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xcherricutie · 9 months ago

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🪷 it's over, isn't it 🪷

[Lucifer Morningstar x Reader]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four]

[Word Count - 2.4k]

[Tags: Angst, songfic, mentions of alcohol and drinking]

[Notes: I am just churning these out, these are so easy and fun to write lol]

It was an understatement to say you fell after everything. It was more like you crashed and burned, any semblance of a life in Heaven disappearing after your attack on Hell. You had quite literally raised Hell in Heaven, tearing your way down into the depths just to get your revenge. You had struck down the Princess of Hell, nearly erasing all of her memories, had her friends not helped her. And in the end, you backed down, your guilt finally catching up to you. You thought if you had let your anger control you, you would easily be able to kill Charlie and her friends. But the more time you spent in Hell, the more your anger ebbed away, leaving an empty shell in its place.

In the end, the story remained the same. Your happy ending faded from view, and Charlie remained the hero of the story, along with her father, Lucifer. You were nothing but the bad guy, just another person standing in the way of the true story. Everything felt like a game to you, and you had to figure out how to climb your way to the top, to win. Losing this fight to Lucifer had dropped you all the way down to the very, very beginning. You had nothing. This time, you didn’t even have any friends. You were all alone. Or so, you had wished. Oh, how it was quite the opposite, actually.

When you were cast from Heaven, Sera and Emily made absolutely certain that you didn’t end up in some rotten corner of Hell. Oh no, they had you fall right into the lap of Lucifer himself. They had begged and pleaded for him and Charlie to take you in, try to redeem you. Or at the very least, take care of you. It was what you deserved, Sera had said. Charlie was immediately all in, happy to have you despite what you had done. You had nearly wiped the demonic side of her clean, which would have ruined her life and stolen her memories. Yet, she happily accepted you with open arms, literally. She squeezed you in an almost deathly tight hug, promising to make up for what had happened to you. After you had shown her your memories, Charlie had become especially clingy to you, to make sure you were happy, that you weren’t lonely.

The other hotel residents didn’t take to you as kindly as Charlie. Vaggie hated you with every fiber in her being, which you didn’t blame her for. Angel Dust and Husk both would team up on you and constantly remind you of what you had done. Alastor had been about as normal as you expected him to be, but you did notice he was rather pushy about information on your past, of which you indulged him none. Knowing he was either coveting your soul, or information on Lucifer, you tended to keep your distance from him.

As for Lucifer himself, you hadn’t spoken a single word to each other in the week you had moved into the hotel. You didn’t want to speak to him, not after everything. Not after what he put you through. It was hard enough not getting to have your happy ending, you didn’t need him rubbing salt in the wound. Just his smile alone was enough to sour your whole day. And it seemed others knew that too, as Angel Dust would constantly question your relationship with Lucifer, and what it used to be like. Knowing it would end up getting back to Charlie, you kept quiet on the finer details of your past with him. Nobody, not even Charlie, knew he was once your husband in the eyes of Heaven. All that mattered now was that he was a nobody to you, a stranger.

Your life in Hell hadn’t been all that bad though. Aside from Charlie forcing her friendship down your throat, you had actually managed to make one friend in the hotel, and it hadn’t surprised anyone a single bit when it happened. Adam, First Man, died during the exterminations, had become your closest friend in Hell. You could barely tolerate his attitude, but relating to him when it came to getting the short end of the stick was fun sometimes. You could spend hours with Adam, talking about how shitty Hell and the hotel was, getting lost in drinks and partying all night long. It was the first time you had genuinely smiled in the last ten thousand years.

Tonight had been one of those nights. You and Adam stayed in the bar long after Husk had retired for the night. Drinking away afterlife’s issues, listening to music, talking about everything and nothing. Adam could talk a lot, and you were happy to finally listen to someone and just bask in their presence once again. But the nightly hour began to crawl up, taking its toll on you. You let out a soft yawn, leaning into the bar.

“Adam, I’m pretty tired, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” You muttered, your voice slurring slightly. Adam hardly paid you any mind as he chugged his drink, giving you a thumbs up.

“’Kay, ‘night, bitch,” He mumbled back, keeping his attention focused on the drinks that melted away his memories. You sighed, pushing yourself off the barstool, making your way back to bed.

Your body felt sluggish, dragging behind you as you walked down the long, never-ending halls. You didn’t remember the hallways being so long. You groaned sleepily, trying to steady your body as you pressed a hand to the wall, letting the surface lead you down the hall. You leaned your weight onto your palm, barely picking your feet up off the floor. You were so tired. Tired of living here. Tired of eternity. Eternity was simply too long.

You let out a yelp as the wall disappeared from underneath your hand, stumbling to the side and into the open bedroom doorway you had tripped up on. Your eyes snapped up to try and identify whose room you had fallen into, your gaze falling upon the open balcony door. The red light of the sky streamed into the room, making your eyes blur with sleepiness. Rubbing them, you leaned against the door, squinting your eyes at the person who leaned against the balcony railing.

“I was fine with the men, who would come into her life now and again,”

A familiar voice sung a soft tune, instantly sobering you up. Your vision cleared almost immediately, the sight of Lucifer holding a red rose making your throat close. He sighed, bringing the rose to his face, letting the petals tickle his skin.

“I was fine cause I knew that they didn’t really matter until you,” His voice was somewhat breathy, as if he were on the brink of tears. You had to wonder what had pushed him to such a point, curious as to whom he was singing about. You found yourself planted in his doorway, watching as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the petals of the rose.

“I was fine, when you came, and we fought like it was all some silly game, over her,” Lucifer took a deep breath, looking up into the deep red sky. “Who she’d choose. After all those years, I never thought I’d lose...”

Pulling his hat off his head, Lucifer squeezed the brim tightly in his fist, before dropping it on the floor. Holding the rose with both hands, he stared out into the bright lights of Pentagram City, the lights reflecting and glimmering in his eyes.

“It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?” He leaned into the railing, standing on his tiptoes, threatening to tip over the edge at any second as he reached out into the city lights. “It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?”

Dropping back down onto the heels of his feet, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to contain his emotions. “You won, and she chose you, and she loved you, and she’s gone,”

You watched with wide eyes as Lucifer’s wings sprouted from his back, giving a soft flap and lifting him into the air. His shoes landed on the edge of the railing with a soft tap, a shaky sigh coming from within him. “It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?”

Lucifer looked down at the red rose in his hand, the thorns breaking the skin of his palm. Golden liquid pooled in his palm, soaking the stem, staining the petals, giving it an otherworldly glow. He glared at the sight, his emotions pooling over, overflowing.

“War and glory, reinvention, the garden, freedom, her attention,” Lucifer walked along the edge of the railing, his body tipping back and forth between threatening to fall over and sinking back into his room.

Your brows furrowed deeply at the mention of the garden, fingers digging into the doorframe. Was he singing about Lilith? You knew he and Lilith had split, Lilith disappearing over seven years ago now. You had even accidentally let out a laugh in Lucifer’s face when Charlie had told you that fact, furthering the man’s sadness. Not that you felt bad about it.

But now, a sickness began to twist within your gut, making you want to hide away and never be seen again. He missed Lilith. You shouldn’t have been as upset about that as you were. If anything, you should’ve been laughing at his misery. But it only left a souring taste in your mouth, bile threatening to come up.

“Out in daylight, my potential, bold, precise, experimental,” Lucifer smiled as the memories of a time gone by came and went in his mind. Back when he still fought for his dreams, back when he wanted to give humanity the greatest gift imaginable. If only he had known just what his gift would entail, maybe things wouldn’t be like this today. “Who am I now in this world without her? Petty and dull, with the nerve to doubt her,”

You turned your back to Lucifer, unable to continue listening to his depressing serenade anymore. You glanced back, eyes wide to find Lucifer lying on the balcony’s edge, as if uncaring what would happen to him should he fall.

“What does it matter? It’s already done, now I’ve got to be there for her redemption,”

Your whole body froze, blood going still in your body. Even your heart seemed to quieten down, barely thumping against your chest. Surely you hadn’t heard that right. Surely, he didn’t say redemption. Your redemption. He was singing about you.

Your thoughts ran a mile a minute, trying to understand what was happening. Why would Lucifer, the man who abandoned you for ten thousand years, sing about missing you? You scraped your memories for any reason he would suddenly miss you, wondering what you had done to earn such attention. You had purposely been avoiding him, you thought you had taken the proper measure to never form another connection with that demon ever again.

Your mind drifted back to what you had been doing before stumbling across Lucifer’s room. You had been spending time with Adam, the man who, apparently, Lucifer stole everything from. Lucifer had stolen both his wives, Lilith and Eve, and had made an eternal enemy out of the man. You felt the air in your lungs hitch in your throat, realization washing over you, drowning you in misery once more. Lucifer was jealous.

“It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?” Lucifer closed his eyes, leaning over the inner edge of the railing, dropping onto the floor, landing on his feet with a thud. He held the rose to his lips, ignoring the cold feeling of the breeze brushing past his face, teardrops falling down his cheeks and drenching the rose. “It’s over, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it over?”

He turned to face the city once more, the bright lights reflecting in his tears. He furrowed his brows in frustration, squeezing the rose tight enough to snap the stem. “You won, and she chose you, and she loved you, and she’s gone!”

Lucifer threw the rose over the edge, the golden shimmer of his blood glittering as it poured like rain. He watched as the glitter disappeared in the bright city lights, his tears drying against his cheeks. “It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?”

Looking down at the teardrops that had fallen to the ground, mixing with the droplets of blood dotting his balcony floor, Lucifer sighed deeply. “It’s over, isn’t it? Why can’t I move on?”

Silence filled the air once more, with the occasional sniffle from Lucifer as he wiped his teary eyes on his sleeves. He looked down at his hand, the shallow cuts already beginning the process of healing. Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he turned around, his energy fizzled out after his burst of emotions. He had just so happened to see you spending another long night with Adam in the lobby, and everything within him finally snapped.

Turning around to retire to his bed, Lucifer’s eyes widened as they instead found you standing in his doorway. You visibly flinched, your blood running cold. You should’ve left long ago, but you found yourself stuck in place, watching the man before you break down. Now he was faced toward you, and the air suddenly felt suffocating.

Without thinking, you whipped around, taking off running down the hall. Your sleepiness was replaced with a sense of panic, your feet thundering down the hall as you ran as fast as you could. You heard Lucifer’s voice, calling out to you, begging for you to wait, but you didn’t dare stop. You didn’t think you could talk even if you wanted to. You didn’t trust yourself not to succumb to the desire for older times. You knew, deep down, that if given the opportunity, you would willingly sink back into Lucifer’s hold, allowing yourself to be vulnerable to him once more. You also knew it would never end well.

So, you ran. And eventually, you no longer heard Lucifer calling and chasing after you. You made it back to the safety of your room, curled into your bed, and passed out. You didn’t want to be awake and present in the moment, not when he could show up at any moment. You just wanted everything to disappear.

And yet, you couldn’t get his voice out of your head, even long after falling asleep...

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #Spotify

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uchihaharlot · 4 months ago

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Hi!! Just discovered your blog and love your writing — I’d love to see more Sasuke content!! he’s my absolute favorite 🫣🫠 personal headcanon but I feel like he’s the type that would fall for a friend, or friend of a friend, and not even realize it until he’s getting mad she’s not coming onto him like everyone else does, and then he thinks about that and he’s like oh wait…

and then he’d like make it his mission in life to get her to beg for him in evvvvery way 😏 if you are taking requests, I am horny af for him and would love to see your take on Sasuke finally *ahem* winning her over and giving her more than she knows what to do with, taking everything he wants from her…

but also mainly just any nsfw Sasuke content from you would make me sooo happy 🥵💕

Hello my lovely ☺️ welcome to my little slutty corner of the world and I’m glad you’re here. When I saw your request(s) I got so damn giddy. Sasuke was my original Uchiha bae. Called him, Sasbae 😂😂 I still love him, but more like an ex boyfriend now.

Lmao Sasuke inadvertently falling for a friend of a friend that he saw for all of ten minutes once is just too funny for me. And all too real for him. (SO LINKS WONT LET ME ADD THIS TO MY MASTERLIST??)

NSFW; Sasuke getting blown like the wind by a girl he couldn’t even wrap his head around; so she wraps her lips around his head

Like he wouldn’t even know what to do with himself. I think out of all the Uchiha, Sasuke is the easiest to fall the hardest. Maybe Shisui second, but he’s somewhat more precautionary with his heart. Sasuke just gets struck with Cupids arrow and his soul is on fire 🔥 his heart burns and his blood boils with the intensity of a thousand stars. He just goes from chill to one hundred too fast. And gets livid about it, Shisui consistently badgers him too which makes the situation even worse.

Of course this girl knows what’s coming; she’s not stupid. No woman is stupid when it comes to garnering the attention of an Uchiha…if you do manage to catch their eye(s); consider yourself lucky. And she’s going to milk it for every ounce it’s worth. Sasuke is also the baby Uchiha, so even as an adult now, he needs and wants a lot of attention. Many years of being doted on by his older brother has spoiled him a bit. And he won’t admit it, ever. It’s like fighting tooth and nail with the neighbor over whose side a single damn weed is growing on. He wants her affections first and without having to make a move, but he’s not lazy or unmotivated. He’s just rather expectant and catered too.

And dear Sasuke; he’s not a romantic man. lol. He’s the tough love kinda of guy, he actually likes to be the one who gets chased, but this girl doesn’t want to go that route, she wants to be hunted like prey. So when she doesn’t fall for his reverse psychology tactic (he tried to leave her hanging one day—just out of the blue and he was so awkward about it, which she found endearing). He gets even more mad! She knows the game all too well and he loathes her for it.

This goes on for several weeks. That push and pull between to stubborn individuals who want nothing more than to feel one another beneath the other, but also are scared of the consequences of getting hurt. It’s a slippery slope. And eventually Sasuke caves, falls right into her lap, I honestly don’t see him making the first move, but he is going to pester her about how she feels about him.

They will spend an afternoon sparring and mildly arguing about this. It’s so damn funny, arguing over who should make the first move. Who does that? Apparently Sasuke. And you know what, she just does it. Does it knowing full well he wasn’t expecting her to.

Pins him to the ground and kisses his lips soft, but deep. Holding his face tenderly as she brushes the hair from his eyes. His cheeks are glazed with pink; and if she hadn’t known any better…there was a shift in his breathing. Which causes her to slip her tongue over his bottom lip.

Yes, this is exactly what Sasuke envisioned. Just all the permission needed to rub his thumb over her clothed heat and make her gasp in his mouth. Each subsequent sound he swallows whole as his courage, and cock, grow beyond magnifying proportions. He doesn’t think or recall a time in his life where he’s ever been this hard.

Quickly, he’s exposed: her lithe fingers mapping and touching every crevice of his aching cock. He groans, even just mere touching he wants to cum. The moment her mouth hits his sensitive flesh; he’s a mess. Gripping her hair and squeezing his legs around her. It doesn’t take long for the familiar feeling of orgasm to barrel from balls to shaft, and he’s not ready. But he can’t stop it.

He’s probably never busted a load this fast or fat, how many minutes was that? Three? Five? He’s almost embarrassed that he’s cumming this fast in her mouth, but how could he not? The way her lips look plump with her wrapped around him. How easily she sucks him into the back of her throat, undulating her mouth and tongue over his shaft. Yea, he’s in heaven and when she hums. That’s when a torrent of his seed pulses down her gullet. Hot and sticky.

From there his cheeks are red; and he gets standoff-ish. Totally, very much Sasuke. Though he’s not a complete ass wipe, once his hearts out of his throat, the favor is more than ten fold reciprocated and by the gods. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more arousing and ethereal than catching his lazy gaze as he swipes up her slit. Nose, mouth and chin dribbled with her slick, his grip on her waist holding her in place. Sasuke’s been considering this for months, months.

Making her girl brain into mashed potatoes is easy street, 1 2 3. All that cocky and arrogant banter between them was really just covert foreplay, and telling Sasuke how cute it was that he came fast was stupid. Really stupid, since all he has to do is suck on her clit, undoing her with solely his mouth. Nursing off her orgasm until she’s a jittery mess, incapable of sitting up afterwards. Can only stare at the sky, blinking and thinking how to fucking rack her brain around this.

It’s awkward, but just for a brief minute. Hormones aside, he’s lot entirely a touchy feely guy, but doesn’t protest when she wants to sit close to him afterwards under a tree. His dormant emotions take time to develop, to process all this outwardly. Inwardly he’s conveying them perfectly, but how he expresses them is something else.

#sasuke headcanons #sasuke smut #sasuke uchiha #sasuke #uchiha sasuke #sasuke x reader

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honeybeefae · 1 year ago

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I am so excited about the acotar bingo! Can I request the nsfw orgasm denial with Az? But like… imagine him as a sub 👀

When Roles Reverse (Azriel x Reader)

BINGO: Orgasm Denial

(No bc SUB AZRIEL?!? We do not get enough of that and while I def see this man as a dom through and through I also am feral at the thought of him begging. This also totally got away from me in terms of reader domming but like, its HAWT. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did!)

WARNINGS: Smut, Orgasm denial, Dom/Sub Dynamic

You dawned your most expesnive lingerie, the black lacy material hugging your body in all the right places as the tights clung to your legs. The sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoed off the walls of your bedroom as you slowly circled the bound Illyrian before you, his head down as he panted harshly.

“Does my poor Illyrian baby need something?” You taunt, gripping a fistful of his hair and forcing him to look up. He drank you in shamelessly, his eyes trailing up your body as his cock stood tall between his legs. There was already a few drops of precum on the floor from how pent up he was. “All you have to do is ask for it, darling.”

“Please,” Azriel said lowly, licking his lips. “Please touch me.”

The sound of him asking so sweetly made your stomach flutter and your panties drenched. It was very, very rare he let you take control like this but he had had a rough week and this is exactly what he needed. You knew what he wanted you to do.

“Touch you where?” You murmured, moving your hand from his hair to squeeze his face. “Here? On your cheek?”

“No…” He tried to shake his head but you only tightened your grip, frowning. You clicked your tongue and bent down, letting your fingertips ghost over his weeping cock. It immediately jumped at the contact and you felt yourself clench around nothing when he groaned low in his throat. “Just a little more…”

However, as soon as he said those words you shook your head and squeezed the base of his cock as tight as you could. Azriel hissed through his teeth, those hazel eyes glaring at you as you offered him a small shrug of your shoulders and a smirk.

“I don’t think you want it bad enough.” You sigh dramatically, moving your hand from his dick to cup his balls. They were heavy in your hand and you desperately wanted them in your mouth but you remained strong, pushing yourself back up to stand above him. “Perhaps I should just leave you here for the rest of the night. I can go find someone else to satisfy my needs.”

“Y/N.” His voice was deep as he gave you the warning but you only cocked your head coyly.

“That’s not my name tonight, Azriel.” You remind him, putting an arm underneath his bare arm and moving him up to a standing position. Before he could even get proper footing you had him back in your grasp, giving him long, tight strokes that immediately made his knees weak. “You know better than to test me.”

He was already so close to the edge from your earlier teasing that within just a few moments of stroking his cock he was ready to spill into your hand. You watched as he closed his eyes, so close to bliss…and then grinned when you stopped all movement.

“No, fuck!” Azriel cursed, his abdomen clenching from how quickly his orgasm receeded. “Please, Y/N, please I need it.”

“Need what?” You whispered, leaning into him and licking a long strip up his neck. His sweat was satly on your tongue but you loved it, enjoying the way his breath stuttered. “Because you know what I need? I need you to fucking use my title. Be a good boy for me, Az.”

You trailed a single nail along the underside of his dick, kissing his pulse point as it beat wildly under your lips. He was fighting his natural urge, you could tell, but you knew you would win in the end. He just needed an extra push.

So you raised a hand and started to stroke the inner area of his wings, close to where it connected to his back, and started to whisper everything he could have if he just gave in.

“All you have to do is let me control you, let me rule you, and I will give you whatever you need.” Your voice was as sweet as honey as he shuddered violently, his head turning so that your cheeks were pressed against each other. “Worship me, show me how good you can listen, and I’ll make sure my baby never wants for anything.”

A small whimper escaped his throat and you felt your juices running down your thigh at the sound.

“Can you do that for me, darling? Can you be a good boy?”

There was a beat of silence, his breath hot in your ear, before you felt him nod and whisper, “Yes, Mistress. I can…I can be good for you.”

Your lips turned up in a sweet smile as you moved your hand from his wing to his cheek, kissing him softly as you resumed your strokes. Azriel’s mouth opened in euphoria as you brought him to orgasm in under ten seconds, his loud groaning swallowed by your mouth.

His cum was hot on your hand and there was so much. It dripped onto the floor and when he finally finished, his chest heaving, you pulled away and licked it off your hand. Azriel struggled against his bonds and you smiled, using his own cum as lube as you started to rub him again.

“Ready for round two?”

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goldenavenger02 · 2 months ago

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The U.S Election and Anxiety + Tips For Voting

Hello everyone! I've decided that this year, during the election cycle since I live with my conservative family still, instead of getting into useless arguments with them and doomscrolling the whole time, I'm going to practice some mindfulness instead and this is where you come in!

I am writing down every single healthy coping mechanisms/distractions I can, that way I can stay vigilant and informed but I also don't spend four days watching a slow ticking map again, and putting them on folded pieces of paper and into a small bowl. That way anytime I get too stressed or I get into a fight with my family, I can pull one out and at the very least, distract myself for a little bit.

If you know of any healthy coping mechanisms that you use, it doesn't even have to be something you only do every 2 to 4 years, it can just be something you do when that feeling of panic starts to build in your chest, comment below, message me, submit them or reblog with it in the tags.

What I currently have right now is rewatching/rereading comfort media, exercising, cleaning, deep breathing/visualization, hanging out with my pets, crafting and playing mobile/PC games.

I am also willing to make my list public for anyone who needs it if they also suffer from debiliting election anxiety.

At the end of this, I just want all of you to remember a few things. Election anxiety, especially after 2016, is incredibly common and you shouldn't feel ashamed for having it when this political climate has turned into one of hate.

If you are a United States Citizen/registered/old enough to vote, vote. If you are in the line before 6 p.m on November 5th, 2024, they legally cannot turn you away. Bring food and water, there are states where it is illegal for someone to bring you food and water in line. Remember not to wear anything that can be seen as political when you go to vote (not even your Captain America shirt that is in your dresser). And voter intimidation and voter interference is illegal. If someone is standing outside of your polling place, harassing you or others about who they're voting for, let your poll workers know. If you hear someone talking to their buddy about doing something like, I don't know, lighting a ballot box on fire (this has already happened in Washington and Oregon), report it to your non-emergency police line. If it ends up being nothing, you won't be in trouble and if it ends up being something, YOU HELPED PROTECT DEMOCRACY.

Even if you are in a blue state, even if you're in a red state, even if you are in a swing state, even if you hate Kamala Harris and her opponent, even if you don't want to vote down the ballot (which you totally should because it can slowly turn your state blue), even if you are scared of the outcome, vote like your rights as a POC, as a woman, as a member of the LGBT+ community, as someone who isn't a white, straight man will be taken away from you. Because that is the sick reality of the US right now. This election isn't Harris v opponent (remember, names have power), this election is freedom v fascism, no matter what your MAGA relatives say.

And finally, when we fight, we win. Let's beat Kamala Harris' opponent in such a landside that he can't go crying to his lackies AKA the supreme court and beg them to overturn this in his favor with any evidence of "voter fraud" AKA him not getting his way.

And if you're like me, anxious about what will happen to your rights in the upcoming week, we should stay informed. But there is a difference between staying informed and doomscrolling. Yes, there is a LOT at stake in this election, there is no sugarcoating that.

But when you feel yourself start to panic, or your relative starts yelling at you for something they believe your party is doing even though it's not real AND even if it was, you aren't the one doing it, or you feel yourself leaning to unhealthy coping mechanisms, reach into the bowl.

I'll make a list of coping mechanisms to reblog under this and edit it as more come in. The fandom tags under this are so the post gets more reach which is NEEDED and most of these main characters would be voting blue if they were real.

#susz speaks #us election #election 2024 #kamala harris #when we fight we win #election anxiety #harris walz 2024 #vote harris #coping mechanism #current events #ninjago #lego ninjago #mcu #marvel #teen wolf #atla #avatar the last airbender #lab rats

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farawaysoph-ie · 8 months ago

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The Sunshine Court Incoherent Whatever (pt.1)

Okay. Okay.

I just finished The Sunshine Court and 1) Jean Moreau what have you done to me? 2) Jean Moreau what have(n't) they done to you?

I started this, then went and re-read tkm (bc the obsession was always latent and never gone), so I could compare both Neil and Jean pov and well, suffice to say I'm not okay and I feel too much.

Thank you Nora Sakavic, it was painful and amazing.

I have a long train ride so I might as well bring back my incoherent whatever after *checks the notes* 4 years :')

As always this will be so full of spoilers.

(Unrelated spoiler: the train ride wasn't enough)

Let's start with the general:

After loving Neil maybe too much the shift to Jean took awhile to adjust to but now I'm ready to fight at least three mafia families, every single hater (fictional or otherwise) and the FBI for him

Jeremy Knox was everything, but like everyone on here, what are you hiding Jeremy?? What's going on??

Cat and Laila, my beloved ™️ the care these two effortlessly gave made me cry

This whole book was a serious trigger for me, but I'm in too deep with this series, imagine me like that Simpsons meme, I did it for my new french son

Characters, thoughts:

I said before the Ravens were a cult, but I hadn't really understood that statement. Every time Jean spoke of them it hit deeper and deeper how messed up and unfair it all was.

Boy am I happy that Riko is dead, like I didn't really wish anyone the fate of being shot by an unfeeling older brother, until Jean's pov hit me like a high speed train.

Andrew spoke exactly one word in this, still was iconic and a scene stealer, how in character for him

I forgot how much I always want to slap Kevin Day when he's trying his best to be annoying, it's because I love him, I swear! (But seriously his relationship with Jean is so complex and well executed I will think about it for a very long while)

I didn't give much thought to Renee and Jean relationship in tkm, but it broke my heart here, it's when I started to actually tear up, I love them so much rainbows, a cool evening breeze. I can't.

"Tell me something"

"Where are you now?"

The whole dynamic of the Cat&Laila& sometimesJeremy's apartment

Cat teaching Jean how to cook + motorbike ride (open roads)

Laila taking him to shopping

Jeremy wanting to make Jean Moreau the Person his success story

Neil dragging Jean towards survival without giving him a choice, again and again: he sent Renee as gentle bait, closed a deal in his name with a mafia boss, promised him he would win against Riko in his name too, promised him again Riko was dead, ordered a hit on his rapist, offered to delay the talk with the FBI, linked his sister to his name, to survival and to what he deserved. I NEED more interactions between them, I am not above begging.

I have to get a better idea on the other Trojans, but for now the policule was cute, I need more Cody and less Lucas. Like I can understand where he was coming from? But he needs to shut up now, you made your mess man, now go play Exy like you were supposed to.

I miss the Foxes :'(

Wymack! I almost forgot everyone's favourite dad-coach: he showed up, brought alcohol, got more tired, delivered care to yet another traumatized child, spent a whole day on airplanes to bring him to Los Angeles, left him money for clothes&co. bc he's not doing this again, answered his call when he was having The Breakdown. Best dad-coach ever in the history of dad-coaches.

Plot things:

Jean at the beginning was so scared and in so much pain it took a while to get a clear picture of him as a person

Still loved all his salty comments and insults, he couldn't help himself

Renee sitting with him and caring with Abby and Wymack :')

Jean being afraid of going back and of not going back to Evermore, hating the ones that got to leave

The self harm and all the people in this that fought him to keep his hands from his neck, his scars, himself

"I am Jean Moreau. My place is at Evermore. I will endure."

Jean not believing in Wymack care, waiting for the act to end and the other shoe to drop

The disbelief at Kevin being away from the court and him admitting he went at knifepoint (and meaning it literally), sometimes this was a comedy

Wymack, Jean, and the burning of houses

Jean's opinion of the Foxes going from those mediocre fools to those mediocre madmen to the madmen that actually beat Riko Moriyama

Wymack putting Jean's phone in the freezer and hating computers

“That man is years overdue for a high-speed, head-on collision.” couldn't have said it better, but Neil was already on it at that point

"Jean knew better than to look for anger in his stare; the best Kevin could manage was bottomless guilt."

“It was my only chance,” Kevin said. “I knew you wouldn’t come with me.” “My place is at Evermore,” Jean agreed, “but you did not have to slit my throat on the way out.”

“Your blind loyalty to those clowns is exhausting.” “Some of them you like,” Kevin reminded him. “Don’t you dare,”

Nathaniel "Hello Jean" Wesninski vs Jean "Go away" Moreau

This whole conversation went very differently compared to tkm: like there Neil came, dropped a metaphorical bomb, glossed over the explanation and went away trying to convince Andrew they are something

Jean was ambushed by two of his most complicated acquaintances (???) and their "pet goalkeeper" (god I need Andrew's reaction to this "nickname", but I guess no one will ever say this to his face, Neil would be too busy fighting you at the suggestion to ever repeat it), had his worldwiew turned upside down with no chance of having a say in the matter, then was left alone with Kevin Day and the aftermath.

So yes two different conversation; also I kinda forgot of the deal about Neil and his smile

“Everyone who has tried to tame him has failed.”

All for the game: a summary

There was no getting away; there was only getting through.

Jean Moreau who (hasn't) hurt you, part some of too many

What really makes it messed up is that on one hand there was Riko and his mad cruelty and on the other there was an entire team of bystanders At Best: some people were an active part and then pretended, no sympathy for them; others decided to ignore the truth to survive and get what they wanted, which I can understand but I guess they still didn't have the decency to shut up when Jean got away. The anger that crawled through my skin when the smear campaign and the notebook/postcards/magnets thing happened. You should have stayed silent until the end you fucks.

“Do it, then. It wouldn’t take much; we all know I have brittle bones.”

Jeremy pov kinda gave you whiplash, with him waking up super early, helping homeless men, but then you start noticing all the things he avoids almost effortlessly and like, what are you hiding sunshine man??

What actually broke me about his povs was him noticing all these details about Jean, and then misinterpreting them, bc whatever he's been through Jean has had it 100 times worse and this doesn't even factor in Jeremy world. I'm pretty sure he'll get the whole truth in the end and I'm scared of what it'll do to him.

Also Jean being like Ravens always had to keep secrets and then spilling most of them almost unprompted, let's laugh in order not to cry

“He hasn’t played a clean game in years,” Kevin admitted, “but he knows how to follow orders. If you tell him to submit, he will.” “Literally the most awkward way you could’ve worded it,” Jeremy said.

This will keep coming back, Kevin please. (He 100% ships it, one of us)

The Foxes catching the too tired Trojans and Jeremy being like, you are all approved (I need the two teams to interact now)

Also the Trojans being like how are they still standing, Neil how are you still running??

Someone pointed out they wanted Neil to interact with Jeans closest teammates bc if he is a madman by Jean standards, what would normal people make of him? To which yes, but also guys consider this: Neil said to Cat and Laila that they were terrifying after the semifinal, he took a step back when Jeremy opened the door and silently invited him in. I need Neil and the floozies to interact so Neil can experience real fear.

Mafia bosses have nothing on wholesome people, the true weakness of one Neil Josten

Jean immediately hanging up on Jeremy will never not be funny

When you get to the title of the book and it's Jean insulting people <3

I will Never, NEVER, get over the "nineteen". Never.

I love Abby but when she told that bit about fighting back, It Hurt. She probably didn't really mean it and didn't know everything bc how are you supposed to keep fighting when you are fifteen, alone and forsaken in a place that is built to break you? As it has been pointed out, Neil had rebellion beaten into him by a mother that chose him and ran; Jean had a sister that he hoped to protect and parents that sold him away like property. Five months were actually a long time.

Dobson keeps being iconic, I don't know what to think about the I don't know how exy works bit: I mean I've been obsessing with this and still don't know how exy works (plz don't hate me), but at the same time it was such a power move and got Jean to talk

“Of course it’d be you, you tedious malcontent.” “Good morning to you, too.” Nathaniel held up an oversized bandage.

You see why I need more of their interactions, right?

Nathaniel was different; he always would be. He wasn’t a Raven, but he was, same as Jean. He was Jean’s misplaced forever partner, an unfulfilled promise Jean had stopped believing in years ago.

You can now be forever partners while you tear down your families :)

I think that I'm stuck on the two of them bc while Kevin broke a promise to save himself (to which no hate, when dealing with madmen like Riko you have to save yourself) and still couldn't, not completely, Neil was a promise made and broken by other people. Jean hates him bc they were supposed to share a destiny and all the misery, but I think very deep down he knows that if Nathaniel had come to the Nest they would still be nursing wounds and appeasing a tyrant. Neil is the one that stood against Riko when Kevin wanted to hide, the one that gave him courage by example, the one that dragged Jean away from the Ravens, both for selfish reasons (taking down Riko) and better ones (paying him back for saving his life a the Nest).

But still

“You are only here now because you are an abominable cockroach,”

Funny how Neil forgot to tell us about the breakdown about Kevin's tattoo, he was probably thinking about the match. Junkie.

The cheese drawer guys, ???

To this day I still can't decide what was more iconic: Kevin Day switching playing hand halfway through the game and pretty much scoring everything until the last second, Neil being so fast that it made up for him being a shitty defender, Andrew crossing the court to keep Neil from being murdered (I'm biased, but still iconic moments all of them)

Experiencing this match from Jean's pov was amazing writing, like the countdown of the last ten seconds, the Riko-Neil bit without volume but from a different angle (I didn't really realize everyone was able to see the King attempting murder live on TV, but hey perspective)

Run, Jean thought. He didn't know if he was thinking it at Andrew or Nathaniel. Run.

"That wasn't a miracle," Jean typed out. "That was the Foxes."

:')

When Jean found about Riko though :'(

The shudder that wracked his chest should have been revulsion, but it fell dangerously short. This didn't feel like joy or relief; it only felt like loss. [...] Who was he without them?"

I loved that he woke up to Renee and Neil though, the rainbow and the witness

Renee always hitting the point, this wonderful girl

"Maybe you're mourning the wreckage he made of your life. You're allowed to grieve what he took from you."

"It's impressive, isn't it? How easily these monsters die in the end."

Neil Abram Josten said I'm done letting monsters ruin my life and my people, he actually promised.

When he called him Neil guys, tears

Also I found peculiar that when thinking about the room he destroyed Jean calls it "Neil's dorm room", not Kevin's who he's known for actually longer. It's what makes me think that they have a chance at not being misplaced forever anymore.

Renee either hits you with hidden wisdom of the universe or with practical and brutal advice, and we love her for that

The two of them, the Two Of THEEEEEEEEM

Jean noticed how Andrew and Neil moved like they were caught in each other's gravity, in each other's space more than they were out of it, cigarette smoke and matching armbands and lingering looks when one fell out of orbit for too long.

Just leaving this here.

The airport bit :'(

"Men like Wymack didn't exist. They couldn't; they shouldn't."

Enter Jeremy Knox and his yo-yo in the middle of said airport. Flawless.

This man was put on Earth to test Jean, at least that's what he will keep thinking from here on

The rest of this book is Jean having conversations with people and not understanding them, bc he's been living for five (seven) years in a cult. It is an escalation pretty painful to watch, I think the Trojans are all of us :'(

Question: will Jean end up teaching Jeremy French? Will Jeremy learn by himself? I think I'd probably prefer the latter

Cat, the mess, the music, the tour, I love her so much

Jeremy "he's a little off" Knox, he was trying

Barkbark von Barkenstein

Jean Moreau and the real world (bubble tea? you have to shop for stuff? you sign things yourself? you leave campus? someone help this disoriented french bean)

"Something had gone horribly wrong at Evermore"

oh Jeremy

Watching Jeremy regret almost all his questions :'(

“Three fractured ribs. Sprained LCL. Twisted ankle. Broken nose. That’s most of it.” That’s most of it.

Laila, who pushed and got angry for Jean and didn't back down despite him lashing out, my beloved

You look like a Ken doll." + "This isn't blond."

"Not Grayson.[...] Please." that one made me sick, the writing made me feel even only a part of what Jean was feeling and it was enough to feel sick

The water :'(

Jean just leaving when confronted with Laila and Jeremy in swimsuits was very bi of him

Lucas coming in looking like a well know nightmare and the Ravens dropping like flies

I didn't ask.

It's not like I didn't know, right? But I still died inside

Zane and the betrayal

Jeremy didn’t let him get away with it. “That’s not the issue and you know it. I don’t want to crowd you.” “You are not them,” Jean said. “Kevin would not have sent me here if you were.”

Jean taking one look at the doctor sent by the coaches and going nope, Dobson will be definitely better

Jeremy seeing the nightmares and the scars and not being able to do much:(

A hand on his chin startled him into looking up. When he met Jean’s eyes, Jean only said, “Focus on what’s important.” “I am,” Jeremy said. Jean opened his mouth, closed it again, and let go of Jeremy without a word. Jeremy snagged his arm when he started to turn away. “Who did this to you?”

I'm sorry did he just

“It’s not about size, anyway.” “Defensive,” Jean said, tugging his glove straps with his teeth. Jeremy straightened in indignation. “I don’t have anything to be defensive about.” Jean lost his grip and bit his lip, and Jeremy hurried on before either of them could think too much about that double entendre.

“Say ‘yes, Jeremy’.” He had the distinct impression Jean wanted to roll his eyes. “Yes, Jeremy.” Jeremy forgot everything else he could have said in favor of staring. It was the first time he’d heard Jean say his name.

Are you seeing this? Yes? Good, let's go on

“If I ever make you uncomfortable or make you feel unsafe, will you promise to tell me? If you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s wrong and why, at least trust me enough to tell me that something is wrong. I can’t fix things if I don’t know there’s a problem. As your captain and your partner, don’t I at least deserve the chance to not be a villain in your story?”

The pool bit :'( and after when they tell there are no pools at Evermore. Riko is so lucky to already be dead :)

You’re forcing us to hurt you without giving us any say in the matter.”

Watching Jean trying to navigate his interactions with the Trojans was painful, frustrating but also hopeful. This boy has been hurt so much and so often, he doesn't get what normal looks like anymore. But the Trojans don't let him get away with it (even if it breaks their heart and the coaches will probably get a lot of grey hair from this)

"Your safety and happiness will always be more important than our season.” “You are naïve.” “Maybe you’ll define success by how we do this season, but I’m not obligated to do the same. You are going to be my success story: Jean Moreau the person, not Jean Moreau of the perfect Court. You take care of one, and I’ll take care of the other.” “That is not how it works.” “Is there a rule against it?” “There is no merit to it. This is all I am.” Jeremy ignored that and asked again, “Is there a rule against it?”

Jeremy gay panicking and the photo of Renee

The floozy line!

Every time Jeremy goes "our coaches" or "our teammates" all I can think in my head is "someone will die" "of fun!!!!"

Jean wondering if the Trojans have something against recruiting tall players xD

“Thank you for worrying about them. You’re a good man, Jean Moreau.” “A ridiculous sentiment,” he said. “I mean it,”

This man didn't even second guess himself, he had to ask because he knew and it didn't even occur to him to be silent. Excuse me sir? Shut up you are a good man

“I assumed the Trojans were idiots,” Jean said. “Now I think you are all insane.” “It’s a step up,” Cody said. “I’ll take it.”

The practices, the scars pt2

“It is all I am, Coach.”

“We did not want outsiders at Evermore.” “Except Neil,” Cat said. “Neil was a special case,” Jean allowed.

#accurate

You’re hurting me.” “It has been toward for five years,” Jean said, looking past Jeremy at the scrimmage that was still going on without them. “It is not that easy to undo.” Jeremy frowned at him and echoed, “Five? You were only with the Ravens for three.” “I moved into Evermore two years before I enrolled,” Jean said, and hauled Jeremy to one side. The stray ball that had been coming for them ricocheted off his chest instead of Jeremy’s back, and Jean scooped it up on the rebound with a quick snap of his wrist. He hurled it across the court toward Cody one-handed before finally letting go of Jeremy. “I will try harder.”

The notebooks breakdown hurt so bad bc Cat and Laila being angry for him (they are all of us), Jeremy trying to mediate bc he's been there, he pushed and Jean broke and he doesn't want to hurt him, and Jean who confesses his secrets without meaning to, just to realize and panic. What a recipe for a disaster.

“How dare they blame you for anything after what they did to you. How dare you grieve them.” It hit like a sucker punch, but Jean’s frustrated rejoinder was worse: “They don’t know.”

They don't know, but they could guess. They could smell the blood. They joked about his brittle bones. He was sixteen. I'm not sorry for the mercy I don't have after finishing this book

Jeremy could only watch in wretched silence as Jean tried to walk himself back from the edge. He cast his phone aside in favor of catching Jean’s face in his hands, and the way Jean flinched at his touch was almost his undoing. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Hey. Jean. Look at me.” Jean refused, and Jeremy grasped desperately for anything that could bring Jean back to him. He seized on the only thing he could and threw Jean’s words back at him: “You are Jean Moreau. Your place is here with me, with us. I’m your captain. You’re my partner. We’re supposed to be doing this together, aren’t we? Stop leaving me behind. Look at me.” It wouldn’t work, but it did. Jean opened his eyes to meet Jeremy’s stare. “I told you not to ask me about him.”

I had seen the quote before reading but no one told me what followed ��.ç

He felt a tremor in Jean’s hands, and for a blinding moment he was sure Jean would lean into the safety of this silent confession. But Jean only sucked in a slow breath and said, “Now I am not safe with you, captain.” Letting go of Jean was the hardest thing Jeremy had ever done. Everything in him railed against this, and for a moment he regretted giving Jean a way out.

I was not crying, I swear.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said, because he didn’t have the strength for small talk or a softer approach right now. “Did Riko break your hand?”

That was one heavy conversation and it's just the start (Jeremy is Not Fine™️)

He is not used to having a voice, and he has never had power. I cannot promise he will ever talk to you.” “I will wait as long as it takes,” Jeremy said.

Still best boy

And maybe in many ways he still was, but a martyr could still be a monster when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Boy do I have news for you (do you think Jeremy will know that Riko didn't kill himself? Does it matter? I think not knowing this particular detail would be fine, I still don't really know how much this sunshine boy can take (more than I expected but still))

Did I mention that I really love the apartment trio? Cat and Laila agreeing to silence but still being angry (drag them girls, draaaaag them), the dinner and movie and Jean not getting up to leave

Did I mention Lucas is free to shut up and play? :) Because I get that you are angry, but 1) it's not your decision to make, we don't need your conspiracy theories 2) it's not Jean problem, he has enough of them leave him alone

“Ask him why he’s so sure the rumors are true. Ask him what his part in it was. If you’re going to believe him just because he’s blood, then at least make him tell you the truth.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucas demanded.

And Jean still deciding not to lie, he may be an asshole but almost everyone he has known didn't deserve him

Also I don't know where Lucas got the audacity? You think there is something the justifies breaking a player's ribs?? What is wrong with you, you are part of the sunshine court

The dread when asking if Grayson was home

The bike ride :')

Now that they were settled, he expected an interrogation or a reason for this unscheduled trip out. When she failed to explain herself, Jean finally asked, “Why are we here?” “I love it here,” [...] “I don’t know. I just felt like some fresh air would do you good. There’s nothing like a ride to get you out of your head and into the moment, you know?” Jean considered that for a minute. “Thank you.”

Jean waited until he was out of earshot. “I don’t understand.” “Trust us,” Jeremy said tiredly. “Neither do we.”

Jean vs the Trojans, a summary

The monster shows up and it was a mess and Jean has never had a break, literally never

Which was extremely literal bc Lucas wanted to talk and then Neil shows up

I need a separate post for the last pages bc I started this 24 h ago and I want to do it justice. So part 2 coming.

Edit: I misspelled Jean's surname *facepalms and goes to hide*

#tsc #the sunshine court #i didn't know how much i would end up caring about this french boy #new son acquired #tsc spoilers #the sunshine court spoilers #spoilers #aftg #incoherent whatever

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breadandcircusandallthatjazz · 1 month ago

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Look I’ve only been into wrestling for a month so I probably don’t know my shit all, including what makes a heel a good heel. But I don’t think it’s a good thing that I dislike Liv Morgan’s promos so much that I want to skip entire segments of each show just to not have to sit through her shtick.

No hate to Liv irl/outside kayfabe, and she may have been a really compelling wrestler before now! It’s just that every time I think they’ll have her feud with Rhea refocus on being about their baggage with each other and the belt, «daddy Dom» is dragged back into the center of the feud and always by Liv. Making so much of her current character about having this guy as her boyfriend — the constantly bringing him out, the «Daddy»-nickname, frequently referring to «getting her man» and stealing/winning the boyfriend, her damn Dom-themed tshirts — just feels demeaning. And as if that wasn’t enough new feuds (hi Tiffy, praying you escape this plot) are hinting that they’ll revolve around wanting Liv’s boyfriend as much as her championship title too.

I’d say this was more of a Dom problem than Liv problem if it wasn’t for how her character and writing is given so many opportunities to be expanded upon or her for her threat level to increase, but nothing happens. Raquel came back only to be a silent non-questioning bodyguard who does all the heavy lifting wrestling-wise. Liv hasn’t won a single match/fight in months without interference. So much of her merch and general aesthetic right now directly ties into Dominik and Rhea. This could be decent heel work but alas it prevents anyone else from getting a stab at the title and keeping the real contest between Liv and Rhea — which is still doomed to be about some guy. And even with Rhea on injury-leave and the opportunity to create new feuds for Liv they tease bringing the damn dude into it again.

Whoever is in charge of this storyline I am begging you to keep Dominik’s existence out of at least one full Liv-centered in-ring segment, and to please let Liv win one fight on her own so she at least feels like a capable foe to whoever dethrones her.

#it’s extra demeaning because Liv is the biggest present face at Raw screentimewise now #so if I want to watch and support Raw’s women’s division I have to sit through her segments and watch her try and seem scary #all the while running to Raquel and Dom for help because apparently she can’t handle anything on her own anymore #and certainly not without ‘her maaan’ present #if I hear ‘Daddy Dom’ one more time I might puke it is just so damn demeaning #okay emotions shared rant expressed venting over thank you for sitting through this ted talk #wwe #wwe raw #anti liv morgan #anti dominik mysterio #anti raquel rodriguez #for filtering purposes #all of them #wwe discourse

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dontyoufinditstrange · 8 months ago

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Evermore Lyrics That Alter My Brain Chemistry

Willow:

"the more that you say the less i know" "i'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans" "anywhere else is hollow"

Champagne Problems:

"i never was ready so i'll watch you go" "you won't remember all my champagne problems"

Gold Rush:

"i don't like that falling feels like flying til the bone crush" "cause it could never be" "i can't dare to dream about you anymore" "eyes like sinking ships on water so inviting i almost jump in"

Tis The Damn Season

"there's an ache in you put there by the ache in me" "the road not taken looks real good now" "you can run but only so far" "now i'm missing your smile hear me out" "the heart i know i'm breaking is my own"

Tolerate It:

"if it's all in my head tell me now, tell me i've got it wrong somehow" "i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it" "where's that man who threw blankets over my barbed wire?" "i made you my temple, my mural, my sky, now i'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life" "always taking up too much space or time"

Happiness:

"showed you all of my hiding spots" "i was dancing when the music stopped" "tell me when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk?" "when did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?" "i can't make it go away by making you a villain" "no one teaches you what to do when a good man hurts you and you know you hurt him too"

Dorothea:

"making a lark of the misery" "i got nothing but well wishes for you" "this place is the same as it ever was" "it's never too late to come back to my side" "and if you're ever tired of being known for who you know, you know, you'll always know me" "but are you still the same soul i met under the bleachers?"

Coney Island:

"if i can't relate to you anymore then who am i related to?" "did i shatter you?" "will you forgive my soul?" "did i leave you hanging every single day?" "did i paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?" "a universe away"

Ivy:

"your touch brought forth an incandescent glow" "tarnished but so grand" "grieving for the living" "i can't stop you putting roots in my dream land" "my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i'm covered in you" "it's a fire, it's a goddamn blaze in the dark and you started it"

Cowboy Like Me:

"now i know, i'm never gonna love again" "it could be love" "we could be the way forward and i know i'll pay for it" "now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon" "forever is the sweetest con"

Long Story Short

"actually, i always felt i must look better in the rearview" "now i just know there's more" "and my waves meet your shore ever and evermore" "past me i wanna tell you not to get caught in these petty things" "and he feels like home"

Marjorie:

"i should've asked you questions, i should've asked you how to be" "never be so kind you forget to be clever, never be so clever you forget to be kind" "never be so polite you forget your power, never wield such power you forget to be polite"

Closure:

"it cut deep to know you, right to the bone" "don't treat me like a situation that needs to be handled" "i'm fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles" "i'm just a wrinkle in your new life"

Evermore:

"grey november, i've been down since july" "i replay my footsteps on each stepping stone, trying to find the one where i went wrong" "writing letters addressed to the fire" "and i was catching my breath, staring out an open window catching my death" "hey december, guess i'm feeling unmoored" "can't remember what i used to fight for" "barefoot in the wildest winter catching my death" "and when i was shipwrecked, i thought of you" "in the cracks of light, i dreamed of you"

#taylor swift #taylornation #evermore #taylor swift lyrics #song lyrics #quotes #willow #champagne problems #gold rush #tis the damn season #tolerate it #happiness #dorothea #coney island #ivy #cowboy like me #long story short #marjorie #closure

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hannigramislife · 2 years ago

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First of, I would like to tell my dear friend @mattmurrock that I personally blame them for my descend into madness, because I was fine without watching Vincenzo, and my deteriorating mental health is their fault ❤️

Now, I need to get some things off my chest about this show, because I am getting tired of seeing these weird as fuck takes on tumblr and tiktok and twt, like, are y'all asleep???

Idc if the entire fandom comes after me, I will fight each and every single one of you.

Hot take number 1: Han Seo's writing was atrocious in general, but him becoming this lighthearted little brother figure to Vincenzo in the second part, practically glowing, becoming a "better person" and all that, is a disservice at its finest. Han Seo's "real self" isn't him projecting his inner child trauma onto Vincenzo; this man had a person throw up blood on him and he wanted to call an ambulance for himself, like come on. He deserved to be morally grey, and I'm done with this fandom infantilizing him.

Hot take number 2: Cha Young and Vincenzo's love subplot was hilarious, there was not a drop of chemistry between them, Cha Young looked like she wouldn't spare Vincenzo a second glance during the entire show 😭 This is a personal subjective opinion, so I'm fine with people disagreeing with me on this one.

Hot take number 3: Jang Han Seok was smarter, stronger, and a better strategist than Vincenzo Cassano, on every level. He was more connected, more brutal, made moves more similar to the Mafia than Vincenzo himself did, and the only reason he lost, consistently, is because the plot was centered on Vincenzo, and gave him the wins. If this show was evenly written, Han Seok would have won within the first five episodes. Him begging Vincenzo to let him live was also our of character for the guy who stared Vincenzo dead in the eye and told him to shoot. Running away while he had a hockey stick at hand, Cha Young injured, bodyguards at the door and Vincenzo unarmed is also out of character.

Hot take number 4: Vincenzo Cassano, who might I add, doesn't have a drop of Italian upbringing in him, is a romantic lead, and he should get the credit for that only. Vincenzo, as a show, is a dark romcom, and I use the term dark loosely. I have seen many act like he is the end all be all kdrama lead, as though his character is a perfectly written depiction of the anti-hero, scumbag who takes care of worse scumbags, morally ambiguous, flawed-but-not-really main character. And that's laughable. He has walked straight out of Wattpad.

Conclusion to my thoughts and ranting: Han Seo deserved his own storyline, and to not be treated as a prop for Vincenzo. Cha Young was a better lead than Vincenzo by miles, and she shouldn't have been taken out of commission in the showdown. Han Seok was able to win in the finale. If they wanted me to believe he lost, they should have written it better. Vincenzo as a show has a 7/10 rating at its highest, while Vincenzo as a character is 5/10 at best, 6/10 if you take my bias against him away. Enjoying such shows is fine, I had a blast watching this thing, but I am tired of people pretending this show has quality. It has good points, like cinematography and cast, but its writing, characters, and plot is weak.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, yes I will take comments and criticism, and if people want to debate me, I will show them they are ✨️wrong✨️

#vincenzo #vincenzo kdrama #kdramadaily #song joong ki #jang han seok #ok taecyeon #hong cha young #jeon yeo been #jang han seo #kwak dong yeon #kdrama thriller #kdrama recommendations

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meekmice · 1 year ago

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I’ve always had to be strong.

“You’re so brave, so strong.” They’d say.

What no one ever acknowledges is

that people are rarely those things

out of choice.

We learn to adapt to survive.

I’m not strong because I lived through the abuse.

I am strong because

I don’t always let it affect

my day to day.

And that’s not a choice,

That’s how I will survive this.

I am not brave because

I can continue marching on,

I am brave because

that is the only way to feel alive

after all the rain subsides,

& still there will be thunder.

But I’m not scared anymore.

This is the first time I’ve ever been with a man,

Not a boy.

I can’t even list all the ways that I realize

I am much safer now.

The only times he puts his hands on me,

He always has consent.

Even the meanest words to come out of his mouth

are wrapped in lace & heaven sent.

I almost forgot what gaslighting was last week.

If you can believe that.

And when he makes love to me,

he looks into my eyes…

And I can’t explain how much I feel

from just the look alone…

It’s something far too personal to

just put into words.

And believe me, I’ve cried in his arms…

But never from a single thing he’s done,

said,

Or didn’t do…

For the first time in my life,

I feel weak.

Weak is not quite the right word.

Vulnerable is.

But we’ll get back to that.

I’ve never been able to be weak by choice.

I always had to be strong.

But I will falter,

& melt into you…

I will weaken at the knees,

In my chest…

In the eyes…

I will cry & you will hold me

& tell me that I am beautiful.

You will tell me that I’m strong,

But this time.. I don’t have to be.

I don’t have to be anything for you,

But me.

And god, the power of that satisfaction

could break windows,

It could win wars…

It could also bring me to my knees,

But this time I won’t be begging anyway to stay

or not hurt me…

& that’s a whole other beauty of being with

This man…

The only time I’m on my knees,

Or being choked…

Is when he’s making love to me.

Vulnerability…

We hang on each others words in the late hours

Of the night…

Under blankets, in low light.

We can have a conversation

& it’s not even a fight—

I can read you all my poems…

You don’t even bat an eye,

These types of things scare people away,

But with us… it’s quite alright.

The comfort we take in knowing how

Much we love each other..

Sometimes gets me through the night.

My body let my guard down for me,

I can finally cry.

It’s so good to feel these things again…

I finally feel like I’m alive.

And I have you to thank for that,

It’s really fucking beautiful.

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uitwaaiien · 1 year ago

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I still get flashbacks of all our worst moments. All the moments I wish I had walked away and done better because God knows I could have. It just crossed my mind again about finding out about all the escorts. From going through your laptop when you were at the shooting range to you running home to me throwing all my shit in the car and leaving. How you walked in and still lied to my face and begged me to stay so you could "explain" and lie your way out of it. I should have never went home. I should have driven back down to Florida to get Poquito and pack all my stuff up and divorced you then and there. But I met so many wonderful people on our journey. I made so many more memories for myself. I fell in love with myself along the way when I realized you could never love me the way I want. The way I needed. The way I so desperately desired. I hate myself some days for not leaving earlier. I hate the way I let you get in my head. I hate the way I stuck up for you and had faith in you getting better. I had hope in you healing and I hate myself for trying to see the best in you when there was nothing but darkness in you. I hate myself for not putting myself first and taking on your darkness inside of me and fighting it myself, just to take the load off of you and help you. One day I hope to stop hating all the things that I did, when I shouldn't have. I should have let you suffer in silence but having a big heart is not a curse. I will not let my love and desire for prince charming make me a bad person. I won't let it turn me dark. I won't let you win and get in my head over and over again when you did for years. I'm not over it. I don't think I'll ever be over it. But not in the sad "how could you do this to me" because that is over. I'm not crying. I'm not sad. I don't miss you. I definitely don't miss us. I know what love feels like. Multiple people have come into my life since I left you and shown me what true, healthy love feels like and they know I am grateful for it. No I'm not over it. But I'm not over you being an absolute horrible piece of shit person. I'm not over you faking it everyday, even when I had filed, you still faked it. You still lied. There is not a single day that passed from the day you texted me to apologize back in September of 2019, after Kate left you, to the day I left Alaska that you did not lie to me. You lied. You lied. You lied. Every. Damn. Day. How did you do that? No, I know how you did it. You didn't care. You have no empathy. No sympathy. All your tears and games were a fucking lie. Just a way to provide yourself entertainment and to make my life a living hell so you weren't living in hell alone. You just didn't want to be alone. So instead of getting better, you brought me into hell with you. You dragged me down to your level and got off on it. I hope it made you happy. It probably didn't because you're never happy. You don't have a single fucking clue what happiness feels like. Maybe you do now, who knows. You're probably still lying to yourself every morning and lying to the people around you. And even if you aren't, it's always a cycle with you. You'll be "good" for a couple weeks or a month and then you'll go right back to being that shitty person who has a special place in hell reserved personally for him. I don't want you to get your redemption. But at the same time, I couldn't care less what happens to you. I was right. I was always right. My 18 year old boy is dead and gone. He died a very long time ago and he's rolling over in his grave letting whoever the fuck you are walk around in his place. You're not even half a man. No matter what "masculinity" you have. No matter the people you kill. No matter the people you train in whatever you're teaching. No matter who you take care of. No matter what your family does or says because you are just as awful as them. Your sister? Don't get me started, what a fucking joke wasting her life away.

And your mom? You are the spitting image of her. Your narcissism? You get it all from her. You didn't speak to her for a whole fucking year and you think you know what love is? You think you're respectful? That you deserve to have a good life? No wonder you got your fucking rank stripped because you made a bad call. Your whole life has been full of bad fucking calls and I hope you live with every single consequence of all of them. Including me.

No. I don't care about you. I want nothing good to happen to you but I know better than to put that into the universe for the sake of my own good karma because goodness knows after dealing with you and your fucking emotions for almost a decade, I am long overdue for my happy ever after. And don't you fucking worry. I'm going to get everything I have ever wanted. I'm already on my way and I will stay this way until the world turns dark. You did nothing for me. Congratulations on ruining your relationship with the one person in the whole world who accepted your dark side and all your demons and made them her own. She loathes you now. I know that's what you wanted though. You wanted me to hate you because it's easier for you. It's always been easier for you. Why do you think I unblocked you? It wasn't for you. It was because I didn't care anymore. I want you to see how happy I am without you. How fucking wonderful my sweet, beautiful life is now that I'm free of you. If I had know freedom from you would feel this good I would have let you go when you left me when I was 16. You never deserved me. You never deserved my love. There is not a single second that goes by where I truly believe you loved me. You really hated me, didn't you? Good. I don't want your love. I never needed it. I have always been stronger than you and I knew that. But your lies, manipulation, gaslighting and your sick, twisted-in-the-head games that you like to play....you can keep all that. I know you won't change. YOU know you won't change. You're probably still watching your porn and your onlyfans, sleeping with girls and probably going to reenlist because you're right - you don't know what else to do with your life. I know you won't go to college. You won't survive college. Prove me wrong. I don't fucking care. You mean jack shit to me now. And Tony? Lord help that child. I feel so sorry that he was born into that family. And now he has to live with you? If I know you at all, you've definitely been making him walk Zulu, shovel the driveway, clean up the house and make him learn "responsibility" but you don't know how to raise a child. You don't know how to be a husband. You'll never know how to be a good dad. I'm so fucking glad I never had kids with you. God, could you imagine?? All those times you said "let's make a baby" and God saved me. He really protected me on that one because no way in hell would I ever want to be the mother of your kids. You would have turned them against me. You would have always made it a game. You would have ruined holidays and every tradition I have planned in my head. But now? Now I'm free to make all my own choices and all my own decisions. Sure, you got the house and everything in it but I will always be free of you and you will have to live with yourself and all your horrible mistakes and choices until the day you die. Freedom is absolutely priceless. Not a day goes by that I'm not grateful that you're gone. You're dead to me. Just like you always should have been.

#have a happy life #i'm done #i'm finally done #i got out everything i needed and i know i'll never forgive you #i have my whole life planned out ahead of me and you know damn well i'm going to get it #i hope you read this one day #truly #i hope you see how all that love and adoration for you turned into hate and cold #good luck #you need it #text #9.14.23

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tarohemianrocketmanapsody · 3 years ago

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Homeward Bound // Somewhere Only We Know - Chapter 2

Prologue.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

It had been a long fucking night and she really was at her breaking point. They had been doing a choreographed dance all night and she sometimes had to look down and make sure that her clothes were still on and that they hadn’t spontaneously combusted from the heat of his stares. She’d needed intervention.

Aggressively staring at Jake until he got the hint and came over to her at the bar, she all but yanked him down into a seat that partially obscured her view of Rooster. While her inner slut mourned the unobstructed view of him bending over the pool table to take a shot (looking like he was bending something else entirely over with the way he moved his body and the heat in his eyes), she was grateful to have a moment of mental peace that she hadn’t been able to have since he had walked through the door.

Raising his eyebrow, Jake just took the beer she offered to him as a peace offering and stared at her.

“What,” she said, avoiding his eye contact and clearing more glasses left over by their rush hour, wiping up the sticky mess that was always, ALWAYS left behind because people suddenly forget how to drink out of a cup properly.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, doing your job rather than participating in this antiquated mating ritual?”

The laugh that came out of her was unexpected, and she whipped around to throw her dirty bar towel at his face. He caught it easily, a smirk on his beautiful face as he essentially wrapped his mouth around the beer bottle and drank it. She even saw his tongue peek out to lick up a drop that had run astray. She rolled her eyes. Like he wasn’t trying to seduce any and everyone in this bar too, he loved the attention. At least hers was just one man with a pornstache and a Hawaiian shirt, rather than the entire clientele of the bar. As far as she was concerned, she won.

“Oh please you act like this job is rocket science, we don’t all have to fly thousands of pounds of machinery under threat of death by explosion to make money. Half of this job is interacting with the clientele. Now it’s just you military brats left so it’s not like there is much for me to do,” she said. The “but stare”, was silent, but she knew Jake got that without her saying it. Jackass.

“Oh in that case,” Jake responded, swinging his legs around and making to leave her defenseless, “I’ll leave you to interact with your clientele.”

She had never moved so fast in her life, reaching out to grab his arm and turn him back to her. She once again felt heavy eyes on her. She knew His pilot eyes were meticulous, wouldn’t miss a single touch or smile, and part of it brought a thrill to her. She had remembered the fun she used to have flirting with the boys at school, loved to rev him up and see how he took it out on them, and then later, her, in a very painful (pleasurable), meticulous, way. Her traitorous body literally clenched at the memory. It was like she was an animal in heat.

“Fine you win,” she grumbled, going to get refills on drinks for a few patrons before coming back again to glumly rest her head on her hands in front of Jake. It wasn’t fun to deprive yourself of what you really wanted, regardless of how afraid she was of him, how scared she was at the power he wielded over her and the control he had over her heart. “I need you to run interference.”

Jake snorted, but turned solidly in his seat and leveled his eyes with her and she knew her trusted best friend was in for the count with her tonight.

“Please, you want me here so you can just play hard to get.”

“Excuse you, I AM hard to get.”

“Uh huh, a young girl at UCLA begs to differ.”

“As I recall you were the one coming onto ME.”

“Oh and you put up such a fight, we only had sex with each other every night for like 8 months.”

“Yeah, until we realized we were both in love with someone else.”

“Details details, jury still stands that you, my friend, are being pathetic.”

“Oh I’m being pathetic? You’re literally trying to seduce all of my customers, and don’t even try to deny it because nobody just happens to drink their beer like that. No matter how much you might believe it to be true, you are NOT God and there are limits to your talents.”

“Maybe, but at least I can admit to my game, are you gonna own up to yours? Or are we going to pretend like you haven’t been eye fucking him since he walked in?”

She dropped her head between her arms and groaned. He was always right. Sometimes it was easier when he was away and he couldn’t read her like a damn book.

“I missed you,” she said instead, looking up at him and squeezing his hand. He rolled his eyes, but squeezed back nonetheless, the fondness in his eyes betraying the annoyance he was trying to feign.

“I know,” he replied. She didn’t take it personally, knew he showed his love in different ways, through actions and not words. He showed his love by always driving her to work and staying to take her home when he was in town. By laying in bed with her in silence while she couldn’t sleep, kept up by too many past regrets that she couldn’t put words to. And, by sitting here and entertaining her, quite frankly, psychosis as she battled feelings she hadn’t felt in 6 years while the object of her affection, and also her biggest fear, stood a mere 20 feet away.

“I’ve missed him too.”

“Yeah I think everyone in the bar can see that.”

“Do you wanna bust my balls or do you want to sit here and drink for free and let me get on my soap box?”

“…continue.”

“I don’t know, seeing him tonight just makes me realize how much I have cut myself off from feeling things. It’s scary.”

“Do you want me to ask you why or are you just talking to yourself?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying I’ve spent the past 6 years listening to you whine and quite literally yearn after this man that I honestly don’t think is worth your time. But you want him and you swear that he is some dramatic long lost love with like the dick of God and the patience of Ghandi, and there he is and he’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat, so go get him.”

“It’s not just about the sex.”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about the moment after dude, having someone who knows you inside and out hold you, knowing that you’re safe in their arms and that nothing can ever truly hurt you when you have them in your life.”

“Okay, now I’m feeling slightly sick. Is there a point to this? Because if this goes on much longer for a choker like Bradshaw, I’m going to need another drink.”

“Yes, the point is, he was that person. He knew everything about me, bad and good and everything in between. What if he doesn’t know me anymore? Worse, what if he does? He’s going to leave again, you all do, and I don’t know if I can go through that again. I don’t even know if I want to face him again. I spent so long desperate to get out of here and be different than my mom and my family. I didn’t for a moment stop to think that the things that actually made me happiest were here. I let it ruin us. I don’t know if he can forgive me for that, and I don’t know if I want him to. I’m not going to be my mom, falling for a man who’s always got his back to me, flying away.”

“Now you’re just making up excuses. Blah blah blah, we get it you have abandonment issues, but don’t pretend like you can’t do this, considering we have been friends for the past 6 years. You’re just scared to get your feelings hurt again, which is just honestly embarrassing for you because you can probably lead Bradshaw around by the balls and he would thank you based on the way he looks at you. Stop being a pussy and let yourself see what happens for once before we skip to the bad part.”

She poured two shots, clinking her glass with his as she tried to let his words sink in and drown out the shockingly high voices of her anxieties.

“You definitely don’t sugarcoat things.”

“You wouldn’t have practically begged me to come over here if you wanted me to placate you, you just want me to validate you so you can fuck him without feeling guilty.”

“I can’t just fuck him the first night he is back in 6 years, what do you take me for?”

“You forget that I’ve seen you in literally every possible physical position, and that I stay with you when I’m in town. I can hear what you watch through the walls.”

“That’s a good point. Just… don’t let me go home with him tonight. You might have some truth to what you’re saying, but things aren’t always black and white and I’m not quite ready to just let him back in. Things were said that can’t be taken back, and I can’t just forget 6 years of silence.”

“Whatever you want babe, all I’m saying is that you can’t hold him or yourself responsible for what happened when you were 18. Do you honestly think he would’ve been happy if he just blew off his dreams to follow you? Do you think you would’ve forgiven yourself if he did? You’re allowed to be irrational because that’s what teenagers do, but if you take 2 seconds to get your head out of your ass and stop being sad that he left, you might realize that it’s the best thing that ever happened for both of you. Timing is weird and you can’t control it, better that it happened then rather than you guys growing to resent each other.”

“Huh, your head is always so far up your own ass I forget how smart you are sometimes. Too bad in a month you’re both leaving and I’ll probably be left with some love child due to the indecent acts you’re trying to force on me.”

Jake actually snorted at that. You loved seeing your best friend laugh, didn’t see it often enough because just like you he carried his own losses from his past. Unlike you, however, he didn’t have a chance to reunite with his person, having lost her when he was just 20 and starting out on his military career.

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, you’ve been given this chance to see him again after all of this time. And, if he has any sense at all in that hairy little head of his, he would never willingly leave you. People make decisions all of the time about what is important to them, and if I could do it all again I would give up flying in a heartbeat if it meant seeing her again, and having the chance to create the life we had always talked about.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t talk about her a lot, nor did she know him before he lost her, but she assumed that this girl had inherently changed him when she passed. She understood what he was trying to say though, and was shocked at how deep his devotion still ran for her after all of these years (though, she didn’t know why she was, because she was in the same boat). Jake had detailed to her countless times how his skills as a pilot were given to him by god himself, and how he had always been born to fly. To hear that he would give it all up for her, even after all this time? It was incredibly humbling, and insanely romantic, even if he would hate to hear that.

She squeezed his hand again, knew he wouldn’t want her to say anymore on the topic. It was always a conversation he preferred when there was a lot more alcohol, and an intensely lower level of consciousness.

“You’re right,” she admitted, continuing on before he could make a comment about how rarely she would make that admission, “But I could never ask him to give up flying. I did it once before, and I was wrong, even if my reasons weren’t selfish. You can’t ask someone to walk away from something they love, something that makes them who they are.”

“No,” he conceded, “But they can choose between something that they love, and something that they can’t live without.”

“Does it always have to be a choice?”

“No, in a perfect world you could do both and have it all, but how often do we get to dictate what we have? All I’m saying is, if and when the time comes, and he isn’t the complete idiot that I think he is, he will make the right decision. No man would willingly walk away from you.”

“You’re just saying that because of all the under the bar alcohol you get.”

“Now you’re the one making a good point. Speaking of good points, you owe me another beer. All of this talk actually helping Bradshaw is leaving a bad taste in my mouth. He needs to focus on his flying, that’s where he really needs some guidance.”

She smiled as she got him another beer.

“You’re just mad because he gave you a run for your money for first in class.”

“I would hardly call it “a run”, I had to throw everyone in class a bone every now and again so their spirits would stay up. I can’t fly every mission for the military, someone had to be second.”

“Shut up and drink your beer.”

“You just want me to stop talking so you can go back to undressing him with your eyes with no interruptions.”

She smiled, making eye contact with Rooster again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she had started her conversation with Jake. She was pleased to see his jaw set while he clenched the pool cue between his hand, his thumb with his father’s ring tapping rather aggressively on the pool table where he was leaning and not even trying to hide his stare. It seemed inevitable, at least in her mind, that they would find their way back to each other eventually, and if she was being honest it had always seemed that way. But it didn’t have to be right now, and it didn’t have to be easy. There were obstacles to overcome, and they had to get to know each other agains as adults, rather than two kids who fell in love. She also had to convince herself to not run in the opposite direction and never look back for a fear that she might never live a full life again if she gave him her heart, only for him to permanently leave again. So yeah, she was immensely going to enjoy a jealous… Bradley. She was excited to see if he lived up to her memory.

“You’re not hearing any arguments from me.”

———————————————————————

It was finally closing time at the end of what was likely the longest shift of her entire life. Jake had been a good sport, sticking to her side at the bar and keeping her occupied while slowly but surely everyone had petered out of the bar, many going home together as the Hard Deck once again worked it’s unspeakable magic and brought people together. All that remained was her and Jake at the bar and a handful of the same pilots from earlier, all scattered around Bradley like he was some boy king (boy being the furthest thing from describing this absolute man who was sitting there and looking like he could eat her up). She looked back at Jake and was grateful that he spent the night catering to her and her neuroses rather than spending it studying his fellow pilots, finding ways to subtlety one-up them and establish his dominance (a favorite past time of his). While she was thankful for his continued dedication, she currently needed him get the fuck out. The aviators had come off of Bradley and he was not being shy with his looks and suddenly her entire carefully constructed willpower, and her former reservations from literally 2 hours ago, went right out the fucking window. With him spread out on a chair, legs spread wide, Hawaiian falling just right, glasses hooked on his tank top dragging it down to show more tanned skin from his chest, who could blame her. She just wanted to… talk.

“I need you to take a walk,” she said, turning to Jake.

He just stared back at her.

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I need you to take a walk.”

“At 1:00 in the morning?”

“Yes.”

He looked around the bar until he laid eyes on Bradley and turned back to her incredulous.

“You told me you wanted me to play interference.”

“Yes, and now I’m telling you to take. A. Walk.” She exaggerated her statement with intentionally dramatic blinks so he would get the fucking hint and clear the bar.

“What happened to holding out and easing back into things?”

“We’ve already run 23 miles of foreplay tonight, might as well bring it home.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I have no fucking clue at this point, but it feels right. Now get out, I just want to talk to him.”

“Talk. Right. Is that what the kid’s are calling it now today?”

“Honestly your lack of faith in me is devastating, maybe I really do just want to talk. I would like to see him without the eyes of 50 other people looking in waiting to see what we do like we’re in a goddamn zoo.”

“Funny, as far as I can recall, you like to be the one doing the watching.”

“I’m literally kicking you out now.”

“I’m your ride home.”

“Then maybe you suddenly want to go check on your bike, I know it’s old and might need to be looked over before we drive it home, maybe will give you some time to sober up too, this is your 4th beer tonight.”

He just looked at her. She knew damn well that Jake could probably body two more drinks easily before he was at any point of intoxication that would prevent him from driving.

“I’m not finished with my drink.”

She reached forward and grabbed the beer out of his hand, not even looking behind her as she chucked it in the trash.

“And now you’re done. Do me a favor and take out the trash when you go outside, and maybe use that subtlety of yours you love to talk about to get the other pilots to go as well, it being such a long night and all. I’m really ready to close this place down.”

He got up from the bar, putting a finger in her face as he stepped away, “You have 20 minutes and I’m dragging your ass home, preferably clothed but I’m not above dragging your ass out of here naked. Some of us need sleep, we can’t all sleep until 11 and roll up to work at 4pm.”

She smiled and waved as he walked away, calling out, “You’ve lost a lot more sleep over a lot less noble pursuits.”

His middle finger in the air was the only response she got, coming around the bar to grab the trash before making his way over to the pilots.

She turned and busied herself with refilling the ice behind the bar and making sure the glasses and napkins were all back in order for her mom’s opening tomorrow. She was nervous now, listening out for the tell tale sound of the door opening and closing. She had been truthful about just wanting to talk, whether Jake believed it or not was a whole other story (and for good reason, as he knew her better than she knew herself, and knew she was likely being dishonest with herself).

The tension that fell over the bar tonight was thick, and not just from the unresolved sexual chemistry they still very clearly shared (though that did not make the situation easier). Years of things left unsaid was sitting between them, and she wanted to have the upper hand in this interaction, wanted to be able to be the one to have this conversation on her terms. He had always known how to, for lack of a better word, dazzle her and have her all but begging to submit when it came to sex, but she had always been the one with the upper hand outside of the bedroom. While he loved to dominate her for their more… carnal interactions, he had quite simply been nothing but worshipful the rest of the time, letting her have the lead. This was likely because he was able to be a lot more open with his affection and feelings than she always had been, products of their home environments (hers sporting an emotionally distant and unavailable dad and having a mom who cut herself off from emotions in order to handle her own issues with men, while Bradley’s house had always been full of emotion and verbal affirmation, likely because Carole knew that nothing was ever guaranteed and didn’t ever want her son to question her love for him). She had always felt more comfortable showing how she felt with physical touch and actions rather than words, something that had never seemed to bother him before, but something she felt guilty about regardless. She had often been kept up at night over the years thinking if she had been able to be more vocal about how deeply she felt about him, and her fears of losing him, things might have turned out different.

She didn’t want to lord any power over him, didn’t want to take advantage of their situation or the many unresolved feelings they likely had for each other. That had never been what their power games were about. While they had liked to dabble into seeing just how many ways they could get each other to bend, to see just how much they affected each other, it had always come from a place of respect and safety and love, two equals pushing boundaries and trying to understand this explosive chemistry that wrapped around them. However, in this specific situation, she just wanted to be on her A-game. While she might not be as much of an open book verbally, her body language and face had always been able to express how she was feeling, and he had meticulously studied her over the years, determined to be an expert in all things her. Bradley often knew what she was feeling before she did. She wanted to have this conversation without folding to the magnetism they had over each other, wanted to see if they could actually meet as adults and possibly see if they could overcome what seemed to be a mountain of unanswered questions and tensions. However, she also was human and, unfortunately, was typically driven by her desires versus her mind, and the object of essentially all of her desires over the past half decade was suddenly a mere few feet away from her. Maybe she could forget how to act for a night.

“No,” she said to herself, so distracted by her own inner angst and monologue she missed the sound of people exiting the bar, “I must stay strong, for women everywhere.” It seemed flimsy, even to her own ears.

She moved down the bar, turning over barstools and stacking them on the counter. Hands reached out from behind her, grabbing the barstool and flipping it over with much more grace and ease than she was sure she had demonstrated.

Her back felt hot and suddenly all of her senses were in overload, his presence behind her being like a shot of adrenaline directly to her heart. She felt warm lips press to her ear, felt a hand slip around her waist and splay out on her stomach. The size of the hand compared to her small waist made her mouth dry out, her tongue rolling into the back of her head as she took in how his hand seemed to cover her entire stomach, as if laying claim to it and marking it as taken territory. She allowed herself to be pulled back into a hard chest (a very welcome change, though part of her missed her lanky Bradley who was more soft and was all arms and legs). Felt his other arm come up to have his fingers dance along her collarbone, leaving a small trail of fire with every touch. His fingers strayed to her neck, and she felt the slightest press of his dad’s ring against her throat. It was cold, a direct antithesis to the heat that was no doubt radiating off her of her skin. It was also insanely erotic. She had allowed herself to become ensnared in a golden trap, and she couldn’t even find it within her to be mad about it.

“You know,” he murmured, letting his teeth graze her ear while the ring pressed down slightly harder on her neck, “That was probably the best performance I’ve seen you put on to date. I came to offer my personal congratulations.”

She took a deep breath and counted to three, ignoring the pressure of his fingers on her throat and the heat of his other hand burning a hole through her shirt on her stomach. Once upon a time she had dedicated years of studying to those fingers, knew what all they were capable of. The game was just beginning though, and she couldn’t let him see her sweat. Not yet anyways.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing,” she started, tilting her neck up to show off more skin, smiling as she let one of her hands dance up his leg, light touches all the way up until she hooked her thumb in the waistband of his jeans, letting it rest against his bare stomach, “All eyes were on you tonight fly guy.”

She felt him laugh behind her, felt the vibrations from his chest on her back. She felt his fingers on her throat moving again, felt them flutter across her pulse point (which he could likely feel being rapid and explosive at the moment), before settling on her jaw, firmly gripping it and turning her head to the piano. His thumb, the same one with that damned ring, ghosted across her lips. His other arm still had her firmly anchored to his chest.

“Only one pair of eyes I was looking for sweetheart, I remember how much of a fan you are of a show, even left a spot open for you on the bench just like old times. But,” he said, his voice taking on a darker edge here, “You seemed to be… distracted.”

She thought back to his performance, back to that brunette who stood way too close, thought of the familiarity that ran between them. She recalled the heated looks he threw to other women of the bar. He had been playing the same game she had, but she had always excelled far more in this area. While he loved to make her jealous like she so loved to make him, he just liked having her eyes on him (and only him) better, and enjoyed nothing more than being able to have his eyes on her.

She nipped at the finger stroking her lip, and reveled in the way his fingers on her jaw tightened in warning, loved the way his fingers pushed harder into her stomach, toeing the line of more painful than heated. She loved it, hoped, secretly to herself in her mind where she didn’t have to face any repercussions of her actions in her little fantasy world, that he would leave bruises on her. That she would get to wake up tomorrow morning and relive what it was like to be in his arms, feeling his touch again, knowing that it was real, finally.

Snaking her hand up his arm and over the back of his neck, she allowed herself to sink her fingers in his hair and drag his head down to her level, keeping her eyes on the piano, and more importantly, the piano bench, while she spoke.

“I would’ve been more entertained if there was something worth watching.” She let her tongue dart out, licking the shell of his ear, while her other thumb still tucked into his waistband started to stroke his skin.

Moves and counter moves.

His hand on her stomach moved faster than she anticipated, hooking his finger through her short’s belt loop, whipping her around and pushing her into the bar, his thigh going between her legs, with one solid, fluid moment. His hand that had previously been on her jaw was now resting flat on her chest, a chest that was now heaving up and down at being face to face with such proximity after all this time. She sent up a silent thanks to the gods that be for pilots and their ability to maneuver things (people) on a whim. His other hand had her caged in, wrapped around her waist as he pushed her even more, not so gently, into the bar.

“Mhm. How do you know him?”

She was suddenly scared to look him in the eyes, scared to see the fire that she knew to be in them, a similar fire that she was sure would be reflected right back from her own eyes. She focused, instead, on tracing the ridges of his chest through his essentially non-existent tank top.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

The warm hand that was resting on her chest started to move, sliding down her chest until he was full on palming (gripping) her boob. He moved his fingers and pinched her nipple, hard.

Her head shot up, her mouth opening, and she was embarrassed to admit she didn’t know if it was in outrage or arousal.

“Now I have your attention,” he murmured, his eyes scanning over her face. His fingers reached back out to soothe the sting on her chest, trailing a lazy circle around her nipple. Goosebumps erupted over her entire body. His face seemed humored, almost laughing at her obvious reaction to him, but his eyes held a heat she knew from many similar encounters in the past. He was seeking an answer from her, this one about Jake, and he knew how to dig until he got what he wanted.

“Let’s try this again,” he said, his warm breath falling over her face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear, his hand at her waist gripping to the point where she knew he would leave bruises. She smiled. “How do you know him? It’s nice to see that your acting hasn’t improved in all of these years honey.”

She felt fire in her veins.

“Who do you want him to be to me? You seem awfully eager to make assumptions.”

His thigh pushed harder between her legs, and she felt humiliation run through her body when the word “throbbing” came to mind. She was no better than the women in the trashy romance novels her mom swore she didn’t read.

“That’s because you want me to make assumptions.”

That was a fair point. While it was her favorite game to play with him, she had forgotten how well of a contender he was.

She leveled her eyes with him and smiled when he looked down at her, his eyes following the line of her tongue as she slowly licked her bottom lip. His hand, sadly, abandoned its menstruations on her chest, his thumb coming up to slowly trace the route her tongue had taken. Eyes locked. In a different scenario, at a different time, she might have sucked his finger into her mouth, maybe even dropped to her knees, if for nothing else just to see his hungry, desperate eyes follow her every move. But she had genuinely wanted to talk, and she was kind of letting herself get off track.

“He’s a friend, has been for awhile.”

“It seemed more than just a little friendly.”

“Aw, you remember how well I treat my friends Rooster, you used to be one of them once upon a time.”

His whole body tensed. He didn’t like that one. At. All. She couldn’t settle on a feeling, scared of how he might react, or actively anticipating what was coming.

His hand slid up from her waist, ghosting his hand over her chest while his other moved down to cradle the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and let her head drop back. His large hand framed her face, cupping it, while the other slipped into her hair and pulled, forcing her eyes open. He continued to pull until her back was practically arching over the bar, until their eyes met once again, a pair in orbit that always gravitated back towards each other.

“You’re playing a game and I’m willing to play along, I just don’t know if you’re going to be able to handle the consequences when they catch up to you.”

Their faces were mere inches from each other, and she resisted breaking their gaze to stare at his lips. His eyes held her in a trance, were reading her just like they always did when they were kids, and she suddenly wished she could freeze this moment in time, and always remember the way he was looking at her, like she was the sun and in charge of his gravitational orbit.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, I just wanted to talk.”

He smiled at her then, genuinely smiled, and the sight of it made something warm blossom in her chest. It was like Catherine crossing the Moors and seeing Heathcliff again, like Darcy and Elizabeth crossing the field and coming home to each other, like the time traveler and his wife celebrating being in this moment, this current moment, together for just a minute.

“Talk?”he questioned, letting his thumb stroke her cheek.

“Talk,” she replied, leaning into his touch, trying to count the number of wood boards on the ceiling, anything to calm her down and get the absolute need between her legs under control, “Unless you’re going to find a reason to argue about that too.”

He moved his hand from behind her neck to her legs, picking her up with one arm (seemingly with ease? Dear lord) and laying her gently on the bar (a direct antithesis of his more forceful handling earlier, she couldn’t decide which one she loved more). His hand that was on her face was now being used to tenderly lay her head down and suddenly his entire body was between her thighs as she laid flat on her bar, him staring down at her. And the heat. Was. Back.

“Aw no baby,” he said, his hand once again coming down to dance along her throat, his index finger slowly drawing a line from chin to chest that had her seeing stars already, plotting a course of action or simply meaning to drive her crazy, she didn’t know, “I love to hear noises come out of your pretty little mouth, talk away.”

She put her hands on his shoulders, whether to drag him down or push him away she wasn’t sure, when he reached up with his right hand, the ringed finger, and grabbed her wrists.

Sirens went off in her brain as he lifted her arms over her head to pin them to the bar. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t- He pinned her wrists to the bar, flipping them over and interlocking her left hand with his right one.

Fuck.

He did it.

There was no coming back from this for her.

When they were younger no matter what position they were in or how heated things got, he always, always laced their fingers together. It grounded her, let her know that she was safe with him no matter what wicked shit he pulled on her body. Reminded her that she was loved and cherished. She felt his dad’s ring on her hands and had to suppress the tears that threatened to come to her eyes. It was all too much, all at once, he was everywhere and was flooding all of her senses.

“You wanted to talk sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear, taking his sweet time to nibble on her ear lobe before moving his lips behind her ear, sucking the spot behind it that literally had her back arching off of the bar and into his hard body.

“Yeah, I do. I think that there should be…”

He blew on the spot he had been sucking on, squeezing their interlocked hands before grazing his teeth down to her pulse point. She felt him place a sweet kiss to it before… Jesus h Christ placing his tongue on it, no doubt enjoying the rapid fluttering.

Her head fell back down to the bar with a thunk, exposing more of her neck to him (which honestly benefited her, once again thanking the powers that be that he remembered just how far he could get with her with a little bit of neck kissing and the biting… and the sucking… and the…). She went to speak again when he bit down on her pulse point. Hard. She wasn’t sure what sound emitted from her body, but she got a welcome hum against her throat and his legs came closer, widening hers even more, and she figured she must be getting rewarded for good Karma in another life.

“Boundaries. I think there should be solid boundaries between us while we get to know each other again…. See if we even still have anything… in common.”

He hummed, acknowledging her words, obviously taking them as encouragement completely ignore her in favor of continuing his onslaught of her neck. Before each stinging bite he placed a feather light kiss over his next victim spot. Her head was spinning between the juxtaposing sides he was showing. He was intentional with his path, she could tell. He was leaving his mark, that much was obvious, a brand that showed that he had been there. His feather kisses were even more branding than the bites and marks, penetrated her skin and touched her soul. He was forging a campaign to conquer every part of her body, ever the military man, trying to mix himself with every part of her he could, and leave his imprint not only on her skin, but underneath it too. Fuck.

“I’m being serious, I don’t even know how long you’re back for and we’re basically strangers right now and there are conversations that need to be had before we just…”

He had reached her chest.

Suddenly she had the strangest feeling that laying in her dim bar on her, lovingly, worn down counter, being kissed and marked and having her heart bared for everyone to see, felt strikingly similar to what it must be like standing in the grace of God himself.

His tongue dipped out, licking from where her cleavage began all the way up to her other ear. She didn’t even need to see his face to know he was smiling while he spoke low in her ear.

“I don’t know sweetheart, I could be wrong but I don’t think your body has forgotten me. Maybe a conversation about your masters in accounting can wait until I fully reacquaint myself though, and really address these boundaries of yours that you’re talking about.”

Another bolt of heat shot through her. He knew about her masters in accounting, which likely meant he knew about her BA in business before deciding to go on, wanting to learn everything she could about financials and banking before coming home and committing to a business. He had kept tabs on her too. The thought made her warm from head to toe on the inside.

“That’s a fair point Lieutenant.”

She felt his reaction immediately, took note of the way something most definitely jumped between her legs, and the way he stopped breathing for a moment in her ear. It was her turn to smile again. He had always loved having power over her in moments like these. To hear his rank uttered in such an intimate setting? It would likely drive him crazy (which she had partially wanted, she was obviously losing ground in her desire to have a conversation, the next best thing was to make him feel as out of control for her as she did for him). Plus… he was smart. He could read between the lines, would take her comment for more than face value. He was wearing his civilian clothes today. There was no way for her to know he was a lieutenant without having kept tabs on him too. It was an olive branch, albeit a small one, and a temporary ceasefire on her inner angst and turmoil over everything to do with him (and with them).

He attacked her chest with fervor. Gone were the light touches and slow passage, he was a man possessed as he, for lack of other words in her current foggy mind, ravaged her chest. He bit down and sucked so hard she swore he would draw blood. Her eyes seemed to be spinning in their sockets at this point and she shut them tightly, refusing to look down at him thoroughly debauching her for fear of how she would react. When he was done with one side of the top of her cleavage, he attacked the other with just as much gusto, and she started to squirm on the bar, her hips moving, looking for friction, while her hands were still clasped in his iron grip.

His other hand, forgotten in the midst of the overwhelming everything, shot up and gripped her waist tightly, his thumb pressing harshly into her skin as he stilled her hips and made her take the onslaught of his mouth and teeth. Holy fuck.

Then his lips were off of her and his hand above her head was releasing her and for a moment she could think, could actually formulate words in her brain, could produce reasons why not now, not here, not like this, but he didn’t give her much time to breathe. His hand came down from above to tweak her right nipple, pulling and pinching, while his mouth claimed her other nipple through her shirt (and wasn’t that insanely erotic wow, she suddenly was gleeful that she had forgone a bra tonight, the rough fabric of her tank top rubbing against her nipple, the wet friction creating overwhelming feelings of pleasure that, in combination with his other hand, went straight to her vagina).

His other hand ventured below the waste line of her shorts she suddenly despised, hated for the barrier they placed between them. Feeling of his fingers against the heated skin below her underwear had her suddenly wondering if it was possible to just get off on heated glances and bites and well placed fingers because wow she can’t recall ever feeling so turned on in her life.

“You’re trying to distract me and it’s not going to work, no matter how good with your mouth or how sinful your fingers are. We can’t just forget about the past 6 years Bradley.”

His head popped up at his name, and she swears she saw something soft in his eyes when he looked up at her from his position. He kept his hand where it was in her pants, but the other one came up to cradle the back of her neck again, his thumb stroking the skin he found that was most likely red and bruised.

“I think,” he spoke, his thumb pressing hard into her skin yet again in her pants, the pressure bringing her to attention while he all but forced her to look into his eyes, his other hand holding her head in place, making her look at the seriousness that danced behind his golden browns, “That we both know how this is going to end. That we both know that whatever games you want to play, and however far you’re going to run from me, you’re going to end up right back here by my side like you were always meant to be. I highly suggest we start enjoying that future now, rather than ruminating on things in the past that we can’t change. You can put up a fight if you want to darlin’, but at the end of the day we both know who you’re going to be coming home to.”

Fuck.

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

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@letusbewildflowers

A/N: Okay. Wow. This is my first ever public piece of writing and I wish someone had told me that characters, even ones made up by other people like Rooster, have a mind of their own. In my head they were already well into some ‘family friendly’ very kinky fun, and yet they had other plans and suddenly it was almost 8,000 words of further character / relationship development, Jake/reader best buddy time, and just the tip of the iceberg in regards to any smut (all for just this chapter no less). Who knew? Lol. I’m honestly not even halfway finished with this scene, but it's nearing 1am and I wanted to get something out (partially because I have this panic that everyone will move on from our Rooster obsession and I want to capitalize on the interest while it is there). I was trying to write some good old-fashioned smut and sexual tension and a lot of sappy worships and allusions to God / gods worked their way in there, whoops. I personally like my rough smut with a nice heaping side of worship and adoration, but maybe it’s just me haha. I promise after next chapter I will actually get them out of the bar and get the story truly rolling. I have spent the last few days obsessing over other people’s fanfictions and sitting and plotting on my own (sitting at the dinner table and thinking of pet names for him to call her during sex while your family is eating is not recommended). I can’t guarantee a regular updating schedule, because while I am riding this obsession train HARD, I have also come to realize just how fucking hard writing is, and don't even get me started on dialogue. And having to move them from place to place and describe every step and action so it is realistic? Kill me. I’m writing for my own personal fantasy and enjoyment tbh, but I hope you guys like it! The comments and kudos really inspire me to write, and just all around make me feel insanely good about myself and my writing, so thank you for that! I have messed around with the movie timeline just for my own creative reasons in the fic, so just know it’s my world and we’re all just living in it. Happy reading!

(Again, it is now nearing 1am as I finish this author's note, it’s going straight from my phone notes app to here with no editing because I couldn't wait to share it, my apologies because I write how I think, so one longgggg run on sentence with seemingly no understanding of commas or grammar).

We could call this scene a part 1 if we want, next chapter will pick up from here.

(BTW - this chapter’s pic is how I imagine him sitting, surrounded by his fellow pilots, watching ~her~)

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #top gun #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes fluff

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