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ckret2 · 8 days

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Chapter 48 of human Bill Cipher slowly dying inside for 24 hours straight with no signs of stopping anytime soon:

The Eclipse: Part 6

Over a month since his death and after nearly 50 chapters, at long last, the moment you've all been waiting for:

Bill has a complete physical and mental breakdown.

Unfortunately there's only one person available to deal with it.

They landed near where they'd camped last night. While the Pines climbed out, Bill stared at the sharp gray rocks beneath the cliff. The blood was gone. It took him a moment to process that Ford was speaking: "We can pack our tents, return Tate's boat, and borrow a phone to call Stanley for a ride."

Bill numbly climbed onto land.

Their tents were in disarray, but more or less where they'd left them the night before. While Ford and Dipper dealt with the largest tent and cleaned up the campsite, Bill methodically attempted to fold up the tent he'd slept in.

He couldn't make sense of it. There were too many plastic rods with too many little joints and too many fabric flaps, he couldn't parse the geometry of it. This should be easy, he'd watched Dipper assemble the tent last night, how hard could it be to do the same in reverse?

But it wasn't working. His hands were shaking. The joints were bending wrong, the joints were bending in directions that shouldn't exist, in impossible dimensions, shrinking and expanding perversely as they twisted in alien foreshortening—

Bill let out a gasp so loud and sharp that Ford and Dipper immediately whipped around to face him. Ford asked, "What is it?"

Bill couldn't speak. He just stared down at his awful human legs.

"Bill?"

Voice very far away—but impressively calm and flat—Bill said, "I have to sit down."

"Why? What happened?"

"My legs aren't working. I can't feel them."

His knees buckled. He tried to grip them to keep them straight, but found only one arm responded. "And—my left arm." He dropped to his knees in the mud.

And suddenly he was the center of attention, two humans moving around him in a dizzying flurry, all grotesque limbs and fabric: "Hey, are you okay?" "What happened? Are you injured?" "Think we should get help?" "Maybe he needs food—"

Too much. He closed his eyes, but there were still fingers on his arm and shoulders and back. He swatted at them with his functioning hand. "Don't touch me don't touch me DON'T TOUCH ME!" His shriek startled the birds from a nearby tree. He attempted to bite somebody, he wasn't sure who—this was what he'd been reduced to, no legs, no strength, no power, he couldn't even protect himself from being touched, all he had left was his teeth—but he misjudged the distance and bit only air. But it was enough to make the humans back off, shrinking into the distance.

"Don't touch me. Stop trying to move me. Don't ask me why I can't move. I don't know. This—this—" he gestured frantically at his body. He was moving too fast, talking too fast. "This—corpse—human body—is stupid. It's just being stupid! I need to sit. Leave me alone, I need to sit. I need to sit, and—look at nothing, and breathe." He was talking far too fast, breathing too fast. "I need it so much. Go away."

No matter how hard Bill tried to imagine the humans spontaneously ceasing to exist, they did not go away. Ford knelt in front of him, studying his face. "Try to smile."

Bill forced a smile. "Good. Good, good. Positive thinking."

"No. I'm trying to see if you're having a stroke." He sat back. "Your face muscles are still working symmetrical."

Bill decided to keep smiling anyway. He thought it might help. Happy happy happy.

"You say your can't feel your legs."

"Yes."

"Or your left arm."

"Yes."

"Did you feel any pain beforehand? Tingling in the limbs, or...?"

"No—no, no. They were working fine and then they were gone. They just—disappeared." Bill laughed. The laugh went on too long and sounded too high and too nervous.

Ford nodded. "Okay. Drink this."

A water bottle materialized in Bill's field of vision. It took a couple of tries for Bill to manipulate his hand through three-dimensional space to grasp it. He shakily drank as much as he could. It tasted like drowning.

"Dipper, run to the bait shop and call for an... The nearest hospital is at least twenty miles outside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier, Bill can't get there. Call for a doctor and I'll stay here to—"

"No," Bill snapped, "no no no, don't call a doctor. I don't want—" He didn't want to be seen like this. He didn't want somebody picking him up and helping him into an ambulance like he was too weak to move himself. He didn't want Mabel to know. Bad enough Ford and the brat did. "I don't need it. I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Ford gestured at him in disbelief. "Three fourths of your limbs aren't functioning—!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Something's wrong with the body. It's got nothing to do with me. I'm fine, I'm just in it." He shut his eyes and tried to breathe. "Just—just let me sit."

"Let you sit and then do what?"

"Give me time. It'll come back. Don't tell anyone and—stop looking at me."

There was silence. Bill didn't want to open his eyes. He heard Ford stand and walk away.

####

"Do you think he's faking?" Dipper murmured.

Ford hated that that always had to be the first question. "I can't imagine what he'd stand to benefit from pretending he can't walk." Bill had been desperate to get back inside the last two days. If he'd now decided to—what? maybe take advantage of his freedom to try to escape?—then why hadn't he done that when they got separated in the lake, or in the caves where Bill could see in the dark and Ford hadn't known how to call the geodites? If he was trying to separate Ford and Dipper from each other so he could kill them one by one—why hadn't he just let them die?

It was hard not to think about how he really had saved them for no clear reason.

"He's spent two very stressful days hardly eating, sleeping poorly, and hiking through half the mountain. I'd say he needs food and rest. And probably more water." He'd gulped down two thirds of Ford's water bottle.

"Seriously? He can't feel his legs, is—is that normal for like a day without food and sleep?" Dipper asked. "People can go longer than that, right? You've gone longer."

"It's not a 'normal' symptom of exhaustion, hunger, or dehydration. But I think he'll fight us if we try to get medical help. Let's deal with the immediate problems first and—see where we are then. Even if it doesn't help, at least then he won't be paralyzed and starving."

Dipper nodded uncertainly. "What do we do if he's dying?"

The boy catastrophized at the drop of a hat. In a way, Ford supposed it was a good thing—having been through his fair share of catastrophes, he knew it helped to be prepared—but Dipper was so young. "Get him to a doctor as soon as we can; and, if that isn't enough... hope we're lucky." In other words: hope Bill stayed dead.

Dipper nodded again. "What's our strategy if Weirdmageddon restarts? Maybe... I wonder if that's what the Axolotl was trying to warn me—"

"Lunch first," Ford said. "Then we can plan for the apocalypse."

####

Bill knew they were going to make him move. They hated him. They would parade him through the streets to make a mockery of him, look at the alien loser in a malfunctioning corpse, washed-up puppeteer who can't even control a meat marionette, he's already dead and you can make his corpse in the forest a tourist destination—

"Okay," Ford said. "We'll give it an hour. Dipper's heading to town to get some proper food and call the shack."

The shack. Like a prison cell with an open door and a black hole inside trying to suck him back in. "Don't tell them—"

Dipper said, "I won't, I'm just letting them know we're not dead. And that we'll call again in a couple of hours."

No doubt so that Bill couldn't kill them without the shack knowing something was wrong. "Right."

"Do you... want any specific food?"

"Not hungry."

There was a pause. "Right. I'll just... grab something."

Bill didn't care what he did. As Dipper left the sound of each footstep was like a knife in Bill's ears. He just needed to breathe, needed to breathe and be normal and feel normal and happy—

Something soft landed on his head.

Bill opened his eyes.

There was an unzipped, slightly moist sleeping bag draped over his head and around his shoulders; and Ford standing several feet away, hands awkwardly clasped behind his back, looking somewhat embarrassed with himself.

Bill said, "What."

Ford cleared his throat. "It. Helped when you were, ah... had a hair cut. I thought—it can't hurt."

It took Bill a moment to figure out what he meant. "Oh." The towel. Ford had seen him hide under a towel. Right.

Ford winced and muttered, "Maybe it can hurt."

Bill croaked, "What."

It wasn't until he tried to speak that Bill realized he was crying so hard he couldn't breathe. His vision swam, his shoulders shook, his breath came in sharp hitches—no no no no, that wasn't okay, not in front of— Stop, stop, stop.

He covered his eyes with his hand. The water bottle slid off his thighs and spilled on the ground. Between gasping breaths, Bill forced out, "This's—this is—good. Good."

"How is it...?"

"It's a—hint. This—it's—prob... probably... ps-psycho—som—ss—"

"Psychosomatic?"

"Mm. Mhmm." He tried to get in a deeper breath and failed. "'Sgreat. Means—no inj—injuries. Flesh is—fine."

"So you're..." Ford's footsteps came closer, "saying it's psychological—?"

"No!" Bill let out a hysterical laugh. "I'm FINE! 'M happy. It's the body. It's—some hormone—hunger—exhaustion—just... s-synapses—and neurotrans—transmm—tr—"

"Easy. You can barely talk." He heard Ford sit next to him, felt the sleeping bag shift as he brushed against it. "Try to focus on breathing—"

"WHAT do you THINK I'm TRYING to—" Bill ineffectively pummeled Ford through the sleeping bag. "Move! Move, move, move! Don't t—touch—" He let out a frustrated scream that morphed into a humiliating sob, and had to clap his functioning hand over his mouth to smother the sound. He was not this body; he was a separate thing locked inside the body. This body was a prison, this body was a punishment. The legs didn't work, because the body was doing something to him. These weren't his tears, his grief, his fear. They were the body's. Which hormone was at fault? What could he blame other than himself?

He felt Ford's weight shift away from his side. "Okay, okay," Ford said. "Just... take it easy."

Bill socked him again. "Don't t-talk to me like a horse." He covered his eyes.

He didn't mean to risk his life for Ford.

Former friend, false worshiper, useless pawn, now enemy. Bill had just seen him floating out there and he'd done it—and he'd forgotten he could die.

In the Nightmare Realm he had saved his friends from peril billions of times before, because it was so easy for him, powers like a god, to see someone he was fond of and casually pluck them out of harm's way. It had been billions upon billions of years since Bill had been vulnerable to physical harm. He'd seen Ford in danger and he'd done what he always did and he'd forgotten he could have died.

He could have died. Eternally, permanently, last chance—he could have died.

And it would have been for nothing.

Bill was selfish. He had effortlessly saved friends billions of times but he'd also casually let them die just as many—assuming he didn't kill them himself. He saved friends because he liked them; but he didn't put himself out for ex-friends. Ford hadn't had one nice thing to say to Bill in years. Bill would never lure Ford back under his sway. Ford's survival endangered Bill's. But Bill had saved him anyway. He hadn't even stopped to think.

He didn't know. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to think about saving the human hellbent on killing him, he didn't want to think about almost dying, he didn't want to think about how peaceful it had been floating under the water, how easy it would have been to open his mouth and breathe in—he didn't want to think. He wanted to stop thinking. He wanted to empty his mind. He couldn't meditate through his hitching breaths and the way his stomach ached from struggling to keep his sobs silent, and his legs and left arm were gone.

He was fine. He was happy. He'd always been happy. Happy happy happy.

His entire body shook with sobs. He was dizzy—gasping between sobs for air he couldn't get. He was so lightheaded and crying so hard he couldn't stay upright. The edges of his vision went dark.

Ford wrapped an arm around Bill's shoulders and tugged him against his side. He held him up until Bill was too exhausted to cry anymore.

####

There was zipper noise, then a sound like shifting vinyl. Bill cracked his fingers apart to peer through them. Ford had unrolled the portable chessboard and was setting it up. "What?"

"It looks like we'll be here a while," Ford said, addressing his statement to the chessboard rather than to Bill. "It's... something else to focus on."

Bill wasn't sure what the emotion clawing its way through the grief-stricken haze in his mind was, but it felt very similar to relief. He nodded. "S—smart. I'm already—getting bored." His cheeks itched, his eyes burned, and his head was throbbing. As Ford set up the board, Bill closed his eyes and tried again to force himself to breathe more evenly. He was still dizzy from hyperventilating. Embarrassing—even a comatose human can breathe, and Bill couldn't even get that right. "Black?"

"I know."

Of course he knew. Bill always chose black. "First?"

"Fine." And Ford also knew, despite white traditionally getting the first move, Bill always moved first.

Bill waited in numb silence for Ford to finish setting up the board and sit on the other side. Moving almost automatically, Bill picked up a queen, hopped it over his line of pawns—

"Play it properly," Ford said irritably. "I put up with your cheating and lying for years, I'm not putting up with any more."

Bill gave Ford a look that he intended to be deeply offended, but immediately realized was probably just wet and pathetic. "Really? Now?"

Ford at least had the good sense to look a tad embarrassed, but he said, "I didn't set up the board to watch you move random pieces around like an untrained kindergartener."

"Three of my limbs don't work, Stanford."

"Are you suggesting your right arm doesn't remember the proper rules of chess?"

He wondered what Ford would say if he said yes. "I have a headache."

"You're probably dehydrated." Ford rummaged around in his backpack and offered over another bottle of water.

Bill reluctantly accepted it. He probably was dehydrated. "You owe me your life."

Ford fixed him with an unimpressed look. "You're trying to cash in a life debt... so you can cheat at chess?"

Bill opened his mouth; paused as he slowly thought that over; and dissolved into broken, hysterical giggles. "I don't know w-what I'm trying to do." He covered his mouth, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to steady his breathing again.

Ford sighed. He waited until Bill had regained some control over himself; and then he said, "You can make up one new rule."

Bill considered the offer. "Total, or per game?"

"Per game."

Deep breath. "Fine. But I'm not telling you what it is. You have to guess it."

Ford considered it. "Three conditions."

"Mm?"

"One: you have to share what the rule was at the end of the game. If any of your illegal moves didn't conform to that rule, you automatically lose."

"Mm."

"Two: any rule you come up with has to apply to both sides of the board equally. Nothing that only advantages you or disadvantages me," Ford said. "Three: if I can figure out what your new rule is before the game's over, I can use it too. Obviously, you lose if I ask you about the rule and you lie."

Bill mulled over Ford's terms. His head was so foggy, he'd already forgotten the first one. "Deal."

"Deal."

####

Bill lost every game.

Badly.

He was clobbered. He was creamed. He was a faint red smear upon the pavement.

Back in Ford's dreams, Bill had won a good four-fifths of their games. Ford had heard during his travels that Bill was a mediocre player, but he didn't think he was so bad that all of those games had been won due to cheating. Even when he wasn't cheating, Bill had sometimes taken Ford by surprise.

But now, Bill was squinting at the board like he was struggling to see where the pieces were. Occasionally his fingers pinched down on thin air like he was trying to grab a non-existent piece. So Ford assumed the catastrophic losses were more a reflection of Bill's mental state than his skill level.

The option to make up rules didn't save Bill, but it at least made the games more interesting—and unlike the rest of Bill's abysmal playing, the new rules gave Ford a glimpse of the devious mind still buried somewhere in the traumatized human body.

The first round, Bill decided that the queen could leapfrog over pieces like a knight, and when Ford pointed out that would mean whoever had the first move could put the opposing king in checkmate in one move, Bill grudgingly amended the rule: the queen could leapfrog to an empty square, but could only take pieces in a straight line in the conventional manner. Ford had to maintain a phalanx of pieces jealously clinging to his king to guard against Bill teleporting his queen to the king's side. Bill managed to check him twice before Ford won.

One round, Bill decreed that rooks could only land on pieces the same color as they were sitting on, then smugly nestled his king on a white square next to Ford's rook on a black square; and then promptly lost the game when Ford pointed out both of Bill's rooks were currently on white squares, meaning he'd broken his own rule before he'd revealed it.

One round he decided that kings could move like queens, which Ford only discovered when he thought he'd checkmated him and then Bill zoomed his king across the board to take Ford's bishop; and then Bill lost a few moves later when Ford used his own king's newly revealed power to properly corner Bill.

One round Bill decided that once any back row piece was captured, it reincarnated in the body of the corresponding front row pawn. Ford genuinely liked the new rule—it meant you had to capture and checkmate both the king and the king's pawn before the game was over, and you had to be more cautious about what pieces you took since it could inadvertently set up a previously harmless enemy pawn to devastate your side of the board. But by the time Bill revealed that rule by jumping a pawn like a knight, Ford had already taken Bill's king's pawn and seen a way to checkmate him in two moves. It was a sore disappointment to end the game before getting to experiment with the new rule.

A few games were so short that Ford won without ever seeing Bill pull a nonstandard move. Round seven was one such game. Ford cornered Bill with a knight and a bishop. That had been the quickest match yet. Game over. "Checkmate."

"Checkmate," Bill said.

Ford paused, looking over the board, thinking moving his bishop must have given one of Bill's pieces line of sight to his king; but no, his king was perfectly safe. "What?"

"Checkmate."

"You can't mate me, I just mated you."

"I know. Checkmate."

Frowning, Ford said, "Explain."

"The extra rule this game is that both kings are wearing suicide vests." He tapped his king, "He's wired up with enough explosives to wipe out the whole board." There was a look of steely exhaustion on his face. He looked like the kind of desperate, hopeless man who would put on a suicide vest. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me."

Ford laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

It was petty revenge for losing seven games in a row. A frustrated child flipping the chessboard, but making a self-deprecating joke out of it: as long as we both know I'm going to lose anyway...

When Ford had recovered himself enough to look at Bill again, Bill was giving him a faint, grim smile that didn't quite make it to his one open eye. Still—he looked a little less miserable than he had for the past hour. Or the past couple days.

Ford said, "We'll call that one a stalemate."

"I'll take it."

####

After trying all morning and half the afternoon, Dipper had remembered part of what the Axolotl had told him. Just one phrase: sixty degrees that come in threes. He could hear the rhythm and rhyme of whatever the Axolotl said next, something something something -eez—it rhymed, he was sure of that—but the rest...?

It took Dipper over an hour and a half to get back to the campsite; he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, and consequently, gotten lost in the forest. He returned with a plastic bag of the kind of junk food they regularly saw Bill consuming in the shack, a few slices of gas station pizza, and a clear takeout container of nachos. Bill immediately went for the nachos.

While Bill was inspecting the circle-shaped tortilla chips with obvious disappointment, Dipper rummaged around in the plastic bag until he found a small jar of rainbow sprinkles and offered them to Bill. Bill took it without acknowledging Dipper, awkwardly untwisted the lid with one hand and ripped off the seal with his teeth, and liberally drowned his nachos.

"The gas station looks like an earthquake hit it," Dipper reported. "And most of the cars had popped tires. I guess they must've floated up and then crashed back down." He took a cheese pizza slice and offered the box to Ford. "Nobody I asked saw the Axolotl."

Ford glanced at Bill, expecting him to have some kind of comment on that; but Bill just grunted "Mm," focused on the chess game like he thought he'd be killed if he glanced away.

Dipper pointed out when Bill pulled an illegal move, Ford explained the new rules they were playing by, and Dipper settled down to watch. He tried to razz Bill the next time he lost; but Bill made such a pathetic figure that he couldn't even enjoy making fun of him and quickly gave up.

During the next game, Bill unexpectedly slid a pawn backward diagonally to take out Ford's queen. While Ford was silently fuming over the loss of his most powerful piece, Dipper hazarded, "Can pawns capture both forward and backward?" That would have been Ford's guess too.

But Bill simply said, "No."

Dipper mumbled, "Huh," lost focus on the game, and stared off into the distance, murmuring something under his breath. He kept getting lost in his thoughts today. Ford supposed nobody in this hiking party was in the best mental state.

Maybe pawns could move like bishops? But when Ford tried to slide one diagonally across the board, Bill said, "That's illegal," and Ford returned it to its original spot. There was some hidden condition he was missing. Maybe which color square the pawn was on? Or maybe it was like en passant, you could only capture an enemy piece backwards if that was the first time the enemy piece moved?

When the game was over—Ford won, but Bill had held out longer than usual—Ford asked, "All right, what was the new rule?"

"Pawns can capture forward and backward." While Ford and Dipper stared at him in mute outrage, Bill ignored them to casual shift his posture from kneeling—his knees had gotten sore—to lotus position, and said, "Next game?" as though he couldn't even be bothered to notice the humans' fury.

"But that's exactly what we said!" Ford snapped. "You lied to me!"

"No," Bill said, "I lied to the kid. I'm not playing against the kid. Why are you paying attention to what I tell him?"

Dipper demanded, "How is that fair? Anyone listening would think—"

But he fell silent when Ford laughed. "Of course," Ford said. "I should have expected that. Any loophole you can find. That's part of the game to you, isn't it."

Bill gave Ford an unsettlingly knowing look; and Ford supposed it was part of the game to him, too.

(Somewhere in the back of Bill's foggy mind, he kept count: three times. Before today, Bill wasn't sure he'd heard Ford laugh once this summer. What changed? What was Bill doing differently? Maybe Ford only liked him when he was completely broken.)

It took until halfway through the next game for Ford to realize Bill had moved his legs.

####

Over Ford's protests that they should wait until his strength was back, Bill insisted they get moving immediately. He'd rather be locked in the shack again than spend one more minute sitting by the lake.

"I hate being surrounded by trees. Why do humans like nature so much. This is miserable." Caked in mud, still wearing a towel like a skirt, teetering with exhaustion, Bill certainly looked like the most miserable camper to ever exist. "I cannot begin to tell you how sick I am of looking at pines."

Ford wondered whether the pun was intentional.

Bill's limbs were weak and uncoordinated. He could twitch his left fingers when asked, but his grip strength was nonexistent and the arm hung limply at his side when he wasn't actively trying to use it. His legs moved, but when he tried to get to his feet he collapsed back into the mud. But he thought he could probably stand with support. He ignored the hand Ford offered and crawled to the nearest tree to lean on as he got to his feet. Ford could see Bill's knees tremble.

"I don't need your help," Bill grumbled. "I can stand fine on my own."

Ford wouldn't argue with Bill's definition of fine. "But can you walk?"

"I could." He couldn't even make the lie convincing.

"Then be my guest."

"I'm saving my strength."

It would almost be funny if he wasn't being such an inconvenience. "Well, you're here and the boat is over there." Ford gestured. The shore was much further away than it had been yesterday. "If you can't walk, then you're either crawling or you're getting help. Which you'd prefer is between you and your dignity."

Bill's face reddened. "Don't talk to me about my dignity, like you've ever cared about my dignity..." He twisted around to inspect the tree behind him, tired gaze looking over the branches—maybe he was planning to break off a walking stick? He attempted to grab a thin branch that wouldn't serve as a walking stick for a toddler. He wasn't strong enough to break it off. He kept trying.

They were never getting to the boat. "Please let me help."

"Go jump in a lake. Again."

How did Ford handle this without prodding at Bill's bruised ego? "Consider it my thanks for—ah..." Ford cleared his throat. "For actually telling the truth about the eclipse. In spite of... what was no doubt immense temptation to lie like a cheap rug. Since we didn't believe you anyway." He had averted his gaze in embarrassment; he forced himself to face Bill like a man. Bill was actually looking at him again. "And for not chucking my gnephew's body off the cliff when you had the opportunity." The bar was so low it was on the ground, and yet it was still impressive that Bill hadn't found a way to dig under it. "And... for saving my life."

Bill set his jaw tight, as if he didn't like being reminded of his moment of decency; but he said, "Fine, get over here." He held out his good arm. "Help your hero and savior limp triumphantly off the field of battle."

When Ford offered his hand, Bill ignored it, and practically snarled when Ford tried to wrap it around his waist for support. Rather than putting his arm over Ford's shoulders, Bill seized a wad of fabric near the collar of Ford's t-shirt as a handhold to hang his weight from. Ford felt less like he was supporting Bill, and more like he'd just gotten in trouble and his father was marching him into the living room by his collar to give him a stern talking-to.

"First time you've ever thanked me for anything I've done for you," Bill muttered. Ford told himself he could drop Bill once they were on the boat.

Dipper was completely zoned out, waiting on the boat staring off in the direction the Axolotl had flown. He didn't react as Bill sat next to him, and Bill didn't acknowledge he existed. Ford started the motor, and they crossed the lake toward Tate & Backle's Bait & Tackle.

####

(You can't imagine how long I've been waiting to post this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, I'd love to hear what you think, and I hope those of y'all who have been waiting for Bill to cry like a baby are satisfied.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

181 notes · View notes

houpss · 2 months

Note

Dawg I’m actually begging crying on my knees for you to do a reverse version where like reader dies protecting skz 😭😭😭 ofc obvi no pressure, like only if you’d like to 🙏🏻🩷 you write so well im like obsessed

ububububu.....I'm very pleased to hear this! thanks for the idea, love 🩷🫂

I'm eating strawberries and crying, I literally feel bad about this job 😭😭😭

SKZ's reaction to your death ver. hyung line

maknae line

It pains me to write this work, my heart breaks and I begin to believe in this nonsense... BUT REMEMBER THAT ONLY PERSONALITIES ARE TAKEN FROM THE REAL SKZ, EVERYTHING REST IS FICTION!

Bang Chan

It happened...suddenly.

Chan returned home before you, he wanted to cook you dinner and then turn on a new movie that he recently found.

He knew that you were stuck at work, so he wasn’t too worried.

An hour has passed... you're gone, but you should be back by now. Two hours have passed, Chan is nervous.

He called you, you didn’t pick up, he called you so many times, but you didn’t hear.

At two o'clock in the morning he receives a call on his phone. He jumps out of bed, hoping it's you calling, but it's just an unfamiliar number.

He picks up the phone, he just hopes you're okay.

"Are you Bang Christopher Chan? I'm sorry..Y/N Bang died."

Chan thought it was a joke, a very unfunny joke.

He can only come to consciousness when he sees your body. Road accident, you didn't survive.

He will ask Changbin, Jisung and Hyunjin to come out quite aggressively, because they came with him.

He ran his fingers over your pale face, tears forming in his eyes. Impossible.

He strokes your hair, strokes your hands, stopping at your fingers...he squeezes your hand tightly. Why did you leave him?

Tears fall on your lifeless body, you would be very upset if you saw Chan crying.

They can only drag him out of your room in the morning, he didn’t want to let go of your body until the end, it was like he was possessed.

"No, don't take me...I have to stay with her! I don't want to be taken away from her"

"she’s probably so cold and scared... she’s alone there, she’s already lifeless.”

He blamed himself, he could have taken you away from work, but why didn’t you ask?

The exit from the hospital is filled with reporters and paparazzi, the shocking news shocked many: “Model and Actress, Bang Chan’s wife Y/N Bang died in a car accident.”

Thanks to the members, they protected Chan from reporters and endless paparazzi. Chan did not walk behind as usual, but in the middle, and a ring was created around the participant.

Chan doesn’t remember anything, he just cried, he cries so much and loudly.

The members refused to leave him, although he asked so. They went to the dorm.

A day has passed... two days have passed... a week has passed. Funeral.

He remembers everything very vaguely, he was the last one to kiss your forehead before the coffin lid was closed.

Now he is completely alone.

He eats very little and hardly leaves the room. Minho literally force feeds him.

Your photos are open on his phone, you are on his wallpaper.

He doesn’t want to live without you, he wants you so much.

His tears never dry, he cries constantly. There are no emotions inside him, he is dead.

He looked through your correspondence... his heart ached madly.

He just loves you so much, he loves only you.

He apologized profusely to your family, it was his fault.

In the end he won't cope and he will leave for you. Chan was found hanged in his room. There was a note on the table with the words: “I can’t live without her, I’m nothing without her... forgive me.”

Lee Minho

People come and go. The simple meaning of life

But you couldn't leave him...not you

If you loved, then you would not have left...WHY DID YOU LEAVE HIM?

Overdose of antidepressants.

He found you in your apartment, you were lying on the bed, wrapped in a blanket... you seemed to be sleeping, but your heart was not beating.

What if he had found you earlier?

He would have stopped you.

He found a letter next to you... your last will and love for him

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤...𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰"

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐇𝐨"

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞."

IT'S NOT EASIER WITHOUT YOU

He has been crying for several days in a row. Even the members can't pull it out.

He became so aggressive and closed.

His heart rotted and broke without you

He falls asleep with your sweatshirt on, with your perfume on it.

The company releases a statement that Minho is taking an indefinite hiatus from activities.

He wants to close his eyes, open his eyes and have you next to him.

He went through many treatments with you and visited many psychiatrists.

You smiled at him so much, so what happened?

Minho cried for the first time in front of the members, everyone was broken with your death.

After your death, he smoked for the first time.

The cigarette smoke calmed him down at least a little. And in your dreams you came to him, you talked to him a lot.

He became very closed off to himself, even Jisung couldn’t get him to talk.

Everything and everywhere reminded him of you

Your bottle of perfume...your drawings, your rings, your elastic bands, your sweaters

You would curse if you saw him like this.

Only a month later, after your funeral, he dared to pick up your phone.

To mom, dad and sister: “I’m sorry that I’m so weak.. I would like a better life for you, I wanted to live better and happier. I’m a bad daughter.”

To SKZ:"Sorry...be strong, you are world stars and become even more popular..."

To Minho:"I repent of you, I hate myself for what I did. I have about ten minutes left...And in these ten minutes I will continue to love you, Lee Minho. Maybe we will meet in the next life?"

The emotions he had been holding back burst out.

He screamed, his scream deafening the silence.

Physical pain in his heart pierced him. how the bitch it hurts.

Now he's wearing your big jacket.

“Please protect me, Y/N.”

SEO CHANGBIN

"Police lieutenant Seo Y/N was shot..she died while intercepting a drug gang. The ambulance did not have time to arrive"

What did he just hear? Why are they saying your name?

Is this a mistake? Maybe they got it wrong?

He refused to believe it until he was asked to come to the morgue to identify the body.

Yes, you were lying there...a bullet in the forehead.

Changbin turned away, he couldn’t look at you. He's scared.

Probably then he realized all the pain, he stopped living.

Felix and Seungmin forcibly dragged him away from the morgue.

He was never against your work, he was just proud of you. Of course, his wife is a police lieutenant.

He knew it was dangerous, but could anything bad happen to you?

"Changbin, she died a hero, please...be the same hero for her."

There were so many people at your funeral, why did they all come?

Changbin felt lost, Chan was holding his hand. Changbin couldn't navigate the space.

Time doesn't heal anything, remember.

He lost the desire to exist

He hated your job after your death, it's all your damn job.

Will you protect Changbin? Are you his guardian angel?

From time to time he hears your voice.

He will come to your parents and ask for forgiveness.

Really, forgive him.

He will take your dog with him, it seems... the dog really misses you, where is his owner?

Changbin doesn't like music anymore, he stopped working out, he stopped eating.

"Y/N would be upset if she knew that you wanted to leave the group."

"She told you to create for the sake of people's happiness."

"WITHOUT HER THERE IS NO FUCKING THIS HAPPINESS..."

You would like him to continue writing and working.

He will stay for your sake... and for the sake of the members, these three months they kept him afloat, he literally clung to them.

Your dog now has 8 caring men

Changbin brings red Lilies, your favorite flowers, to your grave every week.

Hwang Hyunjin

You have been married for five years, recently celebrated your anniversary.

You were the happiest couple! STAY blessed couple , the participants were incredibly happy about your couple.

You found out that you are pregnant.

Hyunjin was incredibly happy! Members will become uncles to your baby.

Felix took the place of godfather.

Chan and Minho were responsible for choosing the name.

And Changbin, Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin made rooms for your baby!

But...you had a back injury, which made it dangerous to give birth.

You didn't care, you were going to have the baby.

Difficulties began immediately during contractions, Hyunjin was with you all the time.

He was forced to leave the room in the middle of labor.

The members who were waiting in the corridor were very worried.

Sudden silence.

The doctor came out of the maternity room and said: “Congratulations, you have a daughter... please accept my condolences, your wife has died.”

What?

It sounded so absurd.

Hyunjin walked into your room, you looked so tired...so sad. sad aphrodite.

Hyunjin kissed your forehead, one hand on your neck, the other holding your hand.

"Thank you for daughter...and forgive me, I love you very much"

Tears rolled down Hyunjin's cheeks, the tears were like pearls.

Hyunjin went home with the members.. The workers left your daughter in the hospital for several days.

Hyunjin seemed to understand nothing, he understood absolutely nothing.

"The baby will grow up in love, Hyunjin"

"We will all take care of her..she is an extension of Y/N" These words from Chan hurt Hyunjin's heart...He will protect and love his daughter.

Hyunjin is always crying, his eyes are red, his face is swollen from crying.

It hurt even more when Seungmin brought your favorite coffee.

In three days we could pick up our daughter.

All eight participants went to the maternity hospital.

They brought out a small package for you, what a tiny little thing.

Hyunjin looked at the little baby as if he were the eighth wonder of the world, the girl was sleeping. Hyunjin could have sworn that she would look like you.

"We'll call her Viyoung" Why is this in tune with Vendetta?

The guy nodded approvingly, tears flowing down his cheeks again.

The members took turns holding the bundle with the baby in their hands.

"I will love you so much, Viyoung...just like your mother loved you."

“Your uncles will take care of you...you will grow up with complete love.”

They went home, everything will be fine. Your memory will never fade away. Hyunjin will raise a beautiful daughter. She's a copy of you, but with Hyunjin's eyes.

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chahnniesroom · 2 months

Text

for better, for worse | part 2

pairing: lee minho x female reader

summary: an arranged marriage is anything but ideal. minho knows that when it comes to his role as a husband, he's lacking, but you haven't exactly been the perfect wife either. a phone call from you leads to a shift in priorities.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, descriptions of a car accident, non-graphic descriptions of injury

a/n: this was a highly requested part 2! please please read part 1 before you read this, otherwise it will not make sense. thanks to everyone who commented on the first part, it really motivated me to finish this! i did minimal/basically no editing, so sorry if there's any mistakes!

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Traffic has slowed to a crawl and Minho tries his best to stay calm, but based on the way his driver keeps checking the rearview window to look at him, he’s not doing a good job.

They don’t even know the right hospital to go to. You had never specified in your call, so Minho had just looked up the closest one that was on the route to the hotel.

Honestly, he’s also shocked that he dropped everything to go to you. He just can’t shake the way that you had sounded on the phone. Scared, yes, but mostly… resigned.

You didn’t think that Minho would care, he realises with a jolt. You didn’t think that he would give up this work opportunity to go see you. He feels terrible, of course he does. At the end of the day, it’s not that he hates you, or even dislikes you, but just hates this whole situation.

He needs to talk to you. Make sure that you’re okay. Explain himself. Apologise.

But first, he has to get to you.

The longer they sit at a standstill, the antsier Minho gets. He can’t stop his leg from shaking and he has to rip off his tie because he feels like he can’t get enough air in.

“There was an accident,” the driver says, speaking for the first time since they left the hotel. They inch forward a little bit more until Minho can see one of the cars in question. It’s completely mangled, the front end is destroyed and there’s debris strewn along the street. It’s no wonder that the traffic is so bad, the site that has been closed off is almost an entire intersection.

“It looks awful,” Minho says, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him. He cranes his neck to try and see the other vehicle and-

It’s almost unrecognisable, but somehow, Minho knows that it’s his car that he’s looking at.

He doesn’t process anything until he’s out on the street, stumbling through the police tape. An officer approaches him, saying something in a calm voice, but Minho doesn’t even notice until they put a hand on his shoulder. He shoves it off immediately. Another officer grabs his arm, this time with more force.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Minho fights against their attempts to restrain him. “It’s- I have to- my wife.” His voice sounds ruined, as wrecked as the vehicles in front of him.

They let him through.

Minho knows that you’re okay, that you were being treated, that you had been able to call and talk to him. But the damage is so extensive that he’s suddenly doubting himself. It seems impossible that anybody could survive this.

Before he can get close enough to really see inside the car, he stops in his tracks. It already looks so terrible, he can’t bear to any more details that would no doubt haunt him in his dreams.

“Do you know where they took her?” he manages to ask.

“Sir?” The officer closest to him steps closer to hear him better.

“The person that was a passenger. What hospital did they take her to?”

The officer names the closest hospital to the site, the one that Minho had guessed previously. Minho thanks him and spins on his heel, rushing back to where his current driver has been idling on the side. They make it there in record time.

The hospital staff redirect Minho to the intensive care unit when he arrives, giving him sympathetic glances as they do so. It’s on the second floor and Minho doesn’t have the patience to wait for the elevator, opting to run up the stairs instead.

The nurse at the desk in the intensive care unit looks up as Minho approaches. He must look like a mess, but she must be used to this level of dishevelment from visitors based on her lack of reaction.

“I’m looking for Lee Y/n,” Minho pants.

“What’s your relation to the patient?” she asks.

“I’m her husband,” Minho says and for the first time, the title feels natural.

“One moment, please.” The nurse takes her time, typing on her keyboard and clicking her mouse. Minho has to resist the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands the urgency of the situation. “She’s currently in room 103.”

Minho immediately starts walking in that direction before she calls out.

“Sorry sir, but her current conditions means that only one visitor is allowed in at a time. You’ll have to wait.”

“What do you mean?” Minho demands. “There’s already someone here? What’s her condition?”

“Yes, Y/n-nim has a visitor with her at the moment.”

“Who.”

“I’m sorry, I was not the attending nurse when he arrived. I don’t know who it is.”

“Can you get them to leave?”

“Pardon me?” The nurse blinks up at him dumbly.

“Leave. I need to see Y/n, she’s my wife! Why can’t I-”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down, otherwise I’m going to have to call security to escort you off the premises,” the nurse says slowly. Minho closes his mouth abruptly and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take deep breaths.

“Okay, okay, I’m calm. Please can I see her?” Minho pleads. “Can you talk to whoever the other visitor is, tell them that I’m here? I need to know if she’s okay.” The nurse purses her lips together, then stands. Minho almost feels dizzy with relief.

“I will inform Y/n-nim’s doctor and the visitor about your arrival, but that is all. You will have to wait for them to leave before you can enter.”

“Thank you,” Minho says.

He trails after her for a moment until they get to the room that you are staying in. After a pointed glance from the nurse, Minho drops into one of the chairs that line the hallway. She enters the room, closing the door behind her. A moment later, the nurse exits, alone.

“I let them know that you were here, sir,” she says. She leaves, walking back to her station before Minho can get a word in.

Minho sits and waits and tries not to worry and fails. He spends his time wracking his brain on who could be in the room with you and why they would refuse to let him in. He can’t think of who would be informed and have enough time to arrive ahead of him, not when he knows that your parents are currently out of the country.

The door finally opens and out steps Kim Seungmin, your childhood best friend and one of Minho’s least favourite people on the planet. He slows to a stop in front of Minho and takes a moment to study him. Seungmin’s eyes are red and swollen like he’s been crying, but his expression is a careful mask of indifference.

“Minho-ssi,” Seungmin says politely. “I didn’t think I would see you here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Minho bristles. “I’m her husband.”

“Hmm,” Seungmin says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes as he considers his next words. “That’s never seemed to matter before.”

Minho hates Kim Seungmin.

“I-”

“Take care of her, Minho-ssi.” Seungmin moves closer until he’s practically breathing the same air as Minho. His tone is no longer condescending, just sad. “She’s already hurting. Don’t make things worse.” He side-steps around MInho and continues down the hall. Minho stares after him until he disappears around a corner.

Minho hates Kim Seungmin, but really, Minho just hates himself. Hates that Seungmin has a spot in your life that Minho will never have.

He had been impatient before, but now Minho feels nervous about seeing you. He’s treated you poorly in the past, maybe you wouldn’t even want to see him. Not like you would want to see Seungmin.

He takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open.

You’re awake, but your eyes look hazy, gaze drifting around the room until they lock onto Minho. Your brows furrow then jump in surprise.

“Minho-ssi? What-” You scramble to sit upright, letting out a hiss of pain the second that you move. The doctor, who Minho hadn’t even noticed, rushes forward, urging you to lie back down without success.

“Please, Y/n-nim,” the doctor says. “You need to rest right now.”

“But-”

“Y/n,” Minho says. Your gaze snaps to him. He hadn’t even realised he has made his way to your bedside until he reaches forward a hand and it touches your shoulder. He leads you back to rest against your pillows and this time, you go willingly.

Now that you’re calmer, the doctor stands. Minho glances over, but immediately turns his attention back to you. He can talk to the doctor later, right now he wants to make sure that you’re okay. Behind him, he hears footsteps leaving the room and the click of the door closing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“But, the speech-”

“I was worried about you. I needed to see you with my own eyes,” Minho says quietly. You close your mouth slowly, unable to think of a response.

There’s countless cuts and scratches littering your skin, bandages peeking out from beneath your clothes, bruises blossoming in the remaining skin, and that’s just what he can see at a glance. Almost nothing has been left unscathed. At your side, there’s a number of screens that are each monitoring something and a cluster of IV drips lead back to your arm.

Minho’s afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you even more.

He ghosts his hand across your cheek before shifting slightly to push back some hair that’s fallen over your face. You watch with wide eyes, not saying a word, although your cheeks slowly flush under his attention.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says eventually, but doesn’t feel like enough. “I know I haven’t been a good husband.”

You open your mouth in protest, but Minho bulldozes on, determined to make things clear even if his heart is hammering in his chest and his words are coming out shaky.

“I’ve been distant, negligent, too focused on work. I know that this situation has been… difficult. That for both of us, it wasn’t what we expected for our futures, but it doesn’t excuse the way that I’ve behaved. I know that even though it wasn’t my intention to, I hurt you.” He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts. You stay quiet, clearly sensing that he hasn't finished his train of thought. “Y/n, I know there’s nothing that I can do to make up for the hurt that I caused. I know I can’t take back the pain you went through. But I promise, from now on, I’ll put you first.”

“Okay,” you say, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Okay?” Minho asks.

“We can start over, make things right. I know I haven’t done my best in this relationship either, but I want to try again.”

“Thank you,” he says in a hushed voice. “I’m sorry that it took this to make me come to my senses.” He reaches out, grasps your hand in his, careful of all the little cuts.

Minho holds your hand and he doesn’t let go, even when you drift off to sleep.

part 1 | till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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sugar-grigri · 3 months

Note

I think I remember you making references to Fire Punch in a few analysis post so I assume you've read that one, but have you read Goodbye Eri, and if so do you have any particular thoughts you want to share on it? It might be my favorite, although it's hard to rank Fujimoto's works because there's something different I like about all of them.

Hi Yuta! or is it Fujimoto?

2022, Goodbye Eri is released and I'm in for a huge slap in the face! I've finally got the chance to talk about it, so thank you!

It's hard to come after the war after this one-shot has been the subject of so much analysis, interpretation and criticism. But I think it's a work that's deliberately designed to be a trap, and the first mistake would be to try absolutely hard to determine whether Goodbye Eri is true or false.

Trying to detect the true and the false is futile, not that it's really impossible, but arguments could be several pages long and the theories put forward would remain mere hypotheses because no explicit confirmation is given. Quite simply because this is not the aim of the work, nor a satisfactory way of reading it.

For example, when Yuta's father seems to be getting angry with Eri, we understand from Eri's "And Cut!!!" that it was all a set-up. So, as a good reader, we can only assume that what follows is pure reality. However, the father, now an actor, if he should play his line differently.

As another illustration, when Eri is close to death and Yuta are talking, there are a few hints that they might have a relationship, but this is denied by Yuta himself, in a discussion with Eri's friend.

The film plays with this to such an extent that all sorts of theories are possible. It could just as easily be interpreted as there being only two films (on Yuta's mother and then on Eri's death), two films but in different ways: one about Yuta's mother and a second film about Eri, as a vampire, with the end scene played by Yuta's father and by Eri before her death.

This explains why, even after Eri's death, Yuta continues to film because the film isn't actually finished yet, the editing being there to reverse the scenes played chronologically, to make it look as if Eri was still alive, and so on. ..

As you can see, it all makes sense, and our preference is purely personal because they all work. But I'm not going to play that game, because it only shows me one thing, and that's that the plot surrounding Eri is deliberately obscure.

I've seen a lot of people describe Goodbye Eri as a work about dealing with death - the way we want to remember those we've lost, etc... It's about mourning, symbolically saying goodbye, hence the title. Which is true! But it goes further than that.

Eri's plot is deliberately obscure because the right way to appropriate the work is not through her. She's the character we know least about. Physically alone, we learn that she wore glasses and braces. Mentally, she was more annoying than she seemed in the movie. Eri is a mirage in which we won't find answers, so we have to learn to say goodbye.

The only reliable information given in this OS is that everything is filmed by Yuta's phone. And in reality, you know Yuta better than Eri, so it's him you should turn to...

Hi Yuta!

Yuta is almost never shown in this OS, as he is always filming. And when he is shown accurately, it's when he's inspired by other films by watching them with Eri, in other words, he's continuing to work on his own film by watching others.

Yuta's first film began as a result of his mother's narcissistic desire, as he was celebrating his birthday, discovering his gift, a smartphone, all of which was directly taken over by his mother, who asked him to film her until she died.

By keeping only the good sides of his mother, ignoring all the abusive parts of her, Yuta does not follow his parent's wishes, he does it for himself, showing what he himself wants to retain from his childhood, his story, in order to move forward properly.

But as everything is filmed, it gives the impression that the videos have been passively lined up without any sorting, without any choice. Yuta takes his revenge because he refuses to film his mother until the day she dies, stopping before then, preferring an explosion to conclude his film. It's brutal because it's as if Yuta's tastes, his little touch of fantasy, are suddenly surfacing, while the rest of the film is just as personal, just as him. So when his film is mocked, it's a work so personal that Yuta wants to die.

It's not insignificant that it's Eri who intervenes, whose only certainty was that she loved not only the films but also Yuta's, simply because she saw not only Yuta's mother in this film but also him, whom she considered to be the best character. She wasn't revolted by the ending, because she was aware of Yuta's touch throughout the film. The same ambiguity then resurfaces, we don't know if Eri is in love with Yuta, she corrects him to say that it's these films, the two are so linked, that liking Yuta's films is tantamount to liking the teenager.

Yuta follows Eri's desire to produce a film that is above all personal to him, to the point that when Eri sees her last moments narrated by him, she sees Yuta more than herself, because she is seen through someone else's eyes.

For me, there aren't two or three films, but just one from start to finish. Because you see, we've said goodbye to Eri, we've got out of her tricky story to reflect on Yuta, but we still haven't stepped back enough. Because you know who made the film, and it's not Yuta, it's Fujimoto. So, third stage :

let's salute Fujimoto.

The film we've just seen in this OS deals with a number of overlapping themes, the way in which a loved one is portrayed, the relationship with others, death, creation, but above all, the extent to which a work is personal. Goodbye Eri is a pretext for Fujimoto to show us the extent to which even the cutting is the fruit of reflection, is already a message.

In this OS, all the boxes are in the video format of a smartphone, each moving, static shot depends on Yuta, just as each shot is in the third row, drawn by someone.

People make the mistake, like the first audience of Yuta's film about his mother, of relating to works as linear stories to be trusted, even if they film his mother every day, Yuta's editing is his way of counting a story, it is certainly not the truth in all its neutrality. It's only at the moment of the explosion, which expresses the most of Yuta's personality, that people get upset.

This offbeat, absurd explosion is something that Fujimoto punctuates in his works, yet they are both thought out and personal to him. But they are often mocked as a way of poking fun at his work. What Fujimoto is saying is that the work doesn't become brutally personal for the controversial, offbeat moments, just the way he depicts a scene from life is personal.

People believed this version of the author's mother, otherwise they wouldn't be outraged by this disgraceful way of portraying this nice woman at the end, so in itself, Yuta's film worked. But all this is just a pretext for Fujimoto to point out that he is the author of all his other works, CSM, Fire Punch, Look Back, Just Listen to the Song... They are just like another film made in response to the positive or negative reactions of the others.

Fujimoto likes to trace the common ground between these works, which respond to each other. Each one, placed side by side, is an attempt by Fujimoto to upset his audience a little more, a second or third try.

The mistake is to separate the author's touch from his work, just as we are tempted to focus more on Eri than Yuta. Just as Fujimoto reminds us through this OS, who writes, draws Goodbye Eri. The first part of CSM was turned upside down by the fact that Makima was a demon from the start, abusive to the point of being the antagonist.

A violent and abusive maternal relationship. The design of the mother is also a bit similar. Mentions of the breasts, something that also went down quite a bit and left its mark on a lot of readers because it was so out of sync. The emphasis on cats... A rejected boy. A work focused on female characters.

Goodbye Eri is a work in which Fujimoto makes fun of himself, his works and the things that bring them together. Yes, there will be an explosion if the author so decides. Yes, Eri can live again, be a vampire, if the author so decides, but what's to stop him making his characters die, and then bringing them back to life a few pages later?

The characters' plots are the authors' playgrounds, whether you like it or not. You can't detach works from their authors, or read works as unrelated things because they were written by the same person. Talking about death, life, mourning, love, with a touch of fantasy is what Fujimoto does in each of them.

So if you're lost, remember that what you're reading isn't in the title but in the author.

#goodbye eri #sayonara eri #fujimoto tatsuki #eri #yuta #makima #csm #chainsaw man #fire punch #look back #one shot #analysis #my thoughts #credit to Reddit for the last image @/blackfish171

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leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld · 20 days

Text

CALM AFTER THE STORM |BTS OT7 X READER| HYBRID AU (M)

{Chapter Two – A Rare Find}

Pairing: OT7 BTS!HYBRID X FEM!HUMAN READER

Kim Namjoon: Black Mackenzie Valley Alpha wolf

Kim Soekjin: White Alpha Lion

Min Yoongi: White Alpha Jaguar

Jung Hosoek: Alpha Snow Leopard

Park Jimin : Alpha Albino Cobra

Kim Taehyung: Alpha White/ Bleached Tiger

Jeon Jungkook: Alpha Black Panther

Reader: Heaven Valentino Human

Status: Ongoing

RATED (M) FOR MATURE

Words: 9.1k!

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT, BLOOD GORE, DETAILED GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION, ABUSE (ALL FORMS), PROFANITY, VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, CHARACTER DEATH(MINOR), SADOMASOCHISM ACTS, MENTIONS OF BDSM, ETC...

CHAPTER WARNING: THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN TRIGGERING SCENES, MENTIONS OF ABUSE, ABHORRENT BEHAVIOR AND THINK AND DEGRADATION DON'T READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE OR SENSITIVE.

Previous Next

MATERIALIST

~Valentino Mansion~

3rd Person's POV

Heaven had been on a relentless mission for the past two months, ever since she acquired crucial information about the illegal Hybrid traffickers.

The weight of the situation had consumed her days and nights, driving her to work tirelessly towards finding a way to intervene and put an end to the inhumane activities happening around her.

The journey she embarked on was far from easy.

Countless phone calls, sleepless nights filled with haunting nightmares, and the frantic attempts to reach out to Black Eagle, the elusive figure in the underworld of trafficking, were all part of the arduous path she had chosen to take.

In her pursuit for justice, Heaven had enlisted the support of her trusted brothers, her dedicated assistant Jae, the employees at her uncles' Facility, and some carefully selected government officials.

Each individual brought their own expertise and resources to the table, forming a team dedicated to combating the illegal trade and bringing justice to the victims.

Navigating the intricate network of contacts and informants required to reach Black Eagle proved to be a challenging task.

The man operated in the shadows, shielded by layers of security and intermediaries that made direct communication nearly impossible.

However, Heaven's determination and strategic planning eventually paid off, as she received a rare and coveted invitation from Black Eagle himself.

The opportunity to meet with the notorious figure was a significant breakthrough in her mission.

It signaled a potential opening for dialogue, negotiation, and perhaps even collaboration in their shared goal to dismantle the trafficking operation and rescue those affected by it.

The man known as Black Eagle was beyond astonished when he found out that The Heaven Valentino had personally requested an invitation from him.

Given her unparalleled status and influence, it was a gesture that took him by surprise - after all, she was renowned as the epitome of sophistication and exclusivity.

Heavens' stance towards hybrids, however, remained a mystery.

Despite her reputation as an individual who rarely associated with such beings.

It was a tantalizing prospect to see how she would interact with those outside her usual sphere.

In the realm of power, wealth, and social standing, Heaven Valentino reigned supreme.

She was a symbol of opulence and authority that surpassed even the loftiest expectations. Her mere presence commanded attention and respect, setting her apart as a figure of unparalleled prestige.

For Black Eagle, the opportunity to personally deliver the invitation and provide Heaven with VVIP treatment was not just a formal gesture - it was a strategic move.

In his ambition to forge a partnership with her, he saw this as a critical step towards building a connection that could potentially elevate his own standing in the business world.

The allure of being associated with Heaven Valentino as a business partner was irresistible.

Her capabilities and resources were a force to be reckoned with, capable of opening doors that seemed impenetrable to others. The prospect of aligning oneself with her vision and ventures held the promise of unprecedented success and prosperity.

In the grand tapestry of the social elite, Heaven Valentino stood as a colossal figure, wielding a level of authority and influence that surpassed imagination.

Her ability to shape industries, economies, and even societal norms was a testament to her unparalleled power and vision.

Today felt like the day they had been preparing for all their life.

Heaven's heart raced with a mix of nerves and determination as she steadied herself for the mission ahead.

Every fiber of her being was focused on the task at hand, blocking out any distractions or doubts that threatened to creep in.

She knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy. Choi Woobin's words had only added to the gravity of the situation, hinting at the unimaginable horrors that awaited them.

Despite the foreboding stories, Heaven's resolve remained unwavering. She was determined to stay strong, to face whatever darkness awaited without faltering.

As she mentally ran through her preparations, she couldn't help but acknowledge the weight of the burden on her shoulders.

The thought of what lay ahead was enough to chill her to the core, but she refused to let fear paralyze her.

This was a test of not just her skills, but her inner strength and resilience. She steeled herself, ready to confront the nightmares that awaited, knowing that only by staying focused and composed could she hope to succeed.

The mission loomed before her like a mountain to be conquered. Heaven knew it would push her to her limits, testing her in ways she had never imagined.

But she also knew that this was what she had trained for, what she had prepared for. Every challenge she had faced, every obstacle she had overcome had led her to this moment. And she was not about to back down now.

As Heaven adjusted her hair in the mirror, she felt a surge of anticipation for the plan that was about to unfold. Her assistant Jae was her trusted right-hand man, ensuring that everything was in place for the pivotal moment that was approaching.

With determination in her voice, she spoke to Jae over the phone, emphasizing the importance of secrecy and precision.

The mere mention of Black Eagle and his men made her blood run cold. They were formidable opponents, and any misstep could have dire consequences.

"Understood" He said before the called ended.

Heaven nodded to herself in the mirror, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

She was not just a force to be reckoned with, she was a master strategist, orchestrating moves on a chessboard where every decision could tip the scales of power.

With a final glance at her reflection, she steeled herself for the upcoming confrontation, knowing that her fate and that of many others rested on the success of their plan.

'I promise to set you all free'

~Three Hours Later~

As the car pulled up to the opulent resort, a sense of wariness crept over her.

Despite the outward beauty of the location, she couldn't shake the knowledge of the dark deeds that had taken place within its lavish walls.

The sheer contrast between the lush greenery and the sinister secrets hidden within sent a shiver of disgust down her spine.

As the sleek black vehicle eased past the entrance gates, the scene that unfolded before Heaven was one straight out of a high society magazine spread.

Rows of impeccably maintained luxurious cars, each belonging to famous elites, lined the grand driveway.

The air was thick with an aura of opulence, exuding from the designer-clad guests mingling around.

Eying the spectacle before her, Heaven couldn't help but feel a wave of disdain wash over her. The ostentatious display of extravagance seemed less about genuine enjoyment and more about a ruthless competition to assert dominance and flaunt one's wealth and status.

The whole affair reeked of artificiality and pretentiousness, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

As the car pulled to a stop, the animated conversations and tinkling laughter of the guests outside abruptly hushed, their curious gazes now fixated on the newcomer.

Heaven, embodying an air of poised elegance, emerged from the vehicle with measured grace, commanding the attention of every onlooker present.

The reaction that greeted her was nothing short of astonishment. Faces once animated and expressions jovial now bore expressions of disbelief and incredulity.

The previously bustling space fell into a stunned silence, punctuated only by the whispers and murmurs that rippled through the crowd.

It was as if a rare, captivating apparition had graced their midst, leaving them spellbound in her wake.

Heaven had meticulously orchestrated her surprise appearance at the auction, ensuring no one knew about her involvement.

This careful planning was pivotal in setting the stage for her grand entrance. The element of surprise was not meant as a mere spectacle for show, but rather a strategic move to assert authority and convey a clear message to all present.

Her motives ran deep, far beyond seeking attention or adulation.

Heaven's ultimate goal was to protect and advocate for hybrids, utilizing this bold move as a means to establish a lasting impression on those involved in the despicable games.

By taking a stand against the mistreatment of hybrids and holding perpetrators accountable, she aimed to solidify a legacy that would resonate far beyond the confines of the auction event.

In essence, Heaven saw this defiant act as a crucial step in safeguarding the rights and dignity of all hybrids, paving the way for a future where they would be respected and valued.

Through her actions, Heaven was not just making a name for herself but also building a legacy of courage, resilience, and unwavering determination for all hybrids to draw strength from.

This act of defiance was a symbolic declaration, not just for herself, but for the entire hybrid community, signifying a turning point in their fight for equality and justice.

As Heaven stood amidst the stunned crowd, her presence radiated a sense of purpose and resolve that left an indelible mark on all who bore witness to her fearless stand.

She exuded elegance and sophistication as she approached the entrance of the luxurious resort.

The aesthetic allure of her ensemble was captivating - a striking midnight black V-cut sleeveless dress that cascaded down to the floor with a daring slit that revealed a glimpse of her toned thigh.

This exclusive creation was adorned with glimmering diamonds, adding a touch of opulence to her attire.

Every detail of the ensemble was meticulously curated, as it was a one-of-a-kind piece exclusively designed for Heaven by her talented mother, Rachel Valentino.

The ensemble was perfectly complemented by her midnight black five-inch heels, which not only added height but also accentuated her long, slender legs, creating an illusion of elongation.

The matching diamond necklace and earrings added a touch of glamour and sophistication, enhancing the overall allure of her look.

Heaven's makeup was a work of art, striking the perfect balance between sleek and natural. The subtle yet alluring makeup accentuated her features, giving her a fierce and powerful aura.

Her hair was elegantly styled in a tight, neat bun, with a few loose strands framing her flawlessly symmetrical face, adding a soft and romantic touch to her look.

As Heaven glided towards the entrance of the resort, all eyes turned towards her, captivated by her poise and undeniable presence. The combination of her exquisite attire, radiant beauty, and confident demeanor made her an embodiment of grace and sophistication.

It was evident that every detail of her appearance had been carefully curated to exude an air of refinement and elegance, setting her apart as a true fashion icon.

"Its a pleasure to have you Ms. Valentino, my name is Min-Soo and I'll be your caretaker for the duration of your stay here. If you would please follow me" one of the hotel stuff introduced as he gestured for Heaven to follow him.

Heaven followed Min-Soo silently as he led her through the opulent halls of the building towards her temporary bay on the third floor.

The VVIP section was adorned with extravagant decor, setting the perfect luxurious ambiance for distinguished guests like her.

As they reached her suite, Heaven observed the lavish furnishings and elegant touches that adorned the space. She nodded in acknowledgment as Min-Soo informed her that her luggage had already been placed in the room, signaling that he would be readily available at her beck and call through the buzzer on her key.

Heaven couldn't help but notice the slight air of formality in Min-Soo's demeanor, which seemed to be a result of years of perfecting his role as a caretaker for esteemed guests like herself.

As Min-Soo excused himself with another respectful bow, Heaven took a moment to settle into her surroundings.

The short hallway led her to what seemed to be the main entrance, and without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

The room was spacious and elegantly decorated, a stark contrast to the chaos she had experienced earlier.

Feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her, Heaven decided to take a much-needed shower.

The warm water cascading down her body felt like a soothing balm, washing away the fatigue and stress of the day. As the steam filled the room, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling the tension leave her muscles.

After her refreshing shower, Heaven crawled into the plush bed, feeling the softness of the sheets against her skin. The comfort of the bed was inviting, and she couldn't resist the call of sleep. With a weary sigh, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a deep slumber.

As she slept, her mind drifted to the challenges that lay ahead. Tonight would bring new obstacles and uncertainties, and Heaven couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety creeping in.

"I hope I don't lose it," she thought to herself, her mind muddled with a mix of determination and fear.

But for now, she allowed herself to succumb to the darkness of sleep, seeking refuge in its temporary embrace

~Two Hours Later~

Heaven's POV

As I stood at the threshold of my suite, already dressed in my finest attire, I could feel a surge of energy coursing through my veins. The anticipation for the upcoming auction pulsed through me, fueling my disdain. Glancing at the clock, I noted that I had a mere ten minutes before the event officially commenced.

Pacing the room, I double-checked my appearance, ensuring that every detail was immaculate.

My attire exuded sophistication and power, a reflection of the image I sought to portray at the auction. Despite my eagerness to leave this forsaking place, I remained poised, waiting for the opportune moment to make my entrance.

Finally, I decided it was time to depart the confines of my suite and face the impending ordeal. With a resigned sigh, I steeled myself for the upcoming interactions and the inevitable theatrics that would unfold at the auction.

Summoning Min-Soo with a press of the intercom button, I was slightly taken aback by the speed of his arrival. His promptness hinted at a level of dedication that I found somewhat surprising.

As he guided me towards the ground floor where the auction was held, I couldn't help but wonder if he had indeed hurried to meet me, his pace almost unnaturally brisk.

The distant echoes of boisterous cheers and chatter grew louder as we neared the event space.

The cacophony of voices and the frenzied excitement of the attendees grated on my senses, evoking a sense of disdain within me. Despite my internal repulsion, I maintained a mask of detachment, concealing my true feelings behind a facade of indifference.

Upon entering the grand hall after Min-Soo opened the massive wooden double door, I was immediately taken aback by the sight that greeted me.

The space was bustling with a diverse crowd of people mingling and engaging in various activities. However, what truly caught my attention and sent a shock through my system were the naked hybrids scattered throughout the room.

These hybrids, distinct from their human counterparts, were adorned with collars, some of which appeared to be electrical in nature.

It was evident that they were serving the guests in various capacities, from offering drinks to acting as inanimate objects for the guests' convenience, such as tables, footrests, chairs, and even — disturbingly — as items of a more intimate nature.

As I processed the surreal and dehumanizing scene before me, a wave of revulsion and disbelief washed over me.

It was unsettling to witness how these hybrids were treated as mere commodities, stripped of their autonomy and reduced to objects of utility or even pleasure for the guests' amusement.

The callousness and disregard for their dignity left a bitter taste in my mouth, prompting me to question the depths of depravity to which some were willing to sink in the pursuit of luxury and status.

Shaking off the initial shock and discomfort that clouded my thoughts, I focused on navigating my way through the crowd towards the front of the hall, where the other VVIPs were expected to be seated.

Despite the unsettling spectacle around me, I maintained a composed exterior, masking my inner turmoil to blend in with the opulent surroundings and the oblivious guests who seemed unfazed by the disturbing display of exploitation and objectification.

As I approached the designated area for the VVIPs, my mind raced with a flurry of conflicting emotions — from outrage and indignation at the deplorable treatment of the hybrids to a sense of helplessness in the face of such blatant disregard for basic decency and empathy.

However, in this lavish and surreal setting where decadence and debauchery seemed to reign supreme, I knew that I had to tread carefully and play along with the facade of sophistication and privilege that enveloped the event.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I prepared to engage with the other VVIPs, all the while grappling with the unsettling reality of the scene unfolding before me.

In a world where the boundaries between humanity and exploitation seemed blurred beyond recognition, I found myself teetering on the edge of a moral precipice, forced to navigate a precarious balance between complicity and conscience in a place where the veneer of luxury masked a darker truth lurking beneath the surface.

As I observed the busy crowd engrossed in their conversations, my attention was suddenly captured by the presence of a male Hybrid with dark grey fuzzy ears.

His submissive posture piqued my interest, evoking a sense of compassion within me.

The sight of him in such a vulnerable state stirred a desire within me to offer solace and reassurance. The urge to embrace him and promise a life free of sorrow tugged at my heartstrings.

However, I composed myself, aware of the delicate balance of the situation.

"Master, what would you like me to do?" He's question, submissive and repetitive.

When the Hybrid addressed me as "master," I couldn't help but be taken aback.

It seemed like a preconceived notion ingrained within him, highlighting the complexities of his existence.

My desire to treat him with dignity and respect clashed with the power dynamic implied by the title of "master."

In a bid to maintain composure and avoid any unintended consequences, I gently dismissed his offer of service.

"I don't need anything, you may leave" my response, though calm and collected, reflected the inner turmoil brought about by the encounter.

As I navigated this unexpected interaction, I grappled with the moral implications of the power dynamics at play.

The concept of freedom and agency weighed heavily on my mind, prompting me to tread carefully in my dealings with the Hybrid.

Ultimately, my decision to politely decline his offer stemmed from a desire to uphold my values of compassion and autonomy.

The nuances of such interactions serve as a powerful reminder of the intricacies of the human experience and the ethical considerations that inform our actions.

The dramatic reaction from the Hybrid in front of me left me feeling a mix of shock, confusion, and sadness all at once.

"Please master, I can make you feel good" he said a little desperate.

His sudden offer to "make me feel good" in an attempt to appease me was both startling and heartbreaking. It made me wonder just how much these creatures had been pushed to such desperate measures, to the point of willingly offering themselves in such a vulnerable way.

"I-I'm sorry master, I should not have overstepped. How would y-you like to punish me? You can do physical, mental or both" His voice wobbled in fear.

As I observed the fear and submission in the Hybrid's eyes, I couldn't help but feel a wave of empathy wash over me.

The pain I felt for him was like a physical ache in my chest, a reminder of the cruel circumstances that had likely led him to this point. His willingness to accept any form of punishment, whether mental, physical, or both, struck a deep chord within me.

The concept of punishing him for simply staring at me was absurd and unjust.

The idea that he felt the need to preemptively offer himself up for punishment spoke volumes about the toxic power dynamic at play in our interactions.

It was a stark reminder of the imbalance of power and the inherent cruelty of the system that had allowed such behavior to become normalized.

I couldn't bring myself to entertain the notion of punishing him for a perceived transgression that was, in reality, nothing more than a natural human reaction.

It was clear to me that this cycle of fear, submission, and punishment needed to be broken, for both our sakes. My heart went out to the Hybrid in front of me, and I made a silent vow to do whatever I could to protect him and others like him from further harm.

As I looked into his eyes, still wide with fear and uncertainty, I made a silent promise to myself to be a beacon of kindness and compassion in a world that seemed determined to stamp out any shred of humanity.

It was time to challenge the status quo, to stand up against injustice, and to fight for a future where beings like him could exist free from fear and oppression.

"I'll let you off the hook for now, defy me again and I won't hesitate to punish you" the words left a bitter taste in my mouth as I saw the fear heightening in his eyes.

Just great.

Fortunately, he took the signal and left me alone allowing me to take a breath.

Just then a man clad in a dark purple suit appeared on stage.

"Good evening fine ladies and gentlemen, my name is Lee Chan and I'll be your host for the five days of your stay"

I couldn't help but notice the air of sophistication and mystery that surrounded him. His aura exuded confidence and command, making it clear that he was no ordinary host.

The slight creases around his eyes hinted at a life full of experiences and secrets yet to be revealed.

His voice carried a sense of authority as he addressed the audience, his words flowing smoothly and effortlessly. The way he held himself spoke of someone well-versed in the art of public speaking, capable of captivating the attention of everyone in the room with just a few carefully chosen words.

"So, for those of you who were not here last time, this event will be slightly different from the usual one." He announced and a tingle of excitement ran through the crowd.

People leaned forward in their seats, eager to find out what surprises he had in store for them. The anticipation in the room was palpable, a mixture of curiosity and thrill hanging in the air.

"We promised you something different last year and alas the wait is finally over"

I couldn't help but wonder what he was referring to.

Was it something extraordinary, something beyond their wildest dreams?

The crowd seemed to think so, judging by their enthusiastic response. Claps and cheers filled the room, creating a symphony of excitement that reverberated off the walls.

Lost in my thoughts, I realized that I was completely clueless about what was going to happen next.

The unknown was unnerving, like standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea what lay beyond.

As Lee Chan continued to speak, I tried to decipher the subtle nuances in his words, searching for hints about the surprise that awaited us.

The scene raised eyebrows among the audience as several workers appeared on stage, each pushing what seemed to be large cages covered with curtains.

"As we unveil these exhibits, ladies and gentlemen, you are about to witness the rarest and most exotic hybrids in the world," the host declared with a hint of anticipation in his voice.

The crowd's excitement was palpable, with some individuals audibly expressing their eagerness, making me subtly scowl in their direction.

Sick fucks.

Such displays left me contemplating the state of our world. Have we truly reached a point where exploiting such unique creatures for entertainment has become commonplace?

It was disheartening to witness the lack of empathy and ethics prevalent in those driven solely by greed and power, oblivious to the suffering they inflict upon these defenseless beings.

This blatant disregard for the well-being of these hybrids spoke volumes about the values and morals that seemed to be diminishing in a society consumed by material gain.

The hosts and participants seemed to be detached from any sense of compassion or consideration for the creatures they showcased, treating them as mere commodities for profit.

The comparison to how even our domesticated animal companions are treated with kindness and respect highlighted the stark contrast in the attitudes towards different beings sharing our planet.

It served as a stark reminder of the importance of empathy and ethical behavior in our interactions with all living beings, urging us to reflect on the consequences of our actions and the impact they have on the world around us.

"So here, ladies and gentlemen, we have the exotic breeds you've all been waiting for," he announced, his tone both enticing and authoritative. The murmurs of excitement and whispers of desire filled the room, creating a palpable sense of fervor.

Sitting amongst the crowd, a deep sense of discomfort settled in my stomach as I observed the reactions of those around me. The air was thick with anticipation, but my own emotions swirled with a different kind of intensity.

The moment of revelation arrived as the curtains were dramatically pulled back, revealing the first group of creatures within the cages.

"Behold, a rare breed of hybrids, ladies and gentlemen, here we have peacock hybrids," the announcer declared with a sardonic smile playing on his lips, as the audience erupted in admiration.

The peacock hybrids stood before the enraptured crowd, their exotic beauty a sight to behold. However, any semblance of awe was shattered by the harrowing realization of the creatures' condition.

The scene was both enchanting and unsettling, captivating my attention with the breathtaking beauty of the peacock hybrids while simultaneously leaving me disturbed by the emptiness in their eyes.

The worker's revelation of the three unique specimens had initially filled me with wonder and awe at their exquisite appearance.

Each hybrid displayed a mesmerizing blend of blue and green feathers in striking patterns that adorned their bodies in distinct ways.

The first peacock hybrid stood regally with feathers cascading down the back of their neck, creating a dramatic contrast against their hairline.

The second one sported a majestic array of feathers woven intricately into their hair, adding an ethereal quality to their overall look.

Lastly, the third hybrid showcased a symphony of colors with feathers adorning their back, reminiscent of a majestic cape unfurled behind them.

As I gazed upon these magnificent creatures, I couldn't help but notice the profound sadness etched into their expressions. Despite their physical beauty, their eyes betrayed a haunting emptiness, devoid of any spark of life or vitality.

It was as if they had resigned themselves to a fate of captivity and confinement, succumbing to a sense of hopelessness that weighed heavily upon them.

Their once vibrant plumage appeared dull and lifeless, their expressions vacant and devoid of their natural grace.

A wave of sorrow washed over me as I gazed upon these majestic beings, stripped of their dignity and reduced to mere spectacle for the entertainment of others.

The juxtaposition of their innate beauty and their current state tugged at my heartstrings, evoking a deep sense of empathy and sadness.

In that moment, a profound sense of revulsion washed over me, as the stark reality of humanity's capacity for exploitation and cruelty was laid bare.

The blatant disregard for the well-being of these innocent creatures for the sake of personal gain struck a chord deep within my soul, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

As the crowd marveled at the spectacle before them, I couldn't help but feel a sense of moral outrage at the depravity of it all.

In that moment of clarity, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of shame at being part of a species capable of such heinous acts.

The cries of the peacock hybrids, though silent, echoed loudly in my ears, a haunting reminder of the cruelty that pervaded the world.

As Lee Chan introduced the next group, a sense of awe washed over the audience.

"Our next group is even more majestic, here we have a group of black lions," he declared, prompting gasps of amazement from the spectators, myself included.

Black lions, a rare sight in their natural form, were even more elusive in a hybrid state. The creatures before us were a striking blend of power and grace, their jet-black fur gleaming under the bright lights of the room.

These hybrids possessed a unique allure, their features a captivating mixture of familiar and otherworldly.

With round black ears and long, spear-like tails, they exuded an air of mystery and majesty that left the audience spellbound.

Despite their impressive presence, the black lion hybrids seemed to maintain an enigmatic composure, their expressions unreadable as they stood together in the center of their enclosure.

While their beauty was undeniable, there was a sense of untamed wildness about them, a reminder of the primal forces that lurked within these magnificent creatures.

The black lion hybrids stood as living symbols of power and strength, their presence a reminder of the untamed forces that still existed in the world.

Lee Chan's voice filled the room once more, commanding attention as he introduced the third group to the eager audience.

"Moving on to our final group," he announced, his words tinged with a sense of anticipation.

"This group is a true testament to diversity. They have formed a unique pack, but what truly sets them apart is the fact that each member belongs to a different predator species. These individuals are some of the most formidable predators you will ever come across."

As he spoke, a spark of excitement flashed in his eyes, and a subtle aura of raw desire seemed to envelop the room, fueling the palpable anticipation of the spectators.

The curtain concealing the last cage was swiftly drawn back, revealing a sight that left everyone in the room spellbound. Gasps of awe and wonder rippled through the crowd at the sight of the hybrid creatures before them.

The formidable presence of the black lions had already pushed the boundaries of what the audience had expected to see, but the creatures now on display surpassed even that.

Each hybrid was a mesmerizing blend of strength, grace, and ferocity, embodying the essence of their individual predator species in a harmonious yet awe-inspiring fusion.

I was captivated by their presence, drawn in by their allure and mesmerizing appearance. My gaze lingered on each of them, unable to look away until one of them met my eyes, creating a moment of connection that sent a shiver down my spine.

The feeling that washed over me was a mix of fear and excitement, leaving me uncertain of how to interpret the intensity of the encounter.

He had a striking appearance, with silver-grey eyes that seemed to hold a depth of emotion and wisdom. His long silver hair looked soft and inviting, adding to the mystique of his overall look.

His features were a blend of softness and strength, with pink plum pouty lips, chubby cheeks, and a jawline that exuded a sense of divine beauty.

Despite my keen observation, I couldn't spot any obvious signs of him being a hybrid, a realization that added to the enigmatic aura surrounding him.

The thought that he could pass for a human, albeit an exceptionally attractive one, sparked curiosity within me about the nature of his origins and the kind of hybrid he might be.

The onlookers engaging in betting and exchanging comments about the hybrids stirred a mix of emotions within me, from a sense of curiosity to a hint of discomfort that manifested a sick feeling in my stomach.

As Lee Chan opened the bidding for the exotic hybrids, the room buzzed with anticipation. The attendees, clearly eager to take home a unique companion, were ready to showcase their wealth in the bidding war that was about to ensue.

Lee Chan's warning about the hefty price and potential dangers of owning an exotic hybrid, especially predators, did little to deter the crowd. Enthusiasts of these rare creatures were undeterred by the risks involved, eager to experience the thrill of owning such a unique pet.

"First up for bidding are the peacock hybrids. $30 million for each exotic bird hybrid."

The room fell silent as the host announced the starting price. Excitement filled the air as attendees raised their number pads, signaling their bids and competing against one another to secure their desired hybrid.

"I see $60 million...$80 million...$80 million sold! $800 million to buy them all forever??" A hush fell over the crowd as they hesitated to commit to such an exorbitant amount.

Despite the initial reluctance to meet the steep asking price, the bidding war eventually came to a close as the host declared the peacock hybrids sold at $80 million each for a three-month ownership period.

The successful bidder's triumph was evident as the host's announcement reverberated through the room, signaling the conclusion of the intense bidding process.

As the auction continued, with more exotic hybrids up for grabs, the attendees remained on the edge of their seats, eager to participate in the next round of bidding and potentially secure their own unique companion.

With each bid placed, the tension in the room mounted, showcasing the attendees' determination to acquire these rare and coveted creatures, no matter the cost.

Despite the extravagant prices and inherent risks associated with owning exotic hybrids, the allure of these magnificent creatures proved irresistible to those in attendance.

As the auction unfolded, it became increasingly clear that for these select individuals, the opportunity to bring home an exotic hybrid was worth every penny, regardless of the challenges that lay ahead.

"Finally, the moment you have all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen. The pack hybrids!" Lee Chan announced.

As the pack hybrids were revealed, the room erupted in excitement and anticipation. People had been eagerly awaiting this moment, and the tension in the air was palpable.

These rare creatures were highly sought after, and it was no surprise that they came with a hefty price tag.

The auctioneer wasted no time in getting down to business, stating the prices for these exquisite beings.

"$100 million each to take them home for three months,$5 billion to buy them forever." A hush fell over the crowd as the numbers were announced.

The figures caused an uproar among the attendees, who began shouting out bids and offers in a frenzy of excitement.

Amidst the chaos, one voice rang out above the rest. It was smug and high-pitched, a voice I knew all to well.

"$5 billion to buy them all," the voice declared, the words dripping with arrogance.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to the source of the bid. A wave of shock and disbelief washed over the crowd, as this unexpected offer seemed to defy all reason.

Park Ji-Soo.

Her father, Mr. Park one of my business investors, is honestly one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. I mean, the man would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it.

But when it comes to Ji-Soo, he just can't say no. She's got him wrapped around her little finger, that's for sure. It's like she knows exactly how to manipulate him into giving her whatever she wants. And let me tell you, she's not afraid to use those tactics.

I've seen her throw tantrums that would put a toddler to shame. It's kind of impressive, in a twisted way. But at the end of the day, she's still daddy's little girl, and he'll do anything to keep her happy. It's quite the dynamic they have going on.

The tension was palpable as silence fell upon the crowd. I couldn't stand by and watch as those innocent hybrids faced a grim fate in the clutches of such a despicable character like Ji-Soo.

The very thought of her twisted intentions made my blood boil. It was clear that she viewed these creatures as nothing more than objects to satisfy her dark desires.

Determined to prevent this travesty, I knew I had to act.

I watched as the auctioneer processed the bid, his expression a mix of surprise and calculation.

The room was tense with anticipation, the air thick with the weight of the moment. It seemed as though the entire fate of the pack hybrids hung in the balance, their futures uncertain.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as I watched the drama unfold. The stakes were high, and the outcome of this bidding war would have far-reaching consequences.

In that moment, I knew that I was about to be drawn into a world of intrigue and suspense unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

"Anyone bold enough to beat Ms. Park? No one? Okay sol-"

"$50 billion dollars" I announced coolly, my expression passive.

Shocking everyone present, but to me, no price was too high to protect these precious beings from exploitation and cruelty.

"S-s-sold to Ms. Valentino" He closed of the bidding equally stunned.

As the auctioneer announced my winning bid, I felt a mix of relief and sadness. The onlookers' reactions of disbelief only fueled my conviction that these hybrids deserved more than to be mere objects of desire. They were living beings, deserving of respect and protection.

As I stood up from my seat in the dimly lit hall, a heavy cloak of mental exhaustion settled over me.

The weight of the night's traumatic events clung to me like a second skin, weighing me down with every step I took towards the exit. The eyes of the onlookers bore into my back like fiery beams, their incredulous stares adding to the heaviness I already carried.

Halfway to my suite, a piercing, high-pitched voice sliced through the thick air, calling my name with a grating insistence that grated on my frayed nerves.

"Heaven," she practically screeched, the sound reverberating off the walls.

Resignation washed over me as I paused, steeling myself for yet another unwelcome interaction. With a weary sigh, I turned around to face her, forcing a smile onto my face despite the exhaustion that clung to me like a shroud.

"Yes?" I replied, my voice tinged with forced politeness.

"Uhm, hey, I wanted to talk to you about something," she began, her tone falsely sweet and grating on my frayed nerves.

I could feel the exhaustion seeping deeper into my bones as I braced myself for what I knew would be a tiresome conversation.

The weight of the day's events pressed down on me, every word uttered by her feeling like another burden to bear.

"Whatever it is, it better be quick. I'm tired and eager to rest," I interjected, my patience wearing thin as I anticipated the inevitable direction this conversation would take.

The desire to escape to the solace of my suite grew stronger with each passing moment, the need for respite from the day's trials becoming an almost physical ache.

Ji-Soo's facade of politeness had vanished, revealing a more aggressive side to her character.

"Alright then. Those hybrids are mine, you can't just swoop in and take them away!"

She seemed determined to claim ownership over the hybrids, despite the fact that there was no evidence to support her claim.

In response to her bold accusations, I remained firm and resolute, unwilling to entertain her baseless demands.

"I bought them fair and square. Go find someone else to bother" I flicked my hand in dismissal.

"I'll pay you any amount for the hybrids" she said, sounding crazed.

It was clear that she believed money could solve all problems, regardless of the legitimacy of her claim.

The mere suggestion that I would be swayed by financial compensation was both insulting and absurd, highlighting her lack of understanding of the situation.

"Do you honestly think you could pay me more than I had offered. Please, with that pesky amount you offered do you really think it can be compared to the amount I bid on?" I asked her, almost laughing in her face.

"Heaven Valentino. Give me those hybrids if you don't want problems" she threatened.

It became apparent that the Ji-Soo had either mustered the balls to confront me or was simply oblivious to the reality of the situation.

Despite her boldness, it was clear that the girl was misguided in her belief that she could simply take what she wanted.

The hybrids were not hers to claim, and I was not about to relinquish them without a fight.

"I'm sorry, did you just threaten me? Are you sure you want to go down that road?" My voice was low and filled with malice and the utter insulation that came out of her mouth.

"I can give you more money, an amount I can guarantee you can last you a lifetime even in the after life. You of all people should know exactly what I'm capable of, and should know your place. I'm not one of your little followers that you can just coerce into doing your bidding. I can make you disappear off the face of this earth with just a snap of my finger. Tsk." I felt waves of anger roll off as I told her off.

Realization seemed to kick as her daring expression faltered.

I held more power and influence than she seemed to grasp, and I wasn't afraid to assert that authority if necessary.

Reminding her of the vast resources at my disposal, I emphasized the stark contrast between our respective positions.

In closing, I left Ji-Soo with a stark reminder of the vast divide between us, both in terms of resources and resolve.

I refused to be swayed by her attempts at intimidation, standing firm in my conviction and prepared to safeguard my interests against any who sought to challenge them.

"Go home, stop wasting daddy's money and be a good daughter for once and do something practical with your life"

with that I turned away from her and left her standing there slightly terrified and annoyed.

Bitch.

As I swiftly approached my room, a myriad of emotions rushed through me - confusion, fear, and a hint of curiosity. The sight that greeted me was nothing short of surreal and unnerving. Seven striking hybrids, their submissive poses causing a mix of shock and discomfort to ripple through me.

Their nakedness and vulnerability heightened the intensity of the moment, making it all the more challenging to navigate. A part of me wanted to offer them some form of comfort or assistance, while another part grappled with the ethical implications of such a gesture.

The intricate dance of politeness and propriety played out in my mind as I struggled to find the right course of action. Should I acknowledge them with a greeting, or prioritize their need for clothing and modesty? The internal debate rendered me momentarily paralyzed, my expression a reflection of the internal turmoil brewing within me.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't ignore the undeniable physical allure of the hybrids. Their sculpted bodies and striking features stirred a mix of admiration and guilt within me, a reminder of the need to maintain professionalism and respect in the face of such temptation.

Drawing a shaky breath, I braced myself for the unnerving task ahead. The weight of the unspoken tension in the room pressed down on me as I steeled myself to take the next step.

A voice laced with uncertainty, I mustered the courage to address the hybrids, hoping to navigate this challenging encounter with grace and composure.

"Uh, hello?"

As I awaited their response, my mind raced with questions and uncertainties. Each passing moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, heightening the tension in the room.

Despite my internal turmoil, I had to maintain a facade of composure, hoping to mask the torrent of emotions swirling inside me.

With a steady voice, I mustered the courage to break the silence that hung between us.

"My name is Heaven Valentino," I introduced myself, the words flowing out with a sense of resolve that I didn't know I possessed.

"Would you please tell me your names?" I asked softly.

As I stood there, waiting for their reply, a whirlwind of emotions churned within me. The tension is thick in the air. Panic settled in as I searched their expressions for a clue.

The tiger's voice broke through my thoughts, stuttering with hesitation.

"You can call us whatever you want, master," He said, his voice low and submissive.

"It would be better to call you by your names" I said again, and I could see them visibly shaking.

"A-are you sure m-master?" The tiger spoke again, what seemed like fear laced his tone.

Taking a deep breath, I responded to the tiger's question with conviction. I need to show them that I mean no harm, that my only intention is to connect with them on a basic level.

"I promise I won't do anything to you, I just want to know what your names are, that's all," I said, a hint of vulnerability in my voice.

The hybrids exchanged glances, their posture relaxing slightly.

I waited with bated breath, hoping my words had struck a chord with them.

The tiger spoke again, "My name is Taehyung, I'm a white tiger, Yoongi, the white jaguar, Hoseok, the snow leopard, Jungkook, the black panther, Seokjin, the white lion, Namjoon, the black alpha wolf, and lastly Jimin…"

Huh?

As Taehyung trailed off, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.

Why did he stop? Is there something I'm missing here?

"Why did you stop?" I asked, trying to understand what was happening.

Taehyung seemed to be really scared, I could see fear in his eyes and his body was trembling slightly. It was like he was having a panic attack. I had to do something to help him calm down.

"Hey, calm down, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," I said softly, trying to reassure him.

I slowly moved closer to him and gently placed a comforting hand on his head. He flinched violently at first, making the others tense up, ready to defend.

I kept stroking his head gently, trying to soothe him. Gradually, his breathing started to slow down and his body relaxed. He even moved closer to me. His hair was surprisingly soft.

As I watched the adorable reaction of the large kitty to ear scratches, I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.

He seemed to be in pure bliss as he indulged in the pets, reveling in the sensation of being pampered.

My heart swelled with affection for the Hybrid, marveling at how something so simple could bring such joy.

When I attempted to pull my hand away, he quickly grabbed my wrist, silently pleading for more attention.

Unable to resist the cute gesture, I obliged and resumed the ear scratches, making sure to adjust the pressure to his liking.

The satisfaction on his face was evident as he reached a state of pure contentment, lost in the moment of pure bliss.

"Don't worry, I promise to give you pets later, okay sweetie?" He nodded with a slight pout and I silently cooed at the sight.

"Okay. You ended on Jimin. I know he's an albino cobra, but why did you stop?" I questioned, genuinely befuddled by the situation.

During the event when the hybrids were been introduced, staff members handed out information brochures on what breed the hybrids were and how we were supposed to go about their animal side if adopted.

It didn't really surprise me when I had come across Jimin's profile his anomalous unworldly beauty evident to his animal counterpart.

Just then, a timid and delicate voice spoke up.

"You're not scared?" it quivered, almost barely audible against the backdrop of silence.

It was Jimin, the Cobra hybrid, talking.

I couldn't help but notice the unexpected softness in his voice. It wasn't deep and intimidating, nor was it squeaky and annoying.

It had this charming quality to it, like a lullaby that could soothe you into a peaceful slumber.

In that instant, as I looked into his eyes that seemed to hold a world of innocence within them, he appeared almost heavenly, pure and untouched by the chaos of the world. How could anyone want to harm such a gentle spirit?

"Scared of what?" I responded, genuinely puzzled by his question.

"Huh, you're not afraid of me? I-I'm a s-snake, you know? Most people tend to freak out around me," he stammered, his words barely audible had I not been standing so close to him.

"Sweetie, of course not," I reassured him with a warm smile, causing him to look at me in utter surprise, as the others trailed behind him, observing the unexpected exchange of kindness in a normally hostile environment.

In that moment, as I gazed upon their stunned faces, I couldn't help but wonder – was it the fearless determination in my words that took them aback, or was it the genuine care and protectiveness that shone through? I needed them to understand, to realize their worth and stand tall in their own right.

So, I laid it out for them plain and simple. Promising to shield them from harm, to never let anyone mistreat them while I was around. They had to hold their heads high, never giving in to disrespect. Mutual respect was key, showing strength and solidarity against any who sought to undermine them.

I urged them to speak up, to assert their voices and claim their autonomy. Their lives, their choices – no one had the right to strip them of that, not even me. They deserved better, I knew it with every fiber of my being. And I vowed to do everything in my power to make sure they received it.

I gazed at the group before me, my expression grave yet full of determination. The air was filled with tension, anticipation hanging heavy over the room.

It was crucial for me to make myself clear on the rules moving forward. My voice resonated through the space, each word enunciated with precision, ensuring no room for misinterpretation.

"And also, under no circumstances should you refer to me or any other person as master. You will address them and me with our names, understood?" My tone was firm, a command not to be challenged.

It was a direct challenge to the oppressive societal norms that had long plagued them all.

I want them to understand that they were no longer bound by the chains of conditioning or the absurd rules that certain humans had imposed upon them.

I want to ensure that they never fall prey to the manipulative clutches of another human again.

They deserve to move freely, to act on their own accord without having to seek permission or validation. In this moment, I made it clear that their lives belonged to them, and no one had the right to strip away their autonomy, certainly not on my watch.

If there was one thing I, Heaven Valentino, stood for, it was freedom.

3rd Person's POV

The name itself carried weight, symbolizing a rebellion against the conventional power dynamics that sought to oppress them.

By rejecting the title of 'master,' Heaven was empowering them to embrace their individuality and stand tall as equals, united in their collective struggle for liberation.

The room fell silent as Heaven's words lingered in the air, a palpable shift in the atmosphere signaling a new chapter for them all.

It was a risky move, challenging the status quo, but Heaven knew it was necessary for their survival.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Hey hey, it's the author extraordinaire popping in!

I poured my heart and soul into crafting this story, aiming to strike a balance between clarity and a dash of mystery to keep you hooked.

We're just scratching the surface here, with a rollercoaster of thrilling events awaiting the boys and Heavens. Brace yourself for a whirlwind of changes, with peaks of joy and valleys of despair.

Your feedback is like gold to me, so don't hold back!

I hope this chapter gave you a cozy little reading nook to escape to, dear readers! Your unending support keeps the energy in my fingers to write this😉. Cheers to more adventures together!

Yours in creativity,

Your most adored author-nim.

TAGLIST OPEN!

TAGLIST: @strxwbloody

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imagine--if · 1 year

Note

Hi may i ask for a niragi dating headcannons? Thank you (^-^)

Btw, I love your work

A/N: Thank you so much ☺️ I’ve been wanting to write for you all sooner, but my laptop charger decided to stop working, so I’ve been a little restricted with working and basically did this on a different computer because it’s literally impossible for me to type everything on my tiny phone screen 💀 Anyways, enjoy!! Requests are closed now but I’ll be able to answer every one that’s come in for you in the meantime 🤍

Warnings: Mentions of suggestive stuff (hickeys ☺️) and violence… is Niragi a whole warning himself lol

Quick note: These headcanons are personalised slightly since I absolutely hate how he acts with Usagi (you know what I mean 😐) so let’s say he’s more of a decent person than how he’s portrayed in some scenes 😅♥️

🖤 Dating Niragi Includes… 🖤

🤍• Aaaaghhhh it’s the strutting bully in black and white who is almost as crazy possessive with you as Banda would be 😵‍💫 have fun, because once he notices that you didn’t shy away in disgust from his bold flirtatious advances and returned his attention back at the Beach, take him, boy’s yours 😂

🤍• These headcanons are typically set in Season 2, but before the fire and Niragi’s presumed death when it all burned down, with time and privacy, you somehow found the soft side of the victim-turned-bully who desperately wants you to believe that he’s a powerful, intimidating bad boy.

🤍• Jealous jealous jealous 💀 especially with Chishiya; if the smug blonde looks at you for a moment too long with that raised brow and observant eyes? He gets Niragi’s rifle shoved into his face with a barrel of insults and threats. Because deep down, he’s still vulnerable and doesn’t want anyone turning your head or seeing that he’s not done fearless trigger happy guy, he’s just Niragi.

🤍• And if you end up telling him when you’re alone that you only want Niragi, he has to a take a second to not cry. 🥲 Still, when it’s not just you two together where he lets his walls come down, he’ll persist on showing off by declaring how he dedicates his wins in games to you or something. All the survivors nod in confirmation with wide eyes at you when you question it in amusement.

🤍• He’s not one at all to back down from PDA, since subtlety is not Niragi’s strong suit, but if you’re not comfortable with him leaving massive hickeys for the world to see and his tongue down you’re throat in wide open public… yeah, okay, a roll of his eyes but he’ll tone it down and keep an arm slung around your shoulder.

🤍• He likes you playing around with his rifle, which is a wonder, since anyone else who gets too close to it has it snatched away and pointed right in their face 😅 but Niragi’s surprisingly quiet when it’s just you two in your room, him sitting behind you and playing thoughtfully with your hair, or guiding your hands absentmindedly, while you look over the weapon’s triggers and material. Occasionally his head drops in the crook of your neck with a tired pout and he gets fed up of your attention being on it instead of him, which could lead to… well, him having your full attention 😉

🤍• But after the Beach burns down and Niragi’s presumed dead, it leaves you to stick with Arisu and his group while you stay quieter than usual, watching the colours of lovebites fade from your skin over the days and your mind drifting to the cocky bastard who you’ve seen cling to you at night, neither of you saying a word about it but just letting it happen. Being the only comfort to each other, the only person in possibly years that Niragi’s let, in or even loved.

🤍• So when you see him at that evaporation game, or threatening Chishiya and Arisu with his gun, it’s a wave of relief and tears that makes him forget what he’s doing and hold onto you like he’d never let go again 🥹 he keeps saying he’s sorry, over and over, cradling you so tight you have to tell him that you can’t breathe

🤍• However, because of what happened at the Beach, he’s now terrified all over again about you hating him because of the burns on his face, so when you assure him that you don’t care and that you’re only glad he’s still alive, he’ll get that urge to break down and cry again 🥺

🤍• He’s still as arrogant and headstrong as he was before in games and with people, but a little weaker. You’re basically his nurse, cus the dude spits blood 😶 and him being him teases about that, but really, he wants to make sure he’s strong enough to carry on and get you both safe back in the real world, where he can look out for you instead of the other way around, and be a proper kind of couple

🤍• Niragi is increasingly protective now too, since he already lost you once. There’s no way he’ll let it happen again, and it’s hard to convince him to let you do things in games without him doing it all for you with you behind him. He means well, obviously, but it can be a bit overbearing sometimes 😅

🤍• All in all, once Niragi’s in love, he’s in love, and he won’t let you go. He’s actually a really great, passionate lover, all violent cray-cray traits aside - they’re never directed at you anyway, never - and there won’t be a day that goes by where you can’t tell.

🤍• I might have to write an imagine about this now 🥹 gotta love Niragi 💕

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mikhailwrites · 3 months

Text

Waiting for Connection 14 / Ghost x Soap

Ghost is retired and plays milsim videogame. Soap is still in the force and sometimes plays that same videogame...

Previous chapter | AO3

Ghost thanks Gaz and bids him good night before he rejoins the main voice channel. As expected, a rather wild discussion is underway. Clearly, the jury is out about whether or not they should’ve split.

“It was a sound idea, threw me off,” Ghost voices his opinion and announces himself at the same time. There’s a brief moment of silence.

“But it didn’t work in the end,” Roach quips, sounding a little bitter. Not overly so, thankfully, it’s just a game, after all. They all know the difference, intimately so.

“You got way closer to the extraction than I thought you would. I assume you wanted to either flush us out or create a diversion?”

“Yes to both, actually,” Alejandro says, “Soap thought that you will expect us sticking together or at the very least split into two pairs, covering each other. We were hoping to gain some upper hand. But I guess we underestimated your friend. Is he joining?”

“No, he’s… a very private person. But he enjoyed the game so I can extend his thanks. Told me that whoever he managed to jump in the lower part of the base was pretty solid. He was lucky to win that one.”

“That was me,” Roach replies, “I had a clumsy aim, it was a deserved death.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna walk all over me next time. You know the layout of the base and the terrain now, and the help I’ve got was a one-time thing.”

“But that wouldn’t really be a fair fight,” Rudy remarks.

At that moment, Ghost realises something. “Where’s Johnny?”

“Had to go, said he wasn’t feeling too good,” Roach explains.

“Ah, I see. Alright, I think I’ll call it a night as well. It was a good game, I’m looking forward to a rematch.”

“Yeah, sure, we’re gonna kick your ass, cabron,” Alejandro laughs.

Simon turns off the PC, puts the headset on a stand and reaches for his phone. He debates with himself for a little before he opens a new text message and types, “Thanks for the game; you were good. Hope you will feel better in the morning. S.” He hits the Send button without thinking too long about it. Otherwise, he would probably change his mind.

Soap’s phone buzzes on the nightstand just as its owner returns from the shower. Soap’s eyebrow quirks up momentarily as he sits on the bed and looks who’s messaging him so late; not many people have his number, and a substantial portion of them wouldn’t bother him at this hour unless it were urgent.

Flicking the lock screen away, he’s surprised to see the message is from Ghost. It’s short but considerate. A little sweet, really. Truth be told, Soap’s only has a minor headache, nothing that would warrant his quick retreat from the game. The real reason why he disconnected was this bitterness that swallowed him whole. Ghost has been ignoring him ever since John left Manchester, and then he shows up with this entirely impossible scenario and some unknown friend to boot? John is not jealous; that was probably the first thing he ruled out. He’s not a jealous man and never has been. But he is confused, and that confusion leads to frustration.

“Just a headache. Thanks for the game, it was interesting,” John types and sends the reply. He knows he could’ve ignored it and could pretend he was already asleep.

And since his phone starts to ring in the next second, he’s sorry he actually did reply. Well, no way around it now. With a sigh, he takes the call.

“Ghost,” John says in a way of greeting while he sheds the towel around his waist and gets in the bed.

“Johnny… how are you?” the deep timbre of Simon’s voice is pleasant. Soothing, almost.

John frowns, remembering he forgot to open the window a bit to let some fresh air in. “Fine. Tired, have a headache, nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.”

Simon hums in contemplation, Soap uses the break to get from the bed and open the window. The moment he does, cold air hits him hard. He’s still a bit damp on the back. A low hiss catches Simon’s attention. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Aye, ‘s just bloody cold outside. My balls almost froze the moment I opened the window,” John admits.

Simon chuckles into the phone, and John pauses. He sounds different than in the game. It makes sense, of course; a phone call has a different quality to it. “Do you build a blanket nest on the base as you did at my place?” There’s a hint of teasing lightness to his voice.

“I might, got a problem with it?” John challenges, but there’s no bite.

“Why should I? It’s just…,” Simon trails off, as if unsure how he wanted to finish the sentence.

“Aye?” John presses on, seeking the warmth of his blanket once more. It’s nice to be snuggled in bed with Simon in his ear. Suddenly, all the bitterness and frustration from earlier simply fizzles off. He never had any real reason to be angry, anyway. It’s not like Simon owed him anything, and he didn’t ghost (or Ghost?) him, either. Every time John asked, Simon simply politely declined, never left him hanging.

“It’s a little unusual,” Simon finally finishes the sentence from earlier.

Now it’s Soap’s turn to chuckle. “I bet you’ve seen a ton of weirder shit when you served.”

“I did, but I always appreciated a nice quirk. So long as it wasn’t dangerous.”

“The opposite, actually. It’s a camouflage technique, really handy behind enemy lines,” Soap says, pretending to be dead serious. In moments like this, he feels like he’s known Simon for years: the banter, easy conversations, jokes.

“Right. I guess the field manual changed since I got out,” Simon plays along immaculately.

“Nah, it didn’t; this is our very own Scottish thing; you wouldnae ken about it.”

“That explains it. Speaking of, I was meaning to ask… why SAS?” That’s a good question. Usually, people assume it’s just a prestige thing. However, someone who’s ex-SAS would know better.

“Didnae wanna be a cog in the regular army, knew I had what it takes to make the selection, and I wanted to do shit that actually matters,” John answers truthfully. Only a handful of people know his reasons; the rest got the usual bullshit of serving the country and being the best. “Why did you do it?”

There’s a moment of silence. John actually expects an outright refusal, but he’s at an advantage: Ghost asked him first and got the truth. It would be a dick move to bail now. “I was never a great team player,” Ghost starts and pauses, thinking about what he’s just said before continuing. “Well, that’s not exactly true… I was never a great babysitter. I worked best alone and I was so good at it, that my CO had no choice but to ship me out to the selection. Told me it’s the best he can do for me and that I would thank him later.”

“Did you?”

“I did. Eventually. I didn’t enlist because of some ideals, I joined because I had nowhere else to go, never aimed to prove something to some wankers I’ve never seen.”

“Did you ever regret it? Enlisting, I mean.”

“No. Never. I’m not really religious, but I guess it was my calling. Something I was meant to do. Otherwise, I couldn’t have been so damn efficient at it. It all came easy to me. Not all, but things that mattered. Stuff that helped me survive and complete my missions.”

Soap stays silent, feeling Simon’s words sink under his skin, heavy and tinged with darkness. Before he can think of anything to say to that, Simon continues. “Sorry, that turned a bit dark I guess. We should probably hit the bed, especially you, Sergeant.”

“I can handle an early start and shitty sleep, Ghost, don’t you worry,”

“Yeah, but I can’t. Remember, I’m an old man now,” Simon’s voice carries a lightness of smile.

“I see. Well then, out of respect to my elders, I’ll let you go then. Good night, Si,” John uses the nickname. He’s been very careful with it so far, unsure if Simon likes it or not.

“Good night, Johnny,” Simon repays him in kind.

I tried Ghost Recon Breakpoint since I dropped it soon after it released. Ubisoft actually kinda fixed it! I still like Wildlands more, but it ain't bad. Created a totally-not-OG-Soap, too.

#Soap is in deep denial #And even deeper shit #Late night phone calls like high school sweethearts #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

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ltbarnes · 1 year

Text

Anachronism - Part II

Or the placing of persons, events, objects, or customs in times to which they do not belong

Summary: Sprained ankles, snowstorms, blood-thirsty wolves and feral super soldiers. What was supposed to be a peaceful walk in the woods surrounding the cabin you're staying in with your best friend Steve quickly turns devastating, forcing your path to cross with the mysterious and burly man who can't seem to grasp social cues and the concept of privacy. His past is a puzzle that can't seem to be solved and your feelings for the sweet and giant man quickly develop from friendly gratitude to something neither of you can't quite grasp.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: a little bit of nudity and some sinful thoughts, bears!!, manhandling, Steve panicking and Bucky being the sweetest

A/N: I made it!! Never thought I would be able to finish part 2 in time but it’s done!! The love on the first part has been amazing and please give me any and all thoughts on this part <3 I love talking with you!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

You had been gone for six hours by the time a barely functional Steve ventured out to search for you a second time.

15 minutes. That's how long you said you would be out, and Steve started glancing out of the window for you already after 13 to see if you were back.

And he tried to go out and search just half an hour after you left, but even for a super soldier a harsh snowstorm like this one is impossible to navigate in. His phone service was not working and contacting the compound was futile—they can't do anything as long as the weather is this bad.

He's fucking panicking. You're probably out here freezing to death if you already haven't. Leaving you to die like that is no option. For twenty hazy minutes Steve gathered anything that might be needed if he finds you half-alive in some ditch—warm water bottle, blanket, food, tracking device if Sam or Nat or anyone in the team feels like helping him some time.

Steve knew he shouldn't have let you go. He felt it this morning when he watched you walk out of the door with those ridiculously large mittens and the puffer jacket that could soften a fall from fifty feet high. But god, he can't say no to you even though he persisted for more than an hour in your argument. A flutter with those eyes of yours and he folds quicker than he can take another breath.

He's Captain America—a man who survived a world war, alien attacks, robots trying to take over the world and countless fights with the world's most notorious villains. He prides himself on having integrity equally strong as his vibranium shield and morals practically written in stone. Steve Rogers is an unmovable man and still he just throws away all logic and sense out of the window as long as you have a smile on your face.

His chest is heaving, out of breath. It doesn't happen a lot anymore now that his days of being an asthmatic, 90-pound sick man are long past him. You manage to make his goddamn body malfunction in a different way each time he meets you—today just happened to be the worst he's ever experienced. If you died like this while he sat inside looking over fucking sketches over the compound grounds he's not going to be able to live with himself much longer.

For so many years he's been able to keep you out of situations too dangerous for your own good. It's hard sometimes when you prance out in traffic without looking both ways or take shortcuts through alleyways on the way home from work in the middle of the night, but Steve's still been able to keep you safe. He has been there each time.

God, you fucking infuriate him. Sometimes he wants to throw you over his shoulder and lock you inside some closet where you can't get up to any trouble. Trying to negotiate your way out of being shot by a madman robber by offering him fucking cookies? Yeah, Steve was furious that day, but he adores you for it. Don't get him wrong—you're not some sunshine fairy girl like that teacher with glasses and colorful dresses in the sitcom you always watch, but still you offered a man with a gun to your head cookies. You barely even bake.

Honestly, Steve was annoyed by you for a whole two years before you slithered your way into his traumatized and lost heart. The 21st century is a labyrinth of parasocial relationships, too advanced technology and so much suffering existing along the endless progress that's been made since the 40's.

It all was just too much for him for a good while, and his range of emotions kind of just shut down. Work was all he had and the closest thing to a friend was Natasha, who he did not know at all at the time. Tony was a goddamn asshole and Fury was too vague and Steve was missing Bucky, Peggy and the Howlies so much that all woken time was either spent on grieving or fighting.

You were the first close friend he made in this century. One who he could spend entire nights talking to, and took him out on midnight pizza runs and showed him what the hell streaming was. A friend who showed him that things are better now in many ways.

But he knows now why Bucky was so goddamn irritated at him all the time—you aren't even throwing yourself into fights like he did, and still do, but instead manage to be so goddamn clueless and intelligent at the same time. And he doesn't want to find you stubbing your toe on the same treshold at least once a week as amusing as he does. Or that he looks forward to Monday meetings because he gets to walk past your little office, stacked with strange romance books you can read when Tony doesn't need help in the lab or Bruce has no samples to be incubated or whatever he does.

For a long time you were the only one he missed when he was gone on missions for weeks. Now the team is as much family as his real one ever was, and he loves them too, but you're still the first person that comes to mind when he drags himself half-alive and beaten to a pulp onto the quinjet after a gruesome fight.

Mostly he likes that you don't really need him. In reality you do so wonderfully fine by yourself, without anyone, and Steve loves your independence. He just seemingly likes worrying and fuzzing like a mother hen because he can. Because you let him.

You do stupid things sometimes and for those situations you really do need someone to either pull you away from the moving car heading towards you or scold you for being reckless, but you could live on a reclusive island entirely alone and wouldn't mind in the least. Maybe it's because Steve always wanted that quiet life—settling down in a house he built himself with a person he loves somewhere people won't bother him.

The snow is goddamn insatiable with working against him as he tries to find his way just a few feet away from the cabin. But he's been through worse and Steve would gladly cut off all his limbs and bathe in scolding lava to find you alive.

To hell with snowstorms and duties and work—he's going to find his best girl even if it makes a 100-year old super soldier hypothermic.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your bladder is about to fucking burst.

For what must have been half an hour you've been laying awake to the sound of Winter's breathing, contemplating wether to go outside and potentially wake him up or just die.

But he's holding onto you so tightly, squeezing you to his chest with his nose buried in the crook of your neck, that you contemplate just holding it until he wakes. You feel like a stuffed animal he can't fall asleep without, the way Winter has tangled himself up in your limbs.

It makes you realize that you haven't felt closeness from a human like this in years. Maybe ever. You've never seen yourself as touch-starved but receiving such affection without any conditions or terms triggered some epiphany inside of you—you want to be held.

But ultimately, despite how heartbreaking it is, you are not willing to lay your life and dignity down for his and your own comfort in this moment.

The first movements of your newly awoken body generate cracking sounds that are a little too loud to not be concerned about. Good morning.

Somehow, in a manner you did not know you possessed, you slide out from his hold down onto the cold wooden floor without waking him up. You would've guessed he was a light sleeper.

A soft, breathy whine escapes his lips. You have to silence yourself with the palm of your hand to not laugh. Also desperately hoping that it's the loss of you on top of him that makes him upset in his sleep and not just the sudden lack of warmth.

His hair has been matted and tangled during the night, stray strands swept over his face, and he still he looks so good. You sit there on the floor staring at him for a good minute before you try to crawl away, struggling into your thermal pants and socks with a few silent curses slipping from your mouth.

If you're honest, you thought your foot would be fine by now. You clearly remember thinking to yourself that it would be over in five minutes when you fell. It's been a day and it's still swollen and hurting like a bitch—crawling to the door is the only way, though undignified.

You kind of miss being carried around while trying to haul yourself up to a stand with the help of the doorway. And you're also thinking about how Tony would have this picture printed and framed if he had a camera in his hand right now.

Outside it's still snowing, and the moderate layer of white, shimmering crystals covering the ground has grown to being outrageous during the night. It reaches up to your knees as you shuffle out just a short distance from the porch.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why am I doing this? Goddamn shit, ow," you whisper to yourself while trying to go about this in a dignified way that won't permanently disable you. "Ah. So cold. So cold."

And you're so hungry and tired and also might cry soon if things don't get better. Have you always been this sensitive? It feels like you're not. Circumstancial changes to your personality, hopefully.

Three days ago you were playing chess against Bruce in his lab while waiting for an analysis to process—that was, up until then, the most aggravating and complicated quest you had ever taken upon yourself (mainly because you do not know how to play chess). Right now you're peeing half-naked with snow up to your knees and a sprained ankle outside of a stranger's house who is most likely some kind of supernatural man and also very handsome. Is it weird that you're attracted to him?

Despite the rugged lumberjack-Tarzan type sleeping twenty feet away, you have a hard time seeing the silver lining in your misery. You're stuck and probably proclaimed dead. If you were a more positive person this could be counted as adventure time and great storytelling-material in the future—autobiography material, really. New York Times Bestseller List if you write it good.

But you're scared. You don't really know where you are and Steve might be out there looking for you. Yes, he is a super soldier, but it's not safe wading through a snowstorm without proper gear and knowledge. Steve can get cold too, despite how much he denies the slight shivers you've seen him develop during freezing walks in the winter. God knows he might wander off in the wrong direction and give himself hypothermia. Also a panic attack because this has to give him flashbacks to his time in the ice, right? Nightmares about being frozen solid like a popsicle?

By the time your teeth has since long started chattering, and you struggle to get up the zipper of your pants with your stiff fingers, a rustle in the trees surrounding the grounds forces you out of your daytime overthinking. The goosebumps on your skin instantly escalate to tiny mountains as you look around frantically for whatever threat is about to devour you.

Black fur emerges from between the branches, accompanied by a bark-like sound bordering on a happy chirp. You have to steady yourself to not fall over from shock as a bear cub wades through the snow, fuzzing up the powdery flakes as its dark coating slowly turns white from the steady snowfall.

Tears are dangerously close to being shed as you crouch down with your mouth agape. That was the last drop. A bear cub? Seriously? Sorting your thoughts through the big, blinking 'that is the cutest thing I have ever witnessed' is absolutely hindered by the fact that the bear is the cutest thing you have ever witnessed.

"Hi, baby," you say through a chuckle, stretching your hand out despite knowing that the bear could very well kill you. Because bear cubs are still dangerous, right? No?

It must be quite a few months old, if not a year, but the urge to hug it overpowers the underlying carefulness telling you to step away. Why did you ever think you had useful survival skills? A walking teddy bear comes into your sight and you abandon any reason.

The bear is hesitant as it catches sight of your figure, but it seems like the curiosity is stronger for it too. Slowly, and a bit clumsy, the cub makes its way through the deep snow until the wet nose nearly touches your fingers.

"Oh, you're so cute," you whisper with a blinding smile breaking through the chattering. "Where's your mother, huh? Have you gotten lost?"

It feels like maybe the soul of a tame cat has possessed this little bear as it latches on to your leg, paws embracing you with its nose snuggling into the stiff fabric. A shocked laugh escapes your lips as you gaze down at your new favorite being, possibly triumphing both Steve and Winter. Maybe it's too soon to decide wether or not Winter gets a place in your favorites category, but this one certainly does.

A shriek sounds through the air as your balance, which was compromised to begin with, falters and sends you to the ground with an especially hard nudge from the bear. Newly fallen snow wells up into the air as you hit the cold and soft layer with a thud, giggling like a little school girl as the bear releases a happy chirp.

"You want to play?" you ask, reaching your arms out while completely forgetting to be freezing cold like you should be. You didn't really have time to put on a jacket on top of your Henley before.

The bear pushes up snow with its nose, sending flakes into your face as if it splashes water jokingly. You throw some back, earning a shake of its fur to rid itself of the white formations.

But the door to the cabin is thrown open harshly, smashed against the wall, before you have any more time to resume your playtime. Winter barges out with his large and threatening build so tense that you fear he might pull a muscle. His eyes flicker over the scene, searching for your figure until he finds you half-buried in the deep snow with a bear hovering over you.

The panic is instant—you see it clearly from where you're craning your neck to catch sight of the sudden commotion. He's not wearing any shoes, but he runs out into the snow without hesitation anyways.

A growl sounds from his chest, puffing himself up to appear more threatening. For the first time you see the power he possesses—the real underlying danger inside of the man who has been so sweet to you these past 24 hours. But you're still not afraid of him.

"Wint—"

You begin calling out his name, try to explain that the bear wants you no harm, but the attempt is futile. Winter is fast, and before you can even say the whole of his name he has dragged you up from the ground with one arm while the bear fearfully runs away.

His hold is too tight for you to get a word out as he hastily brings you inside again, smashing the door shut and setting you down on the floor. This time he's careful of your foot, letting you hover just a few inches above the ground before slowly easing you down as to not lay any unnecessary weight on your ankle.

Winter's hands instantly find your face, eyes roaming over your body with frantic desperation.

"You—no hurt? Okay? Good?" he asks, tilting your chin up while inspecting the small patch of exposed skin on your neck.

His breathing is heavy. And you can understand what it looked like—he must've thought you were being mauled to death. Even though the bear was far from full grown they could still be dangerous, you think.

"I'm okay." You can't help but smile, despite it being a small one. "The bear just wanted to play. It was a really kind bear."

Winter furrows his brows into a frown, letting his gaze wander up to your face. A few seconds pass of him inspecting your expression, as if he's assessing wether or not you're sincere, before he lets out sigh.

A small pout grows on his face, drawing a giggle from your lips. He's cute like this.

"You were gone...so scared. Then I heard scream and saw bear," he tells you while shaking his head, tilted down towards the floor.

The smile on your face eases out into a sigh, hand instantly finding his forearm with a soft touch. "I'm sorry, Winter. I didn't want to wake you up and I had to pee. The bear just came out from between the trees and came up to me."

"But—no hurt?" he asks you once more.

You shake your head. "No. I'm completely fine. Just a little cold."

Winter lets out a puff of air from his nose. "Always so cold. All the time," he says, taking a step back from you to drag a chair out in front of you, before turning towards the fireplace.

"I am not. It just happens to be freezing outside and this cabin does not have any heat," you protest while sitting yourself down.

You watch as he reaches for the chopped wood stacked upon each other right beside the fireplace, throwing in a few more to feed the fire.

It crackles loudly, hypnotizing you for a few seconds before you start to feel the wet fabric clinging onto your skin.

"Do you have any other clothes?" you ask, arms encompassing yourself. "This shirt is all wet and cold from the snow."

Without any hesitation, he plucks his wine-red shirt off his back to reveal a tight, black long sleeve underneath. His right arm reaches the shirt out to you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze.

On a continuous roll, Winter has shown you kindness upon kindness ever since you woke up. It's all too much and you don't really know how to repay him. He's taken care of you so well, protected you and fed you and kept you warm and now given you his clothes. He barely even knows you.

With slight hesitance, you turn to the side and cling onto the hem of your shirt. You have to remind yourself that Winter probably won't mind if he sees you half-naked. He's already seen the bottom half of you in just underwear without having any significant reaction, so it'll be fine if he sees you in a bra too.

The collar gets stuck for a few seconds, and you struggle to get your head free for a good while. Gracious as ever. When you're exposed to the world again, you instantly feel the intense gaze of Winter on you.

His stare is zeroed in on your chest, the dark blue lace covering your breasts leaving little to the imagination when it comes to your nipples. No, you did not expect a single soul to witness your underwear on this trip while packing. But you kind of like dressing up for yourself a little bit too.

Winter parts his pink lips, drawn closer without even blinking. You sit there, gazing up at him while forgetting to take a breath. It's okay—he's just curious about the anatomical differences rather than the sexual aspect of it. You think.

"Touch...please," Winter murmurs as he stares at your breasts nearly spilling out of your bra.

And you have to suppress the sudden giggle that wants to escape. Winter looks like a kid staring at a lollipop, like he will burst any second if he can't inspect your fucking boobs.

"Ugh, they—soft. Look soft. Pretty," he whispers.

With a giggle you nod, giving him the okay to touch. You shiver now even before, despite feeling rather calm about it.

He uses his right hand to reach out. Ever since you flinched away from him that first time he's been hesitant to use his metal one while touching you, even though you don't mind. You have to tell him that.

"Never seen before—so soft. Oh."

His genuine excitement over having his hands on you draws a chuckle from your lips until he squeezes a little too hard.

"Be gentle. It hurts when you use too much force, okay?" you tell him.

He nods in answer, focus not straying from your breasts even once. He's mesmerized—he's never felt anything this pliable and cuddly on a person. In Hydra he only met rough men, consisting of hard muscle and rough handling. The entirety of you is just so soft.

"Off. Want away."

A tug at the strap of your bra paired with a wide-eyed gaze and pupils covering the entirety of his eyes signals that he'd be much happier without the offending fabric covering you. But you're not sure. It feels like a step too far.

Your fingers clasp softly around his, pushing them away from you gently. "Not today."

"Why?" he asks you with an expression bordering on a pout.

"Because I'm not comfortable with that. Do you remember when I explained that word?"

Winter nods while lowering his head to watch his left hand as it flexes open, leaving a whirring sound after him. He looks a little bit upset about it, but doesn't pressure you any further. The truth is that you're worried he might not know what it implicates—what it might lead to. Because you sure as hell have a hard time controlling your feelings right now, and from what you've seen of Winter he doesn't have a lot of boundaries or impulse-control himself.

You put on his shirt in the silence, even though he's still looking at you. The cold temperature has made your nose runny and the only sounds in the room are now your sniffles, the crackling fire and Winter's whirring arm.

"I, uh, have to find—eat," Winter says, bringing his fingers up to his mouth while parting his lips. A soft smile cracks through your solemn exterior, relaxing into your chair.

"Food?"

"Yes. Food."

He looks down at you, eyes raking up the entirety of your figure, before reaching for a large fur that he drapes over his shoulders. You almost think you hear Winter whisper a "so small" to himself as he exits through the door, sending a gust of cold wind inside that makes you shudder.

As you follow him with your gaze through the window, he nearly looks like Leonardo in The Revenant with the rugged long hair and large fur as the snowflakes steadily rain down on him. Sam made you and Steve watch the movie a few weeks ago.

You wonder if Steve's been able to contact anyone. He definitely tried, if you know him as well as you think you do. Everyone back at the compound probably thinks you're dead by now, and might not look for you. If it weren't for Winter, you would be dead after all.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Two long and despicably boring hours drag on before you hear footsteps outside on the porch. And you can't help but stand up from where you've been sitting on the floor, limping towards the door as it's thrown open.

Winter has three fishes hanging from his hand. Slightly comical and also a little gross. There's probably some lake around here that he's been able to drill a hole into or something.

Your amused smile meets his stoic face that lights up just slightly when he sees you. Butterflies and heart eyes or what not—if he had been just a tinge more adapted to social cues he would've noticed the impact he has on you.

Winter's break in resolve quickly disappears as he realizes just what you are doing. He told you to not move a finger while your foot was still hurt.

"No. No standing," he seethes, nodding towards the tattered couch. You just give him a teasing smile in return. "Y/n. Little bunny," he sighs, laying down the fishes on his table and a handful of red berries that roll away.

"What, Winter?" you ask, trying to will the heat away from your cheeks. If you're honest, just standing like this is completely fine. It's walking that hurts like a fucking bitch.

With slow steps he nears your figure, towering over you with his massive build. You have to crane your neck to see his face, shuddering with the quiet growl sounding from his chest.

"No standing, I said. Only I carry you," he tells you, pointing his finger into your chest.

A gulp. An exhale that makes you realize how dry your mouth is all of a sudden.

"No?"

"Not listen to me. Makes me not happy—angry," Winter says. "Foot will be more bad if standing on it all the time."

Two dozens of minutes later he has obviously gotten his way. You don't think you could say no to him when he flashes those blue eyes of his without even trying.

Comfortably sitting on the couch that has been moved closer to the fire with a fur blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you watch him prepare food for the two of you once more. An old copper pan is filled with snow that has since long melted, now boiling so you can both drink some water for the first time in almost two days.

The palm of your hand is filled with cranberries that Bucky picked just for you—he told you so himself—that you've been snacking on. They're a little bit sour, but you're so hungry that you'd practically eat anything.

"Winter, can I ask you something?"

He turns his head around, facing you while laying down his knife.

"What did you do before coming here? Who were the people who called you, uh, who called you an Asset?"

A frustrated breath of air comes out of his nose, like merely the thought of his past angers him. And you begin to suspect that he has all right to feel that way.

"They made me kill. Have made many people dead with this arm."

Winter stretches it out in front of him, inspecting it like it is the first time. With disgust and a distaste so deeply ingrained that you can see his pained thoughts from here.

Within the blink of an eye he turns his attention towards the fire again, turning the fish so it doesn't get burnt. You don't say anything.

"They made me forget also. I did not want to, so then use special words and machine to make me do things." His back is tense now, the outline of his muscles distinct through the fabric of his shirt. "Hold me there for so long. Can't remember anything now from before."

The sound of a knife scraping against metal pierces through the air. It's the tip dragging against his arm, without creating as much as a dent despite the pressure.

"I do not want to hurt. Not you ever," Winter says.

The breath gets stuck in your throat, eliciting a choked, high-pitched sound as you try to find an answer worthy enough of the horrific crimes just confessed to you. All this he has been through, all the things he has done for the past two days, and he has the nerve to assure you that he means no harm.

"Winter," you whisper, barely noticeable when your throat is so thick and dry that you can barely speak. "Look at me. Please."

A sea of blue and sorrow and hatred and so much softness meets your own eyes. God, this man.

"You deserve good things. And I am not afraid of you, nor should you be of yourself. Honey, you've suffered enough. Don't let yourself be another source of pain."

Your palm comes to rest against his cheek, eyelids fluttering shut as he leans into your touch. You don't know if he understood every word, but it doesn't really matter as long as he understood the meaning behind them. And you think he does.

Winter cries. Tears, though few, leak down onto your skin as he silently grieves what life was taken from him. You don't know much about what he's lived through, but you know enough now to mourn for him too. You know enough to hold hate larger than you ever have for the people that used him.

That evil in the likes of villains on a screen exists among humanity is not new. You've heard about it in mission reports, in conversations between agents and seen it up front. Though nothing new, it hurts and aches in parts of your heart you thought were permanently disabled. Empathy has never been your strongest point but it might just break you right now.

"C'mere," you whisper while holding your arms out for him to escape into.

Winter drags himself forward to close the few feet between you, arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he buries his face into your lap.

What must be half an hour passes by with your fingers tangled up in his hair, nails gently scraping his scalp, and Winter's soft breathing warming up your legs. His own must be numb by now.

The food is long forgotten and probably burnt. You haven't really taken your eyes off of him for the entirety of this time. And despite what must be a routine lacking any sort of hair care, Winter has strands softer than a kitten's and a newfound source of jealousy for you. In these moments you don't particularly mind when your hands are the ones who get to feel his dark brown hair sift through your fingers.

But it hasn't been silent. No, you've rambled on about anything he might find interesting about your life to keep him distracted. He doesn't say anything, but you know he's listening. During things he doesn't like he squeezes your thigh, and sometimes he lets out quiet sounds as reaction.

"I love reading. I've probably read fifty books this year outside of research for work," you tell him, leaning your head back against the couch. "But not any classics, those are too hard to understand. I like simple stories with clichés and happy-endings. Makes me believe that I might find happiness like that someday too."

A particularly noticeable puff of air escapes Winter, hitting your leg with the warmth of it. An agreement, maybe? Or a silent plead for you to shut your mouth for a second?

"Oh, and I cook a lot too. But mostly the same three dishes. I'm not really that good, but I've perfected this tomato sauce I've been doing since I was 18."

You lift your hand to scratch your nose for only a second, and Winter still lets out a nearly silent whine for your absence. It makes you laugh, tugging on a few strands in answer.

"Do you want me to talk more?" you ask him.

He nods, holding onto you a little tighter.

"And is it really comfortable sitting on the floor? Don't you wanna come up to the couch?"

A shake of his head. Still. A nod.

Winter places his hands on either side of you, pushing himself up from the floor until he's standing tall right in front of your figure.

It only takes a pat of your hand on the cushion beside you for him to sit down. You push yourself into the armrest, legs crossed to your best ability with a foot that still has good swelling to it, to give him enough space. The couch is too small in reality and had its shining moments before you were born, but when Winter unfolds your legs and drapes them over his lap the two of you fit well enough.

“Thank you,” his rough voice croaks out after a silence so long you nearly forgot the meaning of speaking. The comfortable silence is always going to be good enough communication for you.

Your eyes are closed and too heavy to open again. What time it is you have no idea about, but it’s dark and you’re exhausted, but find some sliver of energy to answer him.

“What for?” you ask, soft voice on the verge of being slow.

“You are very…kind. Kind and uh, cute. Pretty.” His hand strokes up and down your leg, as if the thought of not touching you is unbearable. “Also smell so good. Want to be close all the time.”

The entirety of your body tenses up and you don’t know why. Why do your limbs turn to stone when his words burn in your veins, sends heat to your face and ears and heart that beats faster with each passing second?

You want to answer, but Winter beats you to it. Instead of expecting you to say anything in return he pets you on the head gently.

“Little bunny so tired. Already sleeping almost,” he says, more to himself than for your sake. You already know how tired you are.

The solid couch disappears from underneath you as he carries you with him to the bed. And just like last night, he maneuvers you until you’re laying flat atop of him.

A pleased hum sounds from your lips, snuggling into his warm hold with a tired smile adorning your face.

“Winter, tomorrow I would really like some pasta. A big pot that nobody else gets to taste but us,” you mumble. “Not even Steve.”

And Winter doesn’t really understand what you’re babbling about, but you can feel his smile despite your eyes being closed.

You could get used to this, and you haven’t felt like a life without Steve constantly nearby is something you could ever be without before. Two days and nights is all it took.

It scares you.

Part III

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes smut #beefy!bucky #anachronism

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violetsaffron5 · 1 year

Text

Beautiful Disaster (3)

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↳ 3 | Red Flag

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

settling into life at Tokyo Tech and learning more about Gojo

words: 3.6k

an: Gojo's out here thinkin' he's on The Bachelor

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Life goes on like normal after that. As normal as it seemingly can be being a transfer student and learning your way around campus and to classes.

Your mother tried calling a few times, and you still haven’t answered any of them, opting to just reply via text simply stating “I’m alive.” There’s nothing in the world that would bring you to willingly answer her calls or call her for any reason, life or death.

Not after what she did.

But you don’t let yourself dwell on it. The only time you’ll really need to deal with her is when you go home for school breaks, and once you graduate and are on your own, you really won’t have to ever deal with her hot and cold personality ever again.

And it’ll feel so good having that weight lifted off your shoulders.

Aside from that, the week has been a little boring. You’ve yet to have any classes with your new found friends, not even seeing them after classes, which has been fine.

You’ve been so busy during the days and ensuring you’re getting your homework done that you’ve been exhausted in the evenings, doing little else but laying on your bed listening to whatever music your roommate put on to do her work.

Nitta Akari has been assigned as your roommate. She hasn’t spoken to you much over the last few days but she’s sweet and from what you’ve gathered she’s friends with Utahime and the silver haired woman Gojo was talking to on the night of the party.

Mei, you found out her name is and all three of them are part of the school choir group.

So far, you’ve had two classes with Gojo, both of which he completely ignored your presence in. Not totally surprising considering you don’t know each other.

You’re a little embarrassed actually, that you took the first opportunity that presented itself to jump into bed with someone you don’t know.

But maybe that’s a good thing. You do need to move on, your ex having left the worst fucking taste in your mouth - the other reason you chose to jump ship from Kyoto to Tokyo.

And besides, the night with Gojo was fun - more than fun actually. Sloppy, drunk, thrilling and you’re not sure you’ve ever had sex like that before; animalistic, almost passionate in a way. Not in an intimate sense, but truly able to let loose and let yourself enjoy the pleasure.

Plus it was good. Way better than you could have hoped from a drunken one-night stand.

Walking into your next class, World History, you notice Gojo sitting a few rows from the back. It’s impossible not to notice him really, with his long legs spread in front of him.

He’s in dark jeans and a hoodie, hair tucked into a gray beanie - the darkened ensemble making his porcelain skin appear more pale than you remember it being from the other classes you’ve had with him earlier in the week.

Gojo doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as you take a seat, two rows from the front next to a guy with black hair tied into two space buns and what appears to be a black tattooed line running across his nose.

His eyes flicker from you to the front of the room uncomfortably several times as you study his face - you really don’t mean to be rude and stare but you can’t help but wonder how many other people around campus have face tattoos.

So far, this guy and Sukuna are the only ones you’ve come across, but two in one place is far more than you’ve ever met in your life.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear your name being called. “Didn’t think I’d get so lucky, having a class with you.” Suguru says as he takes a seat in the row behind you, “I see you’ve met my man, Choso.”

Choso turns and grins at Suguru as they clap their hands together quickly before really introducing himself to you. You apologize for staring and make small talk for a few minutes before asking what his major is.

“Fine Arts with a minor in Art History.” He says, eyes flicking between yours with a sheepish smile.

It’s not really that surprising, as you take the time to look him over now that he’s facing you.

He’s attractive with tired dark eyes, two circular rings in both nostrils of his pointed nose. Choso’s hair looks soft and silky, bangs framing his face nicely and you’d venture to guess he’d look just as good, if not better with his hair down.

“So, do you think you’ll be around this weekend?” Suguru asks, leaning forward on his elbows waiting for your reply. His golden, feline eyes are bright today, unlike the last time you saw them - dark, tired and seemingly annoyed as you made your way down the steps of his place with Gojo in tow.

“I mean, as far as I know, yeah.” You reply, chewing on the side of your lip.

“Great.” He answers, cocky grin growing wider, “we’re having another party at our place, you should come. We’ll hang out this time.”

There’s something about Suguru that just seems so familiar, but in the rush and excitement of visiting a new school, going to parties and starting classes you didn’t really take the time to evaluate what it is.

But seeing him sitting here, leaned over looking at you with bright eyes and a never ending smirk, you realize he looks very similar to your ex - and the thought makes you want to turn away and never look at the man in the face ever again.

There are differences; Suguru’s eyes are golden compared to honey brown, the slope of his nose is slightly sharper, and his hair is much longer. He also emits a calming aura that just makes you want to be around him.

So different from Kenji, at least in the end.

You came to this school for a fresh start, to be who you want to be and not weighed down by events of the past. Suguru is a different person than your ex, and even though there are physical similarities, that’s seemingly where it ends.

It’s not as if you couldn’t see anything happening with him in the future, it’s really just that looking at him reminds you of your ex and you’re not really ready for that.

Ultimately you decide to go to the party and resolve to find a way to keep a friendship between the two of you, and not let it go beyond that.

Smiling, you shift and look away from his gaze and you’re really unable to help the way your eyes land on Gojo, just behind Suguru’s shoulder. He’s not paying any attention to you still, but he’s also ignoring the girls that are sitting around him obviously trying to garner his attention to no avail.

You take the opportunity to note the cut on his eyebrow and lip that seem to be healing nicely - the little red starburst you left on his adams apple is still clear as day.

Clearly he isn’t worried about it, not having taken the time to hide it like you did your own.

You nod towards Gojo before looking back at Suguru, “thought you’d want to sit next to him.”

Suguru turns around, sees Gojo and gives a low chuckle, “nah, looks like he has plenty of company. You on the other hand- have lunch plans today?”

“I actually do. I’m meeting Shoko and Utahime after class to catch up before the next.”

Your gaze is lingering on Gojo as you speak and just before you turn around his crystalline eyes flicker up to meet yours. They seem to brighten a little, catching you staring at him, before he gives a salacious grin, all teeth.

There’s a brunette sitting next to him whose gaze follows his and scoffs when she sees your cheeks flush. Looking away quickly you shake your head and bite your lip, turning around just as the mountainous man from the party walks in.

You recognize him immediately as Fushiguro Toji, your professor for this class. Broad shoulders, bright emerald eyes you missed with the dingy light of the basement you first saw him in. His ebony hair hangs down to his ears, a scar on the right side of his lip extending down to his chin.

Even though he has to be at least twenty years older than you, he’s attractive in his button down shirt and black slacks.

“Alright, everyone, I’m Toji Fushiguro,” he announces, deep voice reverberating through the room.

There’s a girl at the front of the class with a light lemon colored top on; a soft brunette with blonde highlights who gives him a small wave, and you can see the way the corner of his lip tugs up and gaze lingers momentarily before grabbing a few things from his desk, starting the lecture.

“Who can tell me-” you zone out, slumping onto the table in front of you with a notepad prepared to take notes, readying yours for the most boring hour and a half of your life.

Making your way across campus, coffee in hand, you notice Shoko and Utahime sitting at a bench in the courtyard.

The spot they’ve chosen is beautiful, semi-isolated due to being near several cherry blossom trees that will look beautiful in the Spring. The courtyard is large and open with students sitting on the ground talking, some walking to their next class while others sit at the other seats available to them.

“I have been dying to ask you about this all week,” Shoko starts before you’ve even had a chance to set your bag down and take a seat. She doesn’t even properly greet you, “tell us everything.”

“Please don’t,” Utahime interjects with a groan.

You don’t have to ask what she’s referring to, to know Utahime told her she saw Gojo taking you upstairs over the weekend.

Opting to spare the dirty details, you just tell them the quick events of what happened - you had sex, fell asleep and then fucked again in the morning. When he said he’d call you before you left, you knew he was lying because he doesn’t have your number and that was the end of it.

“I’m actually kind of surprised he didn’t ask for your number,” Shoko shrugs, “that’s kind of his thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He dates a lot. Pretty sure he’s dated pretty much everyone on campus at this point.” Utahime shares. You can tell she’s bored of this conversation by the way she’s picking at her coffee cup absentmindedly.

That… stings a little. New girl and the campus ladies man clearly has no interest in you after one night. It really shouldn’t be such a bother, and it probably wouldn’t be if you didn’t have a good time, didn’t enjoy the little bit of conversation you had with him, even if there wasn’t any real substance to it.

“Including the two of you?” You ask curiously and they both stare at you like you’ve grown an additional head, or three.

“Fuck no,” Utahime’s voice is filled with disgust while Shoko slaps her shoulder gently, “we’ve known him our whole lives. That would just be weird.”

While nodding your head and humming, you notice Mei making her way towards the table you, Shoko and Utahime occupy, hips swaying dramatically with each step she takes, hair gleaming in the sunlight until she steps in the shade.

She glares at you from the corner of her sharp eye, nose turned up before addressing the other two, “you’re coming to our fundraiser this weekend, right?” she asks before a smug grin spreads across her face, moving a few strands of hair away from her face with long slender fingers, “make sure to bring lots of money with you.”

“Oh, what’s it for?” You ask curiously.

Mei stares at you for a moment, eyes flickering across your features, “choir.”

She doesn’t bother saying anything else, and her voice was filled with venom when replying to you, so you opt to not try and interact anymore. She talks with Shoko and Utahime for a few minutes before finally sauntering off, stopping at a few other groups along the way to likely say the same things to them.

Shoko rolls her eyes before pulling a cigarette out and lighting it, “I’m not convinced she isn’t hoarding the money for herself. It’s gotta be why she likes Gojo so much.”

Your brows furrow at the same time your ears perk at his name, “so she’s-”

“His girlfriend.” Utahime interrupts and you immediately feel like you want to vomit.

“No,” Shoko clarifies, glaring at Utahime, “well, kind of?” This is not helping the churning in your stomach and your face must show it because she’s quick to add, “she’s probably the most consistent out of everyone he’s dated but he’s just kind of casually dating some people right now.”

Shoko quickly excuses herself after that remark, saying she’s going to the vending machine, asking if you want anything while Utahime packs her things to run off to her next class.

You busy yourself with gathering your things, waiting on Shoko to come back - she’s been gone several minutes and you can only assume she's taking a few moments to smoke again before being in her next class, one you realized on the way to the courtyard the two of you have together.

“Finally,” you sigh, placing your belongings in your bag as someone sits next to you, only to look up and be met with a lanky white haired man with little round sunglasses on.

Gojo sits, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, “sorry to keep you waiting, baby,” he purrs.

There’s no denying Gojo looked great over the weekend when the two of you hooked up, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t look great in class with his hoodies and joggers, even sexy with his busted lip and eyebrow.

But outside with the rays of the sun shining down on him as if he’s some holy, honored being worthy of being worshiped - he looks ethereal. He’s got a cigarette burning between his fingers, little round sunglasses on now that he’s outside, so dark they match the rest of his ensemble.

“Oh- uh, hey, Gojo,” you look around confused wondering why he’s choosing to pay attention to you now, “what are you doing here?”

“Satoru,” he easily corrects, “and you didn’t give me your number the other day and Suguru won’t give it to me, so I had to resort to stalking you.”

Your eyes widen at his comment before changing the subject, “Why are your glasses so dark?”

“Light eyes, sensitive to the light, and all that.” He replies easily, waving his hand in front of his face. You can’t see his eyes but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Hm. Is that genetic?”

“Haven’t even gone out on a date,” he muses, “and you’re already asking about genetics.”

Your cheeks flush immediately at his comment knowing he’s teasing just to get a reaction, and hating that it’s working so easily.

“Speaking of which,” Satoru continues before you have a chance to reply, holding his phone out to you, “give me your number.”

Given what you just heard about him several minutes prior, you’re a bit taken aback by the fact that he’s asking for your number now, rather than at literally any other point during the week.

“From what I hear, you’ve probably got plenty of other numbers to keep you entertained. So why mine, now?”

It’s likely because he was just described as a serial dater, looking for another person to go out with for his own amusement or ego. He might like you a little, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a slight connection with him, though that could easily be explained as physical attraction.

He chuckles, “love that you’ve been asking around about me already.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to ask- they were quick to tell me how much of a whore you are, not even thirty seconds ago.”

“Ouch- that really hurts coming from you.” He feigns heartbreak by putting his hand to his chest, pouting dramatically.

His facade breaks, chuckling as you tease, “Oh, I’m sure you’re absolutely devastated.”

“Do you think I’m a whore?”

You sigh, grabbing the phone he’s still holding out for you. You don’t even have to do anything to see all the messages littering his phone - they’re just right there.

Several new ones come in, as you hold it, from unknown numbers asking when they can go out again. It’s likely his interest in you will pass soon anyway. You’re aware that you’re new, and that adds a little something extra to the table when compared to girls he’s seen time and time again.

“Well, I don’t really know you, but I’m gonna say probably, judging by the amount of DM’s you have.” You answer honestly, “I still don’t see why you want my number.”

Despite being a chronic dater, he doesn’t appear to have many contacts in his phone. Just his roommates, parents and Shoko- and you feel a little special about that because all the messages he seems to have are DM’s through apps, not personal texts.

“So we can go out, obviously,” he says and you can just hear that he rolled his eyes by the tone of his voice. “I had a good time with you. Just thought maybe we could have a good time in other ways too.”

He says it so nonchalantly that it’s hard to get a real reading on his interest level, but when you enter your contact and hand his phone back he looks at it for a second before smiling and slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Your other girlfriends aren’t a good enough time?” You ask curiously, trying and failing to see his interest in you.

“Really want me to answer that?”

Taking a deep breath and chewing the side of your cheek, you debate on how to answer. You might as well keep up the feeling of being special while it lasts - you’ll have to ask Shoko if he tends to give his number out like that with the sole intent of bringing on those feelings of specialty to him right away, or if this is new territory.

“No,” you sigh before responding, “not unless you tell me how boring they were.”

He chuckles, it’s low, amused, “mm, jealous already. Love it.”

“I am not jealous, Satoru,” you clarify with a laugh, grinning back. You can’t even help it- his smile is infectious.

“Sure, babe.” He’s grinning, loving the way his name sounds rolling off your tongue so easily, “so, date?”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth contemplating his question. Giving your number to someone is one thing, but actually going out with them is a whole other ball game. Sure, he seems insistent, like it’s something he really wants to do. And sure, you’ve already slept with the man.

But dating isn’t something you’re all that focused on. You need to make sure you keep your grades up so you can graduate as early as possible.

Plus, last time you dated someone it ended so disastrously bad you actually decided you’d rather live as a hermit and never go out again.

But now that a new opportunity is sitting in front of you, it’s hard to make a decision.

On one hand, he knows nothing of you or your past- it’s a fresh start and that’s the whole reason you transferred to begin with.

On the other, thoughts of your time with Kenji flash through your mind. The happiness, but mostly the heartbreak and how much it hurt, the anger and resentment after. Were the good times even worth it in the end?

You know you’re thinking about this too much. It’s one date. It’s not as if that’s going to end with you laying in bed crying to yourself about how you thought you’d end up getting married and starting a family.

It doesn’t have to be more than it is - two people going out for an evening getting to know one another.

You’re smiling when your eyes meet his again, and his smirk only widens to a grin, knowing your answer before you’ve said it, “yeah, okay. We can go out.”

“Satoru,” a sing-songy voice calls out, “are you ready to go, baby?” The brunette from class doesn’t look in your direction and you don’t turn to face her either, it doesn’t stop you from seeing her cross her arms in your peripherals though.

“Yeah, just a sec,” he replies, not turning to meet her gaze when she clicks her tongue and places her hand on his shoulder suggestively. He pulls out his phone, opens the calendar app and looks through the next several days, “I can squeeze you in next Thursday.”

“Uh- okay…?” You scoff before he winks and the two of them walk away, her arm hooked into Satoru’s.

“You okay?” Shoko asks gently, walking back over where you’re sitting. You’re more shocked than anything, that that just happened immediately- like the universe was really trying to shove it in your face that even though you felt special talking to him, in the grand scheme of things, you’re really not.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s just head to class.”

@petalsrdead @sugurunicorn @niki-sun @lilith412426 @sofiaconlaz @lxvephxbic @kash2 @violetsapplejuice @iam-mia9 @laylasbunbunny @creolequeen11210 @xiaosie @lem-hhn @s-witch-bitch @yogurttea @slut-jr @watyousayin

#jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #violetsaffronfic #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #BD

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hoejosatoru · 2 years

Text

You and I Collide

Pairing: Fem!reader x Time skip!Draken

Summary: Y/n has struggled after the loss of her boyfriend, Baji. Feeling at a breaking point, she hopes to find solace in Draken, an old mutual friend. However, y/n finds her feelings for Draken quickly become complicated. Shout out to my bestie for helping me w the concept.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: MAJOR manga spoilers if you have not read through chapter 148 proceed with caution!! Grief/ take of death, drinking (mild), slow burn(ish) friends to lovers, dry humping, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, cream pie, the works. Also everything is pretty much the same as cannon TR but pretend Baji got yoinked in college instead of HS.

Two moments defined your life: meeting Baji and Baji dying. They were divided so clearly, an ax falling on your life. Baji was the first person you met in college, plopping down next to you without a book or a pencil in sight. He was everything you weren’t: brazen, charming, and unapologetic. He asked your name with a smile playing on his lips and you knew. There would be no one for you but Baji.

If Baji was different from you, he was the antithesis of your ex (who dumped you right before college started because, “he wanted to have fun in college.” Over text no less). Your ex was perfectly coiffed with short blond hair, preppy clothes, and the desperate need for everyone to think he’s a good guy. Baji was a mess of dark hair, leather, and the desire to be absolutely nothing but himself. It wasn’t until you met him that you realized how wrong you were about what your “type” was.

You and Baji started dating almost immediately. It was weird, you wouldn’t have thought him as the relationship type, but he was absolutely devoted to you. College was easily the best 4 years of your life. Baji made you the best version of yourself, a person you never realized you wanted to be until it was your reality. You were on top of the world when you both graduated, planning to move in together and take on life together. A month later, Baji was dead, snuffing out the brightest light in your life.

Nothing made sense after his death. You completely withdrew from everyone and everything. You just couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy things like you did when you were with him. It felt wrong, impossible even, like trying to complete a puzzle when someone’s stolen a handful of pieces.

Baji has been gone over a year now, but it was still fresh as the day your phone rang with the news. You’ve been on autopilot ever since, doing just enough to get yourself through the day. Sometimes you went an entire day without registering what you were doing. Today was one of those days. Your feet were carrying you to a familiar place, though you haven’t been since Baji’s death. Draken’s bike shop.

Draken had been one of Baji’s closest friends, having met in middle school. He didn’t go to your college, opting to open his motorcycle repair shop instead, however he was part of your friend group so you spent a lot of time with him in college. He was always a nice guy, truthfully you had been closer with Mitsuya, but Draken was always pleasant and fun to be around. He was a good guy, which made it even more devastating when you heard of his girlfriend’s pasing.

It was a couple months after Baji had died and added to the crushing grief you were already dealing with. You had been pretty good friends with Emma, though you hadn’t spoken to her in a while. Not that you really had spoken to anyone in a while. You were devastated to hear of her passing. So much so that you almost didn’t make it to the funeral. The anxiety of reliving Baji’s funeral was damn near crippling, plus you were afraid to see all the friends you had been avoiding for months. However, you knew you couldn’t let her go without saying goodbye.

You slipped in and out mostly unsee. However, you did catch Draken’s eye during the ceremony. There was complete emptiness in them, one that you recognized all too well. It was like looking in the mirror. That was the last time you saw Draken, but you had thought about that look every day since. You wanted an excuse to come talk to him because he was the only person who could ever understand what you were feeling. However, you’d been a shitty friend and haven’t reached out in the way you knew you should. You weren’t sure how he would react to you showing up to his shop out of the blue, if he would even want to talk to you at all.

Those thoughts almost turned you around, but you were so close you pushed them down as low as possible. This was the first chance you were taking Baji died and you felt you really needed to see it through. That didn’t stop your stomach from doing flips as you turned onto the familiar corner. You took deep breaths as you approached the open garage, willing yourself to keep moving. You poked your head in, unable to hear anything over the pound of your heart in your ears. For a second you thought it was empty, but then a figure stood up from behind a bike. Draken.

You were frozen in place, everything you had rehearsed in your head escaping in an instant. You wanted to turn around and run, and you probably would have if his eyes hadn’t landed on you. The mirror stared back at you.

“Y/n?” It sounded like a question, but recognition was clear in his voice. You were afraid you were about to be told off when a soft smile spread across his face. “Haven’t seen you in forever, get over here.”

Your legs moved on their own volition, meeting Draken in the middle of his modest shop. He pulled you into an embrace, shocking you into stillness. He was warm, smelling of evergreen and spearmint with an undertone of motor oil. It was nice. You couldn’t remember the last time you were hugged.

“I’m sorry,” the words spilled out of you the second you pulled away.

“Whatever it is you think you need to apologize for, you don’t,” he replied, untangling the knot of anxiety in your stomach. Though the guilt still lingered like kinks in an old chain.

“Thank you,” you replied, not knowing what else to say. You practically forgot to interact like a normal human. If Draken noticed, he didn’t let it show.

“I was about to go on my break, why don’t you sit and join me?” he asked, motioning to the back of his shop. You recognized the green door, which led to the “staff room,” aka a cramped room with a beat up old couch. You and your friends spent many nights stuffed in their drinking and smoking and doing whatever the hell else people who believed they had their whole lives ahead of them did. Grief climbed up your spine, threatening to strangle you.

“Oh, um, I don’t want to impose on your break or anything,” you stammered out.

“Nonsense, a friend is never an imposition,” he stated. He turned around, walking towards the staff room, effectively preventing you from arguing further. You followed because, well, you didn’t know what else to do. His use of the word friend comforted you, like pulling on an old hoodie.

The staff room was exactly as you remembered it: dark, crappy lighting with air that always seemed a bit thicker than what was outside it. The patched up couch sat pressed against the wall and next to the folding table with mismatched chairs. You tried desperately to ignore the chair that Baji had always occupied as Draken went into the makeshift kitchen, which was just the corner of the room that had a minifridge and microwave.

He pulled out two water bottles, handing you one without asking if you wanted you. In that moment you remember how much a caretaker had been. You wouldn’t guess it by his cold exterior, but he really was a sweet guy, always looking out for his friends. You felt another wave of guilt for not reaching out to him sooner.

“Didn’t know you kept anything but beer in there,” you heard yourself say. It slipped out as the memory of cramming a ridiculous number of cheap alcohol came flooding back to you. Draken laughed, a welcomed sound.

“Don’t worry there is still plenty of beer in there,” Draken joked, plopping down on the couch. You mimicked him. He twisted open his water, down half the bottle before asking, “What brought you by today?”

“Oh right,” you replied, playing with the ripped label on your bottle, “I need a bike fixed up. Didn’t know who else to go to.” You cringed, feeling like you sounded cold. You haven’t talked to him in how long and you show up out of nowhere asking for his help? Who did you think you were?

Draken replied, unphased, “Didn’t think you were the motorcycle type.”

“I’m not,” you replied, desperately wanting to sound normal. You thought you were most definitely failing. “It’s for my brother, for his birthday. I bought a shitty old thing, but was hoping I could get it fixed up for him.”

“That I can do,” Draken nodded, “Might take some time, though. I’ll probably have to order parts and shit.”

“Of course,” you replied, “His birthday isn’t for another couple months, I was trying to get a head start.” Speaking it made it seem a lot sillier than it did in your head. Maybe because you knew it was sorta bullshit. Sure your brother has expressed an interest in getting a bike, but you didn’t know if he was serious. Deep down you knew this was all an excuse to meet Draken again. You needed a friend, needed someone who could understand the hell you were going through. Maybe it was fucked up to not be straightforward with him, but you wouldn’t have known where to start. So this ridiculous plot has been created.

“That should be perfect,” Draken replied, finishing off his drink.

“I’ll pay you for everything, of course,” you added, not wanting to sound like you were mooching off him.

Draken waved his hand dismissively, “I don’t make my friends pay.” There it was again. Friend. It shouldn’t give you such a thrill, but it did. You felt like you hadn’t had a friend in over a year, though it was very much self imposed. You’d always been a bit of a masochist.

“Seriously, let me pay,” you insisted.

Draken eyed you for a moment, considering, before replying, “How about you buy the parts and I do the work for free?”

“I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Good thing you’re not asking me then,” he replied with a soft, warm smile. It was hard to argue with that; still you were hesitant.

“I know, but sti-”

“Seriously y/n,” Draken cut you off as kindly as one can, “I’m happy to do it. But if it means that much, you can pay me with your time. Why don’t you bring the bike over next week and hang out while I work on it. It’s nice to have company.”

Hang out. When was the last time you did that? You knew the answer, but you quickly tried to push that line of thinking away. This was exactly what you wanted, someone to spend time with. Stiil, anxiety prickled over your skin as you thought of making plans for the first time in over a year.

“Yeah, okay. It’s a deal,” you answered before you could change your mind.

“Deal,” Draken echoed, sticking his hand out for you to shake on it. His hand was solid and calloused from years of working with them, you guessed. It felt warm. Real. You realized that if it had been anyone else, you probably would have said no.

“Say, do you even have a way of getting the bike here?” Draken asked as he stood up, reaching his arms over his head in a big stretch. The navy utility jumpsuit he wore stretched across his broad body.

"I was thinking I could just walk it over,” you replied, realizing how ridiculous that was as the words left your mouth.

“No way,” Draken replied, “I’ve got a truck to transport bikes. I can pick you up. How does next Saturday at eleven sound?” Something about his effortless kindness made you want to cry. It was so simple, but it made your throat tighten. You swallowed them down, not wanting to break down like a crazy person. You’ve come too far to do that now.

“Eleven sounds good,” you replied. Not like you had any other plans to worry about.

“Perfect,” he smiled, “My number’s still the same, text me your address whenever you get a chance.” He wasn’t at all trying to make you feel guilty, but you couldn’t help it. This shouldn't be the first time you’re texting after everything. You felt like a selfish idiot.

You nodded, turning quickly towards the door hoping he wouldn’t notice the shift in your demeanor. You really wanted to get out of there without crying. Draken followed you silently back out to the front of the shop. He only spoke as you were walking back out to the sidewalk.

“Hey y/n.” You paused, turning back to him, a knowing smile on his lips. “I’m really glad you stopped by.”

Your nails dug into your palm. You’re almost out, you can do this. “I am too,” you replied. It was the truth even if tears slipped down your cheeks as you stepped out onto the sidewalk. You walked home quickly, keeping your eyes down the whole time. For the amount of times you cried in public over the last year, you still weren’t used to people staring. Through your sadness, though, you felt the tiniest spark of what you could only label as hope. Faint as it may be, it was there, thanks to the prospect of rekindling your friendship with Draken. You kept it small, fearing being burned if you let it grow. Still, you allowed yourself to look forward to Saturday as you slipped into one of Baji’s old hoodies and curled into a ball on the couch.

***

Time is a tricky thing. Its movement is nonsensical. Sometimes it flies, passing by you in a mindless whirl, impossible to keep up with. That was how you felt when the 1 year anniversary of Baji’s death came up. It was incomprehensible that you could have spent 365 days without him. Other times it drags, each tick of the clock its own agonizing eternity. That is how it felt waiting for Saturday.

Finally, though, it came. The knock on your door made your heart leap, even though you had been expecting it. You paused in front of the mirror you normally ignore by your front door. You were in your most comfortable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Not exactly fashionable, but you felt accomplished. Most of your weekends are spent in sweats- if you even manage to get out of pajamas that is.

“Hey,” you greeted, swinging open your door. You were surprised by how breathless you sounded. Getting ready takes a lot out of you.

“Hi,” Draken replied, “Wanna show me where the bike is?”

You nodded, “Follow me.” You led Draken around the back of your place to a storage shed for you and the tennet in the unit next door. Truth be told, you weren’t supposed to be keeping a motorcycle in there at all. You were relieved Draken was taking it off your hands before your landlord found it and chewed you out.

“It’s a little heavy,” you told him, trying to lug it out of its hiding spot. This shit was more than a little heavy.

“Let me,” Draken offered, noticing you struggling. He stepped in front of you, taking the bike from your hands and lifting it with ease. Damn. “Truck’s out this way.” You followed him back out front, marveling at how he carried the bike like it was nothing. Draken was always the biggest guy in your friend group, but it still surprised you just how big he was. He wasn’t wearing his jumpsuit now, making it easy to see the broad muscles in his back as he walked. He was certainly intimidating; if you didn’t know how sweet he was, you’d probably be scared of him.

“Did you get bigger since the last time I saw you?” you asked.

Draken chuckled, “You mean last week?”

“Shit, no, not what I meant,” you shook your head at yourself, “The time before that I guess.” You cringed, realizing the time before that was Emma’s funeral. God could you just say one thing without putting your foot in your mouth?

“Hmm probably,” Draken smiled, loaded the bike into the back of his truck, “Guess it comes with the job.” For as much as Draken smiled, it never quite reached his eyes. Comforting wasn’t the right word, but it made you feel somewhat validated. It was hard being around people with normal lives, not marred by grief in the way yours was. Their effortless joy was a reminder of what you lost. Though you would never wish what you were going through on anyone, it still sucked to always feel like the odd one out. With Draken, you knew you never would be.

You climbed into the passenger seat next to Draken, nerves swelling in your stomach. Your social interaction had really been watered down to what was necessary at work or when your friends demanded you let them come over to make sure you’re still okay. Okay being used very, very lightly - as in that you were still breathing pretty much. Those meetings have been fewer and farther between now. You think your friends didn’t know what to do with you. You were hard to be around, you didn’t really blame them.

“Do you live with someone?” Draken asked, pulling away from your place.

“It’s a duplex so I have someone above me, but I don’t have a roommate or anything,” you explained. Truthfully, the space was bigger than you needed. It was where you and Baji had moved in after graduation and couldn’t bring yourself to move out. You could remember him alive and well there, you couldn’t bear to move to a place he never saw or touched or laughed in. Never existed in. You were lucky your parents sent you some money to help with rent every month or else you wouldn’t be able to afford it without a roommate. It was pity money, but money nonetheless. “What about you?”

“On my own too,” Draken replied, mindlessly tapping his fingers on the wheel, “Still living right above the shop.”

“Right. Nice commute,” you attempted a joke. It felt flat leaving your mouth, but Draken still chuckled. You appreciated it, even if it might be fake.

“What’re you doing for work?” he asked, eyes on the road. It was easier to talk this way, without his eyes on you.

“Nothing special,” you replied, “just a bull shit office job.”

“An office job? I thought you wanted to be a writer?” Draken asked, surprising you. You had maybe mentioned that to him once or twice in passing. You couldn’t believe he remembered.

“You know how people say things have a way of working out?”

Draken’s brow piqued, eye shifting to you for a second. “Yes.”

“I’ve found that things also have a way of not working out,” you replied. Draken let out a laugh, one that you knew could not be out of pity. There was that flicker in you again, one that whispered of connection, hope.

“Don’t I know it.” The last few minutes of the ride were spent in comfortable silence. Draken’s place wasn’t too far from your’s, so it wasn’t a long ride. You followed Draken wordlessly into the shop. You stepped carefully, not wanting to bump anything or trip or do anything else to embarrass yourself. You stood next to a sturdy-looking steel cabinet as Draken got the bike set to inspect.

“Where’d ya get this bike?” Draken asked, keeping his face purposefully straight. You reckoned he was trying to be nice because it really was a piece of junk.

“Uh, craigslist,” you admitted.

“No wonder it’s such a piece of shit,” Draken laughed, and you allowed yourself to laugh too. It felt light in your chest, a reprieve from the normal weight that found its home there.

“Is it fixable?” you asked, chewing on your lip. You felt a flood of panic. What if there was nothing he could do? You need this excuse to push you to come out and see him, you weren’t sure what you would do without it.

“Oh I can definitely fix it,” Draken reassured you, “You’re lucky you know such a great mechanic. Here, get comfortable, we are gonna be here awhile.” Draken pulled up a stool for you. You sat, leaning against the steel cabinet, comforted by how the cool metal bled through your shirt and onto your skin. It made you feel grounded.

Draken got out a clipboard, circling the bike and making notes. You quietly observed as he sat, looking closer at the engine. There was a soft intensity to his face as he zeroed in on different parts of the machine.

“How have you been doing since Baji died?” Draken asked, scribbling down another note. You were taken aback by his directness. Most people dance around it, trying to sugarcoat it with phrases like “passed” or “gone to a better place.” It made you irrationally mad. Baji was dead, there is no way to make that sweet. And there was no better place for him than by your side.

You drew in a breath, trying to calculate how honest you wanted to be, but the words were tumbling out by the time you exhaled. “Terrible. Fucking terrible. It still hurts like the first day. I’m a fucking mess, honestly.”

You looked up, startled to find Draken’s eyes on yours. There wasn’t an ounce of pity in them, only understanding. It was refreshing. “Baji was such a good fucking guy,” Draken replied, “shit’s fucking awful.”

You nodded, unable to stop now that you were started. “I still don’t believe it at times. Like I keep hoping one day I’ll wake up and this was all a nightmare. But it’s not and I just have to keep going somehow.” You swallow deeply, desperately trying to not cry.

“I was so fucking mad after Emma’s funeral,” Draken replied, “At everyone and everything. I remember the sky was so blue the day after and I was so fucking pissed, like how could the world be so bright without her? I’ve never been so dramatic.” He laughed humorlessly, staring down at his hands.

“No I completely get that,” you said, “It feels like everything is moving on like normal, but you know there’s no normal for you anymore.”

“Exactly,” Draken nodded. He paused for a second, before adding, “It’s nice to have someone who gets it. People who haven’t been through it just don’t get it.” Something about his words forced tears to the front of your eyes. Part of you had worried that Draken was not going to be the support you so desperately hoped he would be ever since you saw him at the funeral. You were relieved to finally have someone who understands you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, wiping your eyes. You knew you could get the tears to stop quickly - you’ve had to become really good at that. Especially in public.

“Told you last week, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Draken stated, “Plus, we got a no apology rule in this garage.” He nodded to a sign on the wall that read, “the customer is always wrong.” You surprised yourself by letting out a laugh.

“Thanks, I need that. I feel like I forgot to do this whole thing,” you replied, motioning between the two of you, “I always feel like I say or do the wrong thing now.”

“I get that,” Draken nodded, “But you don’t have to worry about this here, okay? Talk, don’t talk, fuck you could do cartwheels around the place if that helped. I know how much it sucks, so don’t worry about all that shit.” You bit back another round of tears, managing only a small thank you. Draken smiled knowingly and returned to his work. The gratitude you felt was damn near unbearable.

And so you did just as Draken said - well minus the cartwheels. Over the next few weeks as Draken worked on the bike, the two of you talked. A lot. You talked more in those few weeks than you did in the last year. Sometimes you spoke about Baji and Emma, but mostly you just talked about, well, whatever.

You also did a lot of not talking, which was never awkward. Where others seemed to hold their breath around you, Draken breathed easy. He had good days and bad days, just as you did. It comforted both of you to never have to explain the need to disappear inside yourself or the occasional tear that slipped out seemingly out of nowhere. It was like a weight being lifted off your chest; you were taking your first true breaths since Baji died.

There were a few other people who worked at the garage, though they mostly kept to themselves. The one that you talked to the most was Inui. He was kind, but you could tell he has been through something too. Grief followed people like a shadow, you discovered, and once you knew how to spot it was impossible to miss. You saw that shadow hanging over Inui and you were certain he saw it over you too. You reckoned that’s why you got along so well.

Today was a fairly good day. It was later, everyone else long gone for the night, and you and Draken settled into a comfortable silence. Despite the weeks of spending nearly every spare second at the shop, you didn’t know shit about motorcycles. However, that did not stop you from enjoying watching Draken work. He was meticulous and focused, often not even stopping to brush a dark lock of hair that would fall in his eyes. You picked on his little quirks: the furrow of his brow when something was stumping him, his tongue poking through his lips when he was on the brink of solving it. He knew yours too, knowing with a single word if you needed him to pull a laugh out of you or to let you cry. It was nice to know someone, and to be known.

A drumming pulled you from your thoughts. It took you a second to register that it was rain hitting the roof. “Shit,” you breathed, hopping down from the counter to walk over to the front window. It was a complete downpour. “I picked a crappy day to walk here.”

“No way I’m letting you walk home in that,” Draken stated, not even looking up from his work.

“Can we take the truck?” you suggested.

Draken shook his head, “I let Inui use it. Won’t be back till tomorrow.”

“What’re we gonna do?” you asked.

“You’re gonna stay here, dummy,” Draken answereded, as if it was obvious.

“I couldn't,” you replied, shaking your head. For as much time as you have spent at the garage, you’ve never gone into Draken’s place.

“Why not?” Draken asked, wiping his hands on a greasy towel. He was getting ready to clean up for the night.

“I don’t wanna bother you,” you admitted. There was still a small fear in you that you were going to overstay your welcome. That one day, Draken would ask you to not come back. You don’t know if you would be able to handle that.

“If you bothered me, I’d let you walk home in the rain,” Draken replied, then added with finality, “It’s supposed to storm all night. You’re staying here.”

“Alright fine,” you caved. Another thing you learned about Draken: once he made up his mind, there was no chance of changing it. You helped him clean up where you could, then followed him up to his place.

You don’t know what you expected, but it was nice. Small, but well kept, so it felt more spacious than it should. There were lots of tones of grays and blacks, all the furniture simple and worn in. You could tell a boy lived there, but not in a bad way. You sat on the couch as Draken ducked into the kitchen to wash his hands.

“Wow this thing is more comfortable than it looks,” you noted, patting the charcoal fabric, “It’ll be nice to sleep on.”

“Too bad you’re not sleeping there,” Draken replied, drying his hands on his pants, “I’ll take the couch, you can have the bed.”

“No way!” you protested, “I’m already inconveniencing you, I’m not taking your bed too.”

Draken playfully rolled his eyes at you, “It’s not a big deal. Like you said the couch is comfy.”

“You’re so freaking stubborn,” you groaned, flopping back against the couch.

“Oh please look who’s talking,” Draken shot back, sitting next to you. The couch sunk under his weight, causing you to slide over close to him. “I’ve got an idea, though.”

You sat up, intrigued, “Which is?”

“Let’s hang out here, watch a movie or something. Whoever falls asleep first stays out on the couch and the other person can get the bed,” Draken explained, clearly proud of thinking up that plot. You could live with that.

“Deal.” You stuck out your hand, his warm, rough palm meeting you cold one. It was made official with a quick shake.

“Now let me get you something to sleep in,” Draken stood up, stretching.

“That’s cheating,” you replied, “Trying to get me all comfortable so I’ll fall asleep first.”

Draken kept walking back to what you presumed was his room. “Well if I fall asleep first do you really wanna sleep in those jeans?” His voice carried through the apartment.

He had a point. “No, I guess not.”

“Good,” Draken replied, reappearing in the living room with a ball of clothes in his hands, “Because if you slept in jeans I don’t think I could trust you anymore.” You giggled as Draken tossed the clothing at you. Mercifully, you caught it. “That’s the smallest stuff I have. Bathroom’s the first door on the right. Feel free to use whatever is in there.”

You found the bathroom easily, closing the door softly behind you. For being the smallest clothing he had, the sweats and shirt were still oversized on you. You had to roll the sweats over a few times so they’d stay up on your hips. You resigned to letting the shirt hang on your frame. You splashed some water in your face and swished around a little mouthwash that was out on the counter before exiting.

You returned to the living room, finding that Draken changed too. He was in a gray pair of sweats that fit him much better than yours. The black tee he wore clung to his frame, showing off his toned body. It was strange to see so much of him; you were used to seeing him in a thick work jumpsuit layered over hoodies. You were surprised to feel a blush rise in your cheeks. It felt almost too intimate, seeing him sprawled out on the couch like this.

Draken’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts. “You look ridiculous,” he snickered.

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a giant,” you huffed, joining him on the couch. You kept a safe distance, though you found yourself drifting closer over the course of the night, unconsciously drawn to his warmth. Without realizing it, you fell asleep.

It took you a few moments to remember where you were when you woke up. The scent of the sheets, a warm evergreen, reminded you. Draken’s place. You turned over, breathing in the scent that you so quickly learned to associate with comfort.

Then it hit you.

You were in the bed, when you did not remember going back to it last night. You must have fallen asleep first and Draken must have carried you back here. Your cheeks tinted as you thought of Draken picking you up, holding you so close to him. There was an undercurrent to your self consciousness that you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t have time to think about it, you were off to yell at him for not keeping up his end of the deal.

You found him on the couch, coffee mug in hand. A triumphant smirk spread across his lips when he saw you. “Morning sleeping beauty,” he teased. You cursed yourself for not at least checking a mirror to make sure your hair wasn’t all over the place. It tended to get a mind of its own when you slept.

“I didn’t know you were a liar,” you narrowed your eyes at him. You weren’t truly mad, but you couldn’t let him get away with it unscathed.

“I didn’t lie,” Draken replied, “Had my fingers crossed when we shook on it. Everyone knows that negates the shake.”

“Okay fine then you’re a sneak,” you shot back.

Draken stood up, stretching. His shirt lifted revealing his lower stomach. You tried to ignore the little trail of hair that disappeared into his sweats. “Yeah well this sneak made sure you got a good night’s sleep.” He flicked your forehead lightly as he walked into the kitchen and you smacked his arm back.

“At least let me make you breakfast?” you tried.

“Now that I can agree to,” Draken replied, holding both his hands up, “And look, not a finger crossed.”

“Gee, thanks.”

The rest of the day went on as normal. Well, normal except for a nagging feeling in your lower stomach. It bubbled up again when Draken sat in the kitchen, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched you prepare breakfast for you two. It wasn’t like your anxiety - that feeling you knew too well - nor was it like that little flicker of hope you felt. Which, at this point, was a full on blaze despite your best efforts to keep it under control. You couldn’t help it, Draken made you happier than you ever thought you could be after everything that happened. After going to long feeling nothing but aching and emptiness, you didn’t want to have to subdued the joy, no matter how reckless that was.

You chalked it up to self consciousness and tried not to think of it. It was still weird for you to be around someone so much. Even though Draken never made you feel judged, you still couldn’t shut that critical little voice in your head that told you something could go wrong at any moment. You figure this feeling was that voice rearing its ugly head. As the next few weeks passed, the feeling came and went, but you persisted as usual.

Until a particularly shitty day. You were awoken in the morning by a phone call, your anxiety immediately spiking. Ever since Baji died, your phone ringing became a trigger for you. It reminded you of getting the call, the one stopped the rotation of your world. Every time you heard your phone ring, you relived that moment. You don’t know how the hell your phone got switched on from silent.

You were on edge for the rest of the day because of that. Your boss was more of a dick than usual and you ended up crying in the bathroom on your lunch break. All you wanted to do was get home and crawl into a ball. When you were finally able to do that, however, you found a hair tie in your pajama drawer. Your heart plummeted to your stomach. Your feet were carrying you to Draken’s before your mind could catch up. All you wanted was to see him, you knew you’d calm down once you did.

The second Draken saw you, he knew something was wrong. It was just him in the garage today, which you were grateful for. “You look like you need a drink,” Draken stated, setting down his tools. His words were calm but there was concern at the edges of them. You nodded, not trusting your words just yet. “Come on, I was about to finish up anyway.” It was a lie, but you appreciated it.

Draken led you to the staff room, handing you a beer from the mini fridge. Just like old times, you thought darkly. You took a swig, downing a quarter of the bottle by the time Draken sat next to you.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, lips at the edge of the bottle.

“Just a shitty day at work I guess,” you mumbled, picking at the label of the beer.

Draken set his drink down on the coffee table. “Come on, y/n, it’s me. What’s really going on?”

You drew in a deep breath, gathering your strength to speak. “I was having a shit day at work,” you began, “but I found one of Baji’s hair ties at home. He fucking left those things everywhere. I can’t believe I even still find ‘em…” Your voice trailed off, stifled by an ache in your chest. Draken waited quietly for you to continue. “It’s weird, sometimes they feel like him saying he’s there with me. But mostly they just feel like a fucking reminder that he’s not here anymore.” You opened your mouth to say more, but found no words coming. Tears streaked down your cheeks, dripping onto your lap.

Draken was quiet for a few moments. His hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he started speaking. “Emma had these little hair pins. I swear she left a fucking trail of them everywhere she went. I find them too, from time to time,” he paused, drawing in a shaky breath, “It’s a gut punch every time I find one. But sometimes I’m scared of the day I stop finding them. Like then she’ll really be gone.”

Tears escaped Draken’s eyes. You felt such a strong urge to wipe them away, to hold him, to be held by him. But you couldn’t move a muscle. You both just sat there, quietly crying, your hands intertwined.

It was Draken who broke the silence. “Look at us fucking cryin’ over hair acessories.” You both laughed despite your tear-stained cheeks.

“They’re probably rolling their eyes at us right now,” you replied, wiping your eyes, “Baji especially. I know he’s fucking tired of me.”

“Oh trust me I know Emma’s sick of this shit too,” Draken replied. He reached over, running his thumb across your cheek, collecting a tear you missed. Your blood roared in your ears, the nagging in your stomach flaring.

“You think Emma would want you to move on?” You asked.

“Definitely,” Draken replied, “She’d want me to be happy. I haven’t been so good about that, but I know it’s what she’d want.”

“I think Baji would want me to be happy too,” you said, “Though I think he’d be happier to see me with a girl, not another guy.”

Draken let out a laugh. “That sounds like Baji,” he continued after a pause, “He would want you to be happy, though. I don’t know a lot, but I’m certain of that.” You weren’t able to fight the urge to hug him anymore, throwing your arms around him.

“Thank you Draken,” you murmured, tucking your face into his neck. His arms found your waist, squeezing you closer. You breathed in his scent, an instant sense of calm washing over you. You stayed like that longer than you expected, basking in each others’ warmth and touch. No part of you wanted to separate yourself from him, but eventually you did.

When your eyes found his, it hit you. That nagging in your stomach wasn’t anxiety or self doubt or any of that shit. It was a crush - no - it was stronger than a crush. It was a want, a need for Draken. For his voice, his touch, his presence, his lips, his love. Your thoughts were coming faster than you could process him, but you could instantly read the look in Draken’s eyes. He felt the same as you.

Within the space of a breath, your lips crashed together. The kiss was desperate and needy and fucking good. He pulled you onto his lap with ease, his lips not so much as parting from yours. You were all over each other, hands and lips exploring every bit of skin they could find. Draken’s hands were rough and warm, but his touch was so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned further into him, your core pressing against his solid thighs. You were surprised by the gasp that left your mouth. The thin fabric of your leggings was nothing against the texture of his jumpsuit. Your hips rolled again, moaning softly against his lips. Draken responded instantly, his hands finding your hips.

“Feel good?” his voice was barely a whisper. If you weren’t so close to him, you never would have heard it.

“Mmhmm,” you whimpered, your fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t stop,” he replied, breathless. His lips reattached to yours as his hands guided your hips over his thigh. You continued mindlessly, grinding against his thigh without an ounce of shame. It felt too fucking good to care. In that moment, you could think of nothing but your pleasure.

The world seemed to cease outside the two of you. All that mattered was the taste of him and the pleasure blooming in your lower stomach. You weren’t even surprised when you found yourself close to the edge.

“Dra- nghh - Draken,” you gasped, breaking the kiss. Draken pressed his forehead to yours, not wanting you to get too far.

“Just like that, baby, getting yourself all worked up huh?” he cooed, peppering kisses on you. You nodded, responding with whines instead of words. “Let yourself go.” You were cumming as soon as the words left his lips. It was a fire through your veins, spreading pleasure through your entire body.

“Yeah that’s it, good girl,” Draken murmured against your neck. You collapsed against him, breathing ragged. You should feel good, relaxed, but your heart began hammering in your chest.

What did you just do? You stiffened, panic seized your body as the buzz of your orgasm wore off. Hooking up with your dead ex’s best friend? What the fuck was wrong with you? You pulled away, startling Draken.

“I have to go.” You practically fell out of his lap, scrambling to find the door.

“Y/n wa-”

“I’m sorry I- fuck, I-,” the words came out in a senseless mess, “I can’t I have to go.” You turned on your heel and booked it, unable to bear the way he looked at you.

You were sobbing by the time you hit the sidewalk. You were practically running home, breathless and hiccuping the whole time. You felt like an idiot. The one good thing, the only good thing, in your life fucking ruined. How could you do this to Baji? To Draken? You hated yourself for allowing this to happen.

You somehow made it to your bed, anxious and exhausted. You were consumed by your tears, anger, fear and self pity until, by some grace, you fell into a restless sleep.

***

A few agonizing days passed. You called out of work, faking illness, which wasn’t too hard to fake considering you sounded like shit. You barely moved from your bed, alternating between staring at the ceiling, numb, and sobbing into your pillow. It reminded you of losing Baji, the hurt felt deep in your bones.

The worst part was, the one person you wanted was the person you couldn’t see. When you hurt like this, Draken was the only person who could heal your wounds. And now because you couldn’t contain yourself, you lost that. The weight of it sat so heavily on your chest you could barely breathe.

A week later there was a knocking at your door. You sighed, exhausted from having showered that morning, and dragged yourself to the front door. You braced yourself for a lashing from your landlord. You forgot to pay rent on time. Again.

Your knees buckled when you found Draken’s frame filling your doorway.

“We need to talk,” he stated, stepping into your place before you could protest. His voice was calm and unreadable. You sat across from him on the couch, anxiety settling like a stone in your stomach.

Draken surprised you by saying, “I’m sorry.” You stared for a few moments and he continued in your silence, “I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to push you like that.” Hurt seeped into his voice. Or maybe it was regret. You cringed.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you replied quickly, wanting to absolve him of the guilt. “It’s my fault. I fucked this all up.”

“Nothing’s fucked up,” Draken scowled, “Don’t fucking give up on me like that. Just talk to me.”

You just started talking because if you thought about it, you’d never get a thing out. “I’m sor- I mean fuck - I don’t know what came over me. When we, um,” you paused, blushing under the weight of his eyes, “did that, I was just shocked I guess. Not because of you or anything you, you were good - I mean - uh well you know. I just didn’t expect to… want that or to, like, enjoy it.” You stopped, cheeks thoroughly red at this point. You collected yourself for a final few words, “I felt… guilty I guess. For liking it. I haven’t been with anyone since Baji. I felt wrong, but it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. At all.”

Draken was silent as you spoke, his response impossible to gauge. Finally, with his eyes on his hands, he spoke. “I hooked up with a girl a couple months after Emma died. I was depressed and drunk as shit. I really wasn’t in the right mind then. This girl approached me at the bar and I ended up at her place. I felt fucking disgusting after. Nothing against her, it wasn’t her fault. How could she have known, ya know? But I just felt like such a piece of shit. I thought I was never gonna feel good about someone again,” he looked up, eyes locking on yours, “And then you walked in my garage.”

He held your gaze for a few moments, letting his words settle over you. He continued, “I was surprised by how much I wanted it, too. Then when you ran of like that, fuck, I was so scared y/n. I thought I ruined everything. This past week I’ve been a fucking mess. Inui’s on my ass and everything. All I wanted to do was see you but I didn’t wanna make shit worse.”

You didn’t know what to say, but you knew you hated seeing Draken hurt. You threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly as tears spilled from both of your eyes. “‘M sorry Daken, and don’t tell me not to apologize,” you mumbled, “Shouldn’t have run like that.”

Draken held you like he could lose you, fiercely but cautiously. Like at any moment you could disappear. “Didn’t do anything wrong,” he replied, breath fanning across your neck, “Just missed you so much. Don’t wanna lose you.”

It was easier for you to talk like this, feeling him close to you and not having to look at him. “Draken, I… I like you, a lot. So much it kinda fucking scares me. I don’t even know what to do.”

Draken pulled back just enough so he could look at you. You couldn’t help it, your eyes fell to your lap. Draken tsked, “Hey, come on, it's me angel. Look at me.” His voice was too soft to ignore. You held his gaze, your stomach fluttering.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” he replied, his thumb rubbing small circles on your back, “This is all new to me. But I know there isn’t anyone else I’d rather figure it out with.” He kissed away a tear sliding down your cheek. “I want you,” his lips ghosted across your skin as he spoke, “If you’ll have me.”

“I want you Kenny,” you murmured, locking your arms around his neck. He kissed you once, twice. Pulling back each time with a tender smile. “Take me to bed.” And so he did, lifting with the same ease as when he lifted that bike all those weeks ago. Your legs locked around his waist as he carried back to your room.

Draken set you down on your bed gently, taking just a second to smile down at you before climbing on top of you. You welcomed the weight of his body on yours, sturdy and strong. The press of his chest on yours, his thighs caging you in, his rough palms running up and down your sides. It all intoxicated you.

You needed more of him, wanting to feel his skin on yours. You were sick of there being any barrier to his warmth, even if it was just t shirts. “Tryna get me naked, huh?” Draken smirked at you frantically trying to find the hem of his shirt.

“Maybe,” you shot back, yanking it half way off him. Draken chuckled as he pulled it all the way and tossed it to the floor. Your eye scanned his muscular body, feeling your thighs instinctively rub together. Then you saw something that surprised you, a scar on his lower stomach. You ran your finger over it, the skin slightly raised. “What’s this?”

“Stab wound scar,” Draken responded, as if that was a perfectly normal response. Your stomach dropped, remembering how Baji died. You hated seeing this, knowing Draken got hurt. Knowing how vulnerable he could be.

“I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap,” you replied.

Draken laughed, “I thought you wanted me naked.”

“Hmm,” you faked thinking, “Naked, then bubble wrap.” You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his scar. While you were there you kissed up his body, Draken’s eyes sparking with lust as he watched. Once your lips found his again, he was back in motion. Draken got to work on your clothes, stripping off your top and bra with only the slightest break in the kiss to get your shirt over your head. He kissed down your neck, pausing occasionally to suck on the spots that made you squirm.

He found your breasts, taking one in his mouth while attending to the other his hands. His calloused touch raised goosebumps on your skin pulled soft moans from your lips. He spent his time there working you up, before kissing down your body. You watched with bated breath as he slid your legging and underwear off your legs.

“Shit baby,” he mumbled, “S’wet for me and I’ve barely touched ya.” He ran finger through your wetness, making your hips buck slightly, desperate to have the ache satiated. Draken licked his lips, watching you clench around nothing. “Gonna have to prep you for me angel, that okay?” He was smirking, knowing you’d never say no.

“Please Draken,” you whined. Draken obliged, licked a stripe of your pussy.

“So sweet,” he murmured before getting to work. Draken wasn’t shy, eating you out with an enthusiasm that made you blush. He was messy, tongue and lips everywhere, working you up with ease. His lips landed on your clit, sucking lightly. You gasped, your hands sliding into his dark hair.

“Kennie,” you moaned as he slid a finger into your needy pussy. Draken was spurred on by his name on your lips, curling his finger inside you to keep those pretty noises coming. After a few moments he slid another in, giving you a nice stretch. Your fingernails raked across his scalp, making his cock throb. He wanted to be inside you so bad, but he wasn’t a man who didn’t finish what he started.

“Gonna cum on my tongue angel?” he questioned, not even giving you a second to answer before returning to your pussy. You opened your mouth to reply, but it was swallowed up by moans as your pussy throbbed around his fingers. Sweet warmth flooded your body as you came, Draken eagerly licking up every last bit as you did. When he finally came up for air he wore a coy grin, his lips and chin shining from your release.

You pulled him in the back of his neck, your mouths crashing together. You kissed sloppily, tasting yourself on him. Even though you just came, you wanted him so bad it ached. “Need you,” you said breathlessly against his skin.

“I got you angel,” Draken whispered back, leaning back to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Draken naked was truly a sight to be seen. He looked like some sort of sculpture, his skin taught across his muscles. His cock hung heavy between his thighs. He was as big as promised. “You’re staring,” Draken smiled.

You blushed, which only made Draken smile wider. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“Love when you blush like that. So fucking pretty f’me” Draken said, peppering kisses from your chest, to your cheeks, to your lips.

“Need to feel you in me Kennie,” you mumbled, looking at him in a way that made him melt and heat up at the same time.

“Gonna go nice ‘n slow okay? And tell me if it hurts,” he said, taking his cock in his hand. He lined himself up to you, his tip ghosting against your sensitivity. Draken pressed a kiss to your forehead as he pressed the tip into your tightness. “Shit,” Draken hissed, “So fucking tight for me angel.”

Your hands gripped at the sheets as he pushed further into you. It didn’t hurt, necessarily, but it was a strange sensation to have your body opening up for someone. When he finally got himself fully in, you felt so full it was almost enough to make you cum again right then and there. Draken looked at you for permission to move, which you gave him with a nod. He moved his hips slowly at first, both for you and him. It has been a while for him too and he was trying not to bust too soon.

“Fuck, pretty girl, squeezing me so good,” He moaned, his head falling back slightly. His fingers laced through yours as he picked up his pace. Any bit of discomfort melted away to pure pleasure. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to the edge and Draken could tell.

“Ken- ngh- nie, shit you feel so good.” Your voice was breathless and needed. You could feel Draken throb in response.

“Look at me baby, wanna see you,” Draken instructed softly. Your eyes connected to his and they were so full of love it took your breath away. The intimacy of it all sent you over the edge. Your back arched off the bed, pushing you ever closer to him. You moaned his name, feeling this orgasm that was somehow better than the first one consume you. Seeing you like this chipped away at the last of Draken’s willpower. He came with you, the warmth of his release filling you. He slowed himself, letting you both enjoy every last bit of this moment.

When you were both fully spent, Draken pulled out of you gently, breathing heavy on the bed next to you. He pulled you into his chest, kissing the top of your head as you nuzzled into the warmth of his skin. The room fell into silence as the two of you caught your breath.

“What do you think Baji and Emma are thinking right now?” you asked. You weirdly did not feel guilty. This with Draken felt so right you couldn’t feel bad about it. You knew Baji would have wanted you to move on anyways.

It may have been weird to bring up your dead exs after sex with anyone else, but Draken just laughed, holding you closer. “They’re just happy our dumbasses finally realized we’re in love.”

#my writing #draken smut #ken ryuuguji x y/n #ken ryuuguji smut #draken x y/n #draken fic #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers fanfiction

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