clothes back when he wakes up.

Really though, none of you know when that will be.

“Should we get Farya?” You ask.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Mateo says, standing to go do just that.

Back Dorian isn’t shivering as hard now but with each breath, he gives a sharp cough that makes him wince. They had laid him on his back but he’d almost immediately shifted to curl up on his side, face pressed into the back of the couch. 

It broke everyone’s heart to see Dorian so uncomfortable. 

Front Dorian took a seat behind Back Dorian’s knees, seemingly keeping guard of him. If he couldn’t watch the perimeter, he could make sure Back Dorian was cared for. After all, he was still getting phantom aches from Back Dorian. There was a bit of tightness in his chest which he guessed was causing the full blown, painful sounding cough in Back Dorian. His muscles were all ever so slightly achy as well. If they weren’t, he would’ve chosen to stand over the couch rather than sit. As it was, he was still fatigued too. 

Hours later when Farya had seen to both Dorians and had given Back Dorian some medicine, the others had all settled down for a sleepover in the living room. Front Dorian had tried to insist they go to their beds but was met with a resounding no.

Back Dorian stirred, groaning and trying to sit up. The blankets and Front Dorian’s hand kept him pressed down though. “Where…?” he mumbled quietly, blinking slowly to try and make out where he was.

“The living room,” Front Dorian said softly. “You’re sick. Sleep. I’m keeping watch.”

Back Dorian seemed to accept the answer, relaxing back into the blankets and cushions. “...Wake me up… if…” His words trailed off but Front Dorian knew what he’d been going to say.

He sighed and leaned back against Back Dorian’s knees, feeling more tired than ever. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time. Just rest now.”

[katsukikitten]

Zodel only has patience for you. Everyone else is a stepping stone to reach the Heavens and drag them down to Hell himself.

What others call junk you call treasure.

Fingers smoothing over threadbare blankets or jackets, mange looking faux fur on old stuffed animals. Smooth flat metal of scissors until rust begins to eat at the edges making them jagged.

Useless.

Garbage.

But it was all jinki to you.

Pieces of people's souls could be trapped in items, embedded into the very atoms that made the item smooth or rough to the touch. As if woven into the fabric itself and if you were a Giver, which you were, jinki was all that much more valuable.

So here you stand with your sewn together backpack, black velveteen fabric well worn, eyes replaced with loving x stitching and one of the cat ears long since gone. It's belly swollen and full of treasures clinking together, whispering their thanks to you as you shift through the garbage in the contaminated zone. Spiked gas mask snug against your face as it filters the rancid air while you fixate on the items in the pale moonlight.

No need for you to be too vigilant considering no one was ever out this far, at least no one with half a mind. Trash beasts, raiders or vandals would be the most company you'd get and even then that was few and far in between the major cities of the Abyss. You spent the majority of your time under the haze of the stinking trash listening out for the loudest jinki, the most angry, resentful, growling thing before your ears perked.

Body on instinct dropping to the ground before you hear the footsteps and then the voices.

But most of all the jinki.

“Boss…”

“Don't.” Sharper than any knife you've held, gaze sharper still as it turns onto the goon that follows. You can't see from this distance, everything mostly a blob and their voices barely carry out to you. But even if you could hear them all you can focus on is the loud humming coming from the poorly sewn together jacket on the man's broad shoulders.

I can help comes the soft whisper from the pile of trash, your fingers digging into the heap, dark power snaking from one piece to another as if being passed along before you finally land in a doll. Hair burnt off and ripped out, missing both arms, a leg but thankfully she still had one good eye.

The doll lies close to the two men, unblinking gaze fixated on them as you close your left to see better.

One is skinny, lanky and with long tightly woven dreads, fingers covered in claws that retract to rings as he falls into step behind the much larger man with dark midnight hair.

Dreads’ jinki are loud, hard to ignore, muttering endlessly between themselves in gravely rasps. Hissing, agitated sounds over one another as it morphs into a quickening slurred babble, almost as if paranoia drives their conversation.

The second is wrapped around the broader man, dark black and filled with so much power it hums. Loudly, to the point it begins to drown out the rushing blood in your ears, drown out every thought as the buzzing continues to grow. He adjusts the jacket and it preens before back to the constant almost nauseating drone.

You want that fuckin jinki.

“Boss I couldn't get the sky person but-” Dreads attempts again to get a word in edgewise before he's interrupted by another pointed tone.

“You failed did you not?” Cold dark eyes look over his shoulder as they continue to walk along the tall trash heap, much taller than them as the duster jacket held together by large staples and stitches steadily hums.

Dreads doesn't answer, crazed eyes dropping to the junk underfoot in shame.

“Twice.” Dreads flinches as if struck but the broad man doesn't move an inch. Nothing more than a turn of his head as a shadow slinks from the jacket, up his throat and cheek trying to snake over his eye before a portal opens up in front of the boss. Illuminating them both in a washed out ethereal glow before he steps through.

Dreads waits outside, gritting his teeth until bone grinds against bone, tick in his jaw that creaks before the voice in the swirling void calls out.

“Come.” And Dreads obeys like any good dog.

The portal disappears in a matter of seconds leaving you to count all the way up to sixty before you will the doll to move. Legs of inky black jutting out where plastic limbs once were, slinking towards where the portal appeared. Lurking around what looks to be a base now that you're really paying attention only to come up empty in your search for an entrance.

Tapping your fingers as you think. Whoever had the portal jinki couldn't always be available right? Plus the big scary boss man didn't seem the type to rely fully on one person especially since one of his goons already proved a failure so there had to be a hidden entrance somewhere.

The doll wanders aimlessly for hours by your command until you spy it, the smallest flutter of a breeze coming from the pile. Kicking your feet as you think of just how good that jacket will feel swallowing up your frame even more so than the stocky build it sat on.

Having the doll wait idle until you see yourself approaching through its dingy glassy eye. The plastic lid and long singed lashes flutter shut as you come to squat near the item. Let your fingers curve over her skull feeling the fuzz of worn down faux hair.

“Thank you.” A breathy whisper before you release the item, letting it rest against the wall where it would surely blend in with all the other discards from Heaven. Sharp claws slipping under the metal pulling harshly waiting for the hinges to whine from the strain of resisting the lock.

It's up high, well above your head before you're pulling your bag off of one of your shoulders. Digging around for the perfect tool, an old ornate letter opener. You use your gift to sharpen the bread to a deadly point, reaching on tiptoes before the blade connects with the lock. Yanking it towards your body and it slices through the metal with ease and the door yawns open. You return the jinki and your mask to your backpack before you wander around the base.

Following the sound of the hum and ignoring the loud slow beat that faintly reminds you of a heart beat. Ignoring the pacing, the clinking of tools, the hiss of pleasure, the electric charge as a comb brushes through hair because all you can hear is the all consuming hum.

Sneaking into a dark room, pitch black and giving your eyes a moment to adjust to the tiny flecks of moon light let in from the small holes in the walls. Holding your breath as you listen, pushing down the hum to hear the deep slow breathing of the man who owns the jinki. Once you've determined he's asleep you tiptoe into the room in a rush spying the dark item hanging on the back of a chair.

“Hello.” A breathy whisper to the jacket as your fingers brush over the fabric, the feeling vibrates in your very marrow and it makes you smile manically. It's heavy even if it is half stitched and stapled together, thick and yet you think you wouldn't overheat under the sun.

Lifting it gently from the chair slipping one arm through makes you a little light headed, the shadow sneaking up your throat in a curious purr. Crawling up your jaw as you go to put your other arm through and when the jacket is fully over your shoulders you sigh slowly. You can smell the previous wearer, a mixture of musky sweat and well worn leather warmed by the sun, it makes you feel good. Relaxed. So you nestle deeper and the shadow comes out further. Caressing over your lips as it starts to work its way up to cover your other eye, slowly, so slowly, the jacket begins to wear you.

Large rough hands slip under the shoulders of the jacket, smooth over the thin fabric of your t-shirt as the coat is pulled away from your body. The shadow retreats.

For now.

You turn to look over your shoulder, face half shrouded in shadow darker than night, the jacket still trying to cling to you. But your focus isn't on the purring from the fabric, it's on the tall broad man who stands behind you. His dark midnight hair is messy from sleep, more strands falling over his forehead than before, eyes dark and cold as they bite into you despite the gentle touch at your back.

He's shirtless himself, clothes mostly discarded at the foot of the bed, only the jacket was placed with care.

You reach around you, grabbing onto his thick forearms with sharp claws, nails hardened with a razor's edge. For whatever reason you hesitate, let it barely poke his skin and only small droplets bead to the surface.

“Careful.” His voice is deep and dark from disuse, having been in a deep enough sleep, it gives him even more of an edge. He leans closer, face impassive and frozen like any marble statue you'd seen in books discarded from the heavens. It is as if he's studying you, pulling the coat away from you gently, slowly and the shadow whines as it returns to the black fabric it came from, “What are you doing here?”

“Your jinki called me.” A half truth, mostly it just hummed from its own great power but the way it whispers to you now, to pull the fabric back up and have the high collar protect your throat gives more truth to your statement. Moving your hands from his skin to avoid a fight, fisting the opening of his jacket almost nervously.

Even after a long stretch of silence he doesn't reply, if he's dissatisfied or pleased with your answer you cannot tell, face still stone cold as his unblinking eyes stare down at you.

“I just love well worn things.” You unclasp your hands from around the opening of the jacket and let him peel it from your frame, “They have so much to tell me.”

The sound is soft and breathy like a confession in mass and it stills his movements. His hands stopping at the crook of your elbows now with the jacket half on and the shadow fully gone. You freeze, pulling in a shallow breath to hold.

You expect to be taunted, laughed at or struck, since that's what normally happened when you claim you could actually hear what the jinki said. Because even among the rejects you didn't belong. Too sharp, too quick, too loud, too cruel or too much. Always always too much until only the jinki liked your company.

Or maybe they just tolerated you since they couldn't move, it's not as if there was anyone else to hear them.

He cradles your jaw, tilting you up to face him instead of looking at the floor.

“There is no shame in that.” His tone and intense gaze soften minutely, missed in the dark as you stare back up at him.

“There isn't?”

“No.” He allows his hands to move on their own, allows his thumb to swipe over the apple of your cheek, “Is that not how jinki becomes jinki?”

Sliding over your throat, fingers slipping under your collar to notice you don't have a com necklace, that you acted alone, tracing your smooth skin. Engulfing and squeezing at the tender column before slowly grazing your cheek and palming the curve of your skull.

“How things and people become precious? Because they are loved?” Monotone as he delivers his lines and you're still too mesmerized to move, “Even if they are discarded by the Heavens and the sky people.”

“What's a sky person? I heard you two earlier. Is it that boy with the cleaners?” You blink up at him owlishly and he sighs deeply. Returns to his task of taking his jinki off of you, following down your exposed skin with his rough palms before gently placing it in your lap for now. You wrap your arms around it like a hug, bringing it to your chest as you watch him. He picks up a clean white button up, leaving a few open at the top before his muscular thighs slip into dark pants.

“No one saw you slip in, little stray?” He asks, holding out his hand towards you, reluctantly you place the heavy duster in his hands. He flips the dark fabric around as he slides his arms into it. Adjusting it just so and now the high collar of his jacket frames his jaw.

“No.” He helps you to your feet from the chair, “I heard them. They're noisy.”

“Hmm.” He hums, fingers slipping under the straps of your backpack earning a jolt from you when he tries to remove it, “Don't worry. You want to stay right?”

You take a step back and like a patient predator he doesn't move.

“Be close to my jinki? Since it loves to hum such sweet songs to you.” He stands as if there were a rod in his back, speaks with little to no emotion and if you were being honest he scares you a little.

Yet at the same time, when he lifts his arm in a silent invention, you step forward. Slipping your arm under his to press your face into his chest. His shirt smells like clean linen and his skin still smells like well worn leather in the sun with that bit of sweat that you hope clings to you.

The jinki purrs its approval before going silent when his arm wraps around you, pulls you closer in an uncharacteristic notion. A part of you thinks this is a farce, that he has other plans for you, that he knows affection, false promises you'll fall for, and patience are how he can trap the feral cat that is you.

“Would you like to be mine, stray?” He's tilting your chin to look into his eyes again, fingers tight on your jaw as he stares down at you with dark rich eyes. Even with your suspicion of ulterior motives your tongue moves all on its own.

“Yes.” Breaking free of his grip to hide your face in his chest again, his heart rate is slow, unhurriedly, and soft while yours roars. This attraction is odd and magnetic when you usually shoved people out of your life, yet here you stood stepping into his shadow most likely becoming just another one of his disposable goons.

“But only for a little while.”

[seethew3stwithm3]

frost on the eaves // j. miller

hi there :)

it's been a while since i've been on tumblr, and i started completely anew with this account, so let me introduce myself. i'm clarke <3 i love to write, even though my creativity has been pretty shit for the past year. but here's a little something i jotted down while listening to phoebe bridgers' christmas music, because i love me some seasonal melancholy.

have a wonderful holiday season. and i hope this is the first fic of many.

much love,

clarke x

(gender-neutral reader. you can imagine show or game joel, it's up to you <3)

warnings: angst. a little bit of lightheartedness. the general melancholy at the end of the world. mentions of sarah.

summary: christmas always makes joel think of sarah, so you keep him company. you and joel get a re-do of your first kiss. on christmas eve.

Snow was no stranger to blood, not after all this time at the end of the world. Seasons changed, leaves fell, the sun burned, but Winter always came back around.

Blood dripped from Joel’s nose as he walked back to the house, stumbling a little in the fresh sleet. He swore to himself, an ache in his lower back becoming more apparent with every step he took, as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself.

The cold had always made his nose bleed.

Shoving through the door, he kicked the snow from his boots before leaning against the wall to unlace them. Ellie wasn’t around, or else she would’ve come bounding down the stairs to complain about the racket he’d made.

He was still getting used to not having her at his side, was still working on easing the panic that arose whenever she was out of his sight. They were in Jackson now, as safe as they’d probably ever get, but the decades of vigilance and paranoia, of never trusting anybody, would take just as much time to undo.

Ellie is fine, he reminded himself as he tugged off his boots, grunting in pain at the strain it put on his back.

Lifetimes ago, he would’ve spent tonight in front of a fireplace, wrapping gifts for a little girl whose squeals of delight still lingered faintly in the deepest trenches of his memory. Christmas had once been his favourite time of year, if only for the stupendous amount of joy it brought to Sarah.

Whether it was the glimmering strings of lights, the window displays at the mall, or the general sense of festivity, Sarah’s excitement was constant and infectious for the entire month of December. And, by God, did he miss that.

Joel didn’t let himself remember very often, for it always brought a heaviness with it that was difficult to shake. But just this once, on this cold winter’s night, he let himself recall the sound of his daughter’s laugh. Of the gleam in her eyes, the same shade as his, when she’d unwrapped the digital camera he’d bought for her when she was thirteen.

He’d blinked spots out of his vision for weeks, always caught off guard by the click and flash when Sarah had pointed the damn thing in his direction. He thought of the photo albums she’d filled with whatever provoked enough joy in a thirteen-year-old to immortalise it in a photograph, and wondered what had become of them.

They, like everything —his Sarah, the world— would, of course, be long gone.

With a long sigh, Joel rested his head against the door. In the dark of the hallway, he blinked back the sting of tears. Christmas Eve was different now, all he’d planned to do was down a glass of whiskey, a heavy pour seemed necessary tonight, and go to sleep.

If he was lucky, he’d sleep through Christmas Day altogether.

But the wood vibrated against his forehead as somebody knocked on his door. Huffing a sigh, he opened it. You were the last person he’d expected to see on his doorstep.

“Hi,” you said softly, clutching a thermos in your gloved hands, wearing a gentle smile. But that smile dipped as he stepped into the porchlight. “You’re bleeding.”

“What? Oh.” Joel wiped his nose with the back of his hand, but it was no use, the blood had dried and crusted. “It’s nothin’, come in. Just let me clean up.”

As he led you inside, he couldn’t help but think of the last time you’d graced this hall. It had been two weeks since you’d kissed him, and maybe he’d been out of his damn mind. In the days that followed, he’d made himself scarce, signing up for extra patrols despite the ache in his back. It was foolish, and he’d regretted it each night when pain had lanced up his spine, down through his knees, as he’d tried to sleep.

In the days that followed, he’d fought an internal battle. His relief at a gentle touch waged a losing war against his stubbornness, against his certainty that forging any kind of meaningful connection would only end badly. With loss or abandonment, and he’d faced too much of that. He couldn’t do it again. He just… couldn’t.

Damn him for craving the warmth of you.

“Joel?”

Your voice shook him from his thoughts, and he turned away from the sink where he’d been wiping the blood from his nose.

“Yeah?” He sniffed, relieved that he could breathe clearly now. He crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter.

“I’m sorry,” you said, gaze drifting from the window to his closed-off stance, then to the floor. “For the kiss, and everything. I… yeah.”

With a shrug, your whole demeanour changed. Softening, accommodating to the fizzling awkwardness, brushing it aside. Without ever giving Joel a chance to say anything.

“Anyway, I was going to go for a walk to look at the lights and the tree they put up by the dining hall. I made cocoa. And, well, I guess I came here to ask if you’d come with me?”

Joel nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

A few minutes later, once Joel had tugged his boots back on, the two of you were out in the cold. It hadn’t snowed too heavily this morning, but the ground was a little icier than usual. You had to focus on each step you took to keep from slipping. But despite your vigilance, you stumbled.

Joel’s hand shot out to grab your elbow, stabilising you in an instant, as he’d done countless times on patrol, or wandering through Jackson. Once you were sure of your footing, you gently shrugged him off, giving him space. He’d made it clear that he didn’t want you, and you weren’t about to disrespect his boundaries by selfishly lingering close.

In the square, the tree they’d set up glimmered with lights. Handmade ornaments adorned the branches, the same ones you’d watched the kids put together in the dining hall last week when you’d been on dish duty after lunch. Painted pinecones, handsewn fabric stars, little bits and bobs and scraps that sparkled and shone.

A few others wandered by, holding steaming mugs of tea, all gathered to take in this sliver of rare festivity. Bundled up in coats and beanies, their breath like clouds in front of them. It was almost like Christmas before.

Settling down on a bench, you took a sip of cocoa from the thermos you carried. Joel grunted quietly; his hands braced on his knees as he sat down beside you. When you offered him the thermos, he took it graciously.

“This is good,” he murmured as he took another few mouthfuls before handing it back.

Minutes passed in silence, and snow began to fall. Little flurries that swept through the brightly lit city centre. Kids laughed, one of them was Ellie, running by with the friends she’d made.

Then it was quiet once more, and the gathered townsfolk left one by one, until the square was empty. Just you and Joel, alone in the snow, illuminated in a dusky glow.

“You didn’t have to apologise,” Joel said after a while, his voice a low rumble. It reminded you of glowing embers, warm, but only if you were close enough. “For kissin’ me, I mean. It was… I didn’t mind.”

You shrugged, setting the thermos on the ground between your feet. “It’s alright. There’re no hard feelings, Joel. The fact that you disappeared and didn’t speak to me for days said enough. It wasn’t… I should’ve asked, before just… yeah.”

The snow picked up, the only witness to this moonlit conversation. A few flakes caught in Joel’s hair, and you found yourself staring, even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“I didn’t… I don’t…” Joel sighed, running a hand down his face, brows furrowed. “I regret avoidin’ you—”

“I already said it’s fine, really—”

“No, ‘cause it made it seem like I didn’t want you when I did,” he grit out, something akin to shame in his voice. “When I do,” he amended.

A snowflake landed on your nose, a tickle of cold that you wiped away. Your heart thudded in your chest, and though you opened your mouth, no words came out.

“And if you’d let me, I’d… I’d like to kiss you.” Joel’s voice had never sounded so gentle.

Haloed in the dim glow, gilded with a faint golden gleam, he looked… different. Different to the Joel you’d always known. His ruggedness had softened at the edges, his dark gaze fixed on you, an almost imperceptible blush upon his cheeks.

There was kindness in him, you’d always known there was, despite his stern exterior. He just wanted to get by, and you understood that, because with the world as it was now, there was no room for gentleness or peace. It was best to grit your teeth, crack your knuckles, and take everything on the offense. Or, alternatively, take the defensive approach and drive yourself mad with paranoia, watching your back with an obsessive nature that slowly chipped away at your health.

Joel had found a sort of balance between the two, and kept his kindness hidden away, stamped down by the years of survival. He was a faded photograph of passing time, with the smattering of grey in his hair, the lines on his forehead and the wrinkles by his eyes, the calluses on his hands and the scars on his knuckles.

It was as though the entire universe, whatever was left of it, weighed on his broad shoulders. And maybe it did. These days, everybody had a cross to bear, memories they’d rather forget.

But if this moment, whatever it was, could ease that ache in him, in you, even if just for a second… You’d take that chance. You’d spent a long time waiting for it.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding slowly.

His hand came up to cup your cheek as he leaned in, and you were startled by the impulse that bloomed in your chest. The desire to just surrender. To take a moment of respite, alone here in his arms.

He tasted of hot cocoa and mint, and his lips were a little chapped from the cold. But the warmth that seeped into you was a pleasant embrace. And he kissed you like he’d done it a million times before, with a sort of assurance that only accompanied truly knowing somebody.

His tongue swiped at the seam of your lips, and you pulled away. There was still time, you didn’t want to rush this. Whatever it might become.

“Merry Christmas, Joel,” you whispered into the silence, your forehead resting against his. Your eyes were shut, and you could feel the featherlight weight of snowflakes as they landed on your lashes.

“Merry Christmas.”

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

thanks for reading! i hope to be posting frequently, so if there's anything you'd like to read, send it in and i'll give it my best shot.

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 4 - Smarter Baby, Smarter

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ;Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNIᑉ³ EPISODE WARNINGS;  Nightmares

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 3K

AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Episode 4! So close.. yet so far...

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me. Remember, none of this is real. It is a story. It is fiction. You can choose not to read it if it will make you uncomfortable.

Master Post | Teaser | Suspect Cards

The days that followed were filled with a heightened sense of vigilance and an ever-present undercurrent of dread. Chan, determined not to leave you alone, had practically moved in, bringing along a few essentials and making himself a constant presence in your home. His presence was meant to provide you with a sense of comfort and security, but instead, it only served to magnify your growing paranoia.

At night, sleep became a luxury. Your dreams were plagued with nightmares, each one more vivid and terrifying than the last. You found yourself running through dark, endless corridors, the echo of your footsteps growing louder as the pursuer drew nearer. Their heavy breathing seemed to echo through your bones, sending chills down your spine. You could feel their gaze, cold and invasive, piercing through the darkness as they closed in on you. Each corner you turned offered no escape, only deeper shadows and the suffocating sense of impending doom.

Each time you jolted awake, drenched in sweat and heart pounding, you found Chan by your side, his concern overwhelming. "Are you okay?" he'd ask, his voice gentle yet filled with worry.

You'd nod, forcing a smile to reassure him, but the fear never truly left your eyes. "Just a bad dream," you'd reply, your voice trembling slightly. The truth was far more sinister, though. Even in the safety of your home, you could never shake the feeling of being watched. Windows felt like portals for prying eyes, and every creak of the floorboards seemed to announce an intruder's presence.

During the day, Chan's presence was a double-edged sword. While his company was comforting, the gnawing suspicion that had taken root in your mind made it difficult to fully relax around anyone, even him. The stalker's intrusion had cast a shadow over everyone in your life, and you couldn't help but question their intentions.

Despite the situation, the boys did not stop coming around.

Most of them, at least.

There was a noticeable shift in their behavior. Instead of the usual group gatherings where everyone showed up at once, it was now one or two of them at a time making appearances, checking in to ensure you were okay. Their visits were staggered, almost as if they were trying not to overwhelm you, but the absence of the usual selves only heightened your sense of isolation.

Han and Felix were the most frequent visitors, their cheerful demeanor brightening the otherwise gloomy situation. They brought food, shared jokes, and tried to lift your spirits, but even their presence couldn't dispel the unease. The dynamic had changed, and you couldn't help but wonder if they sensed something too.

One afternoon, as you sat in your living room pretending to read a book, your mind kept drifting back to everything that had happened. The pages blurred before your eyes as your thoughts raced, piecing together fragments of memories and moments that seemed to lead nowhere. You tried to focus on the words in front of you, but the letters swam together in an incomprehensible jumble

From the kitchen, you could hear the sound of a knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board. Seungmin was there, slicing up some fruit for a snack. Chan was helping him, occasionally stealing glances at you, his worry evident despite the lighthearted conversation he was trying to maintain with Seungmin.

You forced yourself to turn a page, but the words remained incomprehensible. Your gaze involuntarily shifted to the kitchen.

Seungmin looked so... normal, so innocent as he carefully arranged the fruit on a plate. Yet, the nagging suspicion in your mind refused to be silenced.

Where was he during the investigation?

"Hey, you okay over there?" Chan's voice broke through your thoughts. Startled, you looked up to see Chan leaning against the counter, watching you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just trying to distract myself," you said standing up and joining them in the kitchen.

Chan's eyes narrowed slightly, his intuition picking up on the unease you couldn't quite hide. He exchanged a glance with Seungmin, who was now looking at you with a worried expression as well.

"Want some fruit?" Seungmin offered, holding up the plate with a hopeful smile. "Thought it might help you relax."

You shook your head gently, offering a small, apologetic smile. "Thanks, Seungmin, but I'm still full from breakfast. Han and Felix brought over food this morning. I'm not really hungry right now."

Seungmin's face fell slightly, but he quickly masked it with understanding. "No worries. If you change your mind, it's here."

You nodded, appreciating the gesture despite your lack of appetite. The tension in the room was palpable, and you knew you couldn't continue to dance around the issue any longer. Your thoughts were a chaotic whirl, and you needed clarity.

Chan's eyes lingered on you, sensing something wrong. As Seungmin turned to wash his hands at the sink, Chan leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Are you sure you're okay?"

You glanced nervously at Seungmin's back before meeting Chan's eyes. "I don't feel safe right now," you murmured urgently, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have a bad feeling... it's him."

Chan furrowed his brow in concern, his eyes searching yours for clarity. "Him? Seungmin?" he questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief and concern. "Why do you think that?"

You swallowed hard, the weight of your suspicions heavy in your chest. "I don't know... it's just a gut feeling," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "But everything... it all seems to point to him."

Chan's expression darkened, his worry deepening as he glanced over at Seungmin, who was still engrossed in his task at the sink.

"No, it can't be him," Chan replied, his voice tinged with disbelief. "That wouldn't make sense."

But before he could continue, you felt a surge of determination. The weight of your suspicions had become too much to bear, and you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach any longer.

"Seungmin," you called out, your voice louder than you intended, causing him to turn around, his hands still wet from washing.

"Y/n.." Chan said trying to stop you.

Ignoring Chan's attempt to intervene, you locked eyes with Seungmin, the intensity of your gaze cutting through the air.

"Seungmin," you repeated, your voice firm.

Seungmin's expression shifted, a hint of confusion flickering across his features as he took in the gravity of your tone. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come. "I need to ask you something," you began.

"Have you been following me? Watching me?"

Seungmin's eyes widened in surprise, his hands instinctively curling into fists at his sides. "What? No, of course not," he protested. "Why would you even think that?"

"Why have you been acting so strange lately?" you replied, your voice firm as you confronted Seungmin. "You have evidence pointing against you… I can't ignore it."

His eyes widened, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "What evidence?" he asked.

"I think you're the one who's been stalking me," you blurted out, the words spilling out in a rush. "Every time something happens, you're somehow involved or conveniently not there."

Chan stepped in, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "Whoa, let's take a step back here," he said, looking between you and Seungmin. "We need to handle this carefully."

Seungmin's face went from shock to hurt. "You think I'm stalking you?" he asked, his voice trembling. "I would never do something like that.... I'm your friend."

You could see the pain in his eyes, but the fear and paranoia that had been building up inside you couldn't be ignored. "Then explain the letters, Seungmin.

Seungmin nodded, his expression serious. "I want to clear this up. I don't know why you think I'm involved, but I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm not."

"One thing at a time, Y/N," Chan interjected gently, trying to keep the situation from escalating further.

"When I received that first letter, it was Seungmin who handed it to me," you explained, your voice shaking slightly.

Seungmin took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "The letter with the gift basket? Minho handed it to me," he began. "He found it outside the front door and thought it might be important, so he gave it to me to give to you. I had no idea what it was at the time."

You frowned, trying to process his explanation. "And what about the second letter? You came over to give your condolences for my friend's passing, and that's when I found it."

Seungmin nodded again. "I came over because I wanted to be there for you. I had no idea there was another letter until you found it. I swear, Y/N, I have nothing to do with this."

Chan looked at you, his expression thoughtful. "It does make sense...."

You felt a flicker of doubt. Could it be that your paranoia had gotten the better of you? "And what about when the letters went missing, and the third one arrived? You weren't around then either."

Seungmin nodded, his expression resolute. "I was doing a photoshoot that day. I have pictures and timestamps to prove it. I can show you the evidence right now if it helps."

Chan looked at you, his eyes steady. "Let's see the photos, Seungmin. If you're telling the truth, this will clear things up."

Seungmin quickly pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery, finding the pictures from the photoshoot. He handed the phone to Chan, who examined the images carefully. The timestamps matched the dates and times you had noted.

Chan turned the phone towards you, showing the pictures. "He's telling the truth, Y/N. These photos prove he wasn't here when the letters went missing or when the third one arrived."

You stared at the photos, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. Seungmin's explanation seemed plausible, his earnestness evident in his words and actions. The evidence was clear, but the fear and paranoia still gnawed at you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt your body begin to tremble. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "I just want this to stop." The reality of the situation, coupled with the weight of your suspicions, was overwhelming. "I've been so scared....I don't know who to trust anymore."

Seungmin's eyes met yours, filled with sincerity. "I would never hurt you, Y/N. Please, believe me."

Your vision blurred as tears spilled down your cheeks. You took a deep breath, trying to absorb the reality. "I… I believe you, Seungmin. I'm sorry for doubting you. It's just… this whole situation has made me so paranoid."

Seungmin stepped closer, his expression softening. "I understand... If I were in your shoes, I'd probably feel the same way. We're all just trying to protect you."

At that moment, your phone buzzed on the coffee table. The sudden noise made you jump, your heart racing. Your hands shook as you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling. An unknown number flashed on the screen, and a sense of dread settled in the pit of your stomach.

With trembling fingers, you opened the message. The room seemed to close in around you as you read the words, your breath catching in your throat. The message was brief but chilling, a reminder that the nightmare was far from over.

You gasped, dropping the phone as if it had burned you. Chan and Seungmin were immediately at your side, concern etched on their faces as they reached out to support you. "What is it?" Chan asked urgently, picking up the phone and reading the messages.

Seungmin's eyes narrowed as he read the message. "Well, at least they've gone digital. We're saving trees," he remarked, attempting to inject a note of levity into the tense atmosphere.

Chan shot him a withering look, his expression grave. "Seungmin, not the time," he chided, his carrying urgency as he turned his attention back to you. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in.

Seungmin's voice carried a tone of frustration as he gestured to his phone. "I just want to point out that my phone is nowhere near me. So logically, it can't be me sending those messages."

Chan nodded in agreement, his brows furrowed in concentration. "He's right. Whoever this is, they're trying to frame him."

You felt a chill run down your spine as you stared at the cryptic message on your phone screen. "So, what do we do now?"

Chan took a deep breath, his expression determined as he reached for the phone. With a steady hand, he composed a message, his fingers flying across the screen.

"I'll handle this," Chan declared, his voice resolute. "We need to find out who's behind these messages."

He pressed send, and you held your breath, the tension in the room palpable as you waited for a response. You watched anxiously as the seconds ticked by, each moment stretching into eternity as you waited for a reply. Finally, the familiar chime of an incoming message broke the silence, and Chan's eyes darted to the screen.

You exchanged a worried glance with Chan. The cryptic message only added to the sense of unease that hung heavy in the air.

"What game?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, but the question lingered unanswered, the sender remaining a mystery.

Seungmin's jaw clenched in frustration, his eyes darting between you and Chan. "We can't just sit around waiting for them to make a move," he asserted. "We need to take action."

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "We need to figure out who this is and why they're targeting you."

Just as he finished speaking, your phone buzzed again. The three of you looked at it in unison, a sense of dread creeping over you.

The same message from the same unknown number appeared on the screen.

Seungmin's frustration deepened. "They’re just trying to rattle us," he said through gritted teeth. "We shouldn't give them the satisfaction."

Chan agreed, but as he started to speak, your phone buzzed again. The same message repeated:

"It's like they’re not going to stop until we do what they want," you said, anxiety making your voice tremble.

Chan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Stay calm baby. We need to think this through."

But the phone buzzed yet again. The same message and link. The sender was relentless, bombarding you with the same demand over and over.

"Play the game."

Seungmin shook his head, his frustration giving way to a more resolute expression. "Maybe we should see what’s behind the link. But we have to be careful. It could be a trap."

Chan nodded. "We’ll open it on a separate device, one that’s not connected to any personal information. We need to see what we're dealing with."

You watched as Chan pulled out an old laptop from the closet, one that hadn’t been used in ages. He connected it to a public Wi-Fi network and opened the link, your heart pounding in your chest as the page began to load.

The screen flickered for a moment before revealing a dark, ominous website with a single line of text that read:

"Welcome to the game. Let’s see if you’re clever enough to survive."

You all exchanged weary glances. You had no choice but to see this through. With a nod from Seungmin and a deep breath from you, Chan pressed the "Play" button.

The screen transitioned to a new page, revealing what looked like a puzzle.

"Is this a joke?" Seungmin said, his voice tinged with frustration.

"It doesn't look like it," Chan replied, his eyes narrowing as he studied the screen.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Let's just get through this. We need to see what they're after."

The first puzzle appeared simple, but it required careful thought and teamwork. You, Chan, and Seungmin huddled closer, your minds working in unison to decipher the clues. Each solution unlocked the next puzzle, the difficulty ramping up with each new screen.

Seungmin leaned back, his brow furrowed. "It looks like this is a series of puzzles. Each one is more difficult than the last."

Chan nodded, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "They’re testing us, pushing us to see how far we can go."

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of fear and determination. "But why? What’s the goal here?"

"I don’t know," Chan said, his voice steady despite the tension. "But were going to have to play the game to find out."

With a shared glance, you all knew there was no turning back. You had to see this through, no matter the risks.

"And play the game we will," you replied.

With that, you all turned your attention back to the laptop.

The sender may have set the rules, but you were determined to control the outcome.

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

Play the game

ઇଓ EP.5 - Draw me like one of your french girls

ઇଓ Taglist in the comments! If you want to be removed from the taglist send me a dm!

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo