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docdudo · 6 months ago

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Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 10)

"Did you make the water too hot?" Kyle asked as soon as you stepped out of the bathroom, clean and dressed in fresh clothes after sweating all over yourself and Johnny. His eyes dilated briefly as he took in your softened appearance after the shower, his wings and talons twitching subtly, but he remained still.

"No...? I think... just warm...?" You mumble, shruging quietly.

"Okay, okay, good... can't be turning the water on too hot when you have a fever now, can we?" He rumbles, rounding your smaller body for a bit.

"It's not... it's really not that high of a fever..." You mumble shyly, keeping your eyes anywhere but on the Harpy.

"Nonsense." He croons quietly, his wing gently pushing you forward. "Are you still hungry, baby?"

"N-No..., no, thanks, I'm full...."

Which, you actually were. Sure, you didn't eat barely enough for hybrid standards, but you're human, and you're small... it was enough for you. Besides, John's bean and bacon soup was really good. You're pretty sure you ate even more than usual (even if it was mostly liquid).

"Good. But really, if you need anything, just tell us, yeah?" He smiles with that gentle tone of voice, like he couldn't hurt a fly, and....

Yeah, this guy was weird. Not that you would call Kyle outright fake, but... the wolf in sheep's clothing thing is very real.

You heard how he talks to his mates when you're 'not around'. But with you? It's just those weird, bird-like, cooey noises mixed with his gentle voice.

"Kyle, come 'ere." Simon's gruff tone came from behind you, the Wraith approaching you both with a raised brow and analytical eyes. "What's up with your wings?"

Kyle's face immediatly dropped, eyes squinting in annoyance as he turned to stare at his mate. That gave you the opportunity to see his wings for yourself, and... yeah, they looked a little messy, kinda.

"Nothing, hun. Why do you ask?"

Oh... oh, this sarcastic and sassy tone, accompanied by this fake, sweet smile, was definetly more up to Kyle's alley. So much, in fact, that Simon barely reacted besides a small impavient grunt.

"All unkept. Not like ya, bird." Then, his eyes fall on you, making you tense up a little in attetion. "Sick chick causing you stress?"

"Ugh, Si..." Kyle grumbles, frowning in displeasure. "I'm busy right now, so-"

"No, none of that." The wraith interrupts, walking over to the two of you before easily picking you up on his arms, a small squeak leaving your lips in surprise. "Go take care of them. Some nice an' good preaning, yeah? Call Price to help. Can't have you like this now, can we, bird?"

He drawls his words so slowly and paciently, it makes you think this man really have experience with children. It makes you want to do anything he says too, but this is probably just your feelings since Kyle's expression was pretty much one of displeasure, uncertainty and annoyance.

"The chick-"

"The chick's with me. And she's going to stay with me the whole time. No need to worry. I'll keep 'er safe an' healthy."

You flush slightly as he press your cheek against his, the slight stubble on his cheek scratching against your smooth one. Tho, you do calm down a bit as you feel his cool skin against your warm face.

"Hmm.... it's not worse. Actually, it feels like it has gone down a bit. You can go, Kyle."

It's not the tone, but his words seem almost... harsh. Not that Kyle seemed to mind. He just sighed in defeat with a small nod of his head as he retreated to the bathroom.

You watched as he went, eyes fixed on his wings. It was mostly curiosity that made you want to know more about Harpies, but you can't deny they were so freaking impressive. Big and beautiful wings, a tail that matched the pretty feathers on the wings. The shiny, black talons were just as pretty as they were intimidating.

"His wings are pretty, ain' they?"

You startle a little at Simon's voice, turning to stare at him properly as he carried you through the hallway.

"Harpies pride themselves in having those pretty and polished feathers.... Actually, their lives are their wings, really. They are always making sure they are in perfect state, both in health and in apperance..." He sides eye you carefully before speaking again. "Unless, something more important is taking their time."

"I-important...??" You question immediatly, flustered and surprised. "I... no..."

"Yes, kid. You're important to him. To us. You're our kid now, you know that."

"I'm... I'm just a foster... not really a..." You struggled to say more, not quite brave enough to outright disagree with your foster parent, but not really agreeing with his exaggerated words.

"But you're part of our pack now, kid. Even if you're a foster for now."

You just sigh slightly at his words, seeing this is taking you no where. Maybe that's just how it is with hybrids...

Wait, what did he say?

"W-wha... what do you mean, for no-"

"The point is, Harpies are a very parental species." He says easily, ignoring your small, indignated words as he keeps talking. You, of course, immediatly shut up despite your surprise. "So Kyle can get pretty stressed when there's a new addition to the nest."

He stops to analyze you for a second before ressuming his walk once again.

"Such a small, defenseless little thing too..." He grunts, his buff arms tightening around you a little more. "No wonder it's messin' with everyone's intincts. You're sleepin' in the pack's nest tonight."

Your eyes widen immediatly, caught off guard. Simon has managed to throw you for a loop at least four times since this conversation began.

"Pack's nest...?" You try to question quietly, clearly alarmed, but not wanting to sound disrespectful or rude.

God knows sounding or looking rude to your foster parents never end up in good things. Even your small act of not unpacking your backpack has caused comotion in an old foster house you used to stay at.

"Yes, kid. Pack's nest. Gonna be sleepin' with us, where we can keep an eye on ya and be there if you need help."

"B-because I'm sick...?"

He nods calmly, finally reaching the door to his room and pushing it open for you to look inside. It’s the room closest to yours—the master bedroom. You remember thinking it should have been where your room was. After all, what kind of house puts the children’s bedroom at the very end of the hallway?

Still, their bedroom was stunning. Spacious, with a massive nest carved into the ground at its center. The mattress inside looked both sturdy and soft, layered with neatly arranged blankets and pillows. Unlike your pastel-toned room, it wasn’t bursting with color, but it wasn’t dull either. The decor featured earthy and beige tones mingled with blacks and reds, visible in the furniture.

Very... modern and stylish.

"This is where ya'll sleep."

You nodded a little, brows still slightly furred. Maybe in worry, maybe a bit in fear. You weren't used to all of this.

"Right..., sleep... with you four...?"

"Yeah, kid." He nods, rubbing your back carefully to try and confort you. "What do you take us for? Neglectful parents? To leave our baby away from us when they're sick and weak?"

Okay, now he sounded more offended than calm.

"It's... normal, isn't it...?" You mumble, a little confused. "Otherwise... you could get sick too... sometimes..."

He scoffed at your words, shaking his head.

"Us? Getting sick from a human virus? If our immune system was that weak, we’d have died long ago eating those mystery rations during the Outpost Beta mission."

You raise a brow at his deadpan words, expression pinching in confusion and worry as the silence stretches between you two for a few heavy seconds.

"That was a joke."

"Uhum..." You hummed lightly, expression not changing much.

"What I mean is, we’re not getting sick, don’t worry, kid. And maybe it’s normal in human households to leave their children on their own when they’re sick, but that’s not how we do things here."

You quickly notice faint wisps of shadow curling from his gloved hands and masked face, the white of his eyes darkening to an ominous shade. A literal chill runs down your spine as the temperature around you drops. It makes you freeze in uncertainty in his arms, eyes wide as you stare into those shadowy, unrecognizable eyes.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for him to recompose himself. You’re not sure what triggered this, but he seems to calm down relatively quickly. The shadowy wisps started to dissipate, and his eyes gradually returned to their normal color too.

"Well, come on now. John wants to check on your condition." He says calmly, like he didn't just lose control for a few seconds there, turning to walk all the way back and down the stairs with you still on his arms.

You really should learn more about them. Like, quickly, cuz all these surprises are making you light-headed.

Part 9 / Part 11

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solxamber · 7 months ago

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Good morning/evening/ whenever you're reading this.

May I request Silver, Malleus, and Ace with someone who's like a sheep in wolfs clothing? Basically someone who seems intimidating and scary but is actually nice if that makes sense. Romantic or platonic is fine.

Malleus, Silver, Ace with a Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

hi! thank you for waiting, i hope this is what you wanted <3

Malleus Draconia

At first, Malleus is absolutely enchanted by the way you carry yourself. Your cool exterior, fierce glances, and aura of danger? He’s genuinely impressed. In his eyes, you’re practically royalty, strolling through campus with an air of mysterious authority that rivals his own.

But one evening, when the two of you are alone, he watches as you carefully kneel down to help a tiny creature—a shivering, injured bird, fallen from its nest. He’s speechless as you whisper gently to it, cooing softly as you tuck it into a makeshift cradle from your scarf.

“Ah, so even the fiercest can be kind,” he says, thoroughly charmed.

You look up, cheeks red. “What? No, I mean— I wasn’t… fierce,” you mutter, trying to explain away your rough side.

Malleus lets out a low chuckle, genuinely amused. “There’s no need to pretend with me, Child of Man. I find this side of you… endearing.” And with that, he offers his arm, as if escorting the most dignified person he’s ever met—like of course you’d be kind.

And every time he sees you after, he watches you just a little bit closer, hoping to catch more glimpses of the sweet, gentle heart beneath your “terrifying” façade.

Silver Vanrouge

Silver’s first impression? Oh, you were fierce, alright. With that intense stare and sharp wit, he thought you were the kind of person who could take on a horde of fire-breathing dragons without blinking.

But it doesn’t take him long to notice the little things: how you’re the first to offer help in a quiet, unassuming way. Or how you gave Grim half your lunch when he wouldn’t stop whining about his empty plate.

One day, he finally works up the courage to ask. “You’re… not like most people expect, are you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… how do you mean?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You seem… gentle. Like someone who cares more than they show.” He says it simply, but with a warm smile.

“Oh! I—well, I guess…” You clear your throat, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah, I try to be. Is that… weird?”

Silver chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Not at all. I think it’s admirable.” And with that, he goes back to his usual quiet self, though you notice he hangs around a bit more often, maybe just to keep an eye on you—or to be near you, enjoying the company of the sweetest “wolf” he’s ever met.

Ace Trappola

Ace was 100% convinced you were bad news when he first saw you. The way you stood, arms crossed and serious, maybe even a little cold, he thought for sure you were a total menace. So when he finds you one day, crouched down and helping a stray cat drink from a cup you’d brought, he actually does a double-take.

“You… feed stray animals?”

You look up, blushing furiously. “Uh… yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

He bursts out laughing, clapping his hands. “Oh man, and here I thought you’d, like, fight a cat if it came too close!”

You roll your eyes, trying to act annoyed, but you can’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah, yeah, real funny.”

After that, Ace doesn’t let you live it down. He’ll pull you along when he sees a lost animal just to watch you fuss over it, teasing you the whole time. “Oh no, don’t let the fearsome ‘tough guy’ break out the baby voice again!”

But despite the endless teasing, he genuinely loves seeing you drop the act and show your soft side. And even if he won’t say it out loud, he thinks it’s pretty awesome having a friend as kind—and surprisingly tender—as you.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia x you #malleus x reader #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #silver x reader #silver #silver vanrouge x reader #silver vanrouge

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defuna · 5 months ago

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Some interesting things I've noticed in the 7th episode of Beast-Yeast

⚠️ SPOILERS AHEAD! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED ⚠️

So, there is a curious pattern in the first half. As the gang is traveling to the Spire, Pure Vanilla Cookie has 2 disturbing dreams. And each time soon enough he meets a real life counterparts of them.

He dreams about a possessed sheep (a wolf in sheep's clothes) - he meets a shepherd, who's praising a lie (and is also actually a wolfherd). He dreams about a desperate cookie, who wants help and happiness, and is afraid that Pure Vanilla Cookie is going for searches of something that doesn't exist (going on the Path of Lie) - he meets a crumbling cookie, who wants the same and craves for the truth.

Also, get this:

Most probably she speaks about Pure Vanilla here.

It's also interesting, that Corrupted Pure Vanilla Cookie is still him somewhere deep inside.

He saves Gingerbrave, Strawberry and Wizard Cookie and leads them away from danger:

He gives them jelly:

He comes back to ensure their safety:

He still calls them "friends":

He also tried to warn his pure self:

(also, how do both of them exist in one time and place?)

To add my thoughts: we know, that Pure Vanilla Cookie is going to be awakened. But what if devs postpone it and make him the last one? Like, what if Gingerbrave and Co have to go back for help, Hollyberry and White Lily awaken, and then the whole gang, old and new friends go back to help Pure Vanilla overcome corruption?

Or maybe he'll awaken in the next episode.

In any case, I LOVED this update sooo much. And that cutscene was done soo well. I'm certainly exited for the next part.

#cookie run kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #Truthless recluse #Fortune teller cookie #beast yeast #crk #beast yeast spoilers #crk update

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manikas-whims · 8 months ago

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LADS men + Halloween Costumes

Now with Sylus solo banner upcoming, the possibility of getting a Halloween quad banner is nil. And i’m happy for it cuz this has saved me from making a really bad financial decision 😆

anyways here's some mulling over the LIs costume choices..

SYLUS

Option 1: Vampire

If we consider Sylus’s overall aesthetic, then Vampire is the most obvious choice for him. He can't go out in the daylight for some inexplicable reason; definitely a creature of the night. He has red eyes that glow in the dark. And even during Destiny Café interactions, he playfully sinks his teeth into your palm. No doubt he'd enjoy sinking them more into your neck 🤭

Also like imagine a 5 star Sylus Halloween card where MC begins suspecting Sylus to be a vampire. And the whole card revolves around her trying to collect evidence. Even Luke and Keiran begin to suspect Sylus thanks to MC and the 3 join forces. The card ends with Sylus playfully scolding all of them 😆 and laughing in disbelief, in that deep cadence that he has 😊

Option 2: Demon

Another obvious choice. If not a vampire, then the red eyes and dark aesthetic are also quite befitting for a Demon attire. A very charming demon who lures you into sinning by offering his black card 🤭 and ofcourse you willingly sell your soul to him.

Option 3: Bounty Hunter

You know those charming sorts of outlaws that everyone loves and roots for? Yeah, that would fit so well with Sylus. Especially the steampunk aesthetic. So yeah..a steampunk style, bounty hunter Sylus with an array of weapons strapped all over. He only works solo but will definitely make an exception for you 😌

Option 4: Crow

Unlike the other two, this option involves a big, poofy bird suit. A crow outfit to be specific. And he looks simply adorable in it 🥺 Imagine yourself trying not to laugh as you sneakily take millions of photos of him in this outfit 🤭 while he sneers at you but there's no actual anger behind his gaze.

XAVIER

Option 1: Werewolf

It may sound unusual upon first thought but this will play so well into his overall persona of the “wolf in sheep's clothing” or “wolf in bunny clothing”. He did nibble on your finger and sniffed your scent in the No Restraint card. And I'm damn sure he has a thing for biting and marking. So just imagine him putting on the wolf ears, claws and fangs, and he starts acting more sly than ever, saying he's only playing the part 😉

Option 2: Royalty

Another obvious choice. Xavier is pretty used to this cause he is royalty afterall. So assuming a position of power comes easy to him (remember Floral Blessing?). Maybe some sort of chivalrous and gallant prince because he can easily add his swordplay skills to it. Seeing him regard you as his queen will be a treat sweeter than all the candies 😌

Option 3: Lumiere

You think it's the most hilarious inside joke— Lumiere hiding in plain sight amidst the crowd of Linkon on one night where a large majority would be dressed as their legend. Their hero. Xavier absolutely hates it! And he hates the amount of people he spots in Lumiere costumes. But he'll put it on upon your insistence. Just be ready for the consequences later on cause this man is jealous of his own superhero alter-ego 😭

Option 4: Angel

Xavier with large white wings protruding from his back would be another fitting sight with his overall white/silver aesthetic. Imagine him as your guardian angel, always watching over you, protecting you and trying his best to guide you on the right path, despite his own desires for you.

Option 5: Bunny/Alien

If not the above choices, then some cute/sexy bunny costume (though we've already got our bunny butler). Or a really silly alien costume that somewhat resembles his sticker set. We know he'll look squisher than ever in those 🥺

ZAYNE

Option 1: Mad Scientist

Something similar to Dr. Faustus or Dr. Frankenstein (yeah Frankenstein was NOT the monster but the name of the guy who created the monster..in case some people still don't know 😭). Zayne’s personal goal– his obsession and drive– to keep MC alive is somewhat similar to Dr. Frankenstein’s obsession with unraveling the secrets of life and well..ultimately beating death by bringing someone to life. And Zayne's hunger for knowledge is also similar to that of Dr. Faustus’s who readily sells his soul to the devil in exchange for knowledge.

So yeah..Zayne as a mad scientist, obsessed with knowledge and the drive to keep you alive would be intense 💯/💯

Option 2: Tutor

He'll sigh, take off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance, like he always does. But you'll somehow convince him to do it because he's incapable of saying no to you.

It starts as a silly costume idea but the moment you see his legs clad in those unusually tight-fitting slacks and the pointer stick in his hand, you realize you might have a tutor kink and that you wouldn't mind misbehaving cause you'd actually enjoy getting punished by him 🫣

Option 3: Snowman/Penguin

The cute option! Definitely Dr. Carter, Yvonne and his other co-workers coaxed him to put it on for the little kids visiting Akso hospital throughout the week. When you stop by for a scheduled check-up and stumble upon him, you can't help but take loads of pictures of him with the kids 😊

RAFAYEL

Option 1: Merman/Siren

Just like Xavier as Lumiere, Rafayel as a merman on halloween would be such a spectacular inside joke.

At first he'd be offended because the fake tail you bought for him would feel like an insult to the real thing. He would pout and narrow his brows but after your constant cajoling and sweet-talking he'll agree to indulge you. And it's all fun and games until you realize why all those sailors in fiction are so terrified yet turned on at the mere sight of a merman/siren. He'll entice you so easily with his velvety voice 😵‍💫

Option 2: Assassin

Don't fall for his pretty face. Rafayel can be cunning, deceptive and deadly when he wants to be. (in the main story and also as Abysswalker). As such, putting on the attire of an assassin would come easy to him. His charm is as lethal as the numerous daggers he conceals within his clothes. He’ll strike you right in the heart. Can totally imagine him doing finger guns at you 😉

Option 3: Chick

Pouty babie in an adorable chick costume with a beret and paintbrush, like his sticker pack. Imagine him struggling with the bulky costume, trying to waddle towards you in annoyance, demanding you to immediately help him take off the costume. Despite it all, he'd let you hug him and take selfies. He'll hate every minute of it but still pose properly when you take pics 😆

these are just some silly thoughts..what are your costume ideas for each LI 🤔

» MASTERLIST «

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starryeyed-apple · 27 days ago

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wolves among the flock

It'd be easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.

pairing: Caleb x Fem!Reader/MC wc: 4.5k tw/tags: codependency, obsession, possessiveness, self-doubt/insecurity. MC frequently described as unsettling. judgment/gossip from outside characters about MC. brief mention of violence (caleb towards side character). angst. brief suggestive themes. a/n: this is really a character study of MC and her relationship with caleb while growing up alongside him. I'm fascinated by the idea of her being seen as unsettling, based on anecdotes on how she used to be a blank slate in the lab. this fic digs into dark themes and explores MC's doubt around her place in Caleb's life, so be warned if those things may upset you <3 cross-posted on ao3 || masterlist

Something has always been wrong with you.

You feel it. Deep in your soul, coiling through the blood in your veins, thrumming under your skin. You hope it doesn't show in the unblinking nature of your watchful eyes, in the way your teeth bare a little too much when you try to smile like the other kids do.

But they see through it. They all do.

The whispers follow your steps down the school hallways. You hear that something's missing in the hushed cadence of Grandma whispering into the phone's receiver.

You sit on the top of the stairs, hidden in the shadows, knees pulled to your chest as you wonder what weight those soft words carry. What silent statements are being exchanged when looks are shared between your teacher and your guardian at school conferences.

"She has some of the top scores in her class. She's a smart kid," they say, and hesitate. "Just…quiet."

Gran nods, and smiles down at you. A tight-lipped smile, with almost enough reassurance in her eyes to outshine that assessment, that disappointment. Trying to figure out what was wrong. How to fix it.

On the playground, you draw circles in the sand with a stick. The kids take wider circles around you. A large berth to evade that vacant look in your eyes, in case it was contagious.

Maybe it was.

Who knows? Maybe they'd catch it if they got too close.

If one of them touched you, maybe they'd be like you. All empty eyes and unsettling smile.

Or maybe you'd just suck all the life out of them. Maybe—

"Pipsqueak!"

Your head lifts, eyes finding your sun.

There he stands, at the center of everything, with scraped knees and a band-aid across a lightly freckled nose. His hair is in desperate need of a trim, a smudge of dirt on his cheek from roughhousing with the other kids, the ones closer to his age. The ones who Gran encourages him to spend more time with.

So he does. Because if he doesn't, he'll have scheduled playdates. He'll be taken away from you for an afternoon, or a whole day.

Instead, he gives it ten minutes of playtime. You feel listless, floating in empty space, but you wait. You try not to count the seconds in your head until he returns, tugging you gently back into his orbit.

His fingers wiggle out towards you, and your eyes—too expressionless, too empty, too wrong—flash down to his hand, extended to you this whole time.

Waiting for you to drain his life too.

You hesitate.

He catches it, the slight shift of your smaller body away from him, and he frowns. His other hand rests on his knee, leaning towards you, hand thrust right in front of your eyes. He keeps waving it right there each time you try to turn away.

"Pips, c'mon," he encourages, poking you in your round, freckled cheek.

A smile catches on his face when you huff, and your lips feel like they're tugged up by gravity in return. You think about blaming him for using his Evol, but it's not that. It's just him.

Your Caleb, easing that baring of teeth into something softer. Something less wrong.

He'll catch it, you think when you lift your hand. You stop. He'll catch all that wrong if you're not careful.

That's what all the other kids say. They talk about it when you're in the back of the class, not noticing you in the dark, waiting for your sun to return.

Poor Caleb, they say. All that light with the shadow trailing behind. His brilliant galaxy eyes mirrored by the wide, unblinking stare peering around from behind him. Couldn't get rid of her if he tried.

The gentle call of your name has you looking up again to see him crouched in front of you. He's frowning, so you're frowning, because you don't like it when his smile goes away. You don't like it at all when clouds try to make him a bit less bright. You want him to shine, always, and you want to always be the one to see it.

His hand is still there, inches from yours. His fingers are a bit longer; always have been, and always would be.

He could just take yours if he wanted. He could tug you after him, make you play. It's not like you would complain. You would do whatever he wanted.

But your Caleb was always like this. He always wanted you to choose.

And you always wanted to choose him.

He'll catch it.

One day, your golden boy would catch all the darkness curled up inside you.

You hesitate again. Then you look up and oh, no.

Now his eyes are big and wet, the purple shining all glossy like the gazes of those puppies in the sad commercials on TV, the ones that make you run from the living room when they play. It reminds you of something else, something you can't name, and it makes your skin crawl and you hate it.

Seeing it on Caleb was even worse. Too real, too much like that unnameable thing.

It hurt.

Your fingers land in his, and his despair at you not wanting to play with him anymore evaporates like puffy clouds. You relish in the sunshine of his gaze fully focused on you, feeling the warmth of it in your chest when he holds onto you tight, pulling you up after him, and away.

Away from the kids who sneer, the adults who whisper. Away from what you know you should be but can't, have never been able to be.

Each step away, and you feel a bit lighter, a bit warmer. Each time he squeezes your hand and smiles back at you, you feel less wrong.

He'll catch it.

You feel bad, because you feel good. Because he makes you happy, he makes you forget, he makes you normal.

You feel bad, because you know he's taking the darkness from inside your heart to give you his sunlight. You know he'll succumb to that emptiness, that darkness, too.

You don't want him to lose his light.

You just want to be as much a part of him as he's a part of you.

It's not as bad once you're a bit older, a few years down the line.

The feeling is still there, that unnameable yawning chasm in your chest, along with the heart that flutters and struggles to beat.

But you've buried enough of what's unsettling that your smiles aren't all sharp teeth, ready to tear into flesh. Your lips are shut tight to hide them, and the smiles are small, but it's better.

Even better when Caleb's gravity pulled them from you.

Those smiles were real. Those ones had you fighting to keep the points of your teeth hidden, had you smiling wider when he poked and tugged at your cheeks until the points of your canines showed.

He never looked scared. Never looked like he would do anything but offer his own skin to your lips and say, here. Bite down. I'm not afraid.

Caleb never did say it, but you saw it. It was in the gentleness of his gaze, the way his palm always found yours when he walked you home after school.

It was there in the way he pinched your cheeks, poked each freckle to count them instead of counting the stars when you stayed up too late, gazing out his window. So close to your sharp bite, and never flinching.

He would let you bite if you wanted to. He'd let you do it until you had enough, or until you got tired. He wouldn't shake you off, even then.

You knew. He knew you knew.

And you did bite, a few times. It got worse in those years when he started going to a different school than you.

You'd look at the marks left on his hand, and you wouldn't feel bad. He'd look at them too, and wouldn't hide it.

He'd just smile, ruffle your hair, and buy you candy from the corner-store with the money he'd earned with the little jobs he did around the neighborhood. He could do that now (older, bigger, one step ahead), and he'd always spend it on you. For your happiness, for your smile.

You wondered if it was an obligation. You wondered if it was just habit.

But your smile would make him smile, too, and it was so bright. So, so bright, and all for you.

And sometimes you think that maybe, just maybe, he revolves around you too.

Kids don't shun you as much, once you and Caleb are in the same school again. But you're still weird.

Your eyes aren't as wide and empty, but there's something just a little bit off. Practice doesn't quite make perfect after all.

So they still don't really like you—but they don't hate you, at least.

And of course, Caleb does help. Because if he likes you so much, if he truly adores you, then there must be something about you to like.

So some of them try and talk to you. Except you don't really know how to talk. Not to them, not to anybody that's not your Caleb.

You know very well, at this point, you're way too old for this. You've grown too much, your body changing and shaping in the places that tell you that you need to be your own person. You need to stop being his shadow.

Gran said he wouldn't want you to tag along forever.

It made Caleb mad when she said it.

He hid it well, with a smile as charming as ever. But you saw the flash in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. The twitch of his fingers around his fork, holding on too tight.

Anger looked wrong on him, like how a smile used to look wrong on you.

You liked how it looked.

You felt wrong again, for liking it.

You felt worse, knowing that you liked him not just angry, but angry for you.

Like you were really part of the flock. Like he was really made to look after you, to guard you from harm.

To protect you from the wolf, from yourself.

"No one's gonna take me away from you," he tells you when you sneak into his room late that night.

Both your backs rest against the foot of the bed, knees bumping together. Your head finds his shoulder, and his head rests on yours. You always fit like this. Comfortable. Right.

The well-loved apple plushie rests between your arms, his longer fingers idly picking at a small hole worn into the red fabric.

"How do you know?" you ask, and he frowns deeper, brows pulled together.

You like the anger less when you know something you said brought it back.

"I just do," he mutters, and looks back at you. His irritation is gone so fast with one look at you, replaced by a bright smile. "It's gravity, Pipsqueak. We don't gotta worry about it."

Smiling back is a new, happy habit now.

You find that you like it more than the anger, when your smile makes his own just a bit brighter.

You keep growing older, and so does he. You're tall, but he's taller. He's bigger, stronger. Pretty growing up, and even prettier now, in a way that makes your throat tight and your heart hurt, more than it usually does. Different than it usually does.

He's always just a bit ahead of you. Always reaching back with a smile.

When he walks you home after school, on the days he doesn't have practice for some sports team or another, the other girls giggle when he passes them.

Sometimes you want to giggle, too.

When he looks for you after scoring a point in a game, eyes lighting up when he finds you cheering for him in the crowd. Fingers even longer now, rougher, pushing back the hair from his sweaty forehead before waving with a grin.

Your classmates sigh around you, and you feel the same flutter in your heart that they must when you get to be the one who waves back.

One of them leans over to you, daring to steal your attention after Caleb scores another point. You frown when you have to look away from Caleb's searching gaze again, denying you the rush of it meeting yours.

"We're all heading out to the lake this weekend." The girl in your class, whose name you don't even know, smiles at you. Even as she glances towards where you were supposed to be looking right now. "You should totally come!"

"I—"

The buzzer sounds, cutting you off. You frown, glancing around the gym as people start to rise. Caleb must still be on the court, and your gaze cuts through the busy crowd, searching for him as surely as he searches for you.

"Bring Caleb!"

You flinch as the words land next to your ear, a command more than a question, with another giggle that makes your stomach turn.

Why would she want Caleb?

You stand, pushing your way out of the bleachers, following that familiar instinct, that tug of gravity to him.

You find him with all the others pulled into his gravity, helpless but to be drawn to him. His friends slap him on the back in approval of his winning point—the one you'd missed, your nails biting into your palms at the realization.

Girls are there, too. Pretty girls, older than you. They smile up at him, and bat their eyelashes and giggle the way that you want to giggle, and you dig into your palms even tighter.

Why do they all want Caleb?

It's a stupid question, really. Of course they want the sun to shine down on them, to warm their skin, to light up their days.

Your sun.

"Caleb!"

It's selfish to call out to him.

You know it is, when his universe is bigger than yours, when he deserves to explore all it has to offer.

When you know he'll come running right back anyway just at the first call of your voice.

And here he comes. Running, bright-eyed and eager, smile splitting across his face so wide it looks like it hurts.

"Did you see that last one, Pipsqueak?" He asks as he leans down towards you, another clump of sweaty hair falling in front of his eyes.

Surrounded by all that approval, that praise and worship, and he only sought yours.

You smile and push the stubborn strands of hair back from his sunset eyes before he has to.

You realize belatedly, when his lips twitch higher at the brush of your fingertips against his forehead, that he didn't even try to fix it himself. He knew you would.

And then you remember the answer to his question.

You remember you're not the only one circling him. And that maybe you're just the one that he's used to.

Obligation? You remember those questions that used to linger, like the indentation of your teeth in his skin, back when you both were smaller. Habit?

And there it is again: your name, falling softly from his lips. Like he was never meant to say anything else.

No matter what he called you, you'd look. You loved whatever he did call you, whichever nickname he latched onto, the affection that laced through each syllable.

But your actual name, any slight variation of it—that's what always brought you right back, with an inexplicable force that nearly had you crashing into him.

Or wanting to.

Your mouth opens, and closes. You struggle in resisting his gravity, in knowing you were just another speck of cosmic dust floating around in it. Knowing you shouldn't be selfish.

Knowing how selfish you'd always be.

Why did they all want your Caleb?

"Hey." There's a gentle tug on your chin when your gaze wanders again, callused thumb turning your face back to him. Clouds cover the rays of sun in his gaze again. Because of you. He'd catch your wrong. He'd lose his light. "What's up?"

You suck in a breath, feel it piercing your lungs, and the words rushing out feel like knives in your tongue.

"Want to go to the lake this weekend?"

You hated the lake.

Watching as they all flock to him, tugging his precious attention away every time it barely started to drift back to you.

You hated this.

They laugh at something he said, and he smiles at them.

You hated them.

In one of the longer lulls where he can't glance back at you—somebody clinging to his arm and taking all the attention that was your birthright, with another two giggling—you sulk off to the little public bathroom nearby. You pull your legs up on the closed toilet seat in the stall, staring at the graffiti on the door, words spelling out crushes and curses alike.

They all had crushes on Caleb, didn't they?

And you—

"Did you see that look in her eyes?" Laughter between a couple girls echoes into the empty bathroom with the bang of the opening door, and you hug your legs tighter. "It's scary."

"Haven't you heard about when she was younger?" You watch their shadows pass on the ground, stopping at the sinks. "She's always looked like that, but it used to be worse."

"Worse?" A sharp laugh, and your skin crawls, because you know. You know what they laugh about. You've always known. "How could it be worse?"

"She looked soulless. And when she smiled, she just showed her teeth—like this!" More laughter, and you hug your knees tighter. Nails digging into your skin, chills down your spine. "We thought she'd bite us."

"Did she?"

"No, but Jake said she bit Caleb."

"What?"

"I mean, we don't know if she did. But he saw the marks once."

"Ugh, poor Caleb." You don't like how they say his name. Don't like how they draw it out, how they sigh the string of letters meant for your mouth. "He's stuck with her. Couldn't get rid of her if he wants to."

You feel it again.

"Do you think he wants to?"

Laughter echoes.

You feel the wrong under your skin, thrumming. Coiling. Aching.

He's your Caleb.

"Wouldn't you? She's like a ghost! God, could you imagine living with that?"

He's your Caleb.

"Oh, man! Waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her in the mirror—"

Your feet slap against the floor, the world burning too bright when you slam the stall door open.

The screams that echo when you glower into the reflection they're vainly gazing into is far too satisfying.

They stare, petrified, as you walk up between them to wash your hands.

It doesn't make you feel better. Doesn't wash away the feeling of wanting to rip their throats out any less.

You shake the water off your fingers, feeling the points of your teeth grate together when they yelp and jump back at the flying droplets.

You don't remember walking out. You don't remember how far you got from the lake before he was there; arms around you, voice urging next to your ear.

"Pipsqueak?" You don't stop moving, not even at the press of his warm palm against your heated cheek. He pokes gently at the freckles that didn't fade as much as his, the ones he used to count like stars. "Pips, hey. Hey. Slow down."

You do, because he doesn't make you. Because he always gives you the choice.

Is it because he's always known what your choice will be?

Your head shakes.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he knows. It couldn't change the truth that he's your world, that he's all you've ever wanted.

Your hand isn't even halfway reaching for him when he's already taken it.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Caleb murmurs, brows knit together in concern. It warms that hollow feeling in your chest, and you sink into it.

It's only when you nod that you feel the streak of tears dripping off your chin.

What you hate most about the lake is how it changes things.

How it changes you.

Suddenly you're much too aware of Caleb's place in the universe. How he has wings untested, never stretched to fly, because he's stuck on the ground with you.

You are selfish, and he lets you be. He loves you so much that he lets you take and take, and you love him so much that you don't want to. You don't want to be that selfish. Not anymore, not when he can have everything.

So you try to grow some distance between you, even as it tears you apart.

It's easier when he graduates high school. Easier to tell yourself he's got that whole wide world, that he deserves for it to all be all his.

Easier to realize you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, clinging to the loyal dog that tended to the flock.

You learn better, how to pretend to be normal. You get so good at smiles and burying the thrumming and aching so deep below your skin that you start to feel normal.

The wolf still adores what it cannot be, what it cannot have. You still adore your Caleb. Still bask in the sun when it returns home.

You still have your moments when you want to sink your teeth in until he stays, until he forgets about ever leaving again.

But you get better at being better.

Or just better at pretending, you think whenever you feel his absence again. Readjusting to it, aching with it so deeply that you think you might die.

Eventually, you're so good at what you've become that you start to really believe it.

You get your own life, you make your own friends. There's a dream you've always had stirrings of, one you start to believe in.

You throw yourself into college, then a career, and you find purpose within it until you're circling farther and farther out of his orbit. Until you feel like you're finally what they've all always wanted you to be.

And your Caleb flies higher, and higher, until he doesn't come home.

Until you realize he wasn't the sun, but had gotten so close to it that he came crashing and burning back down.

Darkness returns.

It is all you know.

And when he comes crashing back into your own orbit, he doesn't bring the light back with him.

There's a look in his eyes that you don't recognize. The face you had memorized like the back of your hand twists in ways that make your heart stutter, make your mind spin, your stomach turn.

He says the things you used to feel, things that you realize you still feel. It's easier to accept, when your obsession and desperation are reflected back at you. When it's even darker and hungrier in him than it had ever been in you.

You sink deeper into it. You sink your teeth into that longing, drunk off every taste you get of being his center of gravity.

You don't know what's changed, exactly.

You don't even know if anything had changed at all. The longer you circle each other, the more times you come dangerously close to crashing together. And the more you wonder how it couldn't have always been this way.

And it's addictive, when you finally fall apart, to fall back together.

The touch of his lips against your aching skin; the sweet, desperate call of your name from them.

To sink your teeth into your entire world; to feel him do the same to his.

To feel him be the same. To know you had always been the same.

One night, tangled up in the sheets and in him, you hear his quiet whisper of confession. One of many sins committed in your name, finally revealed into the dark.

"Remember when you had just started high school?" Caleb's fingers trail up and down your spine with the words, tracing each notch, reverent in how it made you. "And that kid asked you out as a prank?"

You rifle through your memories, thoughts sluggish under the warm comfort of his touch.

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment when you've found the mental image. "I didn't know you had come up behind me until he and his friends ran away. Must've been some glare you sent them, but you were just smiling at me when I turned around."

"Yeah," it's a deep sigh, still husky in the evidence of how you'd come together. His arm wraps around your waist, dull nails gently scratching at your soft skin, and you shiver when they dig in. "I broke his nose."

You freeze, fingers pausing where they trace circles over the rapid beat of his heart through his heated skin. "You...what?"

"It was so easy," he mumbles, voice taking on that new shade of darkness. Emptiness so familiar in yourself that it makes you shiver in pleasure you'd never voice out loud. "All it took was an extra twist of gravity when he tripped during a track meet. Fell forward just a bit too hard, enough for it to snap."

You swallow thickly, wrapping your arms around him tight. Pressing your skin to his until you could never be apart again.

Caleb's eyes meet yours in the night, searching for fear.

He smiles, hesitant; then sinking into relief, adoration, when he never sees it.

Another night beckons another confession. Another moment where gravity bent so easily under his fingertips, just for you. Even if you never knew.

What nearly drives you crazy is that you were never supposed to know. He would've kept himself as your sun forever, leaving you happily oblivious of the black hole he'd created as a buffer around you.

He slowly combs back through your memories. Happy memories with him, overshadowing the things he did in the dark. All in your name, all to protect you.

Sometimes you trace the familiar lines of his face, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, and wonder, was it really always there? His darkness always lurking, always lingering, just as sure as yours.

Or perhaps his obsession ran even deeper than yours. Sinking into the marrow of his bones, as crucial to his bloodstream as his love for you, rushing through his veins to keep his heart beating.

Were you truly too dazzled by the radiance of his smile to notice his teeth were as sharp as yours?

What if I told you I was always like this?

Maybe you had just been too blind from gazing into your own sun to see all the darkness the light cast on his own.

Too in love with one side of him to see both, to see that you were never the only wolf hiding among the flock.

#caleb x reader #caleb x mc #love and deepspace #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lads x reader #lads fanfic #caleb xia #caleb x you #lads caleb x reader #lads caleb x mc #reader x caleb #mc x caleb #you x caleb #caleb x reader angst #lnds caleb

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girl-lostconnection · 4 months ago

Text

Wolf in Sheep’s clothing is more than a Warning

Shoutout to my buddy @jesterinc without whom this wouldn’t have happened. Let’s all cheer for him for listening to my feverish rants, contributing a great deal of his own insight and adding fuel to this fire

It wasn’t difficult to get the injection with a stim off your ship and in the lab. All Price had to do was pull rank and say that it’s highly classified.

Coupled with lieutenant Riley’s heavy presence and “stop asking fucking questions and do your job” glare it did the trick.

So no, it wasn’t difficult to whisk away the miraculous thing that stitched you up in the matter of seconds and left you in a state John could only describe as “high on pain relief”.

Thank God, Laswell was more than inclined to keep it under the cover until they have any substantial evidence or sufficient proof that something was very fucking wrong in Helldiver branch.

Took them a couple weeks to actually get the bloody lab reports and get through thick pages of terminology that made their blood run cold for more reasons than one.

Stims were highly addictive and devastating in consequences in long term usage.

They drained the resources of the body, they wore out heart’s ability to pump blood, they ate Helldivers alive, they made them dependent on the next dosage and were frequently used as regular energy supplements.

It was not right or safe to keep this information hidden so Price had Kate to call in every favour and get the report and their own letters as high up the chain of command as it was possible.

The more people would find out about it the better.

It was something that had to be loud and flashy, something that would be impossible to ignore.

And slowly, the wheels came in motion.

They were picking up speed with every higher up official that saw the reports and detailed brief sent over from base.

Summary which could have been only described as "we are killing our own soldiers".

And upon investigation that got rolled out another nerve-wracking fact came to life - there were no regulation for how exactly stims were made.

There were no protocols of distribution.

Which meant that every day Helldivers all across the board would get different varieties of the same drug.

With different side effects and different components.

Some made out of terminid remains, some engeneered with the information they brought off Chort Bay, some from picked up samples of Illuminati sector.

Commandment pushed for the whole branch of Helldiver's to be put under review until further notice.

No missions, no dives, no stims.

Taskforce 141 volunteered to be the ones to come to your ship with these news. So you wouldn’t hear it from someone else. So you wouldn’t piece together the timing of it all.

Partially because Laswell let them know that if they won't — someone else will.

And partially because no matter what was going on with your branch — they knew you.

You were a good soldier.

A decorated military officer with years of experience and dedication likes of which Price hasn't seen before.

You were good, you were smart and what mattered the most — you were a friend.

You were their first link with the Helldivers and you were kind enough to let them onto your ship and into your armoury and never have asked a single question about their arrival.

Perhaps, because you never provided a lot of answers yourself — always in the rush, always one leg already in the hellpod, always ready to dive down.

So, naturally, when Kate told them to be part of the internal investigation. Investigation specifically into your involvement, they didn’t spend too much time mulling it over.

Of course, they will take the job.

Better them than some pencil-pusher that wouldn’t know the price and value of diligent work you conducted.

Therefore, without much hassle they packed up and came back to your ship.

They will need to find out whether or not you (divers) were aware about consequences stims brought onto your ships.

Whether or not you participated in distribution and if there was anything else command needed to know about.

Anything at all.

Especially, if there were any Helldivers that were no longer able to continue their service due to the effects of stims.

Taskforce were carefully notified that if you as a current captain of notorious SES “Whisper of Steel” were no longer able to continue in your current role — a thorough report was expected.

So they came back — tight-lipped and tense, bags of equipment in hands, explanations on the tips of their tongues.

Just to find you as calm as a soldier that was used to constant action can be out of said action.

You were sitting on the steps to the hellpods when they were dropped off — old journal in your hand, it's cover so beaten up it was a miracle the damn thing wasn't falling apart.

It was like nothing changed at all, your ship buzzing under their feet, stuff quietly chatting to each other, repairs being made in engineering wing.

Nothing out of ordinary.

You were still covered from head to toe — always ready to jump back into action at moment's notice.

The only part of you not covered were your hands — wide steady palms, deft fingers with a few crooked digits, skin wrapped in scars — jagged shrapnel cuts, splashes of old burns, pearly lines of skin tearing.

You didn’t pay much attention to occasional staring — too engrossed in your work, cataloguing newest supply arrivals, counting up how much more you’d need to order — pen spinning in your fingers.

Simon's eyes linger on ugly markings on some of your fingers — telltale signs of them being torn off and then stitched back on in time, before it was too late. That’s entirely too much pain for a single person, but who is he to judge.

Your nails are short and clean, cuticles darker from gun grease that never washes off fully.

But no signs of neurotic biting or picking of skin, no self-inflicted scratches, nothing to account for your supposed instability.

Or withdrawal symptoms.

Simon slots the knowledge for later, turning away from you.

It's rare to see even a sliver of your skin. Feels almost alien to see that much now.

A little reminder that you are a human just like them.

Simon sits himself down on opposing stairs, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It's funny, he never thought that that's the way some (most) people feel about him.

So used to seeing armour and fabric covering every inch of skin at all times — the reminder of warm human flesh underneath feels almost uncomfortable.

How much does it take for a person to become something else? How long can you be a soldier before you turn into an archetype? A story.

Something intangible and ephemeral, ghost wearing human's body, memory of memory wrapped in flesh and greyish lines of nerves.

Not a person but a concept.

Part of the agenda, part of the myths, part of the story.

Simon watches you write crouched on the steps of the stairs, so human in the moment he feels like he doesn't know you at all.

Who are you under all that gear? Who are you with it?

His attention slides off you because Kyle as carefully as he can herds you away, pacing in front of you back and forth until you finish and get off the stairs with quiet groan.

His hand gets draped around your midriff which, they still can't get used to, is very much welcomed.

Because you grumble something, reluctantly melting into the embrace and allow him to lead you away, finally giving Simon space to work.

It’s not something he likes doing to you, especially considering how relaxed you seem — you don’t look nervous, you don’t look guilty or like you are trying to hide something.

But as much as Simon likes you and would like to believe what he sees, experience tells him that sometimes people are not who they seem to be.

So, the faster they check you out, the sooner you will be away from the scrutiny and spotlight of the command.

That’s what matters the most.

And with you finally leaving your perch on the stairs right next to control panel means he gestures to Soap to come in and start shifting through files.

They finally get to slip through the cracks and dig up whatever you could have buried.

No matter how deep it is.

Price doesn’t come to meet up with Simon until the evening, too focused on your state and the way you stall under Kyle’s touch before relaxing when you realise it’s just him.

Like you need conscious effort to remind yourself that he is safe.

That they are safe.

Building up trust takes time and effort and John would like nothing more than to stay in this slow warm state with you gradually letting them in.

But he has never compromised in the matters of health and livelihood of his man. He’s not about to make you an exception out of his rule.

But Simon doesn’t find anything.

Neither does Soap.

There is nothing — no personal mementos, no diaries, no letters or email.

There is nothing, it’s like you-person has never existed.

Like there is nothing to you other than Helldiver-you. Other than soldier-you.

Which should be a relief but the gnawing feeling doesn’t let John to just let it go and report you as another Helldiver perfectly loyal to their duty.

Now it was not a matter of work ethics even, it was a matter of bone deep need to know you.

Everyone has something that makes them tick, that makes them them, that gives an inch he could hook onto to pull out the rest of your soft innards out of the hard shell.

There has to be something.

And something they found. Kyle does.

And not exactly finds.

There is a flash drive — angular little thing, old metallic case of which is covered in tiny scratches. Like it spent one too many years in someone’s pocket with all kinds of things.

Kyle pulls it out of your breast pocket, right under the heart, when you start dozing off.

Shame churning in his gut at that, because that’s low.

That’s not fair.

If you ever find out he might never come back from it.

The flash drive in front of them feels like a point of no return. Like stepping over some invisible line in the sand. Like pushing too hard into somewhere they were not invited to.

Johnny doesn’t like it. Johnny doesn’t like sneaking around in your personal things and he can see that neither does usually calm Simon.

None of them does, it’s written on everyone’s faces.

In a way small muscle in John’s jaw twitches with tension, in a way Soap rolls his shoulders as if hoping to shake off whatever sticky feeling he’s got from looking somewhere this deep — from sneaking around to find if you are hiding something.

Heavy hover of Simon’s brows doesn’t encourage Price either. None of them likes it. None of them feels like it’s the right thing to do.

All of them know it’s the necessary one.

“Doesn’t mean we will report everything that can be on it. We looked the other way before, we could do it again”, Simon hums out and it’s so sudden, but Kyle glances at him sideways and turns to captain to give him a tight nod.

It’s their job to work in the grey, is it not?

“But we have to see what’s on it, right? Just for…protection, aye?”, Soap still sounds as unsure as he can get but he actually takes the flash drive now and doesn’t watch it like something that could bite him if he’s not careful.

“Aye”, John just nods, crossing his arms over the chest and nods at Soap’s laptop. “Open it up, let’s see what’s in on it”.

There is no way you will give them all the answers willingly.

Which is weak excuse at best but the more solid one is that they can’t afford to tip you off if you do have something to hide.

Soap spends the next few hours trying to get into whatever encrypted data you have there.

Which admittedly is not what they have expected.

There is a strange type of encryption on them, Johnny shares, eyes glued to the screen as he waits for everything to upload.

Very different from what they usually see on protected data — not meant to destroy everything on the flesh drive as soon as it’s opened.

The code was specifically designed to preserve it.

Was it some kind of valuable intel you never passed on? Were these some kind of records you never got rid off?

About something or someone.

But there is nothing of sorts when Soap manages to crack it open.

On the flesh drive there’s nothing other than audiologs — hundreds of hours of audios, dozens and dozens of half-scraped recordings.

Terabytes of them.

It doesn’t make much sense on the first glance. It makes even less when they start listening.

They don’t know the appropriate order and it looks like a lot of dates has been scraped off the logs.

Frantically, feverishly, like someone without much technical expertise was rummaging through it, wiping off any trace of when and where it happened.

They click through few trying to grasp what is going on there only to find the unexpected.

It’s an entire year of audiologs that just get longer and more detailed the longer they keep going.

There is recorded music in horrible quality, there’s singing — a little off tune and a little hoarse — voice of someone not used to using it this much, but the melody is steady and excitement is palpable.

They don’t recognise the voice. Not at first.

Though whoever is singing they were having the time of their life. They were elated to share.

There’s also obviously male voice — strangely mechanical in its range, almost blank, completely level.

It reminds 141 of butchered quality of dynamics some Helldiver’s comms have. Like someone smashed it before using.

The sound is a little distorted, static flaring up when Soap tries to speed it up so they resign to just listening through the whole thing.

God knows these logs have seen better days.

But there is a lot of what they never expected to find.

There are jokes — old puns and dark humour and laughter, god, there is so much laughter.

It echoes through conversations, it cracks through years to the TaskForce listening with baited breaths.

It’s a beautiful laughter.

They don’t realise at first whose laughter it is. Whose singing it was.

They have never heard you laugh before.

You sound so young there. You sound so human.

Such a stark contrast to the person they came to know you as.

Older you is closed off, older you is guarded and twitchy — silent more often than not, feral animal aching for warmth and terrified of feeling any.

Marks of phantom old collar chuffing the skin of your neck until it breaks. Until you break.

What have been done to you? What happened?

There are million questions swirling through John’s head as he listens, brows furrowing when static flares up once again.

There is nothing wrong with recordings per se. Frankly speaking Price doesn’t see the reason to continue listening, especially since he can see how uncomfortable his team is with going through something so personal to you.

Something that obviously meant enough that you were carrying it with you whenever you went.

But there’s a nagging feeling that doesn’t leave John alone. Like they are missing something.

Helldivers are still soldiers — they are not forbidden from maintaining personal connections.

Why would someone (most likely you) try to scrape the flash drive so desperately? Why would you bother holding it as close to the body as possible?

Somewhere along these recordings there is answer to why you never come down on Chort Bay anymore. Somewhere along the audiologs they are going through there is a reason to why you do missions only in terminid sector.

There’s a question that doesn’t leave Price alone as he sits and listens through another dozen of butchered recordings.

Who’s the person on the other end?

And why do you still have this flesh drive if you could have gotten rid of it long time ago? Would save you a lot of trouble considering how hard you tried to cover up tracks.

So Johnny scrolls through the logs until he finds first one actually dated.

March. Tuesday. 11:51. Six years ago.

“What did you want to be before?”, male voice cracks to life startling them after almost three minutes of radio silence, Simon’s fingers twitching to reach for the gun.

But it’s just a recording, no one is here but them and these butchered audio logs. “Surely…surely, you did not intend to be this. No child does”

There is a small pause before you answer.

As if you want to ask how can the other person know it.

As if you don’t know if you should tell that most children actually do.

Because being a Helldiver is an honour.

It seems like one, at least.

The ultimate sacrifice in the name of greater good.

Your bones might have a chance of being the base of someone’s throne, shouldn’t this be honour enough?

“Ballerina”, your response makes Price quirk a brow, leaning back in chair. That’s the first log without any static. The first one where they can hear you clearly.

Your answer is short, curter than what you’d give your companion before. It reeks of old vulnerability and almost shameful shyness.

Not in your nature to play coy and you apparently didn’t intend to make it seem like it was.

“Ballerina?”, metal creaking is more evident now, male’s voice grinding on their ears, faint whisper of his comms acting as a white noise.

Filling the air with hum none can make out and falling into the background.

It didn’t occur to you at the time that those like your companion have lifespans even shorter than Helldivers so.

That they are machines of war way more dedicated than any diver is.

That they probably don’t dance.

You tell yourself that it’s the only reason you continue talking about something that is no longer viable even as an old fever dream.

“Yeah, the dancer. Did you know they retire young?”, the tidbit of knowledge feels like an offering, like you are a child bringing your stick figured drawing for some approval.

Your voice goes a little higher — smile in your voice so wide, Soap can’t help but chuckle.

“Don’t you all retire young?”, the tone is so level, so perfectly polite that the question would sound innocent if not for undercurrent of teasing.

It leaves you gobsmacked for a moment.

Was that…did he just joke about fast mortality rate amongst Helldivers? He of all people?

Unbelievable.

There’s a pause before your laughter escapes the confines of your mouth — wheezing thin sound that grows into hoarse warm bark of laughter.

“That’s really dark, Sar”, finally a mention of a name forces Kyle to scribble it down as fast as he can. Finally something to hook onto. A bloody name.

“And yet you are laughing”, satisfaction in man’s voice is so obvious it practically drips off every syllable.

Unusually expressive from what they heard before.

Thick and sticky, filling up ears and coating skin.

Like oil.

The recording clicks off and the room falls silent for a few moments with them simply staring at the screen.

There is uneasy feeling in John’s chest, like they are getting closer.

He’s not sure if he wants to keep going.

At this point it would be okay to close investigation on you, to clear you in eyes of the command.

But Soap scrolls down, clicking on the next dated recording without Price stopping him.

It dates almost eight months after the one they just listened to. Johnny clicks “play” and sits back ready to listen, cold slowly filling his fingertips.

What would be worse now — to find something or not find anything at all?

How much is too much as a price for your broken trust?

Your voice rings out of the speakers, too quiet for them to hear and they have to adjust the sound before continuing.

Your voice is tired hoarse thing when you breathe out “what a wicked thing it is. To dream of you. To dream of what I can never have and should have never wanted” and it makes something inside of Gaz ache for you. Why would you say that?

Was the price of being a Helldiver really this steep?

You sound so small on the record, so broken — exhaustion wrapping its heavy arms around your shoulders and pressing down hard.

“I wish it wasn’t like that.”, you finally say after a moment’s silence.

Male voice they already got used to hearing is almost soft when it responds to you — gentle purr of automatic vocal cords, not yet honed timbre of a person still learning to love.

“I know.”, John doesn’t know what he expected but it isn’t this. There is a strange finality to these words.

A quiet intimate kind of resignation he saw in soldiers that knew they are not coming back.

“I can’t do this, Sar”, your voice waivers — wet and cracking and Kyle turns away, leaning heavily on the back of the chair, shoulders slumped down.

This is more difficult than he thought it would be.

You sound defeated.

He has never heard you sound like that before. He now knows he never wants to hear you like that ever again.

“I know”, the gentle acceptance of someone who they ever saw feels wrong in the moment.

Feels like they are still fucking missing something.

A clue that has been looking them in the face all this time.

But with the way you are coming apart at the seams…Ghost doesn’t know how anything but tenderness could be possible.

Stubborn beautiful captain, has no one ever treated you with kindness you deserved?

Has no one but this…whoever that is handled you with proper care?

Did he even handle you with it?

“I…this can never end well”, you got quieter with every word and John has to take a breath because he is aching for you.

Younger you, softer you, bruised you.

Soldier so young you grasped for any straw of support. Soldier so lonely you apparently fell into hands of someone you shouldn’t have.

“Does it really matter?”, the question is so soft John feels like raging, like dismantling the whole fucking branch, like cradling you in his hands and holding tight because the sharp inhale he hears cuts deep.

There is a long pause before you finally answer, familiar clicking of the clip of your gun holster a little too loud.

“No. No, it doesn’t”

Audio ends on that — no usual goodbyes or jokes exchanged. No banter, no witty remarks.

Almost like you can’t do that. Almost like a little more and the rags of you are going to be torn apart.

Too worn-out, too thinly spread.

Oh, dear god, Captain. What have you done?

They take a break so Simon can properly search the databases for any soldier named or call signed “Sar”, any trace of the other person in these audiologs.

There’s an eerie feeling that doesn’t leave John, the same one he can see in occasional fidgeting of his men.

Something happened to these logs — parts of conversations scraped, the sound butchered, the encryption so robust Soap could hardly get through it.

Maybe once it was a happy memento, a treasure you kept close to your heart.

But it was this for younger you — the one who laughed and sang and admitted childish dreams sitting somewhere on the empty battlefield.

Now, in its ravaged state it was no longer what it was before.

It was a reminder.

An ominous one at that.

The kind people tried to brainstorm for radioactive burials so whoever comes across them in the distant future would know that haunted stones of black obelisks meant “stay away”.

John sits in the corner fiddling with a pen, clicking it again and again, gears turning in his head.

The male voice on the recordings — it sounded too rough for a Helldiver, too static-y even when your own sounded clearly.

The voice way too unnatural.

Like the person it belonged to was still learning how to use it.

Like he was mimicking speech patterns.

John comes back to listening through the dozen more broken records until Simon comes back tight-jawed and dark as death.

Finally with an answer.

There is ice slowly spreading in their veins — jaws clenched so hard it’s painful.

But pain is nothing. All of it is nothing.

Because he finally knows why you were guarding the flesh drive.

Why there is no soldier named “Sar”.

There has never been one.

“Sar” is not a name, but a nickname you gave your companion during your talks. “Sar” is short for “Comissar”.

You were communicating with autobot commander.

You were committing treason.

There’s another recording. The last one. Still completely intact.

Soap presses the key so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t fall off.

This time there is no introduction, no greetings. There is only one voice.

The Autobot’s.

“Super Earth’s scum likes to portray us as unfeeling. Machines of pointless bloody war.”, he starts, voice as level as they get, eerie mechanical undertones of too static speech seeping through.

Sar…Comissar pauses before continuing, his voice getting so much softer it’s uncanny.

So soft John feels like grinding his teeth into nothing. Fucking hell, the autobot had no business sounding like that.

“But god, I swear, I could feel the sunlight shine on my face when you’d come down to me.”, there is a wistful component to his voice, one Simon doesn’t fucking like at all.

“I could feel the wind. I could taste the sea.”

“I could taste you.”, the implication leaves Kyle with dread raising its heavy head in his gut, eyes so wide it hurts. He can’t blink and he can’t turn away and he can’t stop listening.

They need to finish.

“We often think Helldivers to be soldiers of the guile — merciless and casually cruel, you plunge feet first into hell from a hell of your own straight above our heads — harbingers of death.”, is said almost conversationally, like it’s another fact. Another thing he probably had to get over.

“But I could have sworn you were an angel.”, there is reverence in the voice of the bloody machine the likes of which Soap hasn’t heard before. The absolute, almost biblical, devotion. Borderline an obsession.

“My angel”, the emphasis is not lost to them.

“My loveliest doom.”

“You were sent down to hunt and destroy my kind, to turn to ash my army, to bring ruin and despair.”, there is a small pause before the man continues.

His voice as tender as they could get, so eerily soft that Soap barely contained the urge to turn it off.

To stop listening.

But they need to finish it, so he just steps back from the laptop, turning his head away, the automatic voice gnarling on his nerves.

“But you brought me peace. You brought warmth.”, there is wonder in Comissar’s voice, quiet excitement of someone who long gave up and accepted the way things are.

“You brought laughter and songs and dreams.”, he says like this was everything. Like it is everything. More than he could have ever hoped for. More than he, perhaps, deserved.

“How strange it is, my love, to be machine deemed incapable of human emotions but still feel.

How strange it is that you — the perfect lovely you — made me so human I can barely recognise myself.”, he stalls for a moment before chuckling — sound cool and gentle, his cords still a little rusty.

“Maybe that’s another ploy of your branch. Maybe Helldivers finally found the way to our absolute ruin.

But oh, what a sweet way to go.

I couldn’t wish for a different one. I wouldn’t have.

Know that no matter what happens next — I have always been devoted to you.”, John’s hand hovers above the keyboard, urge to turn off the bloody recording so strong he almost does it.

“The last time we saw each other you said that it won’t end well. And I won’t lie to you — it won’t.”, the autobot shifts, metal creaking with its every movement, comms whispering in a language they cannot understand.

“I know that they will come for my fortress. I know they will win — my head will be the prime trophy of this campaign.”, the man says and it feels a lot like a goodbye. Like this is it. The end of the road.

“I know it’s not your fault.”, notion kicks the breath out of Simon because despite the revulsion and anger, there is so much gentle acceptance in Comissar’s voice it makes his skin crawl.

“We are not bad people, my love. Just very unlucky ones.

I can only hope that the next time we meet will be better.

I hope next time you won’t have to choose between duty and your humanity.

I hope when we meet next time you will forgive me for making this choice for you.”, John’s eyes flicker to Simon’s who’s already trying to get reports of what fucking happened back then. Someone should be able to share at least a crumb of information.

“Goodbye, my angel. Remember that down on Chort Bay even the rusted remains of my skeleton will love you.

And please,

Don’t ever come back.”

There’s a heavy silence when they record clicks off, finishing the playing of it.

“What the fuck happened on Chort Bay?”, Price doesn’t recognise the hoarse rasp for his voice until Simon doesn’t give him a glass of water, brown eyes dark with something John isn’t sure he understands.

“War torn. The battles are ongoing as of right now but at the time of the recording…”, Simon glances down on the report on his laptop before turning back to his captain. “…Helldiver forces took Chort Bay back — effectively eradicating everything in their way”.

Which means that no one survived.

The “Sar” perished with the resistance leaving you only that — the flash drive with all of your conversations. Perhaps hoping (if robots can hope) that you would understand.

Price thinks to the quiet fractured way you carry yourself and wonders if you ever did.

They need to know what to do now. How to proceed. Because fraternising with the enemy…it’s going to be punishable by an execution. If anyone finds out about their discovery you are going down.

You won’t be just dishonourably discharged — you will be shot dead.

Price rubs his palms over his eyes, heels of them pressing onto his eyeballs because god, how did you even get into this kind of mess? Why would you even hold onto incriminating piece of evidence?

He knows why, god, of course he knows. He listened through remaining conversations and heard your laughter and heard your shy confessions.

(John tries not to think that he had no right to them. That these recordings were not his to listen to, he has no claim over them — they aren’t for him)

They decide to come clean the next day. Maybe figure out how to proceed from then on, what to write. How to save you from yourself, if needed.

But all plans go down the drain when the next morning you are antsy and fidgety, eyes roaming over the ship in frantic search. You already noticed your flash drive gone.

Johnny tries to carefully start the conversation, explaining why they came back, what was the purpose of it.

He feels bile rise in his throat at the look on your face when you see your audiologs in his palm.

When you hear that they listened to them.

Kyle steps in, voice gentle as he tries to explain that they didn’t want to, that it’s just vetting process, that they won’t tell anyone what they found.

He also says that you must have had your reasons, but keeping such thing this close was reckless and wrong and—

But then you snatch the flash drive out of Soap’s hand, eyes wide with something he doesn’t like, clutching the thing like it’s a treasured.

Your treasure.

These conversations — hundreds of hours of conversations with a mechanical voice, tenderness of which seeps through every sound. Very syllable.

Mad, wrong and forbidden.

This should have never happened. It would have never happened if Helldivers were treated more humanely, Price thinks.

It would have never happened if you had proper protocols and socialisation and support in place.

What kind of madness is it, to fall in love with a fucking piece of steel? An enemy no less.

It is wrong, it is mad, it is everything you were never supposed to do. As a soldier, as a Helldiver.

It’s not just a mistake. It’s treason.

You would be executed without martial court, without right to appeal. You are a traitor.

“Captain?”, there’s heavy silence in the armoury, stares on you almost accusatory and you hate it you hate it you hate it.

They don’t know you, they don’t know what it’s like.

They don’t understand. They probably never will.

So you don’t say anything.

You stuff the flesh drive into the breast pocket under armoured plates of your vest, not looking them in the eye, not willing to give them any more than they already took.

“Captain, you- have you ever returned to the automaton sector?”, Simon’s question is carefully worded and it is not the best time to ask whether or not you killed autobots after having an affair with one.

It’s not fair to you and he knows it.

But the situation itself isn’t fair.

Neither are you with your heavy silences and your high walls and your stubborn glares.

“No.”, the answer is as short as they get, your thumb pressing into the sharp side of the metal case, trying to take your mind out of a spiral by any means necessary.

You never came back to Chort Bay. You never came back to autobot sector after coming down to collect the last message from Sar. One mission before you realised you couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t.

Robots were too human afterwards.

Even worse, you were too human — finger always stalling when it came to shooting other autobots.

Other’s like Sar.

Maybe in some deeper level you were still waiting for him to come back, to meet you with the flesh drive like he usually did. Maybe on some deeper level you were hoping for him to find another way.

Maybe you grew soft.

(Helldivers can’t be soft. Helldivers are never soft. Not if they want to survive)

“What does it say about me that I didn’t die with him and kept living?”, you don’t even realise you said it out loud until you look at Kyle and see that his face is grey with horror. He makes a step towards you, something pained in his eyes raising when you twitch away.

He’s spent his trust. It doesn’t take a mind reader to realise who took your flesh drive. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure out that he stole it.

But really, what does it say about you if you are still going though you admitted to Sar once that you probably wouldn’t be able to if something was to happen to him.

You kept living when maybe you shouldn’t have. You kept living like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t lose a part of you — a good part, a decent part, a humane part.

“Capt’n, please…”, there’s anguish in Price’s voice, his eyes — prettiest summer sky — looking at you the same way one would look at animal they ran over. Pity.

There is hot licks of fury in your chest, spreading like a wildfire, scorching you from inside out, cauterising the bleeding heart of yours.

How fucking dare he. How dare they scoop out everything that was left of the good you and watch it with morbid fascination like it was some suffering creature with broken spine.

How dare they even look like they feel sorry for you when there’s nothing to feel sorry about?

“This- look around”, there’s manic desperate chuckle, crack in his voice the size of one in your chest. “This isn’t livin’, capt’n. You are not livin’. You are survivin’. And all for a machine that-”

Maybe you would have listened before to him, but John Price steps on the landmine the size of Jupiter and you snap. Snarling, feral creature — kicked dog whose tail got caught in the closing doors — your eyes stinging, armour clicking in place all around you.

“He has a name.”, you snarl with such viciousness that John blinks in surprise, taken aback by your reaction. “And you don’t know him.”

“For fuck’s sake, capt’n, it’s not a name.”, Price snaps in return, stepping closer to you, eyes blazing, shoulders squaring and it’s almost laughable because what the fuck is he going to do? Wrestle you to the floor of your own ship? “You gave him a nickname. He never had a name. He’s not an actual person-“

Maybe it would have been better if he tried to fight you. At least that way you’d have a good excuse to land a few punches on him. At least that way you wouldn’t feel like someone backhanded you across the face — skin tingling with heat, beast in your chest uncurling into something dangerous.

How dare he talk like he knows what’s been going on? How fucking dare he speak of your friend, of your Sar, like he has been some fucking pet?

The silence is dark and heavy between you two, fire raging so loudly in your head you hardly hear Simon stepping in.

It hardly registers until he mentions something about stims and “withdrawal induced agitation” and your head snaps to him so fast he actually steps back.

You’ll admit it takes you a few moments to piece it all together. The investigation, the secrecy, the tension.

The last conversation that you had with Price.

Your fury builds up into the whole storm, your face so hot it hurts, you are so hot it’s sticky and sweaty, your uniform clinging to your body.

(Blood in the threads of it-blood in the threads of it-blood in the threads of it)

“You stole from me”, the first exhale is pure disbelief before the last bits of you snap like a dry twig and you practically lunge at Price, fingers wrapping around his shoulder with the force enough to break it. “I let you in and you stole from me.”, your anger is deaf and blind. Your anger is powerful.

Your pain isn’t.

You don’t expect it but it still hurts because you let them see so much, you thought they were safe, you thought they were friends.

Rookie mistake. You won’t repeat it again. Never again.

Hurt just amplifies your anger, revulsion flaring up when Soap reaches for you. Usually warm hand trying to soothe, trying to calm down.

But you can’t do this. You can’t-you cant-you can’t.

You think of Kyle waiting for you to fall asleep to take your flesh drive and bile rises to your throat.

You think of Price stealing your stim, of Simon going through your things and talking about your anger like it’s a fucking symptom.

You think of them and you want to crawl out of your skin.

The loud slap of your hand against Johnny, smacking him away clicks something in the team, the whole TaskForce coming into action.

Pulling them into the formation, pulling out soldiers and not friends.

For some reason it hurts even more.

“Captain, you have to calm down.”, there is an edge to Ghost’s voice and you just sneer in response, his changed attitude doing nothing but agitate you further.

Kyle watches you like he’s expecting you to snap. They all do, you realise.

“Get out.”, your voice is alien even to you, your body uncurling to its full frame, fury — now cold and merciless flooding your veins. “Get your things and get the fuck off my ship. Now.”

Simon opens his mouth to say something but you snap before a single word leaves his lips.

“Get out of I will personally drag you off my fucking bird, lieutenant.”, you hiss his rank out and it’s so wounded you almost cringe. Fucking hell, you are getting soft.

But still it works. He pulls back and turns away.

You don’t wait to see whether or not they have something else to say. You want nothing to do with them.

You want them out.

You want to hate them but instead you are just hurt and furious.

It’s a solemn ride back home. A quiet and heavy one, all of them feeling the effect of your fury still.

Simon looks at John and John finally understands. There is no other choice. Not now. Not anymore.

Upon return Price sits in his office for a few very long hours before he finally gets to writing the report command requested on you.

He has never compromised on his soldiers’ wellbeing and he won’t start now.

Even if he will need to drag you thrashing and kicking with a force of a damn bull.

Report gets sealed and so does your fate when he sends it out.

Report written black on white, his full name and rank, date and location.

Report doesn’t name you a traitor but Price knows you will hate them nonetheless.

Report says “recommend immediate transfer. Not suitable for active space duty. Not able to continue in their current responsibilities. Recommendation to discharge Helldiver captain of SES “Whisper of steel” effective immediately”.

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blondeaxolotl-twstocs · 4 months ago

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Bird lovers 💜🐦

Despite Dellie's whole "Friendly" persona being all an act.. Surprisingly one of the few (if not, ONLY) things that make him genuinely soften up are birds! Since Coral Sea does not have creatures like them, Dellie quickly developed a soft spot for them since the day he stepped onto land and saw a pigeon for the first time.

After joining NRC, it didn't take long for people to find out about Dellie's love for birds. As he was seen befriending the wild birds from the courtyard, and even bringing a few to his dorm without anyone noticing. It was soon revealed Dellie was taking in injured birds back to his room in order to treat their wounds and help them recover, apparently he has a large bird cage, toys, and treats for his feathery friends. Even the books on his shelves are all about birds, (in a sense, Dellie with birds is like Jade with mushrooms.... except Dellie hasn't started his own bird fan club, yet)

Silver ended up befriending Dellie after he came up to him with a wounded bird he found in the greenhouse while knowing about the fact Dellie treats injured birds. Soon after, they started meeting up more often, Dellie updating him about the birds and Silver either bringing in other birds or bringing in treats for them (Tbh I don't think either of them have out loud referred to each others as friends, they're too focused on the birds)

Jamil only ended up with them because Kalim heard about Dellie and Silver bonding over birds, and so in his classic Kalim way he just shoved Jamil towards them like "Jamil also loves birds!! Parrots specifically". And so Dellie without any hesitation grabbed Jamil by the arm, dragged him to his room to show off the ones he's currently taken care, and of course talk about them with him and Silver. On a little sweeter note, after Dellie heard that Jamil loves parrots and would love to have one as a pet (specifically a red macaw), Dellie promised Jamil if he ever ends up taking care of a red macaw, he'd immediately call him over and let him help take care of it.

In conclusion if you ever want to experience what's the closest thing to an actual friendship would be like with Dellie, get a bird involved, and that's where you'll forget you're talking to a wolf in sheep's clothing with how soft he'll suddenly get when a feathery little thing is in his vicinity

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bitter-me · 1 year ago

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Golden Hour

Jing Yuan | M. Reader

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Reincarnation AU

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There's a particular painting inside the Luofu Museum. It's a painting of the former General, they say that the General never smiles and always has a blank expression. That painting is the most precious and one of a kind in the whole world...

Why?

Because it's the only time...

Where the General finally smiles...

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"Huh... "Wise and Brave; Jing Yuan." Hey, wouldn't it be funny if he's actually you from the past?"

"Nonsense, we just have the same name."

[Name] turn his head towards the white haired man with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah.. Sure.. But you do have the same smile as him." He said as he look back at the painting in front of them.

The General in the painting looks almost identical to the man standing beside him down to the same smile. Then again, [Name] couldn't imagine Jing Yuan being all stoic like, a smile fits him better. "You know... They say that the General had fallen in love with the Strategist in the Xianzhou, some even say that the Strategist was the reason why he started smiling."

"Really?"

"It's just a myth though, don't know if it's true."

Jing Yuan chuckles at that statement, after all myths are just myths, there's no telling if it's real or not. It's probably fake, people usually make up things just to satisfy their own fantasies, but something in him tells him otherwise.

That maybe, just maybe... It's the truth.

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

"It's the most optimal solution, General."

"BY SACRIFICING MY MEN!?"

"Losing a handful of soldiers are better than losing civilians, plus—isn't it their duty to give their live for the people and die in battle?"

"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT WITH SUCH A CALM VOICE?!" The General huffs as he glared daggers at the man in front of him, the man who proposed the very strategy that practically sacrifices his men "for the greater good." Jing Yuan always wonder how this man is able to be the Strategist of the Xianzhou...

A man who stood to benefit from betraying others... It's not proven or anything and yet...

Jing Yuan is certain that he'd turn against the Reignbow Arbiter in a heartbeat...

There's isn't a sane bone in his body.

The other man sigh at Jing Yuan's response as he crosses his arms and spoke up with his usual calm yet firm voice. "And here I thought you'd be more reasonable, given that you're the General."

"The leader of an organization is at the pinnacle of it and, at the same time, he is its slave. The leader must be more than willing to commit any atrocity in order to ensure the organisation's survival."

He hates it.... He hates this man so much...

How could he talk about that so casually? As if these men... Were just mere pawns to him... After all sacrificing a few pawns means relatively little if it means your King's safety.

'He's not thinking about the people.. He's thinking about the Xianzhou Loufu's survival instead...'

"They were right about you... You're a wolf in sheep's clothing..." He started as he continues to glare daggers at the man. The man only gave him an unamused look as he asked in a calm voice. "And why would you think that?" Jing Yuan scoffed at the question as he crosses his arms. "Talking to you is impossible."

"But in all honesty, give my strategy some thought, General."

"There's nothing left to think regarding that. I want you to change it this instant."

The man sigh at the order he was given, he uncrossed his arms and took back the papers from the General's desk. "As you wish."

And with that... The man left his office.

Jing Yuan sigh as he put a hand on his forehead and look down at his wooden desk. "I can't believe that man... [Name] was it..?" He mumbled under his breath.

'It's as if a life meant relatively little to him.'

"I never knew you could be a skilled doctor.."

"I was the Head Physician before becoming your strategist, General."

"..."

The two fall silent as [Name] bandaged the general's wounds. It seems even the "Mighty General of the Loufu" can get hurt. How fascinating. Once he's done, [Name] lets out a sigh and puts back the supplies he had used. "I suggest you shouldn't go to any missions at the moment. Let your wounds heal."

Jing Yuan remains silent as he inspects his carefully treated wounds. The bandages aren't too tight, and his body isn't as sore anymore. [Name] might be a sociopath with the types of strategies he comes up with. But he's a wonderful physician. Maybe he should stay as one.

"Can't have you start bleeding out in the middle of a fight after all. Unless you wanted me to operate on you then go ahead."

Jing Yuan can't help but sigh at those words. Of course the doctor has to open his mouth and end it on that note... even if he's good, [Name]'s still a sociopath though..

"...Understood."

"Good."

The crowd was silent as they watched the starskiff flies to through the sky. Reaching greater heights. "Another sent of.." The doctor mumbled under his breath.

"Sad, isn't it?"

"Not really."

Oh you sociopath! Jing Yuan snapped his head towards him. He was about to argue until he saw a soft smile on the doctor's face. A soft. Melancholy. Smile.

"It's not sad. It's poetic." [Name] says softly as he watches the starskiff. "In a way, if you're at a loss, you could look up at the sky and.... remember that they're watching over you.. and there's nothing to be afraid of.." Turning his head towards the general, [Name] gave him a closed eye smile as his hair got caught in the wind. "It's almost romantic, is it not?"

Jing Yuan felt a strange and warm feeling on his chest. Without thinking, he returns the smile with his own. "If you put it that way.. it is kinda poetic.."

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"Well... I heard that the Strategist is far more worse than the General." Jing Yuan spoke up, making [Name] turn his head to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really?" He asked as he crosses his arms, waiting for am explanation. "Yup, they say that the Strategist is a sociopath. I've also heard that the General was the reason the Strategist began to have a "heart". " Jing Yuan concluded with a smirk on his face.

[Name] can't help but chuckle at those words. For some reason.. he had a feeling it was true..

#seme male reader #top male reader #hsr #hsr x male reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x male reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x male reader #x male reader #x reader

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 1 year ago

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My brain is on fire same I can’t sleep and am thinking of this:

The way she writes about marriage/family/commitment through these different situations across the album is soooooooooo interesting.

You have a very intense first experience of it in “The Manuscript,” where it is first dangled in front of her/the narrator’s young, impressionable self as shorthand for real love in a situation that ended up being smoke and mirrors. She’s being told everything she wants to hear by someone who basically thinks it’s just foreplay. In the end, when it’s clear that the other person has no intention of actually making a life with her, it makes her feel used, but she forces herself to recalibrate and become the girl she thinks he and all the other hes want her to be. Easy breezy cool. But there’s a sense of loss in realizing those hopes were merely banter to the other.

You have the “grown up” version of it alluded to in “So Long, London” and “How Did It End?”, the years of putting in work to save a relationship and the “deflation of our dreaming leaving [her] bereft and reeling” leading to them “calling it all off.” The implication is clearly that they built a home together with plans for next steps at a point in time, but the commitment is shattered. (Obviously to me it sounds like marriage.) She’s bitter at spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately didn’t want to be there, even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit it himself.

She felt like she did everything she was supposed to, but they were learning the right steps to different dances at as it were. Those dreams were at one point shared, but in the end they weren’t right for each other and she admits that, though bitterly (“I founded the club she’s heard great things about” eg the years she put in for him to help him grow up will end up benefiting his new lover, “but I’m not the one,” “you’ll find someone,” etc.). Mixed in with all this of her resentment of him wasting her youth (sacrificing herself at the altar), and his resentment of her for reasons less defined, and insinuations of betrayal in the shadows. The fantasy of the whole package disappears into the ether, yet she still has no answers as to how they got there.

Then in comes the wolf in sheep’s clothing in many of the rest of the songs, the one who promises her all those things she’s dreamed of since she was a kid instantly. After years of moulding herself to other men’s desires, someone comes in and tells her exactly what she wants to hear at the most vulnerable time of her life, as though the universe is answering her prayers, like some sort of cosmic payback for all she’s suffered, and it’s the most intoxicating drug of all. She’s gone from her wish for a family life feeling like she’s in a way being used for her body, to it being used as a chain to a relationship gone sour, to having someone put a metaphorical ring on her finger and tell her he wants to have babies with her, fuck those other guys.

In her grief and stupor, it’s too good to be true, which is exactly why she falls for it. But of course, it’s all an illusion, because this wolf is an amalgamation of the worst of all the men who came before him. He tells her everything she wants to hear not to make her dreams come true, but to make his. He takes the worst parts of these scenarios to make his move: he’ll stand by her, he’ll commit, he’ll do it out in the open under the spotlight’s glare (all things desperately lacking in her last relationship), but after he beds her he stabs her in the back in private and leaves her. He got what he wanted at the expense of her losing everything she wanted, this time as her world caved in seemingly for good. She feels like she gave up everything she thought she might have had for a chance that this is where the universe has been point her all along, only to be left broken for good (you represent the loss of my life as I knew it).

Then there are two sort of codas to this. In “But Daddy I Love Him” we get a sassier reimagining of “Love Story,” where the girl with the scarlet letter is mouthy and crass and tells everyone to go fuck themselves for cursing her in the first place, choosing her love above all else. And no, those haters can’t come to her wedding. Her daddy may have come around, but they sure can’t. Finally it seems someone is choosing her and will someday give her these things, and she’ll be able to show all the naysayers. (Also interestingly one of the more fictionally-veiled songs which ends happily vs the diaristic ones that don’t.)

Then of course there’s “So High School,” our first glimpse into what the future holds. Probably the only unabashedly happy (nay… electric?) song on the album, it’s all about reclaiming the buzz of youth (which is a whole other post) with a new lover. “Are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? It’s just a game but really, I’m betting on all three for us two.” It’s, er, a direct nod to a certain now-infamous interview, but again, she’s staking her claim on her future, if not certain then at least hopeful again. This time the prospect doesn’t come with a “but.” It’s not, we’ll be pushing strollers but actually you’re too young. It’s not, we had these dreams for our future but actually I can’t move forward. It’s not, I’m going to promise you a ring and a baby but only until my needs are met and then I’m out. It’s, I know what I wanted and I’m not leaving, and thanks to that now she stays too.

The album dealt with the theme not at all in the way I expected, but is absolutely fascinating.

#writing letters addressed to the fire #me thinking too hard about Taylor lyrics #the tortured poets department #i have many thoughts #No brain power

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daylighted · 6 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ˗ˏˋ 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟔𝟕.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ───── SEASON ONE, ───── ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ───────── PART ONE ─────────

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summary. california is a long drive & different in many ways to how dean's small-town, southern life in kansas was. but if there's one thing that's the same, it's the crackling of the annual start-of-the-year bonfire.

ㅤword count ! ㅤㅤ 2.7k ㅤㅤ content warnings ! ㅤㅤ no warnings! maybe a lil angst if u squint? welcome to stanford! ㅤㅤ track the season !

stanford is a twenty-seven hour drive from lawrence. all twenty-seven hours on the road were spent with the music so loud that dean’s ears still rang. he didn’t want to think about how his dad didn’t even tell him bye, or how sam was at school, and wouldn't get to.

dean was strong, built to be a soldier from the moment he could hold a gun, constantly rising from the ashes of the destruction that his dad made of him, but he was not strong enough to know his brother would come home to an empty house. there was no doubt that their father would have skipped town already, on an alleged case that was more than likely just drowning himself in a case of booze.

it was whatever. he’d convinced himself of that in the two days that it’d taken to get from the shitty town that was lawrence to campus. his whole senior year was stressful to get to where he was now. minimum wage jobs, killing himself at football practice so the stanford recruiters would be interested in him, so he stood a chance. plus, his academics were stellar. he worked his ass off — just to have to abandon sammy at home, and not even get an ounce of approval from his stubborn father.

in front of him, the main building on stanford university’s campus towers above him like the greatest of monsters. the glass doors are open, held in a way that was meant to be inviting but was actually a little intimidating. the maws of the creature visible through its snarling mouth.

dean had faced demons that wore his family’s face, who called him every name that they could think of while they rotted in a devil’s trap. he’d felt the fangs of a vampire hovering over his jugular before he’d even hit double digits, after his father did the hunter equivalent of tossing him into the deep end of the pool without any hands to catch him. this, though, felt like the scariest of all of them, just because of how natural it felt to get away.

he had to go get a parking pass. had to get his room assignment. had to talk to the football coaches about his position and his scholarship. had to unpack. all of the shit he had to do was piled atop the shit that he wanted to do, burying it in the rubble.

clusters of students already walk together down the brickstoned paths, their voices echoing off of the arched walls. their versions of home were rooted in civilization and the comfort of others, whereas his was in solitude and being on his lonesome.

dean didn’t get intimidated. he didn’t worry. but his skin was starting to crawl with the realization that he was as much of an outsider as outsiders could get. he did not belong amongst these people, felt like a wolf waltzing in sheep's clothing, but the point was that he was trying to.

he flips his phone open, a habit he’s developed since leaving home, to check for missed calls. there wasn’t a thing he could do if sammy needed help, but he wanted him to call, anyways. wanted to hear his voice. wanted to say sorry for abruptly leaving.

but there was nothing, still. at least the excuse now could have been that sam was in school, but he was getting anxious. didn’t want to know how the absence of john winchester’s favorite punching bag would translate onto the next in line.

dean shoves open the residence building’s door, struck dumb for a second by how long the line was. it made sense, but it still caught him offguard him, a little, that he was here.

he’d made it.

a trio of girls finish up at the front desk and brush past him as they leave, one of them immediately breaking into giggles when they stumble away from him. the other two steal glances backwards at him once they’re nearing the exit. one's eyes lingered, held his stare like even if he clearly was out of place, you were not afraid of what it meant to be in the line of fire.

yeah. he liked it here. he could get used to this.

next is a guy with shaggy black hair and the broadest shoulders that dean had ever seen. dean was big for his age, yeah, he'd thrown himself into working out when he realized that football was working for him, but this was a guy, clearly, who operated because of his bruteness, not the other way around.

his eyes are downturned toward the stack of papers in his hands, books tucked into the crook of his elbow, a backpack that looked ridiculously small on his shoulder. his eyes lift to squint down the line of people, like he's looking for something, and dean realizes in a wave of surprised horror when they land on him, that it was him he was looking for.

"dude!" the guy shouts — shouts! in the dead silence of the building! — his papers crinkling in his fists. he stomps up to dean and tosses his arms around him in a hug that dean had no choice but to awkwardly return, squashed arms patting at the guy's elbows.

dean didn't mind standing out, but this was another level. every eye in the room was on him when he was already certain that they were staring, and all he wanted to do was disappear. maybe this guy would crush him into pulp and solve those issues for him.

"you're my roommate," he says, scruffing a palm through dean's mop of blonde hair. "my roomie. ah, look, you're blushing."

dean's mortified. he shoves a hand into the guy's arm again, this time with the intent to push him away. "shut up." he nods at the crumpled paper's in his hands. "what the hell is your name, anyways?"

"taylor." taylor's eyes fall to his papers again, eyes narrowed as he scans across whatever he's reading. "dean. helluva name."

dean can't help but snort. "i mean. yeah. it's definitely... a name," he shoves his hands into his jeans' pockets, "football?"

stupid question, but he doesn't know what else to say to him. the guy's about to bust out of a letterman jacket, stretching the leather of the fabric with his broad frame. if he hugged dean one more time, it'd probably split down the back. "hell yeah," taylor says, and maybe the leather is used to this guy's antics, because when he lifts his arms in a flexing sort of pose, all it does is creak, "lineman for the last four years."

dean follows the slowly shrinking line, and to his dwindling horror, his roommate follows. yeah, he's a little much, but he's friendly, and dean really could use a friend in these times. "quarterback," dean answers a few seconds too late, then adds, "we're probably not gonna see the green at all this year, y'think?"

"speak for yourself," taylor snorts, adjusting the bag hanging off of him, "i'm gonna be a starter if it fuckin' kills me."

"yeah, alright," dean laughs, shaking his head. "good luck, man."

underclassmen usually didn't get anything but the bench, unless they were stupid good, and dean was stupid good for kansas standards; he was fully convinced for there to be a spot on the bench indented from his ass by the end of the season.

taylor had shrugged his backpack off in the few seconds that dean had zoned out, rifling through the front pocket for something. he tugs out a black sharpie and plucks the cap off with his teeth. "wisteria, gerhard casper quad, castaño building. room 12." his voice is muffled through the cap in his mouth.

"i don't know what any of that means, dude," dean says, blinking a couple of times in succession. taylor's already got his wrist in a death grip though, tugging it into his space, the cool tip of the permanent marker scribbling on his inner wrist.

"neighborhood, the buildin' complex, n' the buildin'," taylor lisps around the cap, tugging dean forward when the line moves again. "c'mon, keep up. we gotta get the fuck outta here, stake out the frat."

dean physically cringes.

"don't make that face." taylor spits the cap into his open palm, giving dean a bright grin. dean really can't handle this much energy when he's operating on three hours of sleep on a shoddy motel bed, after driving as long as he did. "it's phi kappa psi. they're like, the frat."

"oh."

taylor nods again to make dean move forward. one more person in line. "yeah, oh. gotta get our foot in the door, bud, 'fore some fuckin' losers take our spots."

dean is not interested in a frat whatsoever. if anyone tried to haze him, he's not confident in his ability to keep from snapping their jaw. his fight or flight had gone dormant since he'd pulled back from hunting, but it was still there, something that lingered constantly in the back of his mind.

"'sides, they're havin' a bonfire tonight, y'know?" dean did not know. but taylor likes how his voice sounds, it seems, and dean is very okay with just letting him talk. "for all the freshies. have it every year."

dean nods slowly, setting all of his things on the counter for the attendants. student id, driver's license, all of the works. in the trade, he's given his class schedule, his basics' books, parking pass, and his room assignment. he compares it to the unintelligible words on his wrist in black ink and — yeah, they could be the same.

"well, i'm gonna nap when we get to our room," dean says with a lopsided grin, "so if the bonfire's good, come 'n get me or somethin'."

"you're an idiot."

dean shrugs. "sure."

"free booze, sorority girls fallin' all over us..." taylor whistles under his breath before he promptly smacks dean over the head. "idiot."

his arms are heavy from his books. his eyes are heavy from the drive. he hasn't had real food that wasn't cooked and thrown into a brown paper bag in nearing forty-eight hours. but the thought of being at a bonfire that wasn't made with the intent to burn a body but just to have fun and meet people was nice. mundane. he wanted to be mundane so desperately.

dean shoves taylor back in the chest, a laugh falling from his grinning mouth. "yeah. yeah, alright, i'll go."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

the hot smell of burning firewood and spilt beer were the first two things to grace dean's nose upon walking onto the spacious front lawn of phi kappa psi's building.

guys in jerseys and backwards hats manned a white foldout table besides the asphalt porch steps, red cups in their free hands. girls in short skirts and guys in mussed up versions of their sunday best hovered around in clusters.

dean had left taylor at the drinks table, unwilling to listen to him dickride frat guys who were probably too off their asses to know what was being said to them. around the fire were foldout chairs, legs dug into the soft grass, and a huge tray of marshmallows and various other snacks to cook over the flame, parallel to where dean sat.

he was content, he realized. he could have no one in the world at this school, except maybe taylor, who might or might not drop him like a dime if he got accepted into the frat. so long as he could have fires that didn't smell like charred bodies and burning hair, and walk around a campus full of hundreds of people and not have to worry if any of them were something else beneath their skin.

his eyes flick up from watching the flames at the sight of legs approaching the tray. legs in form fitting jeans, legs that plant themselves there like their own piece of furniture. and when he trails up the length of the body a few feet in front of him, he realizes it's you. the girl who held his eyes back in the residency building, with more challenge in your gaze than there was schoolgirl giddiness, like your friends.

you're watching him too. but you don't look away when he meets your eyes, like you didn't then, earlier.

his head jerks to the side, a little quirk of a smile on his lips. a dare. you seemed like the type of girl who liked dares — and again, he was proven right, when you steal two marshmallows from the tray and walk over to him.

"kind of silly to come to a party and sit by yourself," you say, holding out one of the marshmallows to him.

dean takes it, weighing his options for a response in his buzzed mind. "kind of silly to walk up to the weird loner guy sitting by himself at a party."

you grab one of the sticks propped up on various chairs, impaling your marshmallow with it with a hum. "maybe." you lift your shoulders, stick tight in your grip as you hold the marshmallow over the flame. "but i thought the whole point of college was to be silly and exploratory."

dean lifts his chin in a mock thoughtful expression. "really? i thought it was about, i dunno, education, or something like that."

"what's ed-u-ca-tion?" you ask, sounding out each syllable of the word, your face twisting up into a pout that was too pretty for him to think rationally at the sight of. "never heard of it."

he laughs, though, because he just can't seem to help himself. you're cute, and that's dangerous. he was on scholarship, the educational equivalent of big brother over his shoulder, making sure he stayed in line.

“actually,” you continue, fidgeting with the stick in your fingers, “i probably know it a lot better than you do.”

dean’s lip quirk a little more, as he reaches to his left to grab another one of the sticks himself. “fine, i’ll bite. why’s that, sugar?”

“ugh. sugar. that’s such a douchey nickname.” your pout only deepens, and it’s even more of a sight. puckered frowning lips, pinched eyebrows. he’ll be a goner by the time the night’s over, if you kept it up. “but to answer your question, i’m cheering this year, trying to rush sororities, and here for nursing, so…”

dean pokes his stick through his own marshmallow, holding it over the fire with one hand. his other reaches into his coat pocket for the pack of cigarettes he kept on him, humming in slight impress. good distraction, he’d once called his cigarette habit. vice of all vices, he said now.

“alright, well, give me a few minutes to pick a new name for you, yeah?”

you pluck the marshmallow off of your stick, setting it aside with the hot side up, holding the golden stickiness between your fingertips. “well, so will i, then,” you say defiantly, biting into the charred marshmallow with a crunch.

dean’s definitely a goner.

his eyes rake over you, not completely in a flirtatious way, but he had to admit, that you were gorgeous. you’re wearing dark denim jeans, a pair of black boots, and the brightest red cableknit sweater he’d ever seen.

“cherry,” he says softly, almost wistfully, as his eyes find yours again.

you seem taken aback for a second, lips parting and closing a couple of times. it might be the golden light crackling from the fire, but your cheeks almost look more pink, too. deep pink, like the inside of a cherry. cherry was a good pick.

“well, what’s your name?” you shoot back at him, nodding in his direction.

he knows how to cook things over a fire. has burned enough bodies and the evidence of his being there to know. the marshmallow on his stick is charred golden, and he brings it close to light the cigarette in his free hand before he blows the flame on the marshmallow out.

then, he turns the cooking end of the stick to you in a wordless offering. “dean.” his eyebrows bounce at the same time as his lips tilt in a warm, amused smile. "no frat affiliation, no interest in nursing," he continues with a dramatic sigh, teasing your earlier tirade, "i am on the football team, though. number 67."

"okay," you meet his eyes with that same gleam that was destined to get him into trouble, "i'll call you number 67, then."

special features !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤget to know WINCHESTER ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤget to know READER ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsend in FANMAIL ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwanna know when a new episode drops ? join the WATCHLIST !

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watchlist !

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#dahlia's ☆ journal #★ number 67 #stanford!dean #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic

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atiny-desire · 1 month ago

Text

Bite

Pairing: Alpha! Wooyoung x Omega! fem! Reader

Summary: You life in solitude and you're happy with it. Wooyoung had other plans for your life when he stumbled upon you and took your life into his own hands.

Word count: 2.3k

Disclaimer: I'm in no way condoning, justifying, encouraging nor promoting this kind of behavior. This is not supposed to represent Wooyoung in any way.

Warning: Nothing but typical yandere behaviour.

Hidden away, deep in the heart of a forest, was a small cabin. An old oak tree stood in the front of the wooden door to the cabin, as if it was its protector. Sunrays had to fight their way through the dense canopy of leaves. Narrow desire paths, leading away from the cabin into all directions, lay hidden in the shadow of the old oak and surrounding trees. The thatch roof was covered in moss, despite its old age, it still seemed to be completely intact. Just as hidden away as the cabin was the omega that lived inside it. Having left society, and deciding to be on her own, she managed to keep herself alive in the wilderness. Hunting her own food, growing a few vegetables, and with a primitive well near her cabin, she managed to keep herself alive for well over four years.

She revelled in her life of solitude. Years of living in a busy city let her appreciate the quietness, only the symphony of mother nature to keep her company, beside the various wildlife, of course. The croaking and groaning of the trees in the wind, the rustle of leaves, the singsong of birds, and the owl hoots at night. It relaxed her, made her head empty of all worries and her body relax. She had no responsibilities, no expectations to meet, she just had to exist, and that was enough for her. In fact, it was perfect just like that.

But nothing in this world was forever. She had learned that in the years she had still been a part of society. Things come and go in the city. You had to blink and something new would be on the rise to be a new trend, some new catastrophe threatening the whole world, or another fight between your family or friends. She had almost forgotten what change felt like because life went on slower out in the heart of the forest. So naturally, it made her nose scrunch, and let her hackles rise when her sensitive nose picked up the scent of an Alpha. He was in her territory wandering dangerously close to her small cabin, but he didn’t show his face for a few days. It made her paranoid and left her wondering if he was purposely messing with her. Surely the intruder could smell the sour tinge in her scent, a clear sign that she didn’t want him here, that she was tense and ready to fight for her space.

For days his smell lingered near causing her to walk on eggshells, the smallest crunch of leaves and twigs under her feet made her cringe. She knew that being quiet would do nothing to hide her away, he could smell her wherever she went. Either the intruder was too dense to sense that she didn’t want him there, or he simply didn’t care. She guessed it was the latter one, and her suspicions were confirmed when one day, she came face to face with the intruder. She was out foraging, collecting blueberries from her favorite spot, a small meadow where blue flowers bloomed on almost every centimeter of the ground where blueberry bushes weren't taking up space, when he surprised her.

He was just as tall as her, a pretty face to match his slim and fit body, his hair was dyed blonde, but black roots were already showing at the top of his head. She sniffed the air to take in his scent properly and then narrowed her eyes. She knew what he was. A wolf in sheep's clothing, she could tell by the twinkle in his brown eyes that he was up to no good.

“There you are!”, he cheered with his melodic voice. It was a bit too upbeat for her taste. It was probably meant to soothe her, but it only made her hackles rise. “Was searching for you for days!”, he mused and tilted his head while he observed her. “You have no idea how glad I am to have found you! You see... I’m kind of lost.” He added the last sentence with a mischievous tone in his voice.

She wasted no time to snap back at him, she didn’t like strangers, least of all if they lied to her, and she had a feeling this one was a pretty good liar. “An Alpha lost? Couldn’t even find me?” She scoffed and tilted her head. “Is your nose clogged, or what? You don’t seem sick to me.” The omega was not interested in making friends or finding a mate. She didn’t care why he was there, or how he got there. She just wanted him to leave.

He sensed her hostility, but it seemed that he was set on ignoring it, just like her sour-tinged smell. “Even Alphas make mistakes.” He shrugged and raised his hands to show her that he was no threat. “I might be near perfect, but even I sometimes have a bad day.” He stopped for a moment and then corrected himself, “Sometimes even more than one day.” But his words did nothing to ease her anxiety, if anything, the toothy smile he flashed her afterwards sent her more on edge.

“I don’t care. Just get out of my territory.” The omega took a step back and lowered her head while glowering at him.

“Okay. Maybe we started on the wrong foot, hm?” The man was persistent and followed the step she took back. “I’m Jung Wooyoung, and you are?”

“The one who owns this territory!” She hissed back and took another step away from him, only for Wooyoung to follow her again.

He chuckled and stayed silent for a moment to just observe her, and whatever he saw in her, it made his pupils dilate further darkening his brown eyes. “First of all, this is not yours. We’re not in the Stone Ages where we can just claim land willy nilly, missy. This forest is not yours, but government owned.” This time it was him who took the first step toward her before she could back away. “Second of all, I’m not interested in hurting you, just need a place to stay for a few days, so I can regain my energy and find my way back.” Another step was taken toward her. “You surely understand, no? Just help a traveler out, please.” He flashed her another smile and slightly lowered his head, wanting to show her that he was docile and not a threat to her.

She listened to Wooyoung and didn’t like the way he was approaching her. For a moment she was just quiet and listened to the birdsong around her instead, trying to calm her nerves. Maybe she was just paranoid? Living alone for years has made her overly weary. Wooyoung already saw himself as the winner, she’d surely give in, he thought to himself, and she saw it in the way his smile widened at her silence.

“No.”

His smile dropped, blinking at her dumbfounded. “No?” He wasn’t used to rejections, especially not from Omegas. “Come on, it would just be for a few days!” He continued to try and push her into letting him stay, but she stayed stubborn, shaking her head.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not letting strange men stay in my home.” She narrowed her eyes and moved her body to turn away from him. “You better leave me alone, Jung Wooyoung.” She took her basket with the few blueberries she had managed to collect before he had shown up and made her way back to her cabin.

Wooyoung didn’t try to stop her, but his eyes narrowed just like hers when he was forced to watch her leave. One thing was sure, everything was on his mind, but definitely not the idea of leaving her alone. The next two days he continued to stray around her home, bothering her went she went out to get food or simply while taking a stroll too. He bombarded her with questions he never got an answer to.

“So, what is an Omega like you doing all alone out here?”

“How long have you been living here?”

“Is life hard out here?”

“What’s your name?”

“Where are you from?”

If he was lucky, he’d get a side glance from her and a grumble to show her discomfort. It was infuriating to him, but God if it didn’t also intrigue him to no end. He liked the way she smelled, liked the way she looked, and weirdly enough, liked her dismissal of his constant attempts to get closer to her.

It wasn’t a lie, he truly had lost his way in the dense forest. He had never been particularly good at finding his way around the world. But it had been a lie that he needed to stay to recharge his energy, he could walk for days on end, he just wanted to get to know the strange woman he met.

How strange that all it took to throw him off his track was an unfriendly omega.

He didn’t know when his obsession started, maybe it was right at the beginning, maybe it was when he continued to follow her around like a puppy, and he honestly didn’t even care about when it started. All he knew was that he had to have her, and he was going to have her.

The omega grew increasingly worried, anxious even. She was scared she would have to fight for her freedom. This was exactly the thing she had tried to escape when she moved away from the city. The pressure of others, being forced to do things she didn’t want to do, worst of all, Alphas who tried to trap her in a relationship with them.

Wooyoung on the other hand had never liked to be overly assertive, never liked to prove his dominance over others, he always had the charm to manipulate others. There was no need to force someone to like him because he was naturally likeable, but this omega was immune to him, and his canines had never itched more to sink into someone's neck. It was inevitable, one day this situation would escalate, and they both knew it.

It took her a week before she finally snapped at him. He was trailing after her, talking her ear off by telling her about his life, which she couldn't care less about, while she was out foraging picking berries and mushrooms. He was from a pack of seven males. All looking for a mate, himself included. She finally turned to him, acknowledging his existence to his delight and asked, “So, when do you plan on going back home? You said you’re lost, what’s your plan to get back out of here?”

“Going home?” He asked and tilted his head. “What do you mean? We’re living together, no? This is my home too. My pack will join us here.”

She scoffed and crouched to pick a few blackberries from a bush. “You can hardly call this living together. You sleep outside my house like a crazy person, and you keep stalking me even though I told you to leave.” She talked herself into a rage, the blackberries were forgotten as she got up to angrily glare at him. “I don't want you here and neither do I want your friends here! What about it don't you understand?”

He grumbled and lowered his head, but not in submission, more in contemplation while eying her up and down like an animal considering if he should pounce or not. “I’m not leaving. We’re mates.”

“Mates?!” Her mouth opened and closed again, flabbergasted at the audacity of this man. “You’re seriously delusional.” She muttered under her breath but the still caught her words. The two of them continued to stare each other down, neither willing to back down. The mega, determined to defend her peaceful and quiet life, and the alpha, ready to fight to keep her as his mate. It was clear that there would be no other way but to settle this physically.

Turns out, neither of them were great fighters. The fight consisted of clumsily thrown fists, limbs not knowing where to go, and unprotected weak spots on both sides. Wooyoung eventually managed to weasel his way behind her giving him the opportunity to hook his arm around her neck to hold her at a disadvantage and wrangle her to the ground. Even if he wasn’t skilled, he still had a physical advantage with his strength.

He held her in a chokehold from behind, his mouth was right by her ear, his hot breath sending unpleasant shivers down her spine. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you!” He growled lowly into her ear.

She tried to wiggle out from underneath him, huffing ang growling at him to let her go, but he didn’t budge. He was a living bear trap, clamped down on her, sharp metal teeth digging into her flesh creating an ugly wound with ragged edges. She froze when she felt his canines graze over her neck only to fight against his grip twice as hard. “Don’t you dare!”

“Who’s going to stop me, missy?” She heard his chuckle and felt him smirk against her neck. “That’s right. No one.” He sunk his teeth into her neck, marking her as his before she could utter another word of protest.

#ateez imagines #yandere ateez #ateez yandere #ateez x reader #ateez oneshot #yandere wooyoung #wooyoung yandere #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagines #yandere ateez x reader #yandere wooyoung x reader

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prettyboykatsuki · 4 days ago

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rafayel does forreal what xavier is mostly just pretending to do with the whole sheep in wolf’s clothing thing. like xavier is not really pretending to be innocent but rafayel is. bc he is actually crazy

#zero.txt #rafayel being highkey scary while looking like a beautiful princess is so based of him

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kkitteny · 6 days ago

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WILLSHIRE ; nerd!gojo x reader

Undedited

Gojo remembers the eventful evening he first laid eyes on you as if it happened an hour ago.

Neither of you were one for parties. You hated the environment and everyone who went to those while Satoru felt like a sheep in a den of lions. He much rather preferred studying quantum physics and arguing in video game forums for hours on end anyways, he couldn’t dream of trying to fit into that lifestyle.

It was a Saturday night and the two of you were at a frat party you clearly didn’t want to go to. He had been forced by his pushy friend Shoko who could almost cry seeing one of her best friends who’s never been laid before fall deeper into his geeky hole of doom while your annoying roomate promised she’d stop littering her bras if you stopped being an overworking shut in and enjoyed at least one night out before you eventually died of boredom.

You clung to the corner of the living room in the frat house in your tight miniskirt and sparkly tube top like a sheep in wolf’s clothing, holding a fruit punch and daydreaming about your notes for the upcoming criminology test you lad later that week while Gojo sat on the couch awkwardly in his digimon shirt, attempting to drink the most likely poisonous mixture of alcoholic drinks shoko gave him.

The second he laid eyes on you he swore he found the reason for his existence. You locked eyes with him seconds later, spending several minutes eye fucking across the room as if the purple lights and blaring music didn’t exist. After a couple seconds of internal panicking you finally gained the courage to talk to him, gently sliding yourself onto the couch next to him as the two of you talked about anime and your dislike for parties.

Within ten minutes the two of you clicked, cracking jokes and flirting as if you’d known each other for ages. He knew he had to ask you out before some other man much cooler than he was could scoop you up. He knew he was interested— it would be dumb if he let his shyness miss out from your perfect legs, nice figure, beautiful hair, sense of humor, and absolutely gorgeous face.

You knew you were meant for eachother, walking around the front yard in the dark of the night giggling like sneaky teenagers while cracking jokes left and right— he was so in love he didn’t even think about sex once (even though it was kind of the entire reason shoko forced him to go out), you and your personality were everything to him.

You and him made sense.

One thing lead to another and you were in his dorm room, surrounded by anime and science posters as you guys watched a movie.

It was around 4 am ish and you sat comfortably under his arm as the two of you continued your hours long conversation. You changed into one of his shirts (a digimon shirt that went halfway past your thighs) and your purse and phone were long abandoned somewhere in the room as you discussed your lives.

He was enamored— he felt like he could see his whole future next to him and he had to do something. He couldn’t let this go. He couldn’t risk losing this absolute gem that clicked with him like a lego peice.

“I know that we’ve known each other for a couple hours but i really think i like you.” He blurted out while you were mid sentence discussing your upcoming assignment.

You paused, pursing your lips as you shifted uncomfortably. “I like you, like a lot. But i’m kind of in the middle of a confusing situation right now.”

Well he never saw that coming.

“I’ve been thinking about breaking up with Geto for a while now; He’s been really distant lately but i’m not sure what i really want to do.”

Well damn.

Geto had been dodging Gojo’s texts for a while now, so finding out that he was in a relationship was a bit unexpected.

“—But we can still hang out like this.” You smiled, nudging your head deeper into his chest.

As much as he wished he could, be couldn’t protest. You were almost too good to be true and he found himself texting you ‘my place at 7:00?’ Almost daily against his will.

He swore this isn’t him. He’s a good person and wouldn’t ever try to do such a thing to one of his own friends. He has morals and respects boundaries; but you were an exception. You alone made him drop his good nature in an instant. He only fell deeper into his hole of regrettable actions, hanging out with you nearly every day.

He often found himself praying on your breakup so that he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about pursuing his best friends girl.

But Geto barely talks to him anymore. That makes it less of a big deal, right? I mean— they’re barely even friends and haven’t spoken in about a month. In all honesty, he’d rather be able to take you on dates and buy you new romance manga than text Geto once a month and maybe run fortnite duos.

Gojo was deeply in love.

And he was fucked.

You guys were together almost every single day, FaceTiming on days that you weren’t while you completed miscellaneous tasks and flirted nonstop, even falling asleep while on the phone. It literally felt like you were dating.

You couldn’t even save his number, constantly deleting your messages to hide your blooming “friendship” from your boyfriend. Gojo would have to constantly remind you to delete full on discussions to prevent Geto from thinking the twi of you were doing things behind his back.

You once even asked Geto to bring a friend when he invited you out to an amusement park as an excuse to hang out with Gojo, practically abandoning your boyfriend while the two of you walked off giggling and sharing food.

Your conversation flowed so smoothly and easily that Geto could almost smell the chemistry between you two. Of course when he brought it up the two of you only laughed it off, and told him it was nothing making him even more jealous.

Of course none of this was intentional— but gosh, Gojo felt like he finally found what he’d longed for. In fact, he (unintentionally) began having thoughts that if he ruined the friendship it wouldn’t be a necessarily bad thing.

No— he can’t do that. You were Geto’s first. He had integrity for that. You and him had history, while Gojo was just the new man.

For the first time in a while, Geto actually tried ro be an active boyfriend.

This also meant that for the first time in a while you went days without seeing Gojo, which soon turned into weeks.

This only made his stomach churn.

He knew that you and Geto argued about him.

He knew this was wrong— no, he knew HE was wrong. He felt guilty, but not really. He was very aware of where he went wrong and where he should’ve set boundaries but of course, he let his emotions overtake his judgement.

Your absence put a genuine dent in Gojo’s life. It was pretty obvious that Geto wanted you away from him and he almost felt sick, knowing that you were with your punk ass boyfriend and not in his dorm.

He was content with life and didn’t really aspire much. There wasn’t anything he really wanted in life and he didn’t feel like he was missing anything— Except you.

When his phone flashed a notification he quickly snatched it and checked the notification. It was a habit he picked up so he could read your messages before you unsent them to keep your boyfriend from suspecting anything.

‘He’s going out of town for a week for an internship.’

He practically jumped for joy seeing your message.

He immediately cancelled all his hangouts for that week (not that he had many) and called you to invite you over. You arrived almost instantly, jumping on top of him to engulf him in a massive hug before settling on his bed.

“Where should we go?” You grinned, throwing yourself on his duvet.

“We can go to the beach— or an arcade?” He suggested. He could go almost anywhere with you. He would die with you right there if you asked him to— anything, as long as you were together.

As long as you were with him he’d be content.

The whole week you spent together felt like a romcom movie that he wished could never end. He nearly lost his shit when you couldn’t sleep over anymore because Geto finally came back. He couldn’t stand being away from you, practically begging you to lie to your boyfriend so he could see you again.

Eventually, you told Geto you were spending three days at your mom’s house. But three turned to five, and soon seven, prompting strings of angry phone calls from your boyfriend asking where the fuck you were at. You definitely weren’t at your mom’s, considering your terrible relationship and constant arguing, and you were definitely not anywhere he would approve of you being.

But you could care less, you were practically in heaven. You stayed with Gojo at his parents house baking, watching movies, doing beach trips and manicures and night swims and shopping until his wallet was begging to be put down.

In the end, you couldn’t do it. You hated the guilty feeling every time Satoru made you smile or when he hugged you so tight the entire world dissapeared around you two.

After another shopping trip, you sat in his car while the two of you shared a bag of candy. You couldn’t even look him in the eye at that point, staring into the dark of night as you chewed.

“Satoru, i’m sorry.” You mumbled, a tear dropping as you set the bag down.

“For what?” He giggled. “If you want the rest you can have it.”

“No, it’s not that— i just can’t do this anymore.”

His smile immediately dropped as he turned to you, placing his hand over yours.

“I can’t commit to ‘us’. I’m still with him.”

You couldn’t fully dedicate yourself to Gojo because you were with HIM.

Then why the fuck when you hang out it’s like he doesn’t exist?

“We can stay friends. It’s what we’ve been doing, right?” He asked in an almost pleading tone.

“We both know it’s more than that, Satoru.” You breathed, tears welling in your eyes. “You’re addictive, I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stand being away from you. When i’m with Suguru all i can think about is what you’re doing or eating or wearing and it’s too much.”

You pulled your hand away from his, wiping your eyes. “I’m so attached to you that i literally had you wait in my car while i went to dinner with him. The whole time i ate all i could think about is topics to talk about with you.”

“If you don’t want to hurt him then why are we doing this? Why did you answer all my calls and text messages and come over?” Gojo mumbled, now refusing to look at you.

“Please, Satoru.” You finally glanced at him. “We got into an argument and i told him how i felt about you. He doesn’t even look at me anymore. I don’t like this situation i just want to be done with this.

He simply nodded, starting the car and driving you back to his parents house, breaking the dead silence of the car with sniffles and coughs.

And just like that, you were done.

He couldn’t sleep a wink that night, he could only cry. He felt like he got promised the sky and was shoved into the sea.

He should’ve backed off when you said you were Suguru’s. He knew all of this was wrong and he let himself overstep so many boundaries that he would’ve never even dared crossing in the past.

No— fuck that, you were an absolute gem. The connection you had was something he’d never be able to find in a million years, this wasn’t his fault, right?

After all, the phone works two ways. YOU knew what you were doing.

You did all the sneaking around. You flirted with him when you first met like it was second nature. You don’t do shit like that when you’re in a relationship. And you knew you had a boyfriend and you continued. You weren’t innocent. Whenever he left you went straight to Gojo’s. You even met his parents and they loved you. You acted like your current relationship didn’t even exist.

No— Suguru didn’t even claim you to begin with. He never told gojo, and gojo was one of his best friends. He didn’t care about you until he saw gojo make you smile, he nearly lost his shit.

No, Satoru was in the wrong.

He spent the whole night lying awake, tears pricking in his eyes as he accepted his defeat, preparing the awkwardly silent drive home in the morning.

He hated this, he hated what you did.

And what’s worse, he couldn’t even look at you and think about bad words.

He knew he was a bad person. He didn’t mean to cause all this— it just happened. It was like all of his morals were powerless once you came into his life. You were just so endearing.

You were just too far out of reach.

This is such an old ao3 draft i wanted to publish the writing is terrible guys im sorry

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #nerdjo #nerd gojo #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #fanfic #willshire #tyler the creator #reader is a shithead

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