#there's going to be canon 'what happens next' fics

[nick-writes-stuff]

Luck Runs Out

Seong Gi-hun x gn!reader

summary: You've been by Seong Gi-hun's side through all of it, and despite his best efforts, you stuck with him even after his usual demeanor hardened from the traumatic experiences in the games. As he prepares to infiltrate and end the games once and for all, both of your feelings for each other emerge. (~7.6k words)

!warnings: canon-typical violence, implied suicidal throughts/actions, verbal arguments, use of y/n, mega hurt/mega comfort

a/n: i'm actually really happy with this one, guys. no clue what the next fic will be yet. if you have an idea, send me a request, and i'll see what i can do! ily all and hope you enjoy <33

You have always joked with your friend Seong Gi-hun by saying that he is the luckiest man in the world. This was entirely sarcastic most of the time. Misfortune seemed to be woven into his DNA. Nothing ever went his way, and the few times that things worked out for him seemed to be a sign for more hardship to come.

Things changed in his life quite often. Money came and went. Jobs were often short-lived, and the one that did last a long time ended in a deadly strike. He got married and had Ga-yeong, and it seemed like things were going well, and then the divorce happened and he lost custody. He had to move back in with his mom because he couldn't afford both his rent and his gambling habits.

The one constant had been you. You had been close friends with him and Sang-woo growing up, but you hadn't moved away to university like the latter. You stayed local and worked a fairly steady job. You lived comfortably but definitely not as wealthy as the pride of Ssangmun-dong was. (Well, at least not as wealthy as you thought he was.)

Gi-hun definitely took you for granted sometimes. He asked you for money more often than he'd like to admit. You tried to help him when you could, but sometimes you had to give him the hard truth. It annoyed you sometimes that you knew the money you gave him was likely going right to the horse races, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt because you wanted to believe your friend could turn things around.

And it wasn't like he was just using you for your money. He was genuinely a great friend who was trying to make up for his faults. He'd always try to do something for you to metaphorically repay his debt to you. Sometimes, it would be as simple as bringing you some snack or trinket when he stopped by to visit, likely something he stumbled upon rather than an actually planned out gift. Other times, he would insist on doing something for you, like running errands or trying to fix the valve you had been complaining about. Sure, it didn't repay the actual money, but it was the principle of his actions that you found endearing.

You would be lying to yourself to say that your feelings for him were purely platonic. You'd been smitten with him since you were kids. You assumed he just thought of you as a friend, which is a fair assumption seeing as he married someone who wasn't you. You admired his compassion. He would give someone the shirt off his back if he was able. He was selfless and kind and funny. He had some rough edges, but you couldn't fault him for that.

He also recognized you as a constant in his life. When so many other things were changing rapidly, he could rely on you. Even when everything else seemed to be against him, when everyone else seemed to have moved on without him, you were there for him when he needed you.

His feelings for you were a bit more complicated. He always felt very close to you, but that's normal for friends, right? When they were younger, Sang-woo was quick to notice Gi-hun's adoration of you, but he always insisted you were just friends. There were a few times that he did consider testing the waters and ask you, but he always chickened out before he could. Plus, you deserve someone better than him. Someone without his faults. So he started seeing Eun-ji. She was nice, thoughtful, and pretty. But she wasn't you. He pushed any feelings for you into the deep recesses of his mind, and they only presented themselves in the dark of night when he couldn't sleep.

Despite being two idiots in love who didn't realize it, you stayed close through the years. But not close enough to recognize the elephant in the room.

Your feelings for him finally resurfaced shortly after Gi-hun had left for the games, although you hadn't known that was what he was doing. You were worried that he got himself into trouble with his loan sharks, and something happened. You were even more worried that he ran off, never to be seen again.

You learned of his disappearance from his mother calling you. She asked if you had seen him recently and you realized that you hadn't. She requested that you run an errand for her as she wasn't feeling the greatest. You had the free time, so you did. You arrived at their apartment to find her unresponsive. She was alive, thank goodness, but she was in rough shape. You got her to the hospital, using whatever money you had to spare to pay for the ambulance ride.

While she was getting treated, you were pacing in the waiting room, trying to get into contact with Gi-hun. Calls and texts left unanswered. You tried to call as many of Gi-hun's friends as you knew and had contact information for. Jung-bae hadn't heard from him in days. You even tried calling Sang-woo in hopes he would have answers, but that too was unanswered.

At one point, a nurse stepped out into the waiting room. “Are you Ms. Mal-soon's next of kin?” She asked gently.

The question caught you off guard for 2 reasons. Firstly, you were so invested in his mother's wellbeing that you were assumed to be her next of kin while her own son was off doing God knows what. But more importantly, hospitals don't usually inquire about that without something being seriously wrong.

You shook your head. “No, I'm just a friend of her son's.” You said.

“Do you have a way to reach him?” She asked.

You sighed. “Yeah, I've been trying to call him. Do you have something you want me to tell him?” You asked.

She nodded. “Tell him to get here as soon as he can. She's trying to refuse treatment, and I hope he can talk some sense into her.” She said, sounding somewhat exasperated. You gave her a knowing look. Mal-soon was a stubborn woman.

“I'll let him know. Thank you.” You said, giving her a slight bow. She turned and left, so you continued your efforts to call Gi-hun.

It was another 20 minutes before he answered the phone.

“Gi-hun, thank God. What were you doing that you couldn't answer?” You asked.

He sighed. “It's a long story.” He dismissed that line of conversation. There was no way he could explain that to you right now. “What's going on?” He asked.

“Your mom is in the hospital right now. I can explain more later, but you need to get here.” You said.

You heard him curse on the other end of the line. “I'll be there in ten.” He said. before hanging up the phone.

It was more like 20 before he made it to the hospital. You didn't leave until you knew he was there. While he was talking with the doctor, his mom left the building. You got a call from him later that evening.

You didn't let him get started on any small talk. “Where the hell were you?” You asked. You were stern but also concerned.

He sighed. “That's not important right no-”

“Not important? Really?” You interrupted. You took a deep breath to calm yourself down. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that, right?” You weren't angry, just worried.

He knew you were just concerned for him. So his answer was only going to make you more worried. “Listen. Remember when I told you about that business card?” He asked.

“Oh my God, don't tell me you actually went there.” You said.

“I did.” He admitted. He didn't want to explain further. He didn't need to burden you with that information. How do you even explain that to someone?

You could tell from his tone that it hadn't gone well there. He sounded so defeated.

“Y/N, I hate to do this but-”

You scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“I know, I know. But she needs treatment, and we can't afford it right now.” He said. He didn't even know why he was asking you. You didn't deserve to be treated this way.

“Gi-hun.” You started. You tried to keep your voice from breaking. You didn't want to say no. You knew he always felt like a scumbag anytime you had this conversation. You hated to say it, but you stood your ground. “I wish I could help, I really do. But I can't. I already used what I had to spare to pay for the ambulance.” You said.

This was new information to him. “You did?” He sounded in disbelief. How could you care so much for them when he treated you like this?

“Of course I did.” You said softly.

He laughed. “I don't deserve a friend like you, y/n.”

You flinched upon hearing his words. It felt like they pierced through you. You'd always be just a (friend), wouldn't you?

The second he said the words he wished he could take them back. It felt wrong to say for some reason.

The line went quiet for a moment. “I'll see what I can do.” You said softly.

“Thank you.” He said.

You hung up the phone, taking a few deep breaths before going about your evening. Later on, you got a text from him:

Hey. I've decided that I'm gonna go back to play those games. Can you check on my mom while I'm gone? I'll make it up to you, I swear.

You sighed, staring at the words as you tried to assess your feelings about this situation. It was complicated, to say the least. You desperately tried not to feel used. You were just covering for him while he ran off to do something that would probably be more trouble than it's worth. But he was your friend. That's what friends do, right?

You typed back: Yeah, I can stop by when I get a chance. How long will you be gone?

His response was fast. Not sure. It might be a few days.

You had plenty of questions about this. How was he going somewhere to play ddajki for a few days? You didn't get a chance to ask before he started typing again.

He was thinking of how to address the elephant in the room that you had no way of knowing it existed. How do you tell your best friend that you might not come back? How does he tell you he might die in pursuit of the money he desperately needed? If he told you, you would try to talk him out of it. And he knew himself, you would definitely convince him to stay. But if he didn't tell you and he died, you would assume he walked out on you like he does everyone else. The last person in the world who still saw the good in him would see the truth.

He stopped typing. He had to do this. There was no other way.

You furrowed your eyebrows as the tiny message bubble disappeared. You replied: Keep me updated if you can. Good luck with the games :)

He smiled slightly, but it was fleeting.

Thanks, I'm gonna need it.

He really did need it. He felt like nothing had gone how he expected it through the entirety of the games. He picked the hardest shape in dalgona, faced one of the strongest teams in tug of war, and paired with his closest ally in Marbles. Overall, a few hundred people died in his attempt to survive. Most were not by his own hand, but he still felt the overwhelming guilt of every life lost like he was at fault. He made it through all of this, but it never felt like he had a say in any of it. He felt like the universe was stringing him along to see what other hell he could be put through.

You kept to your word. You tried to stop in to see his mother once a day. You made excuses to see her. One day, you made too much food and gave her the leftovers. The next, Sang-woo's mother asked you to deliver something to her. She seemed somewhat suspicious with your intentions, but you could tell deep down that she appreciated your concern. She seemed mostly fine. She was more tired than usual and a bit less lively, but you hadn't thought that her condition was worsening.

At one point, she even asked you, “How come you seem to care about me more than my own son?”

The words tugged on your heart. “Gi-hun cares. I'm sure he's trying his best to be able to pay for your treatment.” You said. You weren't lying. He was trying his best. Unbeknownst to you, he was putting his life on the line for her.

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Then where is he?” She asked. You didn't have an answer for her. “You have too much faith in him. The quicker you see the truth, the better.”

You should have defended him. You wanted to. But you just couldn't. He'd been gone for how many days without a word. Was she right? Were you just too naive? Maybe he really did skip town and leave you behind. You didn't want to believe it, but you couldn't find a different explanation at the moment. You made your excuse to leave as soon as you could.

You tried to cling onto hope as long as you could. It all came to a head one night when you stopped after you had a double shift at work. You knew it was late, but you wanted to stop by since you hadn't been able to all day.

You knocked on the door. No answer.

You knocked again. Nothing.

“Mal-soon?” You called.

You strained to hear inside. You could hear something. Almost sounded like crying.

You tried to open the door. It was open. You decided you had the right away to check on her safety. You felt a pit in your stomach as you swung the door open. You took a few steps in to find Gi-hun on the floor holding his mom. She isn't breathing. He hadn't noticed you.

“Gi-hun?” You asked.

He didn't react. He was distraught. Rightfully so, of course.

You knelt down. “Gi-hun!” You called. You reached out to touch his shoulder, and he flinched away violently from your touch. His eyes looked wild, like he had expected you to hurt him.

Your breath hitched as you yanked your hand away. Your eyes were wide. “Hey, it's me. It's just me.” You said softly.

He looked up at you, and the second he recognized you, he threw his arms around you.

You froze for a moment before wrapping your arms around him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't the time for that.

You didn't know how long you sat there with him. You just sat and comforted him. Your fingers carded through his hair. You didn't say anything. How could you? What would you even say? There are no words in this scenario. You shed tears as well. You have been seeing her so often recently. A part of you blamed yourself, but you didn't voice it. Maybe you missed a sign. You should have come here on your break so you could have prevented it.

Eventually, he confided in you about everything that happened. The games, the death, the violence, the money. Telling you about Sang-woo was the hardest part. You couldn't believe it. You didn't even know he was struggling for money. You didn't even get to say goodbye. He was gone. You'd later see the media expose him for various financial crimes, but he was “evading arrest” according to the police.

The next year of your life involved trying to live with the shell of the man who was left. He hardly did much of anything. He moved into your apartment for the time being. He paid your rent in full, but he refused to touch any more of the money. He hardly ate, hardly sleeping. It was hard to watch your best friend succumb to the demons in his mind, but you stayed with him through it all.

Then, one night, he wasn't home when you arrived home after work. It freaked you out beyond belief. Considering his emotional state, you feared the worst. You tried calling him but he didn't answer. You didn't even know who else to call. You were pretty much the only person who knew he was still here. It probably seemed like he skipped town to everyone else.

But when he came back, there was something different about him. Literally and metaphorically. He had gone and got a goofy haircut. It was cut shorter and dyed a candy apple red. But more than that, he seemed to finally have the spark he once had. You could see your friend through the cracks of his once hardened exterior. He was himself again.

God, you missed him so much despite the fact you had been under the same roof for over a year. You missed the way the skin around his eyes creased when he smiled. You missed the sound of his laugh. You missed the joking and lighthearted teasing. You missed the random acts of kindness he would do when he felt he owed you something. You finally had your friend back, and you couldn't be happier.

He had some business to attend to. You weren't entirely sure what it was, but he assured you it was nothing dangerous. And then he decided he was going to go over to the US to be near Ga-yeong.

It was a bittersweet feeling. You knew it was something he really wanted. Of course, he wanted a chance to be in his daughter's life. You obviously wouldn't try to stop him from doing so. He had every right to go.

But a part of you felt betrayed. His family hadn't even tried to contact him once in the past year. Maybe Ga-yeong wanted to and wasn't allowed to, but as far as you were aware, they didn't even bother to check in with him. Even after his mother died.

But you had stayed with him in his darkest hours. You made sure his daily needs were met when he didn't have the energy to sustain himself. You talked him down from trying to end his suffering. You were woken up by the screams he would let out as he had nightmares. You stayed with him through all of it, and now he was leaving.

You made no attempts to stop him, but you felt a piece of your soul die every time he mentioned it.

He could sense there was something bothering you, but he couldn't find a way to start the conversation about it. He knew you were probably upset about him leaving, but he also knew opening up that line of questioning wouldn't be helpful. Because you both knew there was nothing you could do to stop him, and it would likely just end in an argument. Ignoring it felt like the easiest option for both of you. The path of least resistance.

So you said goodbye. You allowed your best friend, your only friend, leave you. He would probably be happier that way.

He cracked a joke as he left, and you laughed weakly. He closed the door behind him. You were trying to hold yourself together. He lingered outside the door for a moment. You knew because you didn't hear his footsteps leaving the hall.

He was second-guessing his decision as he stood. Were you going to stop him? Maybe you would follow him out and beg for him to stay. You would be able to convince him. He'd give in with little resistance just to be with you.

You didn't open the door.

He waited for a minute or so before walking away, looking somewhat dejected.

When you heard his footsteps fade into silence, you broke down.

He was gone.

You were shocked when he arrived back at your apartment 2 hours after his departure time with dried blood in a trail running down the side of his neck.

“What the hell happened to you?” You asked, stepping back to let him into your apartment.

There was a hint of that panic inside him. The panic you saw in full force the night his mother passed away. But there was also a deep-seated anger. You could see it in his eyes.

“I saw the salesman in the airport terminal.” He said without elaboration.

You had been getting a wet paper towel for him to clean off the blood as he said it. You turned around and gave him a confused look. “Am I supposed to know who that is?” You asked.

“The man who recruits for the games.” He said.

Your eyes went wide. You handed him the towel. “Did he say anything to you?”

He shook his head.

“Why did you come back?” You asked.

He sighed. “I can't just sit by and allow the games to continue. If I did, it would be a slap in the face for all 455 of the others who died. I need to find a way to stop them.”

You were still confused. “Okay, but what's with the blood?” You asked. He hadn't explained, and you wanted to make sure he was okay.

He seemed puzzled until he realized what you were talking about. “They had a chip in me. They were tracking me.” He said.

“Holy shit, why did you cut it out yourself?” You asked, a slightly scolding tone in your voice.

He didn't have a satisfying answer for you.

You left the room to grab a first aid kit to help patch him up. You both felt sparks fly whenever your fingers would graze his skin.

When you dabbed the wound with an antiseptic, he instinctively tried to pull away. You moved your free hand to lightly grab his jaw to hold him in place. You could feel his shoulders shake as his breath was caught in his throat. You assumed it was due to the pain, but in reality, the sudden contact flustered him a bit.

You bandaged him up the best you could with the supplies you had on hand. He probably should have gotten a stitch or two, but you managed to stop the bleeding yourself.

“Promise me that next time you will leave the exploratory surgery for the experts.” You said softly. You phrased it jokingly, but you were dead serious. That could have been dangerous for him if he had nicked something.

He laughed. “How about there's just no next time?”

You smiled, but you had a gut feeling that this wouldn't be the last time this would happen. He displayed almost a disregard for his own safety and it scared the hell out of you.

You once again saw your friend change drastically, but this time, you weren't sure if it was for the better or for the worse. He tried to keep you at an arm's length, likely due to the fact he had seen so many people close to him die.

Even more troubling, he dedicated himself to taking down the games at all cost. He bought a motel to conduct his operation from. It would be his war room. He tried doing it alone for a year or two, but he soon realized this was going to take more work than he could do himself (although you helped when you could).

He started working with Mr. Kim and his lackeys, hiring them to patrol the city to find any activity of the games. Suddenly, every subway station in the city had two men watching over it at all hours of the day. He made them document their patrol and controlled everything from his car with a dozen different electronics to monitor.

You felt like he was making his own game in a way. Stringing along people who are desperate for money, tracking their every move, dangling elusive prize money over their heads if they disagreed. You would never tell him that, but you couldn't get the thought to leave your mind.

He did everything he could. Even if it wasn't entirely legal. He had been getting way too many weapons too quickly for it to be above board.

Deep down, you thought this was a fruitless endeavor. The people who ran the games managed to be completely untraceable for years. They had the money and resources to own an island, a small militia, and a massive crematorium. And Gi-hun was just one man obsessed with taking them down, with a few dozen loan sharks and petty criminals doing his bidding just because of the money that got sent their way.

You tried to support him as best as you could. You often brought him meals when you knew he was working especially hard. He often didn't even remember the last time he ate something, so you figured if you were already making food for yourself, you might as well make him a portion as well.

That's what you were doing when you heard the single gunshot. You had been using your key for the motel door when you heard it ring out. You started panicking, suddenly having difficulty with the lock as your hands trembled.

You feared the worst. A single gunshot isn't typical of a confrontation. It implies intent to kill. And you knew there wasn't supposed to be anyone else in the building.

You eventually got your hands to work to remove the chain. You swung the door open, barely remembering to close it.

You called out his name. Heading toward the back room where he usually stayed, you couldn't stop yourself from getting panicked. You didn't even want to go in the room. You didn't want to see it. You didn't want to walk in to see his body, your best friend dead.

Luckily, that isn't what you saw. Gi-hun was sitting at a table, just staring over the body of another man. The man was slumped over onto the table. You could hear the pattering of blood dripping onto the tile floor.

“Gi-hun, what happened?” You asked, stepping closer to him. You tried to keep your gaze focused on him. The sight of the man in front of him was ghastly. You could smell the metallic scent of his blood in the air, and it made you queasy.

He hardly reacted to your presence, only murmuring a soft, “He lost the game.”

(And reader, you too just lost the game 😉)

Your brain was putting together the pieces of the situation, and every piece of the puzzle only fueled the anger and fear within you. “Please don't tell me you were playing Russian Roulette.” You said. There was a desperation behind your words. You were almost begging for it to be true.

He didn't understand your concern. “Why does it matter? I won anyway.” He said. He carried little regard for his own life at this point. He saw this as a win for the cause. He just killed their recruiter, the man who reaches out to the desperate people to take advantage of them. This was a victory. Why didn't you see that?

You stood there in shock at his words. “What do you mean ‘Why does it matter?’ You could have died.” You said strongly.

“I did what I had to do!” He said, raising his voice at you. Your breath caught in your throat. You tried hopelessly to see your best friend in the man who sat before you. The games really changed him, but that didn't mean you didn't care about him.

“Really?” You countered, “You had to put the gun to your head and pull the trigger? Did he force you to?”

He scoffed. “You don't get it.”

You laughed. “I don't get it? Go on, enlighten me then.” Your sarcasm was just a way to disguise your fear and concern.

He rolled his eyes. “That's how things work with them. The game has to be-”

“Fuck the games!” You cried out. He seemed to sober up a bit at your outburst. You took a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down. You didn't mean to yell at him. You were just so scared.

“If you are trying to take them down, why do you care about the rules? You could have just shot that man and been done with it.” You said, trying to reason with him.

He didn't say anything in response to your question. He wasn't going to be convinced of anything you said, and he knew he wouldn't be able to explain his thought process. It wasn't worth the argument. He had to follow the rules because that's how things work. He needed an opening to get back into contact with them, and while the game of Russian Roulette killed his only lead, it was the first lead he had in years. He was close.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you.” He said sheepishly.

You sighed. “Me too.” You said softly. You paused for a moment. “Just don't be so reckless, okay? Plus, hearing a single gunshot while you were alone was terrifying.” You said with a light chuckle.

You saw the look of realization on his face when he finally understood why you were so freaked out. “Oh, you thought I-” He started.

You nodded. “Yeah.” You cut him off.

There was an awkward silence before Gi-hun spoke up. “So what did you bring me?” He asked.

His nonchalance about sitting across from a dead man was concerning to you, but unfortunately, it made sense to you since he was probably desensitized after his time in the games. When you've seen enough doom and gloom as he had, you have to be able to laugh, or you'll drive yourself to madness

“Your favorite.” You said, setting the bag holding the food onto the reception desk. “More importantly though, what are you going to do with…” You trailed off, gesturing to the body, “him.”

He sighed. “I haven't the slightest idea.”

You never did find out how he dealt with that situation. You had a busy few day stretch at work, so you hardly had time to stop by the motel. October had always been a busy time at your workplace, but you had managed to get the holiday off. You found yourself at the motel once again. Gi-hun had mentioned that there was going to be their next step on Halloween, and while you were hesitant to get involved, he convinced you to sit in on the meeting. But you were convinced it was just so you could make something for the men to eat, since he always said that your food was “simply the best.”

You sat in the back of the room, just observing the surroundings. You really only recognized one other person, Choi Woo-seok. You frequently used the subway station that he was posted in with Mr. Kim. Your conversations had never gotten much farther than small talk, but even if they had, he seemed to have changed so much after the death of his boss. He was clearly committed to the cause now, with or without the money.

There were also some mercenaries Gi-hun had hired. Something that you doubted was legal but never mentioned. And there was another man as well. You hadn't seen him before today at all, but he seemed to be someone who Gi-hun trusted, seeing as he was so close to the investigation.

You were really only half paying attention, idly fidgeting with the bracelet you were wearing. You knew that you weren't going to be involved in the actual operation itself, so you didn't have that much of a need to listen. But when you did tune in, you felt like you got punched in the face.

“So what is your plan when you meet with the man in charge?” One of the mercenaries asked.

Gi-hun answered, “I'm going to ask to go back into the games.”

Your head shot up to look at him. You wished you misheard him, but you knew you didn't. He didn't look at you, almost like he was ashamed that you heard it. But he knew what he was doing. He invited you intentionally so you knew what was going on, but he was hoping to leave as soon as they were done with the meeting. As much as it made him feel like a deadbeat, he knew he couldn't bear to face you after you learned of the plan.

Unfortunately for him, you were stubborn as a mule.

While they were getting things ready to leave, you made your way over to him. “May I have a word with you?” You asked. Your voice was soft, but your tone was less like a question and more like an order.

He unwillingly followed you out into the hallway, shutting the door behind you both.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” You asked the second the door shut.

He rolled his eyes slightly. “How else will I get to the island? We can't even find it. If I go in as a player, it'll be easy.” He said.

You scoffed. “Yeah and what happens when the games start?”

“I'll have the tracker so the guys can find me. Plus, I've played the games before, so I'll know how to make it through them this time.” He said.

“What makes you think they'll follow their own rules?” You asked.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. “The rules are of high importance to them. They wouldn't break them, trust me.” He said.

“That was before you were hell bent on taking down the regime. They could just kill you. I don't know why you aren't getting that.” You said. Your voice was starting to waver slightly as your emotions rose. You couldn't even begin to identify the feelings swirling around in your brain.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Then that's a risk I'm willing to take.”

“Why?!” You asked loudly. He looked like a deer in headlights. “Is this really that important to you that you'll throw your life away for it?” You asked.

“How many lives were thrown away because of the games? Something needs to change.” He said. You could hear the determination in his voice, but to you, it sounded like blind faith.

“I understand that, but is it really worth dying for? Not seeing your daughter?” You asked. The words ‘not seeing me’ were left unsaid.

You seem to have struck a nerve, but he didn't respond with anger. “I'm the only person who has a decent shot in pulling it off. I know what I'm doing.” He sighed.

You fight off the tears forming in your eyes. “What happens when your luck runs out? You're staking your life on blind faith.” you asked quietly. You met his eyes to see that his were glassy as well. You wrapped your arms around your torso, hoping to soothe yourself to an extent.

After a moment of silence, you continued speaking. “I'm just so fucking scared, Gi-hun. I can't lose you too, I can't.” You said, voice becoming more frantic. The second a tear rolled down your cheek his arms were around you, engulfing you into his embrace.

You cried into his chest as he rubbed your back so gently. He didn't know what to say to comfort you because the only thing that would calm your fears would be him deciding not to go, and you both knew that wasn't going to happen.

You felt him take a deep breath, his shoulders shaking slightly. He was crying at this point, too. He felt so bad for you. He knew he was causing you pain and distress, but he knew that he needed to do it. Why did he have to hurt everyone he loved? You were the one person he had left in his life, and he was walking out on you again. You understood his reason, but it still hurt you.

After a few moments, Gi-hun spoke. “I love you.” He said softly. It was his first time saying it, but it was a fact he had known for years. He had always been too afraid to say it. He ended up pushing everyone he loved away, and he didn't want to lose you, too. But leaving it unsaid and keeping you at an arm's length was doing the same. He realized that now, and since he was walking into danger again, he wasn't going to make the mistake of not letting you know. You had to know. He hoped his show of devotion could give you hope that he would do anything necessary to make it home to you.

You didn't pull back to look at him. You just hugged him tighter. “I love you too. I always have.” You replied. Those words had been caged by your fear of ruining your friendship, but now they were let free. It felt like a weight off your chest.

“I promise, I'm going to make it out of there, okay?” He said. He meant it wholeheartedly, but you both knew that the promise could very well become empty.

You pulled away from his embrace. “You better. If you don't, I'll kill you myself.” You said with a slight smile across your face. He laughed at your contradiction.

You just looked up at him, contemplating leaning in to kiss him, but the door to the hall swung open. You both turned to look at the noise, and Gi-hun cleared his throat awkwardly. Woo-seok stood in the doorway. “We should really get going.” He said.

You both met each other's eyes again. “Good luck.” You said.

He gave you a slight bow of his head before leaving. You tried to push down the fact that this might be the last time you saw him. Repressing it seemed to be the easiest way to continue functioning.

You had stayed in the motel until the rest of them returned, sans Gi-hun. You tried to ignore the pit in your stomach that grew as you realized there was no going back.

You exchanged phone numbers with Woo-seok and the other man you didn't know until then, Hwang Jun-ho. You asked them to send you updates when they could.

For the next few days, you tried to keep yourself as busy as you could. If you were working, your mind couldn't wander. You couldn't think about the fact your best friend might never come home. The man you loved might be gone forever. There's nothing you can do anymore.

This need to be busy only intensified after Jun-ho had told you that they found the tracking chip in the bait of a fisherman. The gamemakers ruined the one way they definitely would be able to bring Gi-hun home. There was no telling where he was anymore, although the men went with the boat captain to search the sea regardless.

You worked as many shifts at work as you could. You were only home long enough to pass out for a few hours before you had to get up to do it again.

That was until you passed out at work. Your boss wanted to take you to the hospital to be checked out, but you refused. You knew it was probably because you were dehydrated and not eating regularly. Your boss gave you a few days off to rest, and there was no convincing them otherwise.

Being at your apartment was basically torture. You could only do so much to distract yourself there. Plus, you found little reminders of Gi-hun's presence (or lack thereof) in your home. And being at the motel was worse. It, too, was empty for most of the time. There were two mercenaries stationed there, just in case something would happen. They had plenty of resources needed for the cause there, so Gi-hun wanted to protect it. Plus, the two men left behind weren't sociable at all.

So you stayed home. Most of your time was spent on the couch, sitting idly while reruns of some TV show you'd never seen before played in the background of your anxiety-ridden thoughts. Sometimes, when you needed to be actively doing something, you kept your apartment spotless in an attempt to keep yourself busy.

You didn't know how long they should expect him to be gone for. You knew that back during his first games, he had been gone for maybe 5 days after he told you he was going back to the games.

As it neared two weeks of waiting, you started to accept that he was probably dead. You weren't being given updates anymore, probably because there weren't any to give. There was no way to get leads when every plan had failed so far.

You were once again zoned out on the couch. It was nearing the time most people would eat dinner, but you didn't feel like eating right now. It was hard to eat when the pit in your stomach felt like it was swallowing you whole. You were sitting on the couch, unfocused gaze watching the TV screen while your mind was elsewhere.

Until you heard a knock at the door. You heard the noise, but you hadn't realized what it actually was. Maybe it was in someone else's apartment. Maybe you were just hearing things.

The knock rang out once more. You recognized it was at your door, but you were trying to get yourself the motivation to go see who it was. When it happened a third time, you finally got up. You ought to give them a piece of your mind for disturbing you. You weren't expecting anyone. It was probably a traveling salesman or some American missionary or something.

You twisted the handle. “What do you wa-” You started to ask as you opened the door, but your words got caught in your throat at the sight.

It's him. It's really him.

Your arms were around him within milliseconds, pulling him into a hug a bit more roughly than he was expecting.

He chuckled softly. “Easy there.” He said jokingly. He slowly helped to move you back a step so he could shut the door behind you both before he embraced you once again.

You were crying the second you laid your eyes on him. Happy tears this time. He's back. He's really back. Your fingers clenched the fabric of his shirt, shoulders shaking with your sobs.

He'd be lying if he claimed he hadn't shed a few tears. He was exhausted, but he was just so relieved to be back. To be here with you. To have you in his arms again.

He stood there in your embrace, comforting you with infinite patience. He rubbed your back gently. He occasionally murmured something to remind you he was here. He's not going anywhere. He loves you so much, you know that, right?

You stopped crying, instead turning your head so your ear was against his chest. You listened to his heartbeat like it was a prayer. He's alive. He's alive and back home with you, and listening to the steady rhythm helped you realize that.

Even after you calmed down, neither of you wanted to let go of the other. You both had feared you wouldn't get to do this again, so you wanted to savor the moment for as long as you could.

You were the first to pull away. You wanted to ask him about what happened. But there was something else that Gi-hun had feared he would never get to do.

Before you even had a chance to speak, his lips crashed into yours. You were in shock for a moment, but it didn't take long for your brain to catch up and kiss him back. It was full of desperation and longing and love, and it felt incredible. You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers idly toying with hair.

Eventually, you both pulled away for air. You laughed breathlessly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to do that.” He said quietly, only making the blush on your face more obvious.

You cleared your throat. You tried to stutter out an agreement, but you couldn't form the words. Instead, you nodded vigorously with a soft “Y-yeah.”

He laughed at your flustered demeanor. Knowing he was responsible for that made him stirred butterflies in his stomach.

You interrupted his laughter with another kiss. You smiled into it, slowly trailing your hands from his neck to his chest. You felt his breath hitch at the movement. This kiss was softer and sweeter.

When you pulled away, you looked up at him. “You're probably starving. Go get yourself cleaned up, I'll start working on making something to eat.” You said.

“You're the best.” He said, a smile creeping onto his face.

You smirked. “I know.” He rolled his eyes slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading off down the hallway.

You know, you should have assumed there was a larger depth to your relationship once he had spare clothes in your apartment.

After he walked away, you couldn't wipe the stupid smile off your face. You were just happy. For the first time in a long time, you were happy. Happy he was safe, obviously, but also relieved that your previously unrequited love wasn't really unrequited. Having it out in the open was freeing, exhilarating even.

You started working on preparing a meal. His favorite, of course. As the food started cooking, you suddenly realized how hungry you actually were. The apartment was quiet, except for the running water, and a sound that you swore was Gi-hun humming in the shower.

After a while, he must have left the hallway without you seeing him. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, the sudden contact making you jump.

“Fuck you.” You said with no malice.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “How much longer do you think?” He asked.

You sighed in mock annoyance. “It would probably go faster if I didn't have you clinging onto me like a koala.” You said.

He didn't let go, instead burying his head into the crook of your neck. He was mentally scolding himself for not having the guts to accept his feelings until now. He also regretted every time he took you for granted. Every time he gambled the money that you were able to spare. Every time he kept you at arms length in order to save himself the pain of losing you like he had everyone else.

Ultimately, all of those decisions led him to this moment. Fate, luck, destiny, call it whatever you want. All of it led to this. And this was fucking amazing. While holding you in his arms, he started to believe he really was the luckiest man in the world.

[cheesycatz]

Parasitic worm pretends to be your valentine so you don't notice that they're the reason you have 24 days left to live

Wormton AU fic is 190k words now! : )

Nothing crazy new plot wise, more bonding and found family stuff. Obligatory fluff after how much these guys had to go through. I like describing all the sounds he makes when isn't trying to suppress them; chirps, warbles, trills, chirrs, chitters, screeches, snarls, and that weird computer whirring sound he makes that may or may not have the same connotations as purring (sorry I couldn't resist)

I'm excited to go through revisions! It's been so long since I wrote some of this stuff that I don't remember the fine details, so it's genuinely fun for me to read through. Also, I had fun making disguised wormton seem as cursed as possible without actually describing his real form until post-reveal. Blue was probably the only one who didn't think he was some deranged serial killer at first sight, which, fair enough. I was kind of worried about a few very minor original characters I added not being accepted, but then I remembered that Trashy the trash can probably has more speaking lines than any one of them and it probably isn't that big of a deal. I hope you enjoy the one chapter with these three kids putting their LPS animal dolls through the most traumatizing, heart-wrenching, dark story as we all did as children (I promise it's plot relevant and contains symbolism).

Drew some non-canon wormton stuff for Valentine’s Day. I mean, I don't know how you would send a valentine to an elusive homeless man with no official documentation of his existence. The asexually reproducing computer worm guy can't feel anything romantic, but he would love to take advantage of you—gladly accept your lovely gifts. Bro’s just teasing haha he would never inject parasitic worm larvae into your abdomen just don't go to the doctor in the next 24 days please he definitely loves you and not the worms hypothetically eating your organs

“worm.vbs” is a reference to the file type used by the ILOVEYOU worm and other old malware. I only know this because I realized that one of the official spamton valentines from last year contains its exact file name “LOVE-LETTER-FOR-YOU.TXT.vbs”. sharing this trivia because it was like the one reference in those valentines that I didn't see anyone mention back then and because it makes me feel smart

Food for thought:

Honestly, he'd be pretty scary if it weren't for his justified fear of the antivirus forces. Malworm safety is all about avoiding disembodied voices trying to lure you into alleys, so the fact that you can physically see his relatively humanoid disguised form would make him seem dangerously trustworthy. I was thinking about what would've happened if he would've gotten help from the person on the phone (probably gaster I guess? idk). He could've totally been like a cult leader manipulating people into willingly becoming hosts because it was honorable or whatever. And that could combine with the fact that their venom slightly influences the brain. And the followers would've thought he was simply dressing up as a malworm and his fall from grace would've been when they realized he was just a malworm in disguise infecting them and prolonging the invasion. I prefer what I have now; lonely hypothetically-murderous wormton is a lot more redeemable than very-murderous cult leader wormton would be. The addisons, or anyone really, would want nothing to do with him. Fun to think about! And only to think about; I'd rather focus on the version I have now.

See you next time at the big 200k 👀 chapter 3 might actually come out before my multi-book-length spamton fanfiction but don't worry I would never abandon my favorite freak of nature

yappin complete B)

[shepherds-of-haven]

wish it was cool and acceptable to write fanfiction of your own work, especially before the original work is actually done 😂

[plusultraetc]

Brave the Dark’s birthday is in ~1 month and in an ideal world I would post Chapter 9 Specifically on that day for REASONS

[jessicas-pi]

look, I've decided that everything george lucas was involved in is canon star wars, and everything else is basically fanfiction that I can approve of or disregard at will.

This is going to be a very important part of my life philosophy come this August.

[bibiana112]

I like this happiness can be found in any world speech putting the focus on the fact that being able to compare between a hypothetical less tragic version of events is in itself what causes unhappiness and dissatisfaction sure for the characters it's literal timeloops but real things like anxiety and ptsd often trick you into losing focus of the good things in the now and to lose yourself in the what could have been

[galacticlamps]

actually ascension needs its own post since that's the one with the most details to speculate over and im starved for soho talk so i will talk to myself if need be

First the cover again, because I kinda can't get over it:

my only thing is that I had been hoping we might get Lizbeth on a cover again since she's never been on one of the boxsets before, despite being the 2nd person credited on all 4 of them (even if that's just alphabetical, still, she's the only one of the four main characters who never makes the cover)

But letting that go...

I know we already kinda knew the brief for this one but damn I didn't expect it to go quite this hard. Maybe that's just because the Parasite & Ashenden covers were (comparatively) similarish to each other and I was so pleased with Unbegotten's, and then got so used to it as the placeholder for Ascension while they kept postponing it, I wasn't expecting anything this colorful or detailed or with what I can't help but register as Fun New Outfits even though these are still like, pretty damn basic as far as costumes go. Still, it's a different vibe from everyone in suits and trenchcoats on every cover, technically. (Oh the woes of being an audio fan such that two characters owning sweaters actually does qualify as new information)

On top of just being visually delightful though, I know we knew religion was gonna be a fairly big part of this one, but I didn't actually expect to get quite this much of it - though I'm glad of it for a number of reasons. The BF twitter already made the ineffable joke so I don't have to, but also yeah I did very much spend all of season 2 episode 4 of good omens half convinced Samuel Barnett & Dervla Kirwan were about to pop up around any given corner (if you will go around being gay supernatural and horrible at your messy bureaucratic jobs in midcentury soho then I'm sorry, this is where my brain's gonna go) - so, fuel to that fire. But in terms of actual important things, at least one of my Soho wishes looks to be being granted because we have a Rev Edward Folgate on the cast list, which must mean we're finally meeting Norton's father, even if his mother & brother don't appear (which they could, technically, I've definitely seen BF not list all the doublings on their cast tabs before). Religion, domesticity, and the nuclear family are all things that absolutely fascinate me when it comes to Norton's character, so getting any amount of story involving his father & his church is something I've been actively hoping for for a long time now.

(I will say I'm a tiny bit bummed Saffron Coomber isn't on the cast list to play Mia again, but I kinda figured she wasn't going to be since Greg Austin's Armitage, who's making his first recurring appearance after originating in Unbegotten, was listed ever since the boxset was announced - presumably if she was also returning, that would've been handled in the same way. But since Unbegotten ended with Lizbeth and Mia going on a date, I still held out hope. Who knows though, maybe things did go well for them and Lizbeth just has a better work/life balance than Norton so she can date someone without them getting dragged into every scifi plot. I know that's not a very common accomplishment for any Torchwood agent, but a gal can hope)

At this point I know I'm completely in the realm of speculation & even wishful thinking, but I'm really really hoping we get some more clues as to Norton's overall timeline in this one, and I have a feeling that even if there's nothing as direct as dates given, the events of a plot like this one are going to heavily influence my personal interpretation of it.

To say that life & death are major themes for the soho crew feels wildly reductive, but even by Torchwood's standards and taking into account its origins as a piece of media with Jack Harkness & his newfound immortality at the heart of it, the living/dead status of this bunch has always been fantastically up in the air to me. Obviously Ghost Mission introduced Norton as kind of a ghost before revealing more obvious ghostly characters later on to which the title might have been referring, but his being from the past did beg the question of his survival into Torchwood's present era all the same, which Outbreak later alludes to much more directly, and his habit of showing up via hologram in multiple stories only further obfuscates any certainty we might have about where & when he definitely can be said to be alive and well. Then you've got Lizbeth and Gideon both being effectively 'brought back to life' via paradoxes that prevented them ever having died in the first place. Again, they are very very far from being the only Torcwhood characters this happens to (for a sprawling EU, it's really rather impressive how often & in how many different ways Torchwood as a whole manages to circle back to being about like. chaotic undead queers at the end of every day. though I suppose that consistency is part of why I keep falling in love with its different iterations again and again). That's without even getting into the question of Norton's dubious fate in God Among Us - and I say dubious because I know some people take that to be his ultimate death, but I personally think that reading something as vague as that as having any kind of finality rather goes against the spirit of this whole world/series, not just because I want him to live. (There are obviously other ways to make him survive/reappear, but I don't see this as a River Song scenario where we can safely assume one of his earlier-released adventures had to happen at the end of his personal timeline). But wherever God Among Us falls for him, he does very much meet God in it - or at least, a god, since the sentinel in Unbegotten is also described as a god of sorts, and even if he doesn't ultimately have the status of the god Jacqueline King is playing there, Unbegotten is still full to bursting with ghosts/undead/came back wrong/echo characters to continue underscoring that life/afterlife theme.

So all things considered, even allowing for the fact that we know Norton's twin hobbies are lying about himself and abusing time travel to suit his own ends/ever-shifting alliances, I find it difficult to believe we could get through a whole 6-part boxset about religion & death without something providing some kind of compelling evidence about where this adventure fits in among his other run-ins with apocalypses and gods and ghosts and dead-but-still-here characters/creatures, so I'm very much looking forward to any further exploration on that front.

And lastly, and least intellectually, I really want to know what the hell 20th-century Torchwood's obsession with Reginalds is. Reading through the cast list, I had to do two separate doubletakes over the character 'Sir Reginald Peebles' - firstly, because I had Reginald Rigsby on the brain, this being Soho (and the other Troughton brother being so active on BF's releases for this same month) - and secondly, because reading this in conjunction with the announcement for the July monthly adventure in which the new main Torchwood guy of the 20s is apparently called Sir Reginald Dellafield, there was a brief moment where I took that monthly release to be a tie-in with Ascension. I don't expect it to be, but damn. was it really so popular a name?

anyways, catch me thinking about those stained glass windows for the next couple months I guess (and knowing Torchwood Soho, for a long long time after it comes out as well lol)

[thepandalion]

I have a fic idea and I dont know if I want to write it or not send help

[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

[theglizzardwizard]

Nigga. That's not the problem.

[navybrat817]

Deep in the Woods: Part 2

Pairing: Soft!Dark Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: A relaxing getaway in the woods may become your permanent home when you catch the eye of a lumberjack.

Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Part 3

Chapter Summary: You chat with a friend about the grumpy lumberjack and pay him a visit.

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.5k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, bits of MCU canon, cheating mentioned (reader's ex), grumpy x sunshine trope, invasive behavior, bits of insecurity, tension, reader is too trusting, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: Next part of our lumberjack is here! ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t make small talk when he came back to the table with his second helping. You sat for maybe a minute before you went to clean out your bowl. As pretty as he was to look at, it felt rude to sit there and watch him eat and you weren’t going to force him to chat. Standing at the sink, you felt him staring at you. He didn’t look away either when you snuck a glance at him. He looked fascinated and you couldn't imagine why.

“Do I have food on my face?” you asked, swiping at your cheek when he continued to stare.

“No.” He swallowed his last bite and licked his lips, making your cheeks warm as you looked away. “Was just looking at you.”

You glanced down at yourself, a nervous giggle bubbling up. “Not much to look at,” you mumbled, going back to get his empty bowl. “So, you said early afternoon tomorrow to go to your place. Will 1 o’clock work?”

He leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Should be fine,” he said, observing you in continued curiosity as you finished cleaning up. You weren't used to someone observing you the way he did, and you couldn't pinpoint if the feeling in your stomach was nerves or butterflies. “You trying to kick me out?”

“No,” you said, your brows pinched as you sat back down. “Does it seem like I am?”

“Just cleaning up quickly and asking about tomorrow. Seemed like you were trying to get me out of here.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I could be wrong.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” You hadn’t exactly planned for his company, but you didn’t mind, and you weren’t trying to be a bad hostess. You almost reached across the table to touch his hand but opted to give him a soft smile instead. “It’s nice having you here.”

His gaze softened, his lips inching upward before he cleared his throat. “Any plans for the rest of the day?”

“Not really. I do have to get on my laptop for just a few minutes, but that’s it,” you answered. Since the trip was meant to be a romantic getaway and you were alone now, you didn't have much of anything planned besides relaxing. “You?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head. “Why did you say that earlier?”

“Why did I say what?” you asked.

“That you aren't much to look at,” he said, tilting his head with another tiny smile that made your knees go weak. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, your cheeks hot. “That’s…” You thought for a second that he was joking, but his eyes were serious. The compliment was also completely unexpected, especially from a man who wasn't too welcoming a short time ago. “Thank you, Bucky, but I’m not-”

“Don’t do that. If I made you uncomfortable, just say so.” His cheek twitched and guilt churned in your stomach at the thought of upsetting him. “You don't need to brush off the compliment by trying to put yourself down.”

You looked in your lap, not wanting him to see the sadness in your eyes. Your ex should've called you beautiful, should've made you feel that way, too. And what happened? He strayed. You couldn't hold onto him. As much as you wanted to think there wasn't anything wrong with you, there was still that voice of doubt that said you weren't good enough or pretty enough. Insecurities had a tendency to seep in like poison. What was the remedy for that?

“I wasn't trying to brush off your compliment,” you promised, lifting your gaze. He didn’t look convinced and that made you feel worse. He was only being nice. “It’s just… My confidence is a little shaken and self-deprecating is a defense mechanism, I guess.”

You wanted to run to the bedroom and hide when he regarded you. Why did you tell him that? Why did you tell him anything? He wasn’t your friend or confidant, and it wasn’t fair to unload anything like that onto him.

“I’m sorry. I-”

“Don’t apologize. I understand what it's like,” he said, glancing at his metal hand. “To have your confidence shaken.”

After what he had been through, you could only imagine. “How did you pull yourself out of it?”

“Still working on that,” he replied, his eyes distant as he pushed himself up from his chair. “I should get going.”

“Oh, okay,” you smiled politely and got up to follow him to the door. While it wasn’t your intention to push him out, you may have inadvertently driven him away. “Thanks again for chopping the firewood.” It saved you a lot of trouble.

“Thanks for the meal.” He swept his eyes over you once his boots were on. “Guess we took care of each other, huh?”

“I guess we did,” you said. And you really appreciated his compliment. It felt nice after everything.

You were reminded once again just how large he was when he straightened up, your heart racing when he stood directly in front of you. That close you could smell the forest on his shirt. “Don’t touch that axe again,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “If you need anything, you come to me.”

Your throat went dry. He was so dominant in his stance, something in his tone sending a delightful shiver down your spine. There was also a predatory shadow in his eyes that gave you pause. He could eat you alive.

Out here, all alone, he could do anything.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“If I need anything.” You had to clear your throat. “I’ll come to you.”

Bucky stepped back and took some of the warmth with him. “Lock the door tonight. I need you safe,” he said, leaving without another word.

The silence in the cabin was deafening as you were left alone. Bucky was… something. Curt at times, a bit defensive, and didn’t have regard for your personal space bubble, but you weren’t going to judge his social skills when yours were nowhere near perfect. He also seemed to like your company at least a little and was oddly protective of you.

“Probably thinks I’m just a damsel in distress,” you muttered, going to get your laptop.

You thought back to the conversation you had with Bucky. He was out here for nine months now and had a cat. And you… your stomach sank when you realized you told him you lived alone and worked from home. He already knew you were out there by yourself and you basically implied that no one would realize if you were gone. At least, not right away.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing the weird feeling away. Bucky Barnes was a hero, and you were a stranger in his territory. It was natural that he’d have questions. You had nothing to worry about.

You decided to sit out on the porch so you could look at the picturesque view again. Part of you wondered what it would be like to live out here full time. To walk outside on a cool morning and inhale the fresh air. To see the sun rise through the trees. You wouldn’t have to worry about the bustling sounds of the city but could instead take in the quiet.

Which was interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing.

You smiled when you saw Kenna’s name pop up. She was one of your oldest friends. “Hey,” you answered, putting the phone on speaker so you could continue to type. “What’s up?”

“Hey, girl. Work sucked. I’m seriously considering getting a sugar daddy.” You scoffed. She would never. She hated relying on others. “How about you? How are the woods?”

“Gorgeous,” you smiled, stopping to look around. “Sorry work sucked.”

“It’s whatever. You actually get reception out there in the woods? Nice.”

“So far, so good,” you said. You expected it to be a bit spotty, but it was fine for now.

“And you're feeling okay?” she asked with a hint of concern. “That cabin was supposed to be for-”

“I’m fine. Really.” You didn't want her to worry about that. “But I may have done something kind of stupid.”

“God, you didn't call him, did you?”

“No! No way.” You blocked his number and all social media accounts. You wanted nothing to do with him.

“Then what did you do?” she asked curiously.

“Well, there’s this kind of grumpy, really hot lumberjack who lives near the cabin I’m staying in,” you said, looking around to make sure Bucky wasn’t nearby. It looked like you were all alone. “He wasn’t exactly nice to me when we met earlier today, and I may have snapped at him a little bit.”

“You snapped at a guy who was rude to you? That doesn't sound stupid. Sounds like he deserved it.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t the stupid part,” you said, taking a breath. “I may have told him that I am here all alone for the next couple of weeks,” you blurted out, leaving out that he knew you lived alone, too, and that the grump in question was Bucky Barnes.

Your face scrunched up when you waited for Kenna’s response. “Oh, sweetie…” There it was, the condescending tone complete with a “sweetie” on top. “Why would you tell him that?”

“I don't know!” you exclaimed, lowering your voice with a sigh, “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You're not an idiot.” There was a pause on the other end. “I mean, you did kind of shine a beacon over yourself that says ‘hey, take advantage of me!’ because your self preservation skills aren’t the sharpest, but I know that wasn't your intention.”

You made a face at the phone, your fingers taping the keys harder than you needed to. “Wow. So, I am an idiot and anything that happens to me is my fault?” you asked. You were being defensive when Kenna was only being honest, which you appreciated. But being in the woods, the only thing you should have to worry about was bears, not people with bad intentions.

“No! That’s not what I meant. You just see the world in a much brighter light than most of us do, you know? You feel like you can trust people to have your best interest at heart when you open up to them because you choose to see the good. But the reality is, the world isn't that bright, and most look out for themselves first.”

“Rose colored glasses, I know,” you said, softer this time.

“Listen, I shouldn't have said you put a beacon on yourself. People who do bad things are the ones at fault, not the people they take advantage of.” There was another pause. “Maybe you won’t have to worry about this guy but try to be careful.”

“I will,” you said. You had to look out for yourself.

“And before you say more, let me guess. You were nice to the grump after you snapped at him?”

“You know me too well,” you smiled sheepishly. “I fed him.”

“Oh, God, he tasted your cooking? Yeah, you’re in danger,” Kenna teased. She always praised your cooking skills. “He’ll probably be on the doorstep every day asking for a meal and you’ll give him one.”

You giggled. “Because I’m a pushover?”

“It’s because you’re a good person, so stop with the self-deprecating,” she said. First Bucky, now Kenna. “If I could just give you some of my pessimism and you give me some of your optimism, we’d be perfect.”

“The perfect blend,” you said, though you didn't think Kenna was that pessimistic. She was just realistic.

“Also in your defense, a hot grumpy lumberjack is like something out of a romance novel. I probably would've jumped his bones.”

“Trust me, you would,” you said. Bucky was drop-dead gorgeous, and he would probably have fun with Kenna. Why did that thought make you feel sick? “He has a cat. And he said I was beautiful,” you said, your heart skipping a beat from the memory.

“Oh, he did, did he? Okay, I know I just told you to be careful, but… maybe this guy can blow your back out.” You looked around again and debated taking her off speakerphone when you thought you heard a twig snap in the distance. “I mean, you deserve multiple orgasms after what he who shall not be named put you through.”

“Kenna…” you sighed, not in the mood to discuss your ex. She never liked him but tried to tolerate him for you while you dated. You were grateful she didn’t say “told you so” when you broke up. “I just met this guy.”

“And? People go to bars and leave with people all the time. And all I’m saying is that your ex is out of the picture, and you have some wounds exposed,” she said carefully, not wanting to upset you. “So let this guy lick them clean if he offers. Let him lick something. I mean, he’s a lumberjack. He’s probably pent up and a beast in bed.”

Heat spread between your thighs before you mentally dumped a bucket of cold water on yourself. No way did Bucky want you. “So, I’m no longer supposed to be careful. I’m supposed to let him, what, fuck me?” you asked.

“Be careful and let him fuck you. Establish boundaries but have fun over the next couple of weeks. Go see his cat and then show him yours.”

You burst out laughing and covered your mouth so the sound wouldn’t echo. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m also the best,” she stated. She really was. “And who knows? This could be the start of something new.”

“I don’t think…” You sat up when another twig snapped, this one closer. You couldn’t see anything when you did a quick scan from your seat. “Hey, what would you think about coming out here for a couple of days so I’m not alone the whole time?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. She was probably looking at her calendar. “Hmm. I’ll try to swing it with work, but no promises. I’ll keep you posted,” she said.

“Yeah, just call or text me,” you said, shutting your laptop. If she couldn’t, maybe one of your other friends wouldn’t mind spending some time away from the city. “I gotta go.”

“Me, too. Take care. Carry pepper spray. Be safe,” she said, hanging up.

You slowly went to the edge of the porch and looked around the side of the cabin. There was a good chance the sounds came from an animal nearby, maybe a deer. You could blame the chill that ran through your body on the breeze. It was getting darker though and not being able to see much beyond the nearby trees didn’t soothe your sudden nerves.

With a shake of your head, you went back inside. No one was there. You were just being paranoid.

Locking the door like Bucky instructed, you breathed a bit easier and wondered what you’d cook for him tomorrow. Something not too heavy since it was for lunch, but tasty. It was nice to have someone to cook for since the plan was to cook for two for the next two weeks.

You also thought about what Kenna said. Would there be any harm if anything transpired between you and Bucky? It would be nice to have some fun, but that wasn’t really your style. You were always a relationship kind of person. And Bucky, well, you had no clue what he wanted.

“Forget it,” you muttered.

Curling up on the sofa, your heart ached as you stared between the board games on the shelf and the small fireplace. There really wasn’t much to do by your lonesome, but there was reading. Television. And you wouldn’t put stock in Bucky spending lots of time with you while you were there. He wasn’t responsible for you.

Sniffling, you curled into yourself more. The cabin was meant to be filled with laughter, sounds of pleasure, and more. Not silence. But you’d still have a nice time. You owed it to yourself. And if anything, maybe you’d end the trip with a new friend.

You were in much better spirits when you headed to Bucky’s cabin the next day. The spring in your step was partially thanks to the good night's sleep you had after reading. The bed was extra comfortable, and you woke up bright and refreshed. You could get used to that feeling.

The other spring in your step was, well, because you were having lunch with Bucky. You didn’t want to admit how long you took to pick out an outfit in between making lunch and baking cookies. It wasn’t like you were trying to get his attention or impress him, but you still wanted to look nice and presentable. And you wouldn't allow the thought of loneliness to dampen your mood.

“Wow,” you whispered when his cabin came into sight. It was larger than the one you were in, simplistic and beautiful in design, and had a wraparound porch. You wondered how often he sat on the porch swing and if he brought Alpine out with him.

Taking a breath as you walked up the stairs, you gently knocked on the door. You didn’t know why you were nervous. It was just lunch with Bucky. A handsome, brooding-

You didn’t realize that Bucky had opened the door until you blinked, his blue eyes locked with yours. How many people cowered under his stare? He took up almost the entire door frame and a tiny sound escaped your lips when you noticed he was shirtless. The man had no shirt on.

You bit your lip involuntarily, trying your damnedest not to leer. Were you supposed to look at his massive chest? The scars on his left shoulder? The metal arm? Or was your gaze supposed to dip down past his torso to his jeans and… No. No. You weren’t supposed to stare at all.

“Right on time.” His voice was gruff, holding a hand out to take your bag. “Did you have a good night?”

“Um, yeah. Did a bit of reading and went to bed early.” His fingers touched yours when you handed the bag over and you let it linger longer than you should’ve. It wasn't like there was any tension between you two, right? “You?”

“Yeah. Uneventful,” he said before he deadpanned, “You staring at me?”

Your mouth fell open as he raised an eyebrow. Saying yes would make you look like a creep and saying no might hurt his feelings. “Well, you’re shirtless,” you answered, making a point to look away when you gestured to him. You felt kind of bad looking, but it also felt wrong to not look. As if that was an excuse. “You’re not cold?”

“It’s warm in here and I run warm as it is.” He didn’t look at all embarrassed when you snuck another glance at him. “It’s also more comfortable with the arm sometimes to go shirtless,” he explained, giving you just enough room to squeeze past him. You couldn’t stop your body from pressing against his since he didn’t provide much room and you hoped he didn’t notice the hitch in your breath. “If it bothers you-”

“This is your home and I want you comfortable,” you said, putting some distance between you once he shut the door. If he wanted to go shirtless, you wouldn’t stop him. You could deal with him and his sexiness for a short time and get through a meal.

“I appreciate that,” he said, taking your coat and purse. “Make yourself at home.”

You lingered in the living room. Rustic with the exposed wood beams, but cozy and inviting with the plush sofa and chairs. The large stone fireplace drew your attention, along with the rug in front of it. The perfect place to sit and gaze into a fire on a cold night.

You moved close to the mantle to look at the three photos that rested there. One was of the sun shining on a large body of water with trees on each side. It looked warm and peaceful.

The second was Bucky with two other men, all three of them in leather jackets. You recognized them after taking a closer look: Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, heroes just like Bucky. While they looked relaxed and happy, Bucky wasn’t smiling at all.

Was that photo taken before or after the tough mission?

But the third photo wasn’t a photo at all. It was an empty picture frame. Where was the picture?

“Wakanda.”

You jumped and spun around, nearly bumping the mantle with Bucky so close. Your racing heart didn’t go back to normal immediately. How did he move around so quietly? “Wakanda?” you repeated.

He nodded to the first picture frame. “Where that photo was taken. It was right outside of my hut, sometime after I started healing. I didn’t have any nightmares that day.” His smile was soft as he reminisced. “It was a peaceful time.”

You smiled softly, too. He deserved peace. “It’s a beautiful view,” you said. The view he had there was beautiful and peaceful, too.

“I assume you know who Steve and Sam are?” You nodded in confirmation. “That was Sam’s birthday. He made us take a picture together and insisted on framing it.” He rolled his eyes, but there was affection there that he couldn’t hide. “I only have it up here because Steve said it would hurt his feelings if I threw it out.”

You looked at the photo again. Bucky’s hair wasn’t as long as it was now and his stance wasn’t as stiff, but the brooding expression was there. “I think that’s nice,” you smiled. It was good that he had friends. “And what about that frame?”

His jaw clenched, his fingers grazing the glass. “It’ll be a family photo,” he whispered longingly. “One day.”

Your heart broke for him and the urge to soothe him skyrocketed. Before you could stop yourself you put a hand on his arm. His muscles tensed under your touch and you pulled away, regretting your action immediately. “I’m sorry I touched you.” You felt terrible. You should’ve asked. “I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful photo. A beautiful family photo for your beautiful home,” you assured him as he let out a breath. He’d have that one day like he wanted.

He leaned in close, his lips close to skimming your ear. “Your touch doesn’t bother me,” he whispered like it was a secret between you before he pulled away. If he caught you quivering, he didn’t say so. “If you think this room is beautiful, wait ‘til you see the rest of the place,” he said, leading you away and not mentioning the family photo again.

You gasped when he brought you to the kitchen, your eyes bright as you took in the room. The rustic and cozy theme continued and you wondered if Bucky built the cabinets. You envied the open concept and counterspace and you wanted to weep over the large stove. The kitchen was the heart of a home and it was very much true for Bucky’s place.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” you said, running a hand along one of the counters. You didn’t miss the way his chest puffed out with pride. “My kitchen is so small, but a space like this…”

He unpacked the bag of food you brought, giving you a sideways glance. “Maybe you can cook here,” he casually stated.

Your eyes lit up. “Really?” you smiled, nearly throwing yourself into his arms. You refrained. “I can cook here?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, tucking his hair back. Standing in front of the counter, shirtless, his hair down, he looked like a wet dream. “Like I said, I’m not as good of a cook as you. It’ll be nice to get some better use out of it.”

You clapped your hands giddily and he actually smiled a full blown smile. “Thank you, Bucky. Really,” you said. You’d make something extra special. “I hope you like the sliders. I made cookies, too.”

He turned to face you, his muscles rippling as he stepped a little closer. This man really didn’t understand personal space, did he? “How did you know I wanted dessert?” he asked, that husky tone back in his voice. Was he implying… No.

It was like Kenna was both the angel and devil on your shoulders, one telling you to flirt a little, and the other telling you to play it safe. “Just a guess,” you said lightly, going for something in the middle.

You didn't feel like you could breathe properly until he stepped back. “I almost forgot…” he trailed off, sauntering from the room.

You swallowed as you stayed rooted to the spot. What did he forget about? That he was still walking around without a shirt on?

Bucky came back with a beautiful cat in his arms, and you were close to swooning. It was quite the sight seeing a shirtless Bucky Barnes holding a cat, who looked at you with a curious stare. You didn't blame her for staring. You were a stranger in her home.

“Al, this is the woman I was telling you about,” he said, making your heart flutter when he said your name. He actually talked about you to her? It didn't mean anything special. He probably told her that a new visitor was stopping by. “Can you say hi?”

Alpine gently meowed, bringing a smile to your face. Bucky smiled, too. They made quite the pair.

“You can hold out your hand for her,” he said.

You did so gently, not wanting to startle her. “Hey, Alpine,” you smiled.

Her nose tickled your fingers before she nuzzled it, urging you to pet her. You did so, which earned you a purr in response. It was nice to get her seal of approval since Bucky said she was particular with people.

“Wanna hold her?” Bucky offered.

“If she’ll let me,” you said.

As soon as you held out your arms, Alpine crawled into them. Bucky looked pleased when she got comfortable and continued to purr. “She really likes you.”

“I like her, too,” you smiled down at the feline. She was a sweetheart.

“Perfect…”

You glanced up to find Bucky holding up his phone. “Sorry. Just thought it would be a nice photo,” he said, his expression not at all apologetic as he showed you the picture he took of you holding Alpine. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Oh, no. That’s fine,” you said. Maybe he didn't have pictures of others holding her.

He glanced at the photo again and nodded. “I might have to frame this one,” he said, tucking his phone away.

Your smile wavered as he grabbed a couple of plates. That wasn't weird, was it? No. It was just a guy wanting a sweet photo of his cat.

“Let’s eat,” he said, rubbing his chiseled stomach. “I’m starving.”

We deserve a shirtless Bucky, don't we? Is that photo going in that empty frame? What do we think will happen next? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[talaok]

Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

[joicecubes]

im feeling especially unwell today about the fact that ford was canonically the one who was the most committed to helping stan get his memory back after weirdmaggedon. i’ve been thinking about it nonstop. that he’d fall asleep next to stan watching old videos of them as kids, that he’d recount as many memories he could think of, that he spent all that time apologizing too?

like as much as they were both in the wrong for everything that happened to drive a rift between them, i feel like this is when ford would finally be able to come back down to earth and realize how much he’s failed stan. because there’s a sizeable chunk of stan’s life, aside from the 30 years he was in the multiverse, that ford knows nothing about. and how does he explain that? how is he supposed to admit to a completely unknowing stan that the reason they were apart for so many years is because stan broke his science fair project? ruined his chances to go to that college, of course, but he made it alright regardless, didn’t he? and what did stan have to go through as a result? all ford knows is that hes been to prison in three different countries. that he once had to chew his way out of a trunk of a car. his life must’ve been so difficult, he was kicked out as a teenager after all, and ford had done nothing to reach out. held this pointless grudge for over a decade.

i just can’t imagine the sheer amount of guilt ford must be feeling. to be the one to recount these memories to stan, it would give him this kind of perspective that he never had before. ford runs from self-reflection. he doesn’t think about the ways he’s wronged the people he cares about because it scares him to come face-to-face with his failures. but now he’s forced to come to terms with the reality of their situation, and the reality is that stan didn’t deserve the harsh consequences of his mistake. the reality is that, no matter how responsible stan was for selfishly ruining ford’s dream, it was ford who so stubbornly kept the distance between them. he was right to be angry. but in turning his back on his brother, his best friend, the person most important to him in the world, ford has fundamentally failed him.

ugh. i need to write a fic about this

[mostly-imagines]

The Arkham Knight

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the arkham knight goes after the crevice in the red hoods armor

warnings: typical canon violence, threats to the reader including death & implied sa, nonconsensual touching for reader (not nsfw), reader gets cut with a knife, character death (not reader or jason), angst w comfort

**for the sake of this, we're going to pretend that the arkham knight isn't jason -- or that he's from an alternate universe or something if you prefer. in any case, red hood & the arkham knight co-exist in this fic

You wake up to a sensation that takes you a moment to place. Your eyes are still closed and the word conscious is barely even applicable to you, but still, you feel it.    

There’s a hand wrapped around your neck.

Given that it's about one in the morning at this point and it’s not uncommon for your boyfriend to get very touchy after coming home from patrol, you didn’t dwell much on it.

His thumb strokes across your skin delicately, applying no real force with his grip.

You don’t feel his arm, though. Usually, you’d expect to feel the weight of at least his arm on you, as he laid next to you, hand resting on your neck. But you just feel his hand. No other weight on the bed at all, actually. Like he’s standing next to it.

That is something to dwell on, you think. You open your eyes and almost scream, before the hand on your neck swiftly clamps down over your mouth.

“Shhh.” he hushes. 

You probably wouldn’t be too much less scared if it were some random burglar, but it’s not. You look at the helmet hovering above you and you recognize it instantly. That’s the Arkham Knight. Jason hadn’t said much about him but you know he’s been having altercations with him recently from the news.

Standard enough.

What’s not so standard is one of Red Hood’s enemies in your apartment, in your bedroom. That means he knows who Jason is. Not good. Not good at all.

The Knight uses his free hand to yank you up by your arm into a sitting position. Your thoughts are still going a mile a minute trying to process what the hell is happening when he hauls you over his shoulder.

You start to fight back, thrashing in his hold and hitting his back with as much force as you can muster, but you’re not surprised it doesn’t do much. This guy’s as big as Jason and it doesn’t take a vigilante to figure out that this is a fight you can’t win.

He jostles you on his shoulder a little bit, murmuring, “Easy, sweetheart. We’re just going on a little trip.”

You continue struggling against him and when you reach the apartment building hallway you start shouting, though you’re quickly shut up by him.

He plops you down on your feet, hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “Don’t make me hurt you.” He warns with venom. 

If you’re going to get away it could only be now. But you saw the gun holstered to his thigh and based on the little that you know about him, he will shoot anyone that tries to help you without hesitation. 

So you let him shove you outside and into the backseat of a black car without a fight, only starting to feel the consequences with the way he holds you incredibly close with a tight grip throughout the ride.

You end up at a warehouse at the edge of the city, filled with crates and storage containers that you’re assuming are stocked with weapons. Soldiers line the perimeters and block the exits, though you didn’t have much of a mind to try and run from the Arkham Knight anyways. The metallic glint off his gun from the lights warn you every time he moves.

He has you sat on a chair as he leans against a crate in front of you, not bothering to have tied your hands. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush to do anything with you, if anything, the way he idly lazes implies that he’s waiting for something. Waiting for Jason, you’d guess. A long fifteen or so minutes goes by—you know so because you counted the seconds in your head as an attempt to keep your mind away from the killer in front of you.

You’re dressed only in a loose t-shirt and sleep shorts, the Gotham night air bitter on your skin. It only gives you all the more reason to curl up into yourself, doing your best to cover your body. 

He tilts your face to the side with the barrel of his gun. “You are a pretty thing, aren’t you? I can see why he keeps you.”

You snap your head away, eyes down and looking to the concrete floor. The sleeve of your shirt slips from your shoulder and you quickly yank it back up, much to the amusement of the Knight.

His shoulders shake lightly as he relaxes the gun to his side, “So, what? S’he your boyfriend or r’you just fucking each other?”

You try to keep your face neutral, keeping your eyes glued on the ground. “I just help patch him up sometimes. I don’t even know who he is.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you just lied to me, but only because I already know the answer.” He pulls you in close and kisses the side of your head with his helmet before whispering in your ear, “Don’t lie to me again.”

You try not to let your shoulders shake as bad as they want to, though you’re sure he knows exactly how frightened you are anyways.

You huff quietly, attempting to show more courage than you have. “So what, all this for ransom? Just to piss him off?”

He tilts his head at you wryly, “No, I’m going to put a bullet in his head.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

“Ah. Yeah, if you were just fucking you wouldn’t have that look on your face right now.” He tuts, patting your cheek.

A series of gunshots outside the warehouse has you jumping in your seat.

The Knight claps his hands together, “Oh, here we go!”

He stands abruptly and pulls you up with him roughly, wrapping his arms around you to pin you against his chest, resting the chin of his helmet on your shoulder. The few men scattered around the room drop one by one, quickly, though the Arkham Knight pays them no regard.

“Back away from her.” The modulated voice of his helmet calls out sharply. You can’t quite tell where he is, but he sounds up high—maybe in the rafters or set up at one of the windows.

“Easy, Hood. Pays to be mindful of the stakes.” He pushes your chin up with the barrel of the gun.

You can’t see him but you have a feeling he’s got his gun trained on you, waiting for the Knight to give him a decent shot.

You can tell how incensed he is, even from the distance as he shouts, “Put the gun down. Now.”

The Knight tsks, “Don’t make me do something I’ll kind of regret. She’s got too pretty of a face to die so soon.” He squeezes your cheeks as you try to pull your head away from his hands, with no avail. “And so messy.”

His free hand travels down your neck and squeezes. You try not to look scared, both to spite the Knight and for the sake of Jason’s concentration.

He backs you up into a mess of crates, gun persistently pointed to your head, and he yanks you down with him to duck behind them. You’re both mostly obscured from view, though you think the tops of your heads might still be visible from the angle Jason’s at.

“I’m not asking twice.”

The Knight ignores his threat, continuing on, “No, no, don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of her for you, Hood. She won’t miss a thing.” His glove drifts down your side, squeezing your waist.

Jason fires again, hitting startlingly close to the Knight’s head.

You take the momentary distraction to knee him in the groin which only makes him tighten his grip on you. “Oh, you…” he grunts. “You are a fighter, aren’t you?”

You sneer at him, “Fuck—” he yanks your hair roughly, pulling you into a better angle for him to hold onto you. “You.”

He squeezes your arm very hard, calling out, “On second thought, Jace, I’m thinking about cutting her open and letting her bleed out right here.”

He puts his gun in the holster before one of his hands pulls the bottom of your shirt up, the other flipping out a blade that he presses flat against your stomach. The knife is cold against your skin and the sensation is what allows you to finally admit to yourself that you’re scared.

This is somehow a hell of a lot more terrifying than the gun and you can’t swallow the fact that you’re one unlucky move away from being gutted in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of Gotham. Jason’s quiet and you can’t be sure that he’s not injured or stuck dealing with more soldiers. You visibly shake at the thought of really being on your own now.

The Knight clicks his tongue, tilting his head down at you as he watches you tremble. “Aw, I’m sorry. Am I scaring you?” He knicks your skin, purring, “It’s not personal, sweetheart.” He lets the blade drag a bit, widening the size of the cut. “Well, not for you.”

You grimace at the feeling of being sliced open, trying your hardest not to give him any reaction. Your body involuntarily slides down to the ground until you’re on your back with him crouched above you. 

He pulls the knife back and you both take in the sight of your blood lining the side of it. Your eyes well with tears as he points the end of the knife down at your stomach, readying to pierce your skin in a far less superficial way.

A gunshot fires far closer than you were prepared for, making your entire body jump. The fear becomes visceral then, because your automatic reaction to the noise was to assume that you had just been shot by the Arkham Knight. But in actuality, the Knight himself gets knocked to the floor, the shot having hit the side of his helmet. A flash of red out of the corner of your eye has you flinching, though it darts right past you and onto the Knight.

Hood slams him fully onto the ground by the shoulders, trying to remove his helmet so he can fire a shot that's actually effective. The Knight fights against him, pushing him off of him and reaching to draw his own gun.

You’re dragging yourself backwards, crawling away to safety. You keep going until you can’t see them anymore; you’re too scared to see it play out, too scared to help, too scared to think.

The clamor of grunts and punches landing drowns your senses as you try to fold in on yourself into the smallest ball possible on pure instinct.

A shot fires, though the sounds of struggling persist. Another shot, followed by a curse that you can’t make out who it came from. You can see debris littering the air around one of the crates where one of the shots must have hit. A few seconds go by before a third shot echoes out and the scuffle slows to a halt.

It’s quiet for the longest few moments of your life and in the panic, you begin to lose all sense of what you’re waiting for. You forget to look up when you hear someone approaching you rapidly, only finding cessation to your concern when a pair of hands grabs your face, pulling your head up so he can see you.

You’re only barely able to process that it’s your boyfriend knelt in front of you, blood splattered on his armor. You know this is good, you’re grateful to see him, but you can’t feel anything but panic.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, taking in your emotional state. “Are you hurt?” His helmet scans over you frantically, hands trying their best to remain gentle on your face.

You try, but you can’t push the words out of your mouth.

Honestly, you just want to see him, see his face so you can start to feel safe again. But the sight of another inanimate helmet is doing nothing to calm you, in spite of you wholeheartedly trusting the person under it with your life.

His gaze finds the small pool of blood seeping through your shirt. He rushes to lift your shirt up, fussing over the laceration. It’s about two inches wide, but it’s shallow enough that it won’t need stitches. Once he determines that you don’t need immediate medical attention, he drops your shirt back down, leveling his face to yours.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers desperately, “Baby. Talk to me,” he brushes hair out of your face gently and the contact makes you jump on instinct, your adrenaline nowhere near lowering. If you were in any real state of mind right now you’d feel awful for flinching like that when he touched you, you know exactly how sensitive that is for him. But right now, you didn’t even completely register that it was him that touched you.

Your eyes stay fixed on the concrete and the only response you can manage is a strangled hum and a shake of your head, no I can’t talk right now not right now not now

“Okay. Okay,” he lifts you up off the ground from your knees and holds you close, like he’s trying to prevent you from disappearing again. You’re staring blankly at his glove holding up your thigh, trying to center your focus on that instead of all the bodies in your peripheral or the memory of the blade pressed against your abdomen.

You don’t notice it, but he’s looking down at you constantly, scanning your face for anything, any signs of change.

The entire ride back to your apartment you’ve got a death grip around his torso and he’s thankful for it because he can’t have his hands on you while he’s driving the bike.

He gently helps you inside, handling you like your bones are made of float glass. His helmet finally comes off once you’re back home, but you’re a bit too out of it to even notice.

The wave of lucid emotions don’t kick in until he sets you gently on the bed and you realize you’re back in the place where you woke up to his hand around your throat. You can feel the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, the blood slowly starting to dry.

The tears fall before you could even realize that your eyes started watering and Jason could swear on his life that he physically felt his heart break. 

You feel like a little kid the way you cry, chin low and shoulders shaking. You don’t even know what you want, what could possibly help right now.

“Can I touch you?” He asks in a strangled whisper, desperate to try anything he can to make this better for you. He absolutely hates that you have to be in such distress because of something that he brought into your life, something that he should’ve been able to prevent. He’d rather relive all his worst days again and again than see you so pained ever again.

You give no response so he takes the chance and does it anyway because he can’t stand to see you hurting so badly and while he just sits here watching. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap and into his chest. Thankfully, you respond in kind and squeeze your arms around him tightly, sobbing harder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He presses his mouth against your head, trying to keep it together as you shake in his hold.

He won’t tell you this, especially not right now, but he was absolutely terrified. He couldn’t have gotten home more than ten minutes after you’d left, being met with little things ever so slightly out of place. The bedroom door ajar, when you usually keep it closed. The lamp in the living room that you always leave on for him was off. The bolt on the door was broken, the turn locks unlocked.

He’s panicked plenty of times before in false alarms, thinking you were gone or dead when in reality you’d just been tired and skipped a few steps in your nightly routine. So he kept his thoughts at bay as he crept into the bedroom, opening the door to find the bed empty, sheets oddly messy. He booked it down the hall and checked the bathroom, checked the spare room. Nothing. He’d whipped his phone out immediately and could literally feel his stomach drop when he heard your phone ringing in the bedroom.

It didn’t take him long to piece together what had happened, who had taken you. He’d been having increasing altercations with the Arkham Knight lately and they were beginning to get very annoyed with each other. Occasional accidental run-ins had given way to full on ambushes and planned assaults, leading both of the men to lose their patience quickly.

A couple nights earlier, mid-shootout, The Knight had shouted out something that should’ve raised flags for Jason. “I’d hate to let this get personal,” he’d said.

But he was in the heat of the fight and barely even allowed himself to register the words, let alone sift through their implication. That’s no excuse though, is it? He’s supposed to keep you safe, that’s his job—that’s his only job. He should’ve seen the tail that was following him, he should’ve installed better security measures at your apartment, he should’ve checked on you, should’ve stayed with you, should’ve left you alone all together. But he was selfish and careless and now you’re bleeding and traumatized from being pulled from your bed in the middle of the night, having a gun pushed in your face, and being cut by a psychopath.

You sit on his lap, completely zeroed in on the feeling of his touch and how drastically different it resonates than the Knight’s burning hold on you. Jason’s hands on you don’t have that scorching fire sensation, but warm and comforting like an emergency blanket. You can feel his Red Hood armor pressing into you uncomfortably, but you want more of it. You need more. You can’t possibly get enough of it right now. 

“Please hold me tighter,” you pipe up for the first time in several minutes, your words are hushed and exerted. It makes you sound like you’re hiding, trying not to be caught.

He nearly squeezes the breath out of your lungs and it’s still not tight enough. The tears run out soon after and you sit lax against him. You focus on the feeling of his breath against you, his exhale wavering your hair a little. His breath is steadier than yours and you try to match up with him, but you’ve found that even in normal times, his breathing is always a little slower than yours.   

There’s a nearly imperceptible creak of a floorboard in your living room that has you jolting in Jason’s lap. His head snaps up, one of his hands immediately flying to your hair. His hold prevents you from turning your head, though you're not sure you even want to. You prepare yourself for the sound of gunshots, modulated voices, punches landing.  

You’re confused when Jason remains stationary on the bed and he relaxes slightly. A few long seconds go by before he calls out lowly, “Go.” 

His posture loosens again a moment later and though you don’t hear the intruder retreat, you’ll later realize that was your biggest clue as to who it was. But for right now, you bury your face as deep into his neck as you can, letting him run his finger through your hair in an attempt to cancel out the brief adrenaline jump you just got.

His next words come at a volume so low you nearly miss them all together. “Did he touch you?” He sounds like he’s biting back nausea at the thought.

“No. Not like that.” you mumble back, just as quiet. Your voice is more detached than his, and while the words themselves are a relief, your tone makes him hurt inside.

His head drops against your shoulder for a second before he glances up at the door again, letting out a tense exhale. “I…fuck. Can I…I need to go in the living room for a second. Just a second.”  

The thought of being separated from him right now makes you literally want to throw up, but tonight has been nothing if not another reassurance that you trust him more than anything.

He pulls back from you and looks you in the eye, hand stroking along the side of your head as he checks for certainty. You do your best to let him find it and when he does he kisses your forehead softly. You slowly climb off of him and he makes sure to wrap you up nicely in the comforter before he goes.

He stands intentionally in the doorway, closing the door enough so that there’s only just enough room for him to stand.

“What happened?” you hear the gruff voice of the Batman, followed by Jason shushing him. You can’t quite make out what he mutters back, though you can tell the sentence is short. 

You think you can hear Batman ask if you’re hurt and you see Jason hesitate and then shake his head. You let yourself fall into a reclined position on the bed, consumed by your cocoon of blankets. Jason was really onto something with this.  

Batman sighs, “Alright. We’ll discuss this more tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow.” Jason says shortly. His meaning is clear, he’s not leaving you again any time soon. Especially not to fill Batman in on something that’s done and over with. Something that he’s hoping to never have to talk about again. A few beats pass before Jason closes the door with a soft click and returns to you quickly.

He takes your hands in his as he sits, rubbing reassuring circles with his thumbs. 

“I need to get you bandaged up.” He whispers reluctantly, knowing that’s not what you want to hear right now. You drop your head on his shoulder wordlessly and he takes in the sight of your blood on your hands. Now it’s his turn to feel sick. “We can—” he pauses, “Do you want to shower first?”

Oh. That would be good, yeah. You nod slowly and languidly unwrap yourself from your blankets.

He wants to ask but he refrains, so you just take his hand and guide him into the bathroom with you. He’s very thankful you do.

He gets the shower started for you, letting it get warm how he knows you like. You watch the steam begin to fog up the mirror as he pulls his shirt off next to you.

He gets down to his boxers when he turns to you and sees that you’ve made no progress in removing any of your clothes. You just stand still, watching the water run.

“Sweetheart?” He calls out gently. “You need help?” He tries to hide the concern in his voice, though not to much avail.

You blink vacantly, “No, I just…” you waver for a moment before climbing into the shower, clothes on.

He stutters between stopping you and letting you go, ultimately deciding on the latter. He follows in after you, sitting side by side with you under the stream of hot water. He has to fold in on himself to fit like this but he doesn’t think twice about being here with you, however you need him. 

Your clothes darken quickly and adheres to your skin, and you find it difficult to tear your eyes away from that patch of your shirt that remains ever so slightly darker than the rest of the wetted fabric.

Jason picks your hand up from its resting place on your stomach and envelopes it in his. You close your eyes and let the water run over your face, sprinkling off your eyelashes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, sounding nearly in pain.

Your head falls to the side, coming to a rest on his shoulder. The water pounds against your ear, stray drops ricocheting against your cheek. You squeeze his hand and he returns the action, understanding the temporary sentiment. He kisses your head and keeps his lips there, eyes closed too. 

You’ll stay like that in the shower until the heat runs out. He’ll help you out of your soaked clothes and leave them in the tub for now before lifting you up and wrapping you in a towel. He’ll set you down on the bed and apply a bandage to your cut as delicately as he possibly can. Neither of you bother to get dressed again, simply enveloping yourselves in the covers and lying together like that until you’re ready to move.

He didn’t go out on patrol again for nearly two months.

💙 REBLOGGING = SUPPORTING 💙

[tossawary]

I think it would be fun to do a "character swaps with older version of themselves" fic with Moshang. A post-canon Mobei-Jun who has been happily married for a while (probably at least 50 years old) accidentally touches some plot device artifact and time travels, swapping places with his 20ish-year-old self. Older MBJ wakes up in head disciple Shang Qinghua's bed where his younger self had been napping.

Younger MBJ lands in his own palace, where he is quickly found and fawned over by Older SQH, who can't help but think this MBJ is so cute. The System quickly confirms for Shang Qinghua that this situation has been sorted into a "multiple timelines" thing, so SQH doesn't have to worry about "protecting the timeline" by doing anything like hiding the fact that he's MBJ's husband. (So, there's an alternate timeline younger version of Airplane Bro now? He's just going to... ignore having an existential crisis about it. Yeah.)

Which is great because Older MBJ would not have thought about this at all as a potential issue. Older MBJ also thinks Younger SQH (Younger Airplane Bro) is incredibly cute and has no problem informing him that they're married in the future. Younger Airplane Bro is trying to figure what the fuck is happening, but he's having trouble thinking over the sound of how MBJ only became hotter: MBJ didn't get much taller, but he did get wider, heavier, more muscular, and hairier. Holy shit. Older MBJ doesn't even have any problems passionately kissing Younger SQH just to prove that they're married. And he smiles! He's so gentle and communicative! Comparatively!

("Luo Binghe is the Demon Emperor in my time," Older MBJ says. "Ah? Who's Luo Binghe?" Younger Airplane Bro lies very badly. "Hmmm, so you did know," Older MBJ says, and then makes some comment about LBH's husband that makes Younger SQH go, "HIS WHAT NOW?!")

Younger MBJ is trying to be cool, not really confused or scared, and Older SQH spoils him rotten by showing off the home that they're made together and how well the palace works to serve and defend MBJ. Linguang-Jun can't show up here because SQH will light him on fire if he shows his face. Younger MBJ doesn't even really like his SQH yet and is also struggling with how good Older SQH looks: a little taller, broader, relaxed and easygoing, answering all of his questions and explaining important things to him, dressed like a beloved demon lord's spouse, efficiently ordering everyone around. "Call me Gege," Older Shang Qinghua said with a wink, and it went straight to Younger MBJ's defenseless heart; he is developing new kinks immediately. Help him.

In the end, after a few days at most, they manage to switch Older and Younger MBJ back without too much issue. Older SQH is a little annoyed that his husband kissed an alternate timeline version of himself, but mostly because he sure would have liked that experience when he was only a disciple! Okay, SQH may have pet Younger MBJ's head and pinched his cheeks and hugged him and brushed his hair a little and shamelessly lavished him with good examples of human affection, but it's not the same!!!

Younger MBJ and Younger SQH in the alternate timeline are left in SQH's tiny head disciple house, completely flustered, sitting next to each other and barely able to look at each other. What. The. Fuck. Eventually, Shang Qinghua manages to say, "Uh, do you want to make out?" at the same time that Mobei-Jun says, "We should get married as soon as possible. Tomorrow."

[nerdy-novelist017]

Omg yay!! Ok obviously feel free to decline this since the subject matter could be rough for some people but, canon Benny’s reaction to what happened to Kathy was definitely my least fav part of the film and I need it to be rectified through fic🙏🏽. So could you write something about the aftermath of something like that happening to reader when her and Benny have been dating for a while? Im starved for caring and protective Benny unfortunately

Starve no more, anon ;) I have more protective Benny fics in the works! I made this one as a one shot to my Benny x Bunny series, hope that's okay! (This ISN'T the next part to Little Bunny! It's just a little one shot for after they're together ;) I'm working on getting the next part posted tonight!)

Word Count- 1.1k

Summary- Benny couldn't possibly want you after what almost happened, right?

TW- SA, 18+

*Please don't read if you are uncomfortable with the content!

Life Raft (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader)

Benny was going to be so upset with you.

Your hands shook from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You blinked and the tears burning your eyes threatened to spill over. Kathy’s hand rubbed the spot between your shoulder blades soothingly as she sat on the edge of the bed with you. Downstairs, you could hear the party wrapping up, Johnny and Funny Sonny trying to get everybody to leave. The party was over, too many bad things had happened for everyone to just pretend they didn’t see it, pretend they didn’t hear it.

You swallowed roughly, the events of the last hour still looping in your mind. The way his cold eyes raked over your body, the way he smiled sinisterly as you backed away. The course palm of his hand that wrapped around your throat, pinning you against the wall. His hot breath fanning across your mouth as his tongue invaded. His other hand going up your skirt, grazing the line of your panties. 

You squeezed your eyes shut at that part. You had screamed, but Benny wasn’t there. Kathy wasn’t there. Zipco wasn’t there. Brucie wasn’t there. You were alone with this man, prey to this predator. And who even was this man? You hadn’t seen him before, even though he wore the colors you had been so used to seeing almost every day. More chapters were popping up everywhere and with it, came new faces to the parties, meetings and picnics. Strangers, dangerously prowling through the club now, waiting for opportunities of solitude to attack.

You had only left the bonfire for a moment, telling Benny that you were going inside to grab a soda from the fridge. They only ever had beer coolers outside by the fire. You would only be gone for a moment. But a moment was all this animal needed as he stalked into the kitchen after you.

You were alone and that realization sent ice through your veins. This animal could do whatever he wanted, and you were powerless to stop it.

And then suddenly Johnny was there, grabbing this man and throwing him away from you. You were stuck against the wall, frozen in fear as you watched Wahoo and Corky jump into the fight as well. The two dragged the man out of the room, heading for the back door.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” Johnny asked, trying to make eye contact with your frantic gaze. He reached out slowly and pulled the hem of your dress back down to cover your trembling legs. “C’mon, let Kathy get you upstairs.”

You hadn’t even realized Kathy was there too now. She wrapped her arms around you, guiding you to the stairs. 

“B—Benny?” You tried to ask and Johnny nodded. 

“I’ll get him for ya,” he said, eyes empathetic.

That seemed to be hours ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes. You weren’t sure; everything felt a little hazy. However long it was, Kathy never left your side, having planted herself next to you. You tried to say something to her, to thank her, but your throat was too dry and your mind too incoherent. You felt dirty and scared and you just wanted to go home. 

Benny was going to be so upset with you. 

Footsteps climbed the stairs and you stiffened at the sound. Benny appeared in the doorway and you wanted to sob. The man you wanted to run to, the man you wanted to hold you tight and carry you back to safety stood there, a dark expression on his face. With one look at Kathy, he dismissed her. She squeezed your arm gently. 

“I’ll be right downstairs if ya need me,” she promised softly and then she was gone. Benny closed the door behind her and a heavy silence filled the bedroom.

Your heart raced as he moved to stand at the dresser across from you. You could see the tension radiating from him and you swallowed back any kind of hope for him to love you still. 

“What happened?” he asked finally, his voice wavering with barely-controlled anger.

“I-I just wanted a pop. I just came in-inside and he—he . . . I couldn’t—couldn’t get away—” The words tumbled out of your mouth incoherently. 

“Which one?” 

You looked up at him through your tear-soaked lashes. “I—I don’t . . . Did Johnny not—”

“Johnny didn’t tell me who. Just told me . . .” His words died as he looked at the purple marks forming on your neck. His jaw clenched hard and he looked away from you. Your heart sunk at the action. He couldn’t even look at you anymore. He was so disgusted that he couldn’t even look at you. You could feel him slipping through your fingers and total desperation hit you like a wave. The ocean, you thought, that's what it felt like. You were lost in the middle of the ocean and a storm broke a nasty hole in your tiny ship. You were sinking, drowning in that vast, dark water.

The tears broke free from their dam and rolled down your cheeks as a sob caught in your throat. “I’m—I’m so sorry, B—Benny. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you?” He looked back at you but you couldn’t face his hard gaze. 

Looking down at your lap, you cried. “Please don’t be upset with m—me. I’m sorry.”

He crossed the distance between you, lowering himself to his knees before you. You squeezed your eyes shut to avoid his gaze, heart shattering in your chest.

His warm hands enveloped yours tightly. “Bunny.”

Please don’t leave me here to pick myself up, you wanted to say. Please don’t abandon me to this darkness, I'm already drowning. I'm still me. I'm still your girl.

“Bunny, look at me.” His voice was so soft, just barely above a whisper. 

You obeyed his gentle command. His face was inches below yours, eyes examining. Slowly, he lifted his hand and his fingertips ghosted over the bruises forming on your throat. His brows pinched together but his eyes were soft as they returned to yours. His fingers traveled over the curve of your jaw and up to swipe the heavy flow of tears from beneath your eyes.

“I could never be upset with you, Bunny," he whispered. “I could never.” 

Your hands came up to grip his wrists as if he were a life raft holding you afloat. His hands, you realized, were shaking slightly and you held even tighter, anchoring him to you. 

“I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. Angry that I wasn’t there to protect you.” His voice wavered, tears rimming his beautiful blue eyes. “I promised to always protect you and I wasn’t there. I’m so sorry, Bunny. I’m so, so sorry.”

Words failed you, but you never needed them for Benny. You threw your arms around his neck, burying yourself into his chest. He reacted immediately, pulling you impossibly close as he moved to sit on the bed beside you. You cried, and he let you.

And when Johnny came to check on you, that’s how he found you: curled into your Benny's chest, his arms a protective shield from the rest of the world as he whispered into your ear, hands running gently through your hair. And Johnny knew that you’d be okay, because you had Benny. And Benny would be okay because Johnny and his boys had already taken care of the ex-Vandal who dared to lay a hand on their little bunny.

*Tag List *

@Imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer