#omc x you

[sgt-seabass]

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and sgt-seabass

I just wanna see you bleed. Open you and set you free. (x)

pairing — bucky barnes x fem!reader w/c — 9.7k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to —♫disaster

part of the Vengeance AU previous part - 𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅

warnings — bucky barnes is going through it, dark fic, the reader is having a hard time mentally (.... totally not self inserting heh), violence, slapping, spanking, use of a gun to threaten, non-consensual connotations and threats (nothing actually happens), mild mention of blood and injury, captivity, forced drugging via injection a/n — sorry this took so long. depression is a bitch. thank you navy for putting up with my delays!

The thing about love is that it comes with risks. And the biggest risk of all is loss, for a heart that does not yearn for another never truly knows the meaning of catastrophic loss until grief visits them. 

Love was still worth it to Bucky. Even with his wrenching heart and endless tears, the tenderness he shared with you was something that no one could steal or decimate. While the assailants had trashed your shared home, they could never take the memories - the feeling of your deft fingers brushing across his skin, the bright smiles you’d gift him, and the unwavering silent support that always held him upright. 

Bucky was a man because you motivated him to be his best self. He was no longer a ghost, a nightmare, a mirage of misery - he was human. 

You were gone. And there would be nothing stopping him from getting you back. 

It had been three days since you’d been taken, and frustratingly, Bucky felt no closer to finding you than the day when he’d first found the ruins of the apartment. He’d moved back into the tower with Alpine, taking up refuge in his old compound apartment. It was kept the same, like he’d never left. And he felt the same as when he’d lived there last – lost.

The whole team had become involved in finding you. You were family to all of them. And no one gets away with fucking with the family of the Avengers.

Bucky sighed and impatiently tapped his foot against the floor as he waited in the meeting room with Steve, Natasha, and Sam. Tony had been working on a reconstruction of what happened in the apartment since the security cameras were somehow turned off before the assailant’s arrival.

It was a planned hit; that much was clear. But they needed the rest of the details of what happened to know what they were looking at.

The room was silent. What could anyone say that hadn’t already been said? Bucky’s friends had already assured him they’d get you back safely, but those were empty promises said just to stop him from throwing himself off the top of the compound.

Bucky stared at the blank white wall ahead of him while his mind spiralled. This was his fault. If you were dead, that blood was on his hands. He should have known of the threat – had some inkling that this was coming. But he was completely blind-sighted. There was no indication that there was an incoming attack.

“Move the table to the side so we have room,” Tony commanded as he entered, his usual quips missing – quips that always made you laugh and smile, brightening the room with your aura.

“Hello to you too, Tony,” Sam said, assisting Bucky and Steve in pushing the meeting room table to the side so there was some floor space for Tony’s visualisation tool.

“Do you think she’s alive? Could she have survived the attack?” Were the first words out of Bucky’s mouth, his voice strained from the amount of crying he’d been doing.

“Yeah, I think she’s alive. Are you sure you want to see this, Barnes? It’s… It’s pretty brutal, even for your standards,” Tony sniped, earning a stern look from Steve. Bucky didn’t care, though; it was a fair enough jab when he’d been the one to kill Tony’s parents.

“Real smooth, Tony,” Natasha scoffed, crossing her arms.

Bucky set the awkward air aside. They weren’t going to get anywhere otherwise. “I need to see it.”

“Maybe you should wait outside, Buck—” Steve started, but Bucky raised his hand to shut him up.

“Don’t coddle me. I need to see it.”

Steve just put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze while Tony set up his small projection device.

Nothing could have prepared Bucky for the image that greeted him. There you were, or at least, an apparition of you. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he held himself back. What he couldn’t stop were the tears that welled in his eyes. What if this was the last time he ever saw you? You already looked like a ghost in the odd blue hue of the technology.

Bucky gulped, his breaths coming out thick as you started moving from the bedroom to the shower. It played out like a macabre movie. Three assailants entered the apartment through the front door.

“They had keys?” Natasha asked, and Tony nodded in response.

Sam partially looked away when the assault began, Natasha and Steve’s faces hardening while Bucky had tears tracking down his cheeks. You fought hard, and Bucky couldn’t feel any prouder. You were his light – his fire, and you fought with every morsel of energy you had.

Tony was right – the ordeal was brutal and cruel. These men didn’t just kidnap you; they tormented you. This was personal.

“Any forensics?” Steve asked, his voice shaky.

“None. Whoever they are, they’re professionals,” Tony leant against the table. “And they clearly have a vendetta. Any enemies that stand out, Barnes?”

“Hydra is always top of the list.” Just the mention of the name had everyone in the room shuddering. Hydra had already done so much damage.

“Hydra fell when S.H.I.E.L.D did. They’re gone,” Sam reclined against the wall, hand rubbing nervously over his jaw, the same spot Rumlow had got a good hit on him during their fight at the Triskelion.

“You’re naive if you think that would get rid of them.” Natasha walked up to the projection, zooming in on the word you’d written on the ground. Blonde. “Although I don’t remember any of our known enemies being blonde.”

“Pierce was blonde.” Steve suggested.

Tony shook his head. “He was grey. And I highly doubt he’d be breaking into an apartment, seeing as he’s got a bullet-sized hole in his chest. Plus, he was an old fucker.”

Bucky forced himself to watch the whole recreation, eyes not straying for a moment as he searched for anything he was missing. It was a carefully executed but merciless attack. Tony was right; it seemed you’d survive physically, but what about your mind?

Bucky could hardly bear to think about what they were doing with you now they had you alone.

With you passed out on the floor, Bucky watched as the men bundled you up in a sheet to carry your bloody mess of a body out in. “There were no drag marks?”

Tony shrugged. “Nope. They carried her.” 

“Did no neighbours report anything?”

“It was early morning, so most had already left for work, and anyone who did see something aren’t coming forward. People these days aren’t keen on being a snitch since that puts a target on their backs,” Sam delivered sadly. To a degree, Bucky understood, but at the same time, he wanted to question every person in the damn building.

Realistically, his efforts would be better placed searching through viable intelligence sources. The more reliable the information, the better. These guys would have had to make some noise somewhere, and Bucky intended to find where.

“I’ll ask Maria to get the analysts onto where they might have gone. They’ll check every car that was spotted in the area if they have to. And we’ll see what we can get off the surrounding cell towers. If we’re lucky, they pinged off one of them. They can’t have just disappeared with her,” Natasha’s voice turned clinical. It was easier to be strategic without the emotional strings attached.

Steve nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Check all private flights and airspace as well. I expect they’ve left the country and gone somewhere harder to track. The fact they went to this effort and didn’t kill her outright means they have a use for her, which means she’s still alive.”

“Until that use runs out,” Bucky cut Steve off, his jaw twinging with how hard he clenched his teeth. “Then they’ll kill her.”

“We’ll find her before then, Buck.”

“We have to. She’s taken my heart with her.”

You’d been lucky in your life that you’d been sheltered from physical pain. You’d known grief, sadness, all the usual trials of life. But this level of absolute anguish was new. 

You were thankful you’d gone this long not knowing what it felt like to fear an impending death.

What even was death? An endless nothing? A light at the end of the tunnel? A world where you’re reunited with all those souls that had already left? Either way, it was the cessation of suffering. You can’t suffer when you don’t exist. 

Days had passed since your capture, and a routine had set in. In your dank, mossy-smelling cell, you ate, stretched, slept, shit, and brushed your teeth - a macabre rinse and repeat that had your mind dulling. You prided yourself in being creative, so having no stimuli apart from grey walls and odd smells was a special kind of torture.

Your captors left you alone for the most part. You only saw them when they delivered meals and your toothbrush, and even then, sometimes, they’d just slide the items through a small hatch in the bottom of the door, expecting you to return the items promptly.

Damien or Maddox would often leave with some snide remark, while Kage never said anything.

The thought of fighting back had crossed your mind, although you couldn’t do much with them watching, the blinking red light of a camera in the corner of your room a constant reminder that you were not alone.

Bucky would be closing in by now, right? Each time you heard steps coming to your enclosure, a morsel of hope would flourish like a blooming flower. And each time, those beautiful flowers had their heads sliced off. The disappointment was clear on your face each time, and a small whine would escape, normally ending in you devolving into a pit of tears.

Crying was the only solace. 

As the days had passed, you began to fear the opening of the door, because you expected death with his scythe and billowing black mist to be there waiting to cut off your head, like the way your hope had been deflowered.

Today was the same as all the others. Pain, tears, and acute loneliness all present. You sat on your cot with your legs to your chest, bandaged feet resting on the mattress so you could cry against your knees. Your wounds were healing slowly, bloody bandages changed by Kage each day, while your heart continued to break.

The wall vibrated subtly as music began playing upstairs, the reverberations traveling all the way down to your cell. You were underground, that much you had gathered. After your dinner, you would hear the music begin to play. You weren’t sure what they were doing up there, but you never heard any additional voices, so you assumed your captors were alone. Although, there could easily be a thick layer of concrete separating your roof from their floor, so you just might not be able to hear it.

All you did know was the music normally meant it was time to try and sleep. You had no sunlight, so you had to rely on the meals and music as your clock. You could have an opposite sleeping schedule for all you knew, but the men never said anything of it, so you assumed your intuition was right.

With a heavy sigh, you lay down, covered in an oversized t-shirt and cotton panties. It was cold, but with nothing more than a thin blanket, so you had no choice but to shiver and bear it.

The vibrations in the wall made a white noise that filled the room, and you preferred that over the silence. You couldn’t hear the music, so you liked to try to imagine what song it might be based on the tempo. 

You smiled to yourself as you placed your hand against the wall. Whatever it was, you knew Bucky would hate it. Deep bass beats were never his style. While you liked to imagine your boyfriend as John Wick, fighting along to electronic music, you knew the reality was far more grim. 

Thinking of Bucky, your eyes started to get heavy, and you slowly fell asleep.

It wasn’t a peaceful slumber, but it was rest - something you tried to get every chance you could. You didn’t know when you’d need your strength, so you tried to reserve it. 

And as it turned out, a situation requiring your strength was around the corner much sooner than you had expected.

The door to your cell swung open, and the loud sound had you shooting up with a squeak and wide eyes, no remnants of sleep in your mind as adrenaline surged through your veins. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight you’d be met with.

It was Damien who spoke first as they entered. “We caught ourselves a new pet. I have to say, this one seems much less fuckable than you.”

“Bucky,” you gasped, mostly in disbelief.

It wasn’t the rescue you’d dreamed of. Bucky hadn’t come in guns blazing and a smile of relief on his face.

No, Bucky was slumped, his metal shoulder being carried by Maddox and the other by Damien, while his legs dragged across the floor behind him and his arms were secured behind his back. He was dressed in his tactical gear like he’d come with the intention to save you. His face was bloodied and ashen, his hair sickly sticking to his forehead, and to your horror, there was a muzzle placed over the lower half of his face. You’d seen a picture of Bucky from when he was a soldier when you’d accidentally walked into a briefing room in the compound, his face scattered among others you didn’t recognise. But seeing him like that in the flesh was something else entirely.

You jumped up from the bed, ready to run to him, but Kage was by your side before you could act. He placed his hand on your collarbone, warning you to stay in place. “Your face is priceless.”

You couldn’t even feel the pain in your feet, as if the wounds were never there, as you whimpered at the sight of your lover.

“Bucky, are you alright? Bucky. Oh god.” You tried to move, but Kage’s hand gripped your forearm painfully, his digits digging in and leaving divots. Bucky tried to speak beneath the mask, but only muffled sounds came out. “No, please, don’t hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” Maddox grinned, the pride clear as day on his face. “The mutt put up a fight, I’ll give it that. But it failed. That must really suck for you.”

They spoke like he wasn’t even a man. Not even a dog. Just an annoyance - a hindrance.

Damien and Maddox dumped Bucky on his knees a few steps from you. And that’s when he finally looked up. It was like he hadn’t wanted to accept that was your voice he heard, but once he set eyes on you, that was it. 

The dams broke, and both of you resolved into tears. “No, this isn’t real. This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening.” Damien kicked Bucky’s back, sending him lurching forward, his cheek painfully hitting the concrete floor. The pained sounds that came from your boyfriend would haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Stop it!” You yelled, Bucky’s whimpers too much for you to handle. He was trying so desperately to speak, to move, but they’d beaten him badly and secured his metal arm away with vibranium cuffs. 

It didn’t stop him from trying though. Bucky rose to his feet, swinging his weight around so he could roundhouse kick towards Maddox and Damien. Maddox was faster though, pushing Damien out of the way and catching Bucky’s leg. 

There was a sick crunch when Maddox tripped Bucky’s stable left leg, his body buckling to the floor while Maddox held his right leg, allowing the joint at his hip to fold into an odd position before Bucky hit the floor on his side. He withered with a pained groan, while Damien took the chance to kick him in the stomach. It was like watching the most morbid film play out in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold Bucky and tell him it was going to be okay. But the thing was, you never lied to him. And you had no plan to start now.

You tried desperately to wrench yourself from Kage’s grip, but instead he yanked your back to his chest, placing his arm across your belly so you were held uncomfortably against him. “He failed you. Do you think he still thinks this is all worth it? Or do you think he should have just left you to rot?” 

It was the most Kage had ever spoken to you, as if Bucky’s mere presence brought out a vitriol he kept hidden.

You shook your head, desperate to reject the baseless accusations. Even with his mouth covered, you could see in his expression alone the love Bucky held for you. You would never stop believing in him, even in death. “He hasn’t failed me,“ you gritted out, tears tracking down your cheeks. “He could never fail me.”

A sense of realisation took over you, the cogs turning as you looked upon your beaten lover. You’d wished for him to rescue you, to take you away from the pain and shield you from any further torment. But in doing so, you’d denied that Bucky was vulnerable - that he was the human you so dearly loved - made of flesh and blood and so dearly mortal. By placing him on the pedestal of a hero, you denied him his sensitivities, his feelings. You’d made him impuissant through your view of him as an impregnable force. You forgot that he is but a thing of atoms and material, so easily broken.

It was due to your expectations that he lay on the ground before you, bleeding and crying. Because he knew you were waiting for him. And here he was - just not in the way you had hoped. Now, hope was but a bird with broken wings, ready for death and the conclusion of existence. It was time for it to be put out of its acute misery. And it was time for you to mature and take responsibility for your future. 

“The only person who can save me is myself. It’s my path to take, not his,” your words came out shuddered, your hand raising to cover your mouth to try and hide your sob. It did little to muffle the sound as your eyes met the familiar cerulean blues. “Bucky. It’s fine.”

Damien pulled the muzzle from his face, and Bucky allowed a deep breath for what seemed like the first time in hours. “You have me, just let her go.”

Maddox laughed, shaking his head as he ruffled Bucky’s hair. “Trying to be noble, huh?” His fingers looped in the sweat-drenched strands, roughly pulling Bucky’s head back as he whimpered. “Do we look like we’re going to let her go?”

“She’s innocent in this, please,” Bucky begged, blood trickling down from his hairline as he squirmed on the cold floor. It was a painful, pitiful sight. “Keep me, but let her go.”

“Why would we when we can have some fun? She’s so pretty when she cries. The perfect toy for us to play with,” Kage husked, the hand on your stomach starting to dip lower towards your dignity.

You slapped his hand, an action which gained you a violent response. Kage threw you to your knees, the impact causing your bones to quiver and your cries to fill the room. You had to be strong, you had to be strong - the mantra didn’t help much as Bucky snarled protectively. “You touch her, and I’ll fucking kill you. I swear I’ll–”

“You keep running that mouth of yours, and it’s her we’ll punish,” Maddox gripped Bucky’s chin between his fingers, before spitting in his face.

“Please, I’m begging you. She’s just a normal girl, she’s innocent–”

“She’s not going to be so innocent when she has our cocks shoved down her throat.” Damien approached you, eyes raking your barely covered form. You stunk after days of not bathing, but that seemed like the least of their concerns.

“I can see why you picked her. She’s so much fun to have around.” Maddox forced Bucky’s viewline to you, arching his head on an awkward angle with the fingers tangled in his locks.

“You don’t own her,” Bucky rasped. “No one does.”

Maddox hummed with a shake of his head. ”That’s where you’re wrong. We all have our masters. Now we’re hers.”

"I will fucking kill you," Bucky snarled, trying to get off the floor, trying so desperately to fight. But he was easily subdued by Maddox in his weakened state.

Damien turned to your boyfriend with a smirk. "Not before we fill up each of her holes. So why don't you sit back and enjoy the show? Be a good boy now. Wouldn't want to have to muzzle you… again."

"We're going to enjoy breaking her," Maddox teased, his face getting close to Bucky’s, a staring contest of will beginning between the two. A contest that Bucky quickly lost when Maddox punched him in the gut. ”While you have your own appeal, I don’t fuck mutts.”

It was hard to process the scene playing out in front of you - the taunting, the threats, the hurt. It was too much to bear. You just wanted to be in Bucky’s arms again and have him tell you it was all okay.

But no, you had to be strong. “Please, don’t hurt him anymore. I’ll… I’ll do whatever you want.”

Kage held you firm, his free hand reaching up from behind to grab your jaw painfully. He didn’t speak, but you could feel his hot huff of breath against your ear, the remnants of a growl in it.

“You’ll do whatever we want regardless,” Damien commented, searching your face and soaking up all the emotion he could find.

Maddox left Bucky battered on the ground, but not without one more kick, this time to the underside of his jaw. Bucky’s head snapped back, a crack sounding as his teeth slammed together in the forced movement. 

You screamed, Kage and Damien’s hands beginning to roam across your body, feeling you like you were theirs. But it was like you couldn’t even see the three men anymore - just Bucky. Your vision had tunnelled to the focus on the one thing you cared about.

“Bucky! Are you alright? Bucky, please!” You couldn’t look away as his head lolled sickly, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. 

The hands keep moving over you, nausea roiling in your gut with each passing moment. But you still only focussed on Bucky. “Bucky, please. Bucky. You’ve got to get out of here. Somehow. Just go, please.”

The cell door was cracked open. He could logically make a run for it. But you knew he wouldn’t, not in his current state, and not without you. Maybe Steve was on his way? But you knew Bucky wouldn’t look so crestfallen if help was coming. 

“Please, Bucky.” You cried, not even sure what you were asking for at this point, all you could do was scream his name.

The more you yelled for him, the more you chanted his name like the only prayer you knew, the more the world began to warble. 

Bucky’s form began to waver, as did the rest of the room. Maddox, Damien and Kage had frozen in their assault, their skin rippling as your breath suddenly fell short.

What was happening? You couldn’t scream for Bucky anymore - you couldn’t do anything, as if your mouth had been glued shut.

As your tears fell and sobs bubbled from your throat, the world dissolved.

The nightmare was ending, allowing leeway for the real horrors to become apparent.

You woke for real this time with a jolt, your sounds muffled by the tape over your lips. You were sobbing just like you had been in your dream, and as you took stock of the room you quickly realised Bucky wasn’t here. It had been a horrible nightmare.

What was real, was Maddox towering over you, a roll of tape discarded on the ground and his gun to your head. He looked the angriest you’d ever seen, salivating and almost frothing at the mouth. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The tears started falling faster as you screamed against the tape, but it did little to quell Maddox. He forced each end of the tape down, the gun in his hand coldly pressing against your cheek. 

“Say his name again, I dare you. I'm not going to cut your tongue out. I'll fucking rip it out,” he growled, his words mouthed against your face and over your bound lips. His spit smeared over your skin, the heat of it warming where the metal of the gun had cooled.

All you could smell, see and hear was him. It was an overwhelming sensation that had you wanting to escape.

You writhed, but you couldn’t get away from him as he caged you in, kissing over your mouth again in a show of control, not endearment. He could take what he wanted from you whenever he wanted. You screamed and squirmed, but Maddox held you in place before ripping the tape off, allowing you to finally breathe in the musky basement air. “This fucking mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”

“W-What did I—“ Your heart nearly broke through your ribcage with how hard it was beating as Maddox forced the barrel of his handgun into your mouth, the metal sitting against your tongue and leaving a horrible taste. 

The struggle stopped, and you looked into Maddox’s eyes. The malice was pertifying. It wasn’t the same look he’d had during the assault in your apartment; no. It was worse. He was going to kill you.

His thumb moved in one swift motion to click the safety off, his finger resting on the trigger. “Say goodbye.”

You closed your eyes, fear clutching your heart and what felt like concrete in your lungs. You didn’t want Maddox’s face to be the last thing you saw, so you thought of when you and Bucky had adopted Alpine.

She had been found on the streets as a stray, only a year old with matted hair and a little injured paw. You’d both fallen in love with her, and nursed her into the ball of chaotic floof she was today. You thought of the moment where you first brought her home. She stayed in her carrier after the door had opened, too scared to venture out. So you and Bucky sat on the floor, cuddling and talking while Alpine slowly came out, before sitting next to you both. It was so peaceful. Such a small moment changed the trajectory of your life. It was those pockets of happiness you cherished the most.

You waited for the bang, the flash, the quick pain before the nothingness. But it didn’t come.

Instead, you heard rushed steps and yells before Maddox was hauled off you, the brunette slipping the safety back on as he let the other two pull him back. 

“What the fuck?” Damien snapped, a commotion starting.

But it was like water was in your ears as you stared up at the ceiling from your bed, the chain secured around your ankle rattling with the way your body couldn’t stop shaking. Your arms covered your torso, and it took you what felt like forever to open your eyes.

“She was calling for him! For that bastard!” Maddox yelled, and it was then you turned your head to look at him.

“What, so you were going to kill her? Mads! Stop! We just got her!” Damien grabbed Maddox by the shoulders, shaking him like it would bring him to his senses.

"One simple fucking rule. Don't ask to go back to him. She was wailing like a fucking banshee."

Kage was the only controlled one, ushering Damien out of the way so he could take Maddox’s face into his hands. “You’re not back there. You’re not being compared to him, not being tested on. Stop. You’re here, and you almost just killed her.”

“She. Called. For. Him,” Maddox said through gritted teeth.

Damien glanced over at you, and it made you curl a little closer to the wall. "She didn't mean to, Mads. You know she didn't. Just breathe. Come on.”

It didn’t stop Maddox from spitting on the ground, his breaths coming out in adrenaline fueled shudders. “That piece of shit. I bet he bragged to her. I bet she fucking knows everything he did and is playing stupid.” With Kage holding him, his sightline turned to you. ”You’re pretending like you have no idea what he’s done, aren’t you? You dumb fucking bitch!”

“You know that’s not what’s happening,” Kage quickly reasoned with Maddox’s face still between his palms. It was clear there was a brother-like bond between the three of them. It would be nice, if the context of the situation didn’t exist. If anything, it made you more scared of them.

The fear had your body feeling frail, and it took you a few tries before you could sit up on your cot. “W-Whatever I did… I’m sorry. I don’t k-know what’s happening.”

Even you were caught off guard with the weakness in your voice, but the apology did nothing to appease Maddox. In fact, it incited the flame again. He broke free of Kage’s hold, and you didn’t have time to defend yourself before he smacked you hard across the face, the sound resonating like a sick echo in the cell.

The pain came a few seconds later, a sharp sting spreading across your face as you sobbed.

“You fucking bitch. You think this is funny, don’t you? Playing the innocent act just so you can fucking laugh at me once I’m gone.” He was trying to goad you into something you weren’t. You wore no mask, obscured no part of yourself. You were just you. And in a world where so many people lied and deceived, you could understand where the line of thought had come from. But Maddox couldn’t be more wrong about you.

What was it he had against Bucky anyway? There was clearly history you were missing, some big piece of the puzzle that had been hidden.

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Damien was tugging him back, taking the gun from him and pulling him away. “Mads, you’re triggered. That’s enough. You’re not yourself.”

For a moment, you could swear there were unshed tears in Maddox’s eyes, but didn’t get the chance to tell before Damien had pulled him from the room, leaving you alone with Kage.

There was a long silence for a moment, just your cries as your hand rested on your throbbing cheek, with Kage standing by in thought. He looked to you, his icy stare not helping you calm down. “I’m going to have to punish you.”

You could still hear Maddox yelling as you rubbed your cheek, and when Maddox’s voice finally faded you curled your knees up to your chest, your sobs shaking you. Maddox would have killed you if they hadn’t intervened, but now you were going to be punished. It was cruel. “What did I do?”

“You broke a rule. You called for him. Subconscious or not, every part of you has to learn the consequences.” Kage rolled up his sleeves, crossing his arms. It was clear his conviction was settled, and there would be no point bartering. “First, you’re going to shower. You’ve pissed yourself.”

Fresh tears filled your eyes when you looked down and realised Kage wasn’t lying. The sheets stuck uncomfortably to your legs and panties, the hem of your shirt soaked. You weren’t even sure when it happened, having been so caught up in the nightmare and then Maddox’s rage. Your fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, head hanging so you didn’t have to look at Kage.

Part of you wasn’t even sure if you were humiliated. They’d stripped you so bare you didn’t have much left, not even the dignity that would be hurt from something like this. More than anything, you cursed yourself for not being braver.

You had to hold your own if you were going to survive.

Words failed you when Kage took your arm to stand you up, and you didn’t say a word as he released your chains started to lead you from the room. 

It was a slow walk as you hobbled on your injured feet, but it was clear Kage had no intention of carrying you as he walked a few steps ahead. He’d let go of his hold, so confident that you’d follow him that he didn’t even look back. You knew he’d overpower you without even breaking a sweat if you tried anything, and you didn’t have the energy to fight.

You were surprised to see the underground was more than just your room, with a small hallway connecting you to a large shower room. You assumed there must be more cells, because there were multiple shower heads and a few random lockers. Almost as if it was a prisoner gym shower. It was odd, and you cautiously stepped forward.

Kage just ushered you towards the shower, crossing his arms as he watched you limp onto the tiled surface. You went to take off your bandages, but he cleared his throat and shook his head. Flustered, you moved to your shirt and underwear instead, turning away from him as you stripped bare and dumped the soiled clothing on the floor.

You cautiously stepped forward to turn the shower on, shuddering when the cold water began pouring out. There was only one tap, and no indication that the water was getting warmer, so you turned back to your captor. “There’s no hot water?”

There was no response from Kage, just a stare that told you all you needed to know, as if he was silently saying ‘get on with it’.

You shivered as you stood under the cold stream. When the water washed over your face, it was like you were back in your apartment all over again, and you let out a panicked gasp before stepping back.

The way your body shook wasn’t only from the cold.

With a bated breath, you glanced back at Kage. But he was no closer. He wasn’t going to pull you out, going to attack you, it seemed. The danger still loomed, memories of your assault fresh in your mind.

You returned to the water, washing yourself off as you could feel Kage’s gaze burning into you, as if he was studying each of your movements. He finally moved when the water shut itself off, pointing to a grey towel that was the same dull colour as the rest of the basement.

The last remaining water droplets blinked from your vision as you stepped forward, taking the towel and beginning to dry off. You glanced around, frowning when you saw there were no fresh clothes. 

“Uhm… clothes?” You asked hopefully, to which Kage shook his head. It wasn’t surprising, but it was upsetting.

As you ran the towel across your skin, you couldn’t rid of the nagging question that was plaguing your mind. “Why didn’t you just let him kill me?”

“He doesn’t need the guilt,” Kage finally spoke, but his answer only made your brows furrow.

“Why would he feel guilty for getting rid of someone who doesn’t matter?” It was conflicting information. They’d said you were nothing while in your apartment, and had treated you as such. But of course, you weren’t given an answer. Instead, Kage began leading you back to your room, your waterlogged bandages making it hard to walk. “What’s my punishment?”

Kage doesn’t answer, instead leaving you alone in your cell. “Strip the bed. I’ll be back.”

You gently rubbed your cheek where Maddox slapped you as you stared at the open door. You could run, but that would just worsen the situation. And you were in no condition to make it far.

Your gaze shifted to the blinking red light in the corner, staring into the black lens before snapping out of it and beginning to strip the bed as you were told. You kept replaying the events in your head, but it just didn’t make sense. You didn’t know why Maddox was so furious, and why Kage and Damien stopped him before he did any real damage. There was clearly something you were missing, but you were too fatigued to notice.

You used the sheets to soak up any remaining moisture from the mattress, which was covered with some sort of dark waterproof fabric. Unsure of what else to do, you placed the sheets by the bed.

With the sheets on the floor, you sat next to them on the cold concrete, waiting until Kage came back in with fresh bedding. He held it out to you, waiting for you to approach him with an air of impatience. You hoped your punishment was a simple as making the bed, but you knew you were in for worse at the hands of these men. 

It didn’t take Kage commanding you to put the fresh sheets on the bed, his eyes not leaving you for a moment. He let out a hum when you finished, before taking a seat. “Come here.”

You let out a shaky breath before you approached him. There was something so ominous about the blue shine to his eyes, like a full moon bearing its magnetic energy onto you. You couldn’t help but feel pulled towards him, like your legs moved before you could even think. When you got close enough, Kage took your wrist into his grip. There was a beat of silence for a moment before he yanked you down. You yelped as you fell, your stomach hitting his thighs as he bent you over his knees. It was a humiliating position. As if they hadn’t caused you enough shame.

As naked as the day you were born, you lay across his legs, your ass raised, and shoulders slumped. There was no escape. You were under no illusion that there was no way you could reasonably get out without help. And without Bucky, or any of your friends, you were stuck.

You felt as if you hadn’t slept at all, and tiredness nipped at the back of your eyes as you resigned yourself in his lap. He seemed pleased, a near silent grunt sounding as he rubbed circles over the globes of your ass.

When the first slap landed, you yelped, a sharp pain on your ass from the impact of his palm.

“One.” You heard him count under his breath, before the second spank hit. “Two.” Tears gathered in your eyes, small droplets hitting the ground below as the third hit landed. “Three.”

“Why?” You croaked out. “Why are you doing this?”

“Four.” Kage uttered, another slap hitting you and causing your body to jolt. Four. The counting continued despite your pleas, the pain worsening with each hit. He wasn’t holding back, and the pain began to elevate to the point where you felt as if your bones may shatter. Five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

“Please, I don’t understand. I’m sorry- I’m s-sorry I said his name. But I didn’t do it on purpose,” your words are mottled with sobs, and you turned back to look at him despite the way you had coiled around his thighs. “I don’t understand. Why do you hate him?”

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

Kage’s icy glare met yours. In just a look alone he conveyed so much emotion, far more than words could ever express. There was anger and hurt all broiled up in a stew of self-pity. Twenty one, twenty two, twenty three, twenty four, twenty five, twenty six, twenty seven, twenty eight, twenty nine. His spanks didn’t stop, not even when your cries resounded off the walls like a ghoulish orchestra, your begs garbled with the agony coursing through you.

“Thirty,” he coldly said, his hand once against slapping against your abused ass. When he brought up his hand for another hit, he stopped. On his palm was little dots of blood. You whimpered at the sight of it, and his eyes narrowed. He’d been hitting you so hard he’d broken skin with the impact.

“Please, why? What’s going on?” You lamented, growing weary of his silence. “Just tell me. Why do you hate him? What did he do?”

Kage hit you again, more aggressive this time. You howled in pain as he held you still. His breaths came out in a huff as he calmed himself down. “Don’t act dumb. You’re his girlfriend. You know what he’s done.”

“I don’t!” You rebutted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Kage’s steel blue eyes flashed with something dangerous, his hand rubbing circles on your skin and smearing your blood across your flesh. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” You were genuine, and Kage’s eyes narrowed as he considered you. “I’m sure you did some research before taking me. I’m just a girl.”

”What, your boyfriend didn’t brag of the lives he ruined? How he ruined our lives. We’re orphaned freaks because of him. Because the Asset couldn’t just do his fucking mission. But he had no problem doing his job just fine when he trained us, when he beat us to a bloody pulp making us wish were dead. Over and over and over again. Hydra’s fist hits fucking hard. And he leaves behind nothing but lost souls.” It’s the most you’ve heard Kage speak, but what he’s saying makes no sense to you. “The Asset doesn’t care about the wreckage he leaves behind as long as he’s happy – as long as he can continue on with his pathetic life.”

Bucky ruined lives? The surprise and confusion on your face said it all. From what you knew, he didn’t do anything. He was a prisoner of war, he was a soldier, but his involvement with Hydra was news to you. The most you’d heard of the organisation was from reports when the triskelion fell. It was broadcast everywhere. “He didn’t tell me anything. I only know who Hydra are from the news.”

Kage let out a dark, mocking chuckle. "Stop lying."

"I'm not! I swear. He never told me. He doesn't tell anything about his missions either. H-He said he couldn't. That it was safer that way." You remembered the first time Bucky came home from a mission. He was covered in soot and a mess. Being naive, you asked him what happened, and it was then you realised it was better for you not to know. The horrors of the world were not for your eyes… until now.

Kage’s fingers gripped into the plushness of your ass. ”But you’ve been to the compound.”

“As a guest - a friend. Never when a mission was happening.” You sobbed, your brain spinning in circles at the new revelations. “I’ve been there for dinner or parties. Nothing else.”

His nails made divots in your skin as he gripped you. "You really had no idea?"

"No, I didn't. And I'm sorry. For all of you," you hiccupped. You couldn't lie about that. Losing family is never easy. "I didn't know."

Kage didn’t seem convinced. ”But you know of Hydra?”

You shrugged best you could over his knee. “Sort of. N-Not really. I just saw the news when those big helicopter things crashed - uh, helicarriers?” You let out a shuddered sigh. “The news said Hydra was behind it.”

His fingers eased, moving to rub over the sensitised skin. ”Did you read the documents that were leaked?”

You shook your head, tears dropping to the floor. “No, why would I do that? I didn’t need an existential crisis. I get stressed enough about everyday news, like a mugger or a cat stuck in a tree.”

"So he kept you in a bubble," he said after a moment, more to himself than to you. "If you're lying—"

"I'm not," you promised, almost dissolving into more tears. "I swear to you. All of you. I have no reason to lie to you."

There was a beat of silence while your mind ran a million miles an hour. Bucky was a prisoner of war, you knew that – the world knew that. But… he was with Hydra? You pursed your lips. There was no way he would have been with them willingly. He was a prisoner of Hydra, you surmised. He’d made comments in the past about never being in control until now – always being ordered around by someone else. Admittedly, you hadn’t taken it as literal. A soldier takes orders, but this – this seems entirely different. There’s no way Bucky would hurt someone unprovoked, not unless he was being controlled. The man you loved was no villain.

Kage broke the silence. ”Do you resent him for not telling you?”

A heavy sigh left you, pain still flickering up your spine from your abused ass. “It’s his story. I’m not the one who can decide when it’s time to tell it.”

"But he's the reason you're here,” Kage said as his hand ran up your back before reaching your shoulders, pulling you up and guiding you to sit in his lap.

You whimpered at the pressure on your bruised skin as you sat on Kage’s thighs. "Better me than another innocent person."

Kage’s face was close to yours, his breath fanning across your skin. ”You wouldn’t trade places with someone else?”

You tried to move back, to get some distance, but Kage held you firm. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to subject someone else to this kind of pain.”

He seemed to be searching for something in your eyes. "You don't like others hurting, do you?"

The question surprised you. "No, I don't. I've always tried to help others if I can."

Your answer has the air in the room changing, some of the coldness turning a bit warmer as Kage brushed away some of your tears. Your blood was still on his hands, and you eyed the redness of his fingers as he touched your face.

A tremble coursed through you when you heard footsteps approaching, and your attention turned to the doorway, where Damien emerged with a salve, some wipes and fresh clothes.

His expression had changed too. Where there was anger was now a new understanding. They really thought you knew what they’d been through, you realised. You glanced between the two men, uncomfortable and distressed. Their anger was ruthless, but you feared whatever this was more. Kage’s hands over your waist were firm, but with an edge of gentleness.

You didn’t want them to like you.

Maybe you should have just lied and said you knew. But that wasn’t you. You weren’t deceptive.

Kage lifted you easily, placing you face down on your cot, your face wetting the fresh sheets below you as you cried. The overstimulation of your body and mind hit like a freight train, and you sobbed like never before.

“Jesus, try to calm down. You’ll make yourself sick,” Damien tried to placate as he sat next to you, wiping away your blood before beginning to apply some ointment to your battered skin. “You really did a number, Kage.”

You glance over at the blonde, and he didn’t seem proud of himself. Quite the opposite. His jaw clenched. “Shut up.”

“Hey hey, I’m just trying to break the tension here.” Damien kept applying the ointment until your welts were covered. “You took your punishment well.”

You think he’s trying to compliment you, so you respond with your head buried in the sheets. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he quickly responded before finishing up.

Your mournful cries didn’t stop, and they only got worse when Kage and Damien finally left, leaving you alone. You dressed yourself in the plain tshirt and panties, before it all became too much and returned to the bed.

All your bottled-up emotions spilled out into the mattress. You screamed, your sounds muffled by the bedding, not stopping until your throat hurt and your voice was course.

The more emotion you let out, the more fatigued you became. And slowly, you began to pass out, crying yourself to sleep. All you could hope was this sleep was more restful, and less eventful than the last.

Thankfully, you didn’t dream this time. Your rest was no more than a limbo between horrors – horrors which seemed very intent on continuing, with Maddox stood with his arms crossed, watching you slumber as he leaned against the open doorframe. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You nearly jumped through the ceiling in fright at the sight of him, your whole body flinching as you sat up, your bruised ass instantly sore from the movement. “You didn’t.”

“Good.” He tilted his head, the anger he’d been sporting gone behind his normal demure expression. “So, I had a chat with the guys. Look, we thought you knew all about us. And now we realise you really are innocent in all this. We feel a bit bad about the whole situation, so we’re going to let you go home.”

It sounded like a foreign language as Maddox spoke, your heart skipping a beat. “You’re going to let me go?”

“Seems only fair. I think we’ve put you through enough,” Maddox shrugged nonchalantly.

“But you were so angry,” you cautiously observed Maddox. It felt like a trick, and it likely was one, but you couldn’t help the desire that smouldered in your heart. You could go home. More than anything you just desired to be comfortable in your own bed again, with your cat and the love of your life.

Maddox pushed himself off the doorframe and approached, the movement making you shuffle back on the mattress. He chuckled, shaking his head at your scurrying. “I have no intent of hurting you.”

“Surely you can’t blame me for being afraid,” you squeaked as he towered over you.

“Oh, not at all. I’ve given you more than enough reason. But here, truce?” Maddox offered his open palm for you to take, to help you stand. You stared at his hand for a moment, taking in the scarred skin. It looked like he held the sharp end of a knife more than once. They weren’t kidding about having been through pain.

Anxiety was a thick sludge in your throat as you placed your hand in his, allowing him to be a crutch for you as you got onto your feet. Your entire backside hurt like something fierce with each movement, but you tried to not show it too much on your face.

“Kage really let you have it, huh?” Maddox grinned, leading you out of the door and to the left, where Kage and Damien stood at the bottom of concrete stairs.

“Ready to go home?” Kage said as Damien took your free hand in his.

“Yes,” you blurted out honestly. “Are you… are you really going to let me go?”

“Of course. We may be assholes, but we’re not liars,” Damien chided, the warmth from his skin heating your hand.

“What about Bu– I mean, my boyfriend?” You questioned, making wobbly steps up the stairs towards what looked to be a basement door. Your suspicions were right - you were underground.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him. That’s our business to attend to,” Maddox grinned, but it was akin to a shark showing their teeth. There was danger in the way he spoke.

Distracted, you missed a step, but they were quick to catch you, all giving out a soft laugh before you made your way to the top of the stairs.

You had guessed that you were underground. What you hadn’t expected was that you were under a house. You emerged into an open-plan living room and kitchen with a rustic aesthetic. 

“Do you like it?” Damien asked proudly. Clearly, he owned this place.

“... It’s nice.” You placated, taking your hand out of both Maddox and Damien’s grip. “I can.. just go?”

“Yes. Off you go. There’s a car outside waiting for you,” Damien said, and you could feel the soft rumble of a running engine through the floorboards.

You glanced back at the men, each of them looking expectantly at you. There wasn’t a moment of hesitation before you turned around and bolted for the front door, despite your body hating every moment. Your feet were still healing, and with your bruised muscles, it was torture. But you wanted out. No, you needed out.

You reached the front door quickly, and when you turned the knob, your eyes went wide. It was locked tight. There were multiple bolts on the door, which all seemed unlocked, but when you looked down, you realised the front door had a finger scanner. 

Reality began to set in when you placed your finger on the door and were met with a red flash and beeping. Access denied. “No... No, no, no. Not like this.”

You went to turn, but before you could, there was a sharp prick to your neck as one of the men plunged a needle into you. It became clear Maddox was your assailant as your legs went numb, and you tumbled to the ground with a gasp, seeing him standing behind you with dark eyes. Whatever the contents of the syringe were acted quickly, an odd floaty feeling spreading across your body as you lost control of your functions, your body stuck on its front on the cold hardwoods.

Their laughter became distorted as your brain fizzled, but you didn’t pass out. No, whatever they’d given you was keeping you awake, forced to watch as they circled your limp body. “She made it further than I thought she would with her injuries,” Damien smirked as he poked your side with his shoe.

“It’s cute in an utterly pathetic way.” Maddox used his boot to roll you onto your back before leaning down near your head. “Aw, is someone feeling a bit sleepy?” Unable to coil away, Maddox spit in your face with a cruel laugh. “C’mon, wake up, it’s playtime.”

Kage was next to torment you as you tried to roll yourself back onto your stomach to crawl away. His boot pressed painfully into your stomach, the steel tip digging in just below your ribcage. “Knock my foot away. Try it.”

You whined as you tried to use your arms to push him away, but you couldn’t. Your arms were like jelly.

“Mm, as fun as this is, we gotta move.” Maddox sighed as he straightened up, discarding the used needle out of your sightline.

You managed to get onto your stomach with Kage backing off, but all you could do was whimper as hands gripped your ankles, dragging you across the hardwoods and out the front door, your nose banging on the solid surface as you tried to dig your nails into the floor, but you had no strength left.

Your drool and blood from your now bleeding nose created a trail across the floor. At least if anyone found this home, there’d be evidence that you existed, your DNA staining the wood.

“Should we change her?” Damien asked, and from his voice, you could tell he was the one dragging you.

“She’ll be warm enough,” Maddox watched from the side as you were dragged to the porch stairs.

“God, she’s not going to piss in my car, is she?” Damien complained as Kage slung you over his shoulder, your body like a ragdoll, as he lifted you with scary ease.

“Just wrap a towel around her ass. It’ll do.” Maddox began putting bags in the back seat of the SUV parked outside.

Damien began to help him, but not without continuing to complain. “Just watch it. She already bled on my floor.”

Maddox laughed. “She bled all over her apartment and you didn’t even blink.”

“But that wasn’t my apartment,” Damien argued, a playful irritation in his tone.

They were having fun while tear droplets hit the gravel below you.

Maddox wasn’t giving up, though. ”You’re so materialistic sometimes, Dami.”

”When you pay for shit you can be too, Mads. Oh wait, you don’t pay for anything.”

”I’ve saved your ass enough times for payment.”

Kage sighed, his hand resting on your exposed ass. ”Would you two just shut up and help me get her in the car? I can do it myself, but then I’ll make sure blood and piss gets everywhere.”

Maddox sighed, too. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a second. You leave the present in her cell?"

"Yeah. They'll find it."

You tried to speak, but only a groan came out. 

"Try not to talk. It won't do you any good.” Kage said as Maddox helped him haul you into the trunk of the car.

”At first, we couldn’t get you to talk, and now you won’t shut up.” Maddox started to wrap a towel around your lower half. "Just put some music on and drown her out."

“You… lied…” You managed to get out amongst your drooling whimpers.

Kage leaned in, his hand caressing your cheek. “We didn’t. You are going home.”

“Just not to the home you hoped for,” Maddox chimed in, derisively patting your thigh. “Rest up, babydoll. There’s a long journey ahead of us yet.”

Kage and Maddox pulled back, and their faces were the last thing you saw before the boot was slammed shut, and you were covered in darkness.

To be updated on when I post please follow @sgt-seabass-library and turn on post notifications.

To be updated on when Navy posts please follow @navybrat817-sideblog and turn on post notifications.

[navybrat817]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒖

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and @sgt-seabass

After his escape from a life of captivity, and the fall of Hydra, Bucky Barnes thought he finally had a chance at happiness. The problem is, if you cut off one head, three shall take it's place. A new Hydra had risen, and their ruthless path will leave destruction in it's wake.

A/N: We're very excited to share this series with you. It's going to be a rough and bumpy road for our reader, but we hope you enjoy the ride.

This AU is dark and 18+. Heed the warnings on each post.

𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒂 | AO3

Bucky returns home after a mission, ready to spend time with his two favourite people, you and Alpine.

𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔 | AO3

Is this the way it's got to be? Ignite the fire inside of me. Embrace the life of tragedy. A tide of war and broken dreams.

𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 | AO3

Stay reformed. Erase this perfect world. Hate left below. The dark stray dog of war.

𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 | AO3

I just wanna see you bleed. Open you and set you free

More to come...

[the-rainbow-meme]

Dream: did you just flirt with me?

Hob (amused): I've been flirting with you for the past 500 years, thanks for noticing.

Dream, connecting all the dots at once: IM IN LOVE WITH YOU?????

Hob: fucking finally

[elithilanor]

Last Sentence Tag Game

Write the latest line from your wip (or post where you last left off in your art) and tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

tagged by @starlady66 (who is like the only one keeping my writing alive by tagging me so thank you!)

I don’t have any last lines right now, but I do have a ton of WIPs SO:

“Your reasoning no longer works in this, mellon. We are now of the same rank,” Mërën states and takes a step closer.

Haldir’s eyes track Mërën’s movements, grip on his goblet of wine tightening.

Mërën slowly presses into the remaining space between them and easily crowds Haldir back against the railing. Mërën tucks his head and nips Haldir’s ear, breath hot in the cold air. 

“Meleth. I am no longer under your post.” He murmurs before finally - finally - slotting their lips together under the silver glow of the balcony’s lamps.

No pressure tags! @glassgulls @thesolarangel

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

As my third night of this grueling nightshift comes to a close, I breathe a sigh of relief and cry tears of joy. Not because I have survived another night, though yes that is important, but because I have finished the one thing that I set out to do back before November ended. Though I am supposed to be on holiday, I knew that I would finish this, no matter the cost. There are so many things I could say, about how much you have done for me, how important you have become to me on this journey. But I know that not a single one of them would sum up the immense amount of gratitude that I truly hold for you, V. The things that I have learned from watching your love for Stephen, the strength that it has given me about my own feelings for Tony, they are the things that I am truly thankful for.

Before I met you, I would have kept my love for him silent, mourned in my darkness and never spoken out about it. I would not have sought help here to process everything that I was feeling, how I want to feel these things. And the more I watched you, the more I realized that I truly didn't have to feel bad about the love I have in my heart for him. It's okay for me to want him here, to want him to have survived so that I can still dream of him. And while there are many, many others that I extend my thanks to, you were the first one that showed me loving a fictional character is okay, no matter what people say. And for that, I gift you this, one last thing before I rest my weary soul for the winter.

Thank you, beautiful flower, for all you have done for me - myself and for Tony - on this long journey. And I look forward to seeing where we go from here. Merry Christmas, my dear.

Oh my heart💗 - in all the best of possible ways!

I am so grateful that something that comes as naturally to me as breathing touched you in such a way that you felt freed to love and mourn and heal. I suppose I didn't get that you'd tried before to tell me this; I can be dense that way at times. But I understand now and I will forever love & treasure this amazing, beautiful, shining labor of your love. Love that comes from an immense heart, and that deserves to find its expression without hesitation or concern for appearences to the wider world.

The details of the gorgeous piece take my breath away. A ring on Beauty's finger...and a baby bump as well! Stephen looking so comfy (especially in that hoodie) and relaxed, holding not only his beloved, but the future they will share. I first saw this when I was half-awake, watching the end of the PBS Tabernacle Choir Christmas special (so I was in no fit state to reply) and as I fell back to sleep, my mind's perpetual fancy had me imagining Stephen finally saying, 'Yes...yes, let's make a baby together...' What a wonderful dream that would be!

I love seeing Tony & Damon together and happy, and that you included Tony's injuries from when he sacrificed himself to save the Universe. And a ring on Tony's finger too! I suppose it won't be too much longer until Stephen & Beauty invite their friends to take on the mantle of godfathers to Baby Strange (baby girl, much to Beauty's understated longing, as it took her mother six pregnancies to get her girlchild). After the first sketch you gifted me, I never would've imagined more--so this is the sweetest surprise and I'll adore it forever. In fact, I'm going to work on a way to make it my icon (although it may mean editing it down to just S&B, but I know you won't mind).

Mere thank you's will never be enough to portray my gratitude, so I will simply say: go rest your weary mind and soul, and may your dreams be blessed with those things you long for most, for you've more than earned that joy. Come Spring, I will be looking forward to hearing and seeing the ideas & artist visions that come to you in your hiatus! You have all my love ~ V

💜💙💜💙💜

[nervou5wr3ck]

Thank you for @dopesharktree for drawing the cast’s fantasy outfits! They’re seriously so awesome! >w< 

[wild-karrde]

@rowansparrow has written the stroy What Blooms in Thunder and when that ended , I really wondered what the hells just happened. Now we have The Light Between Oceans and Holy Maker what a chapter it begins with! Reading this, you will want to read WBIT if you did not yet and if you did? Well, you know you will have to follow this story. I am still waiting to hear about Quill !!!!!!!!!

YES!!! The Light Between Oceans is EVERYTHING and absolutely has me hooked (ESPECIALLY AFTER THE END OF WBIT. RO, I SAY THIS WITH ALL THE LOVE IN THE WORLD, BUT HOW DARE YOU?). Without spoiling too much, I was relieved to see some things get resolved quickly, was excited/heartbroken/intrigued to see how other things developed, and am ANXIOUSLY awaiting resolution on other matters (IS QUILL SAFE?? IS HE ALRIGHT???)

I am STRESSED (but like in the best way possible).

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[sgt-seabass]

𝒂 𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒔

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and sgt-seabass

Is this the way it's got to be? Ignite the fire inside of me. Embrace the life of tragedy. A tide of war and broken dreams. (x)

pairing — bucky barnes x reader w/c — 6.3k this is a dark fic. 18+ only. listening to —♫3 am walk

warnings — bucky barnes is a sweetheart, implied (consensual) smut, kidnapping, assault, violence against reader, mention of bodily injury, stabbing, knives, blood, bad guys being cunts, hydra exists, degradation, threat of non-con, whump, threat of violence against an animal (but the animal is not touched or harmed), death threats a/n — after months of brainstorming and writing together with Navy, this has finally been born. this piece is part of a larger AU we made together, so watch this space for more in the future.

Waking up next to Bucky was the easiest thing you ever did, because that was your happiest dream come true.

Even when his alarm blared before the sun had even considered rising, in the early hours when birds were still in their slumber, and the moon lit the bedroom with its ethereal glow, you would still give everything to wake up to the sleepy smile of your boyfriend.

You went to bed thinking of him as he ran his fingers down your back, helping ease you into a restful sleep, and you woke thinking of him as he tried to cover your eyes from his lit-up phone.

You both groaned, begging the stars for more time in bed. But as the incessant beeping filled the room, neither of you would get back to sleep soon.

Bucky was an Avenger. And that meant he had to go save the world. But that didn’t make it any easier when he had to leave for missions.

As Bucky leaned over to turn his phone off, you wrapped your arms around him, spooning him with your chin on his shoulder. “You could just stay home.”

Something in your gut was calling to you, warning you that he needed to stay home. It made you fearful. What if he got hurt?

In hindsight, it was you who needed the protection.

Bucky sighed, turning off the annoying buzzing of his phone. “You know I want to. But I can’t. Duty calls, sweetheart.”

God, you’d never get sick of the gravelly twinge to his voice in the mornings.

“Steve and Sam need backup,” he yawned, rolling over so he could cradle your head to his firm chest as he lay on his back, allowing you to smell the fading scent of his cologne.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine on their own,” you smiled, placing a kiss on his pec. Bucky’s habit of sleeping in only boxers always had you wanting to kiss him all over. Covering him in your affections was always tempting, even when he got shy, especially around his scarred shoulder.

“Baby, stop it,” Bucky almost whined, like a toddler tempted with treats. “Please don’t make this harder for me.”

“Sorry,” you placated, that nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach not easing as your eyes adjusted to the dark room.

Outside, you could hear the occasional car and pedestrian. But for the most part, Brooklyn was asleep. It was a peaceful silence between you, enjoying each other’s touch while it began drizzling rain outside.

“Well, it’s raining. Now you’ll just have to stay home.” You cheekily nipped at Bucky’s side before shuffling up to kiss his stubbled cheek.

“Is that so?” Bucky chuckled, eyes crinkling in your favourite show of joy.

“Mhm. No missions on rainy days,” you said matter-of-factly with a serious look on your face, a look you couldn’t hold when Bucky tickled your sides. You burst into giggles, gasping softly when Bucky rolled you under him so he towered over you, your body caged between his bulky arms.

“That’s too bad. I thought you were going to have a fun day with Natalia.” Bucky’s hair fell forward and covered some of his face. But there was no missing his twinkling blue eyes, reflecting the lights outside in his orbs. “Weren’t you going to have a girls movie night?”

“Yes, but I’d rather you join us.” Your hands ran up his sides, feeling rippled muscle until you reached his neck and jaw. His stubble pricked at your fingers as you cupped his face.

“I don’t want to be the third wheel. What are you ‘gonna watch?” As he spoke, Bucky began placing gentle kisses on your cheek that trailed down your collarbone.

“Cruel Intentions,” you muttered, revelling in the feeling of his plush lips against your skin.

“You’ve shown me that one,” Bucky murmured against your neck. “That’s the one with the lesbian kissing scene, right?”

You rolled your eyes with mock offence. “Of course that’s the bit you remember. And it’s not just any kissing scene. It’s the legendary kiss between Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair.”

Bucky pulled himself back up, raising his brows and trying, and failing, to hide his smirk. “Sorry, how could I forget.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Let me see if I remember correctly. It goes like this, right?”

Your heart was ready to burst out of your chest when Bucky’s lips met yours. Morning breath be damned; there was simply nothing better than kissing Bucky Barnes.

He licked across your bottom lip before you opened your mouth to let him in. “Bucky…” You moaned, your tongues sliding together like a choreographed ballroom dance.

Your hands held his scruffy jaw while his hands, one cold and one warm, held your waist. You could always tell when he was getting aroused by the way he’d lose some motor control of his silver arm, the hand twitching and metal plates shifting.

In hindsight, you’d miss the way he’d hold you the most.

Bucky slowly pulled away, his metal hand rising so his thumb could brush over your spittle-smeared lips. “Something like that, right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed out before taking the digit into your mouth.

Even though he couldn’t feel it, you could see how Bucky’s pupils dilated as he watched you suck.

His metal arm had been used for so much evil. But you always wanted to remind him of who he was. Your lover, your best friend. Your everything. Just like you were to him.

You weren’t afraid, and you embraced every part of him. While many cowered away from the man with the metal arm, you gravitated towards him, as if your heart was connected to him with impenetrable strings of fate.

“God, I love you.” Bucky’s metal hand cupped your cheek, his breath hitching for a moment as he gazed at you, as if so full of emotion his words were caught in his throat.

You placed your palm over his hand, snuggling into the cold metal like it was a warm hug. “I love you too, Bucky baby.”

An embarrassed flush spread over Bucky’s cheeks as it always did when you spoke to him sweetly. He might have been a soldier, but he was still a soft romantic at heart.

With the pitter-patter of rain against the window, the room no more than illuminated shadows, you were entirely enraptured by Bucky. You both stayed silent, just soaking in the moment as sparks flew. Even though you’d been together for two years, the chemistry was still like the first day you met. The first time you kissed. The first day you fucked.

The world around you was dark, yet you weren’t scared because Bucky was there.

The languid movement of Bucky’s lips to yours was tender, a familiar movement that he’d done so many times before. Feathery light, yet full of heat, he brushed his lips over yours. “I wish you could come with me.”

“I could stay in the jet.” You offered with sincerity. But that part of Bucky’s world wasn’t for you, you both knew that. You were no agent, a mere civilian with a super soldier boyfriend. But something told you that’s what drew Bucky to you, your normalcy. You gave him a chance at a life that had been stolen from him for so many years.

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt. You’re safer here.”

In hindsight, he was very wrong.

Bucky captured your lips again, caressing and lingering in a way that had your heart fluttering and cheeks burning.

You tangled your hands into his locks, deepening the kiss. If he was going, you needed every moment you could get.

Bucky gripped your chin with his flesh hand, opening your mouth for him.

The sweetness turned sultry, and before long, Bucky was grinding himself against your pyjama-covered core.

Words couldn’t describe the desire that was awash in the room. Two lovers revelling in a happiness that was so rare, as if a million I love you’s were condensed into a single moment. No poet could describe this connection or the way it made you feel.

With Bucky’s embrace, you were home.

Bucky slowly trailed kisses down your neck, chest and stomach until he reached your pulsing pussy.

“I better tire you out before I go.” He smirked, cheeky as ever.

And tire you out, he did.

It wasn’t about his pleasure in that moment. He solely focused on you.

The way he moved his tongue, the way he pulled you apart, it was damn near artistic.

Steve may have been a painter, but Bucky was an artist in the act of love.

In hindsight, you should have cherished this moment more. Because it was the last happiness you would feel for some time.

The unease in your stomach began to grow in intensity as time passed, and by the time Bucky pulled himself away to get ready and leave, there were unexplainable chills wracking through you.

Bucky had done a thousand missions in your time together and had come home safe each time. Steve knew you’d likely kill him if something happened to Bucky. So why was this time different?

It was like your soul was trying to reach out and tell you something. But it must have been speaking another language, because you didn’t understand what was wrong.

You made the most of your fleeting time with Bucky before he left. He changed into his workout gear so he could kit up at the compound where most of the Avengers still resided, and Bucky had once lived. He didn’t leave many weapons in the home; you preferred it that way. The only one you knew of was the knife hidden under the couch, but you were sure there were other blades around.

Bucky had never told you why he didn’t live at the compound anymore, but Nat had hinted at tension between Bucky and Tony. You’d found it odd, given that Tony had been friendly to you each time you’d visited the compound.

But it wasn’t your business and didn’t matter to you anyway. You were content living with Bucky in your cosy apartment. There was more than enough space for both you and your fur child Alpine, plus a second bedroom for when Steve stayed over.

You snuggled into the duvet when Bucky left to make you a cup of tea before he headed off, and seeing as there was now a free spot, Alpine entered from the main area and took her chance to cosy up next to you. You pet the long-haired white cat as you waited, listening to her soft purrs to help ground you.

And when Bucky returned, you felt rather teary, your vision blurring as your emotions almost got the better of you. “Stay safe, please.”

Bucky set your earl grey down on the coaster on your bedside table before his concerned gaze turned to you. “I’ll be just fine. I’ll have my phone on me the whole time.”

“Is the mission dangerous?” You couldn’t help but ask. But you always got the same answer.

“I can’t talk about it, baby. But I’ll be okay. I promise,” Bucky reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “You and Alpine better hold down the fort for me, okay?”

“Yeah. We’re going to get up to lots of mischief,” you smiled the best you could, holding Bucky’s hand.

“That’s my girls.” Bucky gave Alpine a little scratch under her chin before doing the same to you. “I’ll be back before you know it. Now get some more sleep, soldier’s orders.”

“Yes, sergeant,” you mock saluted before Bucky kissed you and pulled away.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky called from the doorway, as if taking his chance to imprint the sight of you into his mind.

In hindsight, he should have looked a lot longer.

“I love you too,” you gave Bucky a little wave. Alpine meowed in her own show of affection.

And like that, he was gone; The final sound from him was the closing of the front door behind him.

You turned the television on for some white noise while you sipped at your tea before you did as you were told, allowing the talking of some trash reality show to become background noise as you fell back asleep. As you dozed off, you couldn’t help but notice one side of the bed a lot colder than when you first had awoken.

For the second time that day, you woke up. This time, the sunlight beamed through the open curtains, since Bucky loved being woken by the sun warming his skin. He hated being cold.

Next to you lay a napping Alpine, her fluffy body rising and falling slowly with each deep breath. You placed a hand on her side, smiling at the little yip that came from her in surprise. She rolled onto her back, deep blue eyes watching you as you gaily scritched her belly.

She took the chance to latch onto your hand, playfully holding onto your wrist while her feet kicked and teeth ran across your skin.

“Hey, silly goose. Let me go.” Your chastisement was light and playful. While you’d prefer waking up next to Bucky, Alpine was a good replacement on the lonely days. She was your family, just like Bucky.

When Alpine rolled back over with a tired huff, you decided to leave her to slumber. As much as you wanted to annoy her more, you didn’t want to push your luck and end up with a pissed off kitty. She was moody, just like her dad.

You slinked out of bed, taking a moment to stretch when your feet hit the cold floorboards. With a yawn, you looked around the room. You should really get a rug, but Bucky liked lying on the floors when he found the bed too soft. On those nights, you’d join him, even if it left your back stiff and sore.

Padded steps took you to the kitchen, your body on autopilot as you got Alpine’s food ready for when she got up. It was the same routine as every morning. Feed the cat, shower, and check your emails for new commissions.

In hindsight, you should have been paying more attention.

You hummed as you made your way to the bathroom, connecting your phone to the Bluetooth speakers so you could play some music while you tried to relax. Your mind would run without the interruption of songs. And you didn’t want to start thinking about work before you’d had a chance to breathe.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have put the music so loud.

It was a luxury working from home, getting to pick your own hours. You had felt a little guilty when Bucky first proposed the idea of you quitting your crappy retail job to follow your dream of graphic design, as he could bare the brunt of the expenses.

But now you were flourishing; you were just grateful for his support. There were peaks and troughs like any job, but your heart was content sitting in your shared apartment, designing things that made the world a brighter place.

You turned the shower on, bopping along to your music as you shed yourself of your pyjamas and got into the tiled shower. You could have a bath, but you preferred to save those moments for when Bucky could join you.

The hot water made you hiss at first before your body acclimatised, skin heating up as the stream washed over you.

You faced the wall, resting your head on the tile as the spray rushed down your back.

In hindsight, you should have turned around.

The consequence of your various decisions throughout the morning came to a startling precipice.

With no idea of your surroundings, you were surprised when someone looped their arms under your armpits and over your shoulders, hauling you backwards.

You didn’t even scream for a moment, your brain unable to catch up before the adrenaline kicked in full force.

The assailant didn’t speak, which almost made it worse, as he started to walk backwards with your back to his chest, arms locked over your front. More than ever, you really wished you’d taken Bucky up on those self-defence classes.

“Thanks, Buck. But I’ll never use them.”

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I am safe. My boyfriend is an Avenger, remember?”

Fight or flight kicked in, and your screaming started. You kicked your feet up and planted your soles on the cold tiled wall. With all your strength, you pushed back like a springboard, sending you and your attacker hurtling backwards.

He let go as he fell, and while he fell through one glass pane of the shower, you fell through another. The force had the glass shattering, sending thousands of shards all over the room.

You scrunched your eyes closed, wailing when you stepped in the broken glass, pain shooting through you when the shards buried themselves into the soles of your feet. But a second attacker caught you before your body hit the sharp ground. The piercing pain in your feet barely registered with how your body buzzed. Blood began to cover the floor, your essence coating the tiles a sickly red.

Your eyes shot open to see who caught you. A dirty blonde with a youthful grin. The man who had grabbed you first, another blonde with bright blue eyes and a scowl, had caught himself against the double sink.

Time froze for a moment when you looked at the door. There was another man with dark brown hair and an ominous expression, his features dark like his intent. Three men. You had no idea if more waited outside the door, but anything would be better than being stuck in this room.

“Nice catch, Damien,” the dark-haired man grinned.

“Yeah, no problem, Mads,” the man holding you spoke, chuckling like he wasn’t holding a hostage in his grip. “Not like Kage was any help.”

With them distracted, you bolted for the bathroom door, ignoring the way your feet tore with each step.

“Maddox! Grab her!” The man against the counter, Kage, yelled. Pushing himself off the marble to follow you.

You managed to duck under Maddox’s arms and stumbled into the kitchen. Your blood was already pooling on the ground with each step you took, like red footprints in the snow.

A meow caught your attention; Alpine stood in the bedroom doorway, her tail straight and her ears back against her head, the anxiety clear.

“Alpine! Hide under the bed,” you hissed, knowing you only had seconds before the unknown men came after you. If you were to die, there was no way you’d let them get Alpine too. Alpine stared at you momentarily, but as the tears welled in your eyes, she rushed off, perhaps understanding the weight of your command. This wasn’t belly scratches and joking around anymore.

You rushed for the knife block on the kitchen counter, but a hand on the back of your neck stopped you before you could reach it. “Nice try, bitch.”

Maddox gripped your neck and shoulders before he threw you over the kitchen counter, sending you rolling over and onto the bar stools that sat neatly on the other side. You tumbled to the ground, groaning instantly at the pain of the wood hitting you from multiple angles during your descent.

The trajectory sent you towards the dining table, and with Kage and Damien coming in close, you shot up and grabbed one of the dining chairs. You held it out like a weapon, with the legs facing outwards. Your breaths came out in short pants as tears trickled down your cheeks, while a shard of wood from the stool stuck out of your side. “What do you want? I don’t have any money, please.”

“Are you dumb enough to think we’re here for money?” Damien goaded, slowly closing in the distance between you two.

Maddox jumped the counter and landed behind you, boxing you in. With a scream, you threw the chair at Damien and attempted to flee under the dining table.

You squealed when Maddox grabbed your ankle, his grip harsh. You turned to look back at him, before you kicked him in the face with your free leg. He groaned in pain, and you didn’t check to see how bad you’d hurt him before you crawled out to the other side of the table.

Kage had been waiting for you, and when you reached him, he dealt a sharp kick to your side. The pain winded you, your mouth ajar with a shocked gasp before he kicked your ribs again.

You rolled onto your back, watching as Kage considered you from above. The way he looked at you – the malice. They were going to kill you. A woman could always sense the imposing threat that men had, for it was simply the female experience to be at the mercy of those who wanted to harm you.

You should have stopped Bucky from going – should have trusted your gut. Although, if these men wanted you dead, then there would only have been so much Bucky could do. He was a victim as much as you in the world of unfairness. A man out of time. A man who just wanted a semblance of normalcy.

It was mournful that his one good thing was becoming marred with the violence he had become so used to.

“I don’t want to die,” you wept under the man, pulling the wooden stake from your side with a cry of pain. "Please."

Turning over, you dragged your bloodied body towards your desk. The same desk you spent most of your days on. Your computer and sketchbooks were filled with hopes and dreams, colour and beautiful chaos.

Your ichor-covered hand grabbed onto the side, using it like a crutch to stand up. You couldn’t stop fighting. If you were going to perish, you’d go out swinging.

“You’re still trying? It’s pathetic. You can barely stand,” Kage growled as Damien and Maddox began wreaking havoc behind him. They were smashing and destroying everything in sight, demolishing the world you and Bucky had built with love and a cherishing touch.

“F.. Fuck you,” you weakly spat, legs burning with the need to sit down.

Kage snapped, grabbing you and dragging you across the desk. Your computer smashed onto the ground, along with all your notebooks and stationery. He threw you down on top of the mangled computer, allowing the glass of your screen to stick into your back. In a way, it wasn’t a new sensation anymore. The sharp piercing of your feet had dulled your body to the point where the new pain was no more than a sudden spike that turned into a dull ache.

“You think you’re special? You’re nothing. Not even worth expending energy on.” Kage left your side, and your sightline moved to the couch.

Bucky kept a knife under it.

Trying to not show your intention, you used your arms to pull yourself along the hardwoods towards the couch, while Maddox closed in and kept tapping your bare ass with the toe of his boot.

“I wonder what he likes about you,” Maddox considered. “Are you that good a fuck? Do you cook him meals just like the old days, huh? ‘Cause to me, you just seem like a puny helpless girl. There’s no fun in killing someone who might as well be already dead.”

His taunts made your blood boil, and when you reached the corner of the couch, you turned onto your back, facing the assailant. “Go fuck yourself. You don’t know anything.”

“Ah, see there’s a little fire. I like it when they fight back.” Maddox dropped to his knees, one on either side of your thighs so you were boxed in. “I want to watch the light drain from your eyes, see all that hope just whittle away to nothing. Because, like Kage said, you are nothing.”

He moved in closer, to the point where you could smell the stale whisky on his breath. “I wonder what body part your boyfriend will find first. Maybe I’ll put your head under the bed with your fucking cat. What do you think? Are you ready to die?”

You let out an almighty scream when you reached and grabbed the knife, pulling it out and slashing Maddox across the arm before he could react.

He was a lot faster than you, however, and the moment you got a hit in on him he jumped back, eyes turning a lot darker. “Oh, you’re fucking stupid.” He growled, before he quickly overpowered you.

In a struggle, you screamed and thrashed, but by bearing his weight onto you, Maddox could manoeuvre you. He picked you up, before slamming you back down onto the hardwood floors. Your head snapped back from the force, whacking against the ground with a loud crack. 

Everything went black for a moment, and by the time your vision came back, Maddox was squatting over you with the sole of his boot stepping on your wrist, the knife still in your grip.

“You really don’t know when to stop, huh? Can’t you see you’re going to lose no matter what you do?” Maddox’s boot pressed harder, and your wrist creaked uncomfortably under the pressure.

You let go of the knife just before your bones would reach the point of snapping, the metal clattering to the ground. Despite the tears in your eyes and the fear in your heart, you were thankful for the life you had. If this were to be the end of your existence, you were okay with that. Bucky had given you a life worth of love in the short two years you’d known him. 

As you watched the sharp eyes of the man above you, you thought of Bucky. You hoped this loss would not destroy him. The life you had experienced together would not change; those happy memories of laughter and smiles still there. You hoped he would not cry for you, but feel a blossoming love at the thought of you. Death wouldn’t have you becoming a ghost of a forgotten past, but a memory to be cherished in Bucky’s future. And you would be waiting for him on the other side, should he be expecting to see you there after his inevitable demise. You would be just around the corner, waiting like nothing had ever been lost. These men could try and take your body, but they would not take your soul. That belonged to the man thousands of miles away saving the world. “I’m not going to lose. I’ve already won.”

“Yeah? Does this feel like winning?” Maddox sneered before he picked up the blade and plunged the knife into your shoulder, the white-hot pain splintering through you like the broken glass of your shower. Your mouth opened into a silent, broken scream, the anguish unlike anything you’d felt before.

This was just a fraction of what Bucky had felt in his lifetime, yet this felt like the whole world was collapsing in on you, your body broken. Perhaps these men were right - maybe you were weak. Because the knife in your shoulder was enough to break you. Would Bucky be disappointed? Would he expect you to have put up more of a fight? The logical response would be no. But the blade slicing through your muscles made it hard to think straight.

Maddox slapped your cheek and twisted the blade. “I asked you a question, little bitch. Does this feel like you’re winning?”

Your choked cries painfully shook your shoulders, and despite it all, you nodded. “Yes. I’ve already won and you can’t take that from me.”

“Stupid fucking whore, listen to this slut. She really thinks she’s worth something.” Damien called out from behind Maddox, looking at you from over his shoulder. Kage joined the commotion, gazing at the knife lodged in your shoulder.

Without compassion, Maddox ripped the knife from your shoulder, your palms raising to try to press on the open wound. There was no reprieve with these men, however. Maddox grabbed your shoulders, ignoring your yelps and wails while he threw you over the back of the couch.

Your front dropped onto the sofa, while your ass stuck in the air on the stiff back of the couch. The fear that roiled inside you turned tenfold as Kage came up behind you, pressing on your lower back so your hips pressed painfully into the couch frame. Damien and Maddox came around your front, their crotches scarily close to your face.

“You know what we can take from you, though? Your dignity.” Kage’s hands moved from your back to the globes of your ass. “I could fuck you right here, and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

If the humiliation of being naked wasn’t enough, having the intruders touch you like this was an indignity that would change you forever. A small part of your golden soul blackened, and you didn’t know if it could ever be saved.

Damien gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at the two men. “And we could fuck that mouth of yours. Maybe even pull a few teeth if you dared fight.”

“I bet you’d love it. After all, you have to be all kinds of fucked up to fuck the Winter Soldier,” Kage said as his fingers moved to feel across your thighs.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that. He’s more of a man than you three put together.” The mere mention of Bucky had your anger returning. You let out a huffed breath before you used the last of your depleting strength to lift your legs and kick Kage in the stomach. He didn’t move, body like a stone statue, but the movement pushed you over the couch and onto the living room floor. The plushness of the cushions did little to soften your fall, a whimpered breath coming from your tired body.

You were just so tired. The more blood you lost, the harder it was to keep going. As your ichor stained the rug below you, you glanced to the blackened television.

“Bucky, what are you doing on the floor? And is that all the stuff from the bed?”

“We’re having a pillow fort movie night. The popcorn is in the microwave.”

“It’s going to be a pain to put the bed back together, you know.”

“Then we’ll just have to sleep here. Don’t worry, I’m sure we can break it in. It’s one new surface I haven’t fucked you on yet.”

No. You couldn’t give up. You owed Bucky your best fight. You had no doubt he would do the same for you.

The assailants closed in again, the same dark-haired asshole taunting you with his menacing grin.

“Fuck you,” you spat, seeing red when he tried to grab you.

Most of the punches you threw didn’t land, but it didn’t matter to you. Your arms were a blur as you screamed and unleashed all the fury you had.

But they just laughed at your efforts. The blood loss had clearly taken full effect with the way you moved slower than you intended, your arms weakening quickly.

“Nice try, toy.” Maddox picked you up by the shoulders before throwing you into the wooden coffee table.

The thin tabletop cracked and fractured instantly, wood splintering around the dent your body left.

The pain had become immaterial, the agony reducing from a boil to a simmer as your ability to feel lessened to the point where nothing was at all. Perhaps it was your body protecting your psyche, or you were dying. Either way, it left you feeling somewhat euphoric.

"She still fighting?"

"Let her be. She isn't going anywhere."

"Dumb bitch thought she stood a chance."

Your dazed state had the men leaving you to finish trashing the house. With no immediate threat, you made your last-ditch attempt. You had to let Bucky know who killed you. You knew it would kill him to not know who attacked you.

Numbed, you took another look at the men. There was nothing too unusual about them, just their distinctive hair colours, eye colours and the symbol they all bore. You hadn’t noticed it at first, but now with your chance to inspect them, you sighted a circular insignia on the front of their black hoodies. A green… octopus?

When Damien threw a plate at you that shattered against your forearm when you raised it to defend yourself, your thoughts were cut off. The porcelain dropped around you, and you picked up one of the pieces. On it was a little drawing of a cat. You and Bucky had done a pottery art class and came home with a few plates. You picked up a second piece, a sob bubbling from your throat when you looked at the two fragments together. A little Alpine that you had drawn, and a little bird that Bucky had drawn with red wings.

You let the remnants of the plate drop to the ground, the once beautiful creation covered with your blood. They really were destroying everything. As Damien continued to vandalise the kitchen, Maddox and Damien tore apart your boxes of photos.

Even with the horror of having your life stripped away, you struggled to look away. You saw the green octopus again, and something in the back of your mind was trying to get out – to tell you what it meant.

The emblem was so familiar, and you turned onto your stomach as you thought. Pulling yourself to a free patch of hardwood flooring, you began writing out the word ‘blonde’ with your blood, trying to give Bucky anything you could.

Kage stopped you after the first word, and it was like there was cotton wool in your ears as he pulled your hand back. You assumed he said something to chastise you, but you didn’t register it.

You could see his expression, though. He was enjoying himself, laughing with his partners as he took your arms and dragged you on your back towards the front door.

When you looked up, you saw his hoodie closer, and that’s when it clicked. Hydra? But Hydra was red? And from what you heard on the news after the Triskelion incident, they were some power-crazed terrorist organisation bent on absolute control. What were they doing in your apartment? And why did they hate Bucky so much?

Bucky hadn’t told you much about his past, and part of you understood. You could tell by the vulnerable look in his eye that he was scared you’d leave him every time the Winter Soldier was brought up, which was rare.

All you knew was that he was under control as the Winter Soldier, and did some horrible things. But you never pressed, and you didn’t need to. You knew enough to know Bucky was a victim, and that was enough.

Good people like Sam and Natasha wouldn’t have continued to stand by him if Bucky was anything more than an innocent, manipulated prisoner of war. Steve would stand with Bucky regardless, but you didn’t blame him for that. Some relationships simply went further than right or wrong, innocent or guilty. Steve would stand by Bucky through thick and thin, just like you would.

But that didn’t explain why these men were here and tormenting you. This was more than just an attack – it was complete and utter destruction. The apartment was in ruins, completely desecrated.

Kage dragged and dumped your body against the entry wall, amongst the torn photos of you and Bucky. Your gaze turned to one where you were both smiling, huddling in close. It was taken on Steve’s birthday. You’d all thrown him a surprise party in the compound. You remember because Bucky had you both wear a comically bad Captain America t-shirt to tease him.

The photo, while tattered, was a reminder. While this moment was pure suffering, life was also full of moments that had your heart full of love. Life wasn’t always full of pain, and this torture was but a brief snapshot in the greater picture of your life.

Now, your heart hurt because you’d experienced such great love you knew what it was like to feel the loss. Tears trickled down your cheeks as you mourned what could have been. You should be experiencing many more birthdays and silly t-shirts, but it seemed that wasn’t what fate had planned for you.

The cries you let out were stricken with grief, and for the first time, the men went silent and just looked at you as if you were human, not just a toy for their enjoyment.

“Talk about a mood killer,” Damien sniggered, but Kage quickly raised his hand.

“Enough. Time to put her out of her misery.”

Your blood turned icy cold, dread settling in your stomach as you whimpered, too drained to run. “Please, don’t. Just leave me. I won’t tell anyone.” A blatant lie, but you had to try. You’d seen their faces, and that alone sealed your fate. "I don't want to die," you said more to yourself than to them.

“Pretty pictures. Too bad they’re a bit stained.” Maddox mocked as he picked up one of the discarded photo albums. It was the heaviest one, full of memories that were now soaked with your blood.

Maddox handed the album to Kage, unbothered by the drips of red that hit the floor. 

They all stood before you as Kage flipped through the pages, his features hardened. “He’s so happy. Let’s see if the monster smiles now.”

Kage slammed the book closed, sealing your fate between his hands. That part of your life was ending, and these three were writing your future.

There was no point pleading with them, and you were too devoid of energy to do more than sit with shallow breaths, awaiting your death.

But one last ounce of adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tried to keep your eyes open. "His name is Bu-"

Kage raised the photo album before slamming it down on your head. It knocked you out instantly, the world going black as your body toppled to the side.

But the reaper didn’t come. Your heart continued beating, lungs filling with air.

Your suffering was due to continue. This wasn’t the end.

[navybrat817]

𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and @sgt-seabass

Stay reformed. Erase this perfect world. Hate left below. The dark stray dog of war. (x)

Pairing — Bucky Barnes x Reader W/C — Almost 5k This is a dark fic. 18+ only. Listening to - Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea Previous part - A Tide of War and Broken Dreams

Warnings — angst, kidnapping, aftermath of attack, injuries, threat of violence against reader, Hydra exists, Bucky whump A/N — Welcome to the next part of our Vengeance AU! Quick reminder that this is a dark fic and things are going to be extremely rough for our reader (and Bucky) in the upcoming parts. Please heed the warnings and we hope you enjoy the ride!

Coming home to you was the thing Bucky looked forward to the most after a mission. Whether you were wide awake to greet him with a smile or curled up in bed sound asleep, the sight of you was like coming home every time. The love of his life, you taught him to believe in dreams again when he lived in a nightmare for so long. While he was darkness and pain, you were light and warmth and hope. You were part of his redemption, his dream he had long forgotten come true.

In hindsight, he should've thanked you more for loving him.

Even as his shoulders sagged from exhaustion, he smiled to himself as he took his keys from his pocket. You drew interlocking hearts with a red marker on the apartment key after his last mission. It was a reminder that the two of you had a home made with love. And that he had someone to come back to.

In hindsight, he should've shown more appreciation for the small things you did for him.

When Bucky got to the door, he wondered if you were awake or asleep since it was still early. Would you wake up if he joined you in bed? He hoped you got enough rest without him, remembering how you tried to get him to stay home. You seemed more nervous than normal for him to leave and it wasn't easy for him to shake, but you were safe there. And once he kicked his boots off and greeted Alpine, he'd wrap himself up in you as he put the mission behind him. He refused to let his work, or past, taint the beautiful space you created together.

In hindsight, he should've listened when you asked him to stay.

Darkness greeted him as he undid the multiple locks and pushed the door open, his senses on high alert when he noticed objects strewn along the floor in the dark. Alpine knocked things over when she had her zoomies, but this was something different. The aura of the room was heavy, and when Bucky stepped inside he could feel the air thicken suffocatingly. He reached for his gun as he listened for any sign of someone in the apartment. When he didn't hear any voices, or heartbeats, he turned on the light switch. He nearly got sick when the smell drifted to his nostrils.

Blood.

It was quickly becoming apparent that something was very, very wrong. Bucky’s heart spiked in a flurry, and while he wanted to freak out, his tactical survival mindset switched on, his emotions temporarily waning. The former assassin and current sergeant trembled as he stepped forward, careful not to track his footsteps through the blood in the hall. If this was a crime scene… He pushed the thought away as he glanced down at a photo of the two of you, the red fluid staining the beautiful memory and drowning out the happiness.

He experienced hell, but it still didn't prepare him for the sight of your living room as he kept his gun trained. Everything from the table to your hard work lay in scattered pieces. The sight of destruction made his stomach turn. It was as if someone wanted to ruin the care put into this place. Even the air was colder, shadows taking over the normally bright space.

It was pure destruction.

Why didn't he get an alert of a break-in? His security wasn't as good as Stark's system, but he should've received something. He knew the signs of a robbery, but this was something else entirely. Whoever did this knew what they were doing and he feared what that meant for you.

"What is that?" he muttered, stepping over broken dishes as he saw something written in blood.

BLONDE

His brilliant and amazing other half tried to leave him a clue.

All his training and thought went out the window as he spotted the knife normally hidden under the couch soaked with blood feet away, screaming your name as he frantically searched for you. He choked on a sob as glass crunched under the boots, the bathroom in the same disarray as the rest of the apartment. The bloody footprints led away from the room. Was this where it started?

You put up a fight, didn't you, doll?

Fury surged through him at the thought of someone hurting and scaring you, for daring to put their hands on you. You weren't trained to fight and you didn't deal with pain well, but you had spirit. You had heart. But he wasn't here to defend you.

In hindsight, he should've been there to protect you.

"Meow."

Bucky pointed his gun at the ground as he spun around, a tear sliding down his cheek when he saw Alpine's normally white fur darkened red. He holstered his weapon before he crouched down to check her. Physically, she was fine, but he knew she was shaken up. So was he. "Hey. I've got you," he whispered, trying to soothe her and himself when she nuzzled his chest.

Keeping her close, he finally made his way to the bedroom. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine you were there, stretched out and smiling as you welcomed him home. He could join you, hold you, and know he was home. But all he saw was an empty bed.

You were gone.

In hindsight, he never should've gone on that mission.

"Who did this, Al? Where is she?" he asked, wishing his cat could tell him what happened. You were kind to everyone. You had no enemies. Everyone loved you.

I love you so much, doll.

Trying one last thing, he got his phone out to call you and hoped by some miracle you'd answer.

You didn't.

"Hi! You've reached the voicemail of…"

Hearing your cheerful voicemail unleashed his tears as he hung up and collapsed on the bed. The scent of your perfume lingered on the sheets as Alpine curled up in his lap and for a moment it was as if you were there to assure him you were hanging on. To not give up on you.

Never. I'd fight for you 'til my last breath.

It took him a moment to dial Steve's number, trying his best to keep it together as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was his fault. It had to be. He could blame himself later. For now, he had to find you. He had to bring you home. And he tear apart the blonde monster who dared to lay a hand on you.

"Hey, Bucky. What's going on?" Steve asked as he answered.

There was a beat of silence before Bucky let out a choked sob. He placed his hand over his mouth for a moment, whimpers slipping past his fingers before he got the words out.

"She's gone," he whispered, a tear falling on Alpine's head.

"What?"

"She's gone," he repeated as he cried, the sound drowning out Steve's voice. The last time he broke down like this was in Wakanda, the day he was free of Hydra's hold over him. That was the beginning of a new dawn, like when you entered his life.

But today was the beginning of a brand new nightmare.

Wherever you are, please, hold on.

Pain, by definition, is an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage. What you felt as you tried to open your eyes went beyond unpleasant, the physical anguish drawing a groan from you began to sit up. Your body screamed at your mind to lay back down as your vision slowly adjusted to the light, immediately recognizing that you weren’t in your home by the look of the dirty ceiling.

Where am I?

The last thing you remembered were the three strangers, your attackers, standing over your weakened body. You had no clue what shape you were in, but it couldn’t be great judging by the ache you felt just from waking up. You didn't know what you had done to receive their wrath, but they miraculously listened to your plea and didn't kill you. For a moment, you thought the men were going to leave your lifeless body for Bucky to find.

Bucky.

The physical pain shifted to your heart as you imagined him getting back to the apartment only to find it in ruin. You didn’t know when he would return from his mission or how long you were unconscious, but you had to get back to him. He needed to know you survived and he sure as hell wouldn’t just lay there if he were in your shoes. You had to be strong for him, even if you felt weak.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to push yourself up. The left side of your body protested, but you managed to get in a sitting position after a few seconds. Glancing down, you pulled the flimsy sheet away and expected to see random splotches of dried blood on your naked body. You found none because someone took the liberty of cleaning you and putting an oversized shirt on you.

Who did that?

The only relief you felt was there was no soreness between your legs. They kept your dignity intact and didn't taint that part of your soul. You would take the pain over that.

You gingerly touched your left shoulder, wincing as you felt the wrapping under the fabric. The brunette stabbed you, the flash of the memory in your mind making your stomach lurch. But was he the one who patched up your wound? There were bandages around your feet, too. Who removed the shards of glass? Or were they cruel enough to leave them there?

You fought the urge not to cry when you noticed the cuff around your left ankle attached to a chain. Sniffling, you slowly swung your legs to the side of the bed, the clinking sound momentarily distracting you from the ache as you set your feet on the ground. The musky smell of the filthy room filled your nostrils as you looked around. It reminded you of a basement, but worse. The average size room had no windows. A lone light in the ceiling. A toilet. A sink. And a bucket beside the bed.

The one someone chained you to.

Like a prisoner.

You braced your hands on your knees to keep your breathing even, but it didn’t stop your stomach from lurching again at the reality and stress of your situation. Combined with the ache of your body and the smell on your cell, you managed to grab the bucket just in time before you wretched. You hated throwing up, almost as much as you hated being in pain. You could never put your finger on why you couldn't handle it well. Maybe it was because you had little experience in dealing with it in comparison to someone like Bucky.

"Ouch!" you hissed, shoving the paper away on your desk. "Damn."

"You okay?" Bucky called from the kitchen, his footsteps already heading toward you.

"Paper cut," you pouted, showing him. His look of concern made your heart swell. "Will you kiss it better?

"Poor thing," he said, his tone sympathetic and not chastising as he helped you up. "I'll kiss it once I put a bandaid on it."

"Why do they hurt so much?" you asked as he led you to the bathroom, feeling silly for saying that. It was just a paper cut.

"Because paper is actually jagged and acts more like a saw than a knife blade," Bucky explained, giving your finger a kiss once he cleaned and wrapped a bandage around it. "And there are a lot of pain receptors in your fingers. Cutting through those nerve endings hurts."

"You're so smart," you smiled, your finger tingling as he gave it one more kiss. "I'm just a baby."

"You're not a baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel," he assured you, pressing his lips against yours. "Just be glad it wasn't your foot."

"How would someone get a paper cut on their foot?" you giggled when he smiled.

"It could happen. And if it does, I'll kiss it better."

“I’m okay,” you whispered again after you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you stood up and you couldn’t stop the whimper as you took a step forward. While you didn’t think they left any glass in your feet, it sure as hell hurt to put your weight on them. Your legs shook as you moved toward the sink, which was far from the door. It was slow going, but you put one foot in front of the other. You longed to feel Alpine rub her fur against your leg as you rinsed your mouth out with surprisingly clean water.

At least those bastards didn’t hurt her. Or did they?

You didn’t make a mad dash for the door, not wanting to do more damage to yourself, but you tried to move a little faster. Each step was more painful than the last and you nearly collapsed when the chain couldn’t give any further. You whined as you tried to stretch and touch the door. Of course, you couldn’t reach it, but you were so close.

Yet so far away.

"Come on," you whispered, unable to hold back a sob when you yanked on the chain.

For some reason, maybe it was fear or thinking no one would help, you didn’t scream. It wouldn’t do you any good when you didn’t have much energy to spare. You tried to think of what Bucky or any of the other Avengers would do in this situation as you wiped the tears away. Not like they’d let something like this happen to them. No, you couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t your fault.

The only ones to blame were the ones who took you.

You didn't get a chance to feel along the walls or look around any further when you heard three sharp bangs on the door. Stumbling backwards, you winced as you fell against the mattress and watched the door swing open. You couldn't stop your heart from pounding at the sight of the three men casually entering the room. The ones who ruined your home.

And took you from Bucky.

Your attackers stared you down as you cowered on the bed. They no longer wore the hoodies with the green symbols, each of them clad in black t-shirts and tactical pants. The brunette crossed his arms and looked all too pleased at your present state. The dirty blonde glanced around the room with a sneer, like he was too good to be inside of a dirty cell. The blonde who attacked you first showed no emotion as you hugged your knees to your chest.

Up close, and from your sitting position, the men were large and intimidating in stature. The room felt smaller from the space they took up, threatening to suffocate you. They easily tossed you around your home and you didn't want to imagine the damage they would do to you here. You were a doe in a den of wolves.

Would you manage to get out of the woods?

“About time you woke up, toy,” the brunette said, checking the chain to make sure it was still secure. "I was about three seconds away from dumping water on you."

“She looks like shit,” the dirty blonde commented with a small chuckle.

Heat filled your cheeks. You hadn't looked in a mirror, but of course, you looked awful. Felt like it, too. What did they expect when they nearly beat you to death?

"I guess we didn’t get to properly introduce ourselves, did we? I’m Maddox. That’s Damien. And that’s Kage. We already know who you are, but your name doesn’t really matter.”

You remembered them referencing each other as they attacked you, but you didn’t recognize them from anywhere. Bucky never mentioned them. They were distinct enough to stand out if he had.

Kage didn't acknowledge how you stiffened as he got close to you. Gently pulling on the sleeve of the shirt, he checked your shoulder and glided a warm hand down the other side of your body. Was he going to hurt you again? What about the others? You didn’t see any obvious weapons on them, but that didn’t mean anything. They were strong enough to beat you if you tried to fight. The thought had you hugging yourself tighter when you felt the blonde's breath on your neck.

“Told you the little bitch would puke,” Maddox said, nodding toward the bucket when Kage finally pulled away. You woke up chained to a bed in an unfamiliar place. How were you supposed to react? "You’re not much of a conversationalist,” he added, making you move back against the wall as he stepped closer this time.

There were plenty of things you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

"You’re really not going to say anything? That’s rude,” Damien said, nudging Kage with his elbow. “Why isn’t she talking?”

“Ask her,” the blonde replied.

“Why aren’t you talking to us?” Damien asked, crouching down and patting your cheek harder than necessary. You didn't want any of them touching you. “We know you’re not deaf, so speak.”

You didn't know much about him, but his tone came across as entitled. Like he expected people to jump at his word. "I’m scared," you admitted.

“You should be,” Maddox mocked, pulling Damien back a little. "But I don’t see what being scared has to do with you not talking. You were pretty mouthy with your whole ‘I’m still winning’ bullshit.”

"I’m scared because you almost killed me," you told them, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. Had they really forgotten that or did they not care?

"But we didn't. We let you live,” Damien said, like you should’ve thanked him for allowing you to still breathe. “Your vocal chords still work. Use them."

"I don’t want to," you whispered. All you wanted to do was go home and let Bucky know you were okay. “I don’t want to talk to any of you.”

The humor left Maddox’s face at your answer. "You say that like we give a shit about what you want. Talk, or we'll cut your tongue out if you refuse to use it."

Fear spiked at the threat, knowing it wasn't an empty one. The man stabbed you in the shoulder simply because you tried to fight back. "Okay, I will," you promised, though you weren’t sure what they wanted you to say. "Thank you for patching me up."

Even though they were the ones who inflicted the wounds, they could've easily let infection set in or not tend to them at all. Your statement didn't get much of a reaction from them though, minus the slight look of surprise on Damien's face. "You should be thankful. Put this roof over your head, too."

"Thanks," you said again. At least you had a bed. "Where are we?"

He burst out laughing. What was so funny? "We're in a room. And here we thought you were smart being a graphic designer and all."

"How did you know that?" you asked when his laughter died down. Did they discover that when they wrecked your place or did they do their research on you?

"Dami's great with computers and systems," Maddox smirked, clapping him proudly on the shoulder. The younger man preened at the compliment. "Your security system's lacking, but the camera loves you."

These monsters hacked your apartment cameras? Invaded your privacy? It was a violation that neither of you deserved. It was how they likely knew Bucky wouldn't be home to help you. "Why were you watching my place?"

"We have our reasons," Kage replied, not expanding on the topic.

Maybe, by some miracle, the cameras picked up on what happened to you. As much as you didn't want Bucky to witness your attack and kidnapping, it could give him clues to your whereabouts since you were only able to write one word in blood. "Are you going to let me go?”

"Kage, I think that hit to the head did more damage than we thought," Damien joked.

"Let's clarify for that baby brain of yours: We're not letting you go, so don't fucking ask,” Maddox stated.

Your heart sank the longer you sat there. "Is it money that you want?" you asked. Had they demanded a ransom from Bucky or anyone else for your release?

"Oh, please," Maddox rolled his eyes, as if you asked a stupid question. "Didn’t we already tell you this isn’t about money? Damien has more than he knows what to do with."

“Then what is it about? I haven’t done anything to you. To any of you,” you pleaded, wishing you were stronger. But was it weak to beg? To want to go free? “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

"How self centered to think this is about you."

"I-I'm not self centered,” you gently argued. You weren’t a perfect person, but you had a good heart and wouldn’t hurt anyone for the world. “I'm just trying to understand."

"Aww. Of course, you are. Because that's the kind of person you are, aren't you?” The brunette grabbed your chin with an iron grip, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper before he let you go. “So kind and understanding and willing to look past flaws? Living in your happy little bubble where nothing can touch you?"

Maybe, in some ways, you did live in a rose colored world. Your life was a happy one overall. Bucky shielded you from some of the things he did and the horrors he went through. Was it a means to keep you safe or to keep you blissfully unaware of the darkness of the world?

“Why did you attack me? You mentioned Bucky-”

You shrieked when Maddox kicked the bucket against the wall, his fingers flexing like he wanted to hit something. Damien had a similar look of fury on his face. Kage was the only one who didn’t physically react, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t upset. “Don’t say his fucking name,” he spoke above a whisper, something dangerous in his voice making you shudder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not wanting to anger them any further. Bucky worked hard to make amends for the actions he was forced to carry out, at least the ones you knew about. What was the history with these men? The green octopus on their hoodies briefly flashed in your mind. "If you won't let me go and you don't want money, why bring me here? Why didn't you kill me?"

"Because it isn't your time to die yet,” Damien shrugged.

It was both comforting and fearful that they didn't kill you. By bringing you here, they had some sort of plan. Besides violence, what else were they capable of and what would they do to you in the process?

"Death is a privilege earned through pain. And you need a hell of a lot more before you get there," Maddox chastised as you put on what you hoped was a brave face. Were they going to try and break you? No, you wouldn't let them. "Plus, you’re Damien’s first girlfriend, so we can’t get rid of you just yet."

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, his cheeks red as he glanced at his friend. "I’ve had plenty of girlfriends."

You wondered if he chained them up in dirty rooms like this, but chose not to ask.

"What, in high school?" Maddox chuckled.

"Fuck off. I’m not a teenager!"

As the two of them bickered, Kage continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression on his face. And his eyes? They took on an unnatural shade of blue that sent another shiver down your spine before you blinked, the irises going back to normal. Maybe the light in the cell was playing tricks on you.

His eyes lingered on you still as he addressed the others. "That's enough. Go over the rules."

Damien huffed, but conceded. Kage's words seemed to hold weight for him. "Since we're kind enough to let you stay here until we decide to get rid of you, you’ll do what we tell you."

Meaning, until they decided to kill you. Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you nodded. Maybe if you behaved, you could bide your time and find a way out of this. Or at least hold on until Bucky found you. “What are the rules?”

“So glad you asked,” Maddox smiled. “First rule. You’ll eat three meals a day, whatever we give you, without complaint. You don’t eat it, we’ll shove a fucking tube down your throat. Is that understood?”

You nodded again. You’d eat so you could keep up your strength. It was also better than starving.

“A nod isn’t a good enough answer. Say, ‘yes, Maddox',” he said slowly.

The urge to snap was quickly smothered by fear and uncertainty. “Yes, Maddox.”

“That’s a good girl,” he said, a darkness in his eyes that made your skin crawl. “Next rule. You’ll brush your teeth after each meal, but you’re not allowed to keep your toothbrush. Don’t want you trying to use it as a weapon.”

“Why do you want me to brush my teeth?” you couldn’t help but ask. They harmed you and kept chained you in a cell, but cared about your hygiene?

“Because we don’t want your teeth to rot," Damien answered, a wide smile on his face. "If you lose them, it'll be because we knocked them out or pulled them out.”

You refused to throw up in front of them, but you were pretty close as your stomach lurched. These men were sick, but they wouldn't have those smiles on their faces once Bucky got his hands on them. "Brush my teeth after each meal and give the toothbrush back when I'm done."

"Like a fucking parrot. So proud," Maddox muttered, holding up three fingers as you hung your head. Did they have to be so rude? "Rule three. Don't lay in bed all day, Get up, walk around, stretch. Just because you aren’t allowed to leave this room doesn’t mean you can be lazy while we work.”

You wished you were working. You longed to be at your computer, bringing your visions to life. Maybe you could piece together the damage they had done once you were free and pick up where you left off.

"I'll walk around," you said, wondering how long your feet would take to heal.

“And rule four. You don’t give us the silent treatment," Damien said, narrowing his eyes. "If we ask you a question or initiate a conversation, you're expected to answer. You don't get to ignore us after we let you live."

Did they think you owed them something for not killing you? That it was a privilege for you to live? "I'll talk," you said, only if you had to. "What happens if I break a rule?"

"We'll punish you," Maddox smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement as you shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Please, break a rule."

"We'll go over punishments later," Kage said, checking the time on his watch. "We need to feed her. Let's go."

You got unsteadily to your feet as they moved toward the door, attempting one last plea. "Please, let me go," you begged, immediately regretting your words when three pairs of eyes glared in your direction. You couldn't take it back, but you couldn’t stop either. “Bu- My boyfriend will come looking for me if you don’t. He'll get me out of here.”

All you wanted to do was go home.

“We’re counting on him to look for you,” Damien smiled.

“One last rule for now,” Kage added as Maddox walked toward you with a scowl. “Don’t say his name or ever ask to go back to him.”

Before you could back away, the brunette deliberately stepped on your foot. If that wasn't bad enough, he pushed a finger against your stitched shoulder. A wounded sound left your mouth as searing pain shot up and down your arm and leg. You were barely able to make out his face as black spots danced in front of your eyes.

"Order comes through pain," he said, pressing his boot in more as you sucked in a breath. He released your foot seconds later and harshly shoved you to the bed as your chest heaved. "You better get used to it."

"Kage just changed her bandages before she woke up," Damian snapped when you gripped your shoulder, your body still shaking a little.

"Oh, boohoo. She can lick up any of the blood she spills. She'll need the hydration," Maddox said before the cell door slammed shut, their footsteps fading into nothing.

Reaching for Bucky's dog tags around your neck for comfort, something to remind you that you weren't alone, you remembered they were gone. They took them from you. The floodgates opened, soaking the sheet with your tears. Your captors terrified you and you couldn't figure out their angle. They had an issue with Bucky, but hadn't asked any questions about him or the Avengers. They hadn't tortured you for any kind of information. What could you as a civilian tell them anyway?

What did they want?

I'll hold on, Bucky. I'll try and be strong for you.

Your boyfriend would find you. He wouldn't give up until he did. But it didn't stop you from crying in your cold cell. And it didn't stop the blinking red light in the corner capturing it all, documenting the next chapter of your nightmare.

Our poor reader. More to come soon. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

[writingwhywhywhy]

Taradiddle

A/N: Day 14 and I only have one left

I hate flowers. I had told him that one day in a meadow. At the time it was a truth but it was not a whole truth. I only started to partially hate flowers after I had started to cough them up. I had met him in this meadow. The extremely beautiful meadow was full of more beautiful red flowers. Those pretty red flowers were what I started to cough up.

We ended up sitting together often. His siblings and him had arrived almost out of nowhere. His younger brother and the princess got along fantastically well from the start despite the fact they were an unsuitable pair. As her lady’s maid and his big brother we spent several days sitting next to each other, “watching” over them. In truth we were only close enough to alert them if someone found us.

Sometimes their younger sister would be with us, but not often. She drew people towards her like a moth to a flame. I enjoyed her presence but did not like the collect of people she brought with her. Yet the moments I liked best were his rare smiles. One day after I saw one of his smiles, he told me his biggest secret. The day after I started to cough up petals. What a truly powerful name Elijah had been to cause that and be a big secret.

I was worried when it started. I only had a few friends. One of which was the princess Aurora, and she was quite busy. I wanted to turn to Elijah, but every time I tried I coughed up more flowers. I found help from my dear friend Wallace Winthrop. He was a kind man with gentle eyes.

We searched the library for months in our spare time. He seemed to ketch what I had, but his flowers were the blue ones I preferred. We found a hint that led us to an old witch. She was able to educate on the disease we both had, It was caused by unrequited love. She didn’t have a potion to rid us of the flowers, but she had a few solutions. Confessing to the one you loved, marriage, or a kiss were the easiest ways to get rid of the flowers. You could also give up and die. She offered a potion that would help us forget, but it would only prevent death not the flowers.

I had hope for the first time. I could be cured. In my joy I kissed the witch and Wallace on the check. I encouraged Wallace to confess to his love, like I was going to do that night. He looked at the witch and she shook her head. She almost looked very sorry and sad for him. Despite the fact we wouldn’t need it, she shoved a potion into his hands.

I went over the words I needed to say. I rearranged them a hundred times before I found Elijah. He was telling Aurora, Lucien and Tristan something. The four of them looked off. It was like a private moment that should never have happened. Something told me it was now or never, and that I should pick never. I called out to him anyways. He looked at me with fear and distress.

He seemed to appear directly before me. He grabbed my face with his hands and made me look directly at him. He locked eyes with me and in my bones I knew I wouldn’t get to confess. He said a series of stern words that made no sense but I knew I would follow. He told me to completely forget about his siblings and him. I was to go back to my room and try to check on Aurora in the morning. When I had failed to find her, I was to scream and wail in such a way that it made everyone come to her room. I was to blame Lucien. I was not to look for anyone I saw tonight ever.

Three months after Aurora and Tristan had been killed or kidnapped by Lucien, I was engaged to Wallace. For some reason, I cough up flowers. That day I coughed up enough to fill a flower stall. Since Aurora was gone, I had Wallace as my only friend. I had asked him months ago when I had started to cough up flowers. He said that was during my missing months.

The last few months before Aurora had been taken or killed, I had no memories of. All I could remember was the day I found blood in her bed instead of her. The shock seemed to have removed the last few months. I was the only one who never remembers the mysterious guest who stayed at the castle during that time, and who a lot of people think may have done that to Aurora. Wallace assures me that our courtship began during this time. I have no one to prove or disprove this, but why did I feel like my friend was lying to me?

On my wedding day, I coughed up enough flowers to fill a field. All of them are bright red flowers. I coughed up fewer flowers after I settled into marriage. A year after my marriage, I gave birth to my first son. I coughed up several flowers the first time I held him. I called him Elijah and never knew why or why the first tears I cried over him were ones of sadness

tagging @remembered-license @akshi8278

[chewingcyanide]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.

Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.

Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.

It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.

It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.

But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.

“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.

You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.

You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.

“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”

“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”

You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!

No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.

Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.

Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”

“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”

An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”

You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.

To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.

And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.

“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”

Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?

Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.

“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.

“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”

Luke laughed.

And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.

You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.

“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.

You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.

Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—

The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”

You snorted. “That’s not news.”

“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”

Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.

“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.

Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.

Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.

Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”

Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”

Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”

You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”

There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.

However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.

Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.

Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?

You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.

His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.

You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.

“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”

Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.

“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”

Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”

Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”

Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”

“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.

With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.

Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.

Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.

“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.

You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”

It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?

Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.

You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”

Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.

“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”

Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”

“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.

Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?

Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.

His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”

A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”

But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.

It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.

Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.

The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.

“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.

You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.

He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.

But he wasn’t Jack.

“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”

Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”

Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.

“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.

Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”

“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”

He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”

You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.

A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”

You thought briefly of faking fainting.

“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”

Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.

Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”

Your girl.

Your girl.

Your girl.

Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?

But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”

You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.

“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”

That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.

Present you could.

“Sure,” you said.

This summer would be different.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.

You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.

The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.

“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.

You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”

That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.

“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.

“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”

You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”

Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”

It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.

You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.

“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”

“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.

Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.

You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.

“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.

When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.

It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.

You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.

“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.

The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.

Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.

A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.

“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”

Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, “—that was Jack Hughes, right?”

Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.

You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”

You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”

Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”

You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”

More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.

“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.

You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.

You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.

Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”

You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?

The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.

Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.

The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.

Jack.

“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?

“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”

A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”

Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”

You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”

Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”

“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.

Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.

“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.

“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”

He knew very well what you meant.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”

Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”

“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”

After that, the line went dead.

Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.

“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.

It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.

“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”

A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”

You smiled.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

10:15.

The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.

The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.

“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”

You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”

“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”

“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

That son of a bitch.

Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.

You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”

Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”

Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”

You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”

Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.

What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?

The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.

You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?

Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.

“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”

Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.

“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.

Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.

You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.

“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”

Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.

“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”

Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”

That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.

You just wished that he did.

A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”

“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”

His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.

“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.

You frowned. “Yes, I am.”

Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”

You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”

He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”

Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.

Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.

Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”

He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.

You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.

Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.

All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.

Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.

“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.

The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.

Jack.

You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.

It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.

But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.

And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.

“Jackson?”

He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think—”

All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.

Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”

He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”

Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.

“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”

“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”

It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.

His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.

“Jack, please, just—”

“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”

“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.

“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”

Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”

Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.

Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.

Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”

And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.

“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”

He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”

“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”

Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.

Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”

“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”

Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.

Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.

It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.

Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.

You knew then where you stood.

“Why?”

He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”

Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?

“Bells, don’t.”

Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”

“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”

What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.

“Can’t what?”

Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”

The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”

The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.

He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”

“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.

“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”

“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.

“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”

Silence still.

“Stop the car.”

Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”

That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”

You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.

“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”

“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.

You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”

Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”

What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”

“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”

You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.

It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.

You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.

“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.

He said nothing back.

And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.

[ki-yomii]

baby, don't go | myg

➥pairing | ex!min yoongi x f!reader, mentioned f!reader x omc ➥word count | 5.1k ➥warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, squirting, hand job, finger fucking, porn w/ plot, angst w/ a happy ending, alcohol, exes to lovers, implied cheating (omc is a fuckboy), implied getting back together (reader & yoongi still low key love each other), idol!yoongi ➥summary | "hii can I request for an exes to lovers trope with yoongi 😭💖 lovee your ficss" you find out your boyfriend is cheating on you. thankfully your ex Yoongi is more than happy to distract you. ➥notes | hope you enjoy this anon 😘💚 omc & ofc are named after characters from one of my favourite k-dramas (personal taste iykyk)

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Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Standing beside you, your friend Kae-In takes a swig of whatever's in her cup - a sickly sweet concoction of fruity soju and Chilsung, most likely - and coolly surveys the backyard.

Small groups of people dot the manicured lawn, others lounging by the fire as they catch up with one another. It's been far too long since everyone's schedules aligned like this.

Years in fact, and there are several who came in from out of town.

Ordinarily you'd be over the moon, but as it were you can barely drum up enough false excitement for your best friend. Let alone others you haven't seen in forever.

Cocking her hip, Kae-In puckers her mouth. "The alcohol isn't even that good." She sighs, pretty face scrunching in disappointment. "Some party this is turning out to be."

Your hard cider, still more than half-full, hides an awkward, ill-fitting smile.

Having nursed your own drink for the last hour, whatever might've been enjoyable about it is long gone. Any refreshing coolness and bright, punchy taste replaced by amber liquid far past room temperature in your clammy palm.

In fact, the fizzy warmth and tart aftertaste of moldering apples turns your stomach with every half-hearted sip.

"At least there's cute guys here - some of them have really grown up."

Her breath ruffles the fringe of her bangs when she huffs, casting an eye to the glass bottle strangled in your grip.

"Are you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

You shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine - gotta be the DD just in case, y'know?"

"Girl, you're ALWAYS the DD. C'mon, you gotta live a little sometimes."

The nonchalant scolding stings, even if it's meant almost entirely in jest but it's not Kae-In's fault. She doesn't know. No one does. You couldn't muster up the courage to tell her the truth.

Not yet.

It's still too fresh. The wound too raw to go poking around with clumsy fingers.

"Don't be like that," you say with a faltering smile. "I'm having fun."

LIAR.

In actuality, you're a few frayed threads away from snapping. Stuck clinging to the edge of sanity by the fingernails as you battle back tides of crippling grief and blinding rage.

Have been since the first few messages came rolling in; questions with videos attached. There's a part of you grateful they reached out, while another altogether wishes you hadn't seen.

At least not until morning.

Would one more night spent in ignorant bliss have been too much to ask for?

Now you're riding a corkscrew of emotion, one that roils and chafes as ceaseless images parade past your eyelids with every blink. Each one as crisp and clear as the first time you pressed play.

The swirling lights, the heady thrum of bodies. A darkened corner. Your boyfriend of three years who said he couldn't make it. His hand sneaking beneath the hem of a cheap, glittery skirt. The dip of his head as he tucks into the curve of a neck, mouth open and smiling against bare skin.

You shudder, stomach rebelling. When you swallow, it's like trying to down buckets of sand.

Kae-In, none the wiser, flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that makes one of us. I guess." Shrugging, she turns to you and asks with a furrowed brow, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem... a little off."

Panic grabs you by the throat.

This was supposed to be a night full of fun and laughter. You're not supposed to be suffocating in a crowded backyard. On the brink of tears and trying to act like your life hasn't imploded.

Alone - by your own doing, which is even worse - to deal with the crushing weight of an inevitable breakup. The painful extrication of two lives entwined.

How a relationship three years in the making can be shattered in a minute and forty-five seconds is mind boggling. You had it all, and now...

You thought you were going to marry him.

The whiplash of it all almost makes you laugh but only so you don't break down in great, heaving sobs. A heartbreak you're not sure you'll ever recover from. Not for the loss of him but rather the decimation of your trust.

"I'm okay, promise! No need to worry."

The lie weighs heavy on your tongue. Tastes of ash as the words you really want to say hover in the back of your throat, a breath away. Only they can't make it past your lips, stuck to your teeth like hard candy.

"It's just been one of those days."

Your shoulders shoot towards your ears when she hums in response. Fingernails picking at the corner of the sweating cider label so you don't have to meet Kae-In's piercing gaze. You know she can see right through you, and you hate it.

What started as a fun night of planned mayhem turned into desperate distractions though this party has done very little in terms of brightening your mood.

Instead, watching everyone you know have a good time while you stand on the side lines, a stranger in a sea of people, feels more akin to rubbing salt in an open wound.

Miserable but acting like you’re not; waves of bitter loneliness threatening to pull you under because you don’t want to ruin the night.

“Is this because Chang-ryul couldn’t make it?” Kae-In pats your back sympathetically. “What bullshit excuse did he give you this time? I swear, he always does this. Just wait. I’m gonna hit him next time I see him.”

Oh, you don’t even know, you think. You’ll definitely want to do more than hit him.

Your heart throbs at the sound of his name, and isn’t that funny? Such a simple thing - nothing but syllables and letters strung together - and yet it has the power to unmake you completely.

Your tongue swells as you struggle to swallow. Words burn like bile as you force out a laugh; brittle, scraped up from the depths of your chest

“I’d pay to see that,” you croak. Your knuckles ache from how tightly you’re gripping the bottle. “But - no. C-Chang-ryul has nothing to do with it.”

You hate that you stutter over his name.

And perhaps that’s why you don’t want to tell Kae-In just yet.

She’s always hated him.

Always said he was no good. Just another fuckboy looking for beds to warm and hearts to break. And she’s right.

God, why does she have to be right?

You know she’d never hold it over you, but the thought of admitting it - out loud - makes you want to vomit all over your shoes. You need time to stitch your edges back together. Too raw and ragged.

You only just found out.

Your pride can’t handle any more hits right now.

She thumbs her nose with an inelegant snort. “Whatever you say. I could take him in a fight. That boy ain’t shit.”

Your laugh startles you - the first genuine one of the evening - and you shake your head fondly. A soft smile tugs at your lips.

“Oh, no doubt. But really, I’ve just been in a weird mood.”

The twist of her lips shows she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, but she’s kind enough not to press. Instead, she spends the next while distracting you with tales of her various escapades of the week.

And it helps for a time, truly.

But then you feel a buzz against your thigh, a ding echoing up from your pocket. Your stomach turns to lead, drops to your feet. Without looking at the screen, you pull the cell out of your pocket with shaky hands and quickly flick the ringer off.

Meanwhile, Kae-In watches silently with sharp eyes, and an even sharper frown though she declines to comment on your behavior.

“Anyway,” she continues once she has your attention, “as I was saying, did you see little Ji-Seok? Dude shot up like a tree! Last time I saw him he was as big as a bean sprout.”

You hum, worlds away.

“You could at least act like you’re paying attention,” she sucks her teeth before a smirk starts to slowly tug at her lips, “How about we talk about something - or someone - I know you’ll be interested in?”

Guilt sparks but slowly gives way to dread. You know that expression. Have gotten into trouble more times than you can count because of it.

Heart tattooing a rhythm against your rib cage, you sputter, “Oh no. No! Do not look at me like that.”

“C’mo-on!” she wheedles. “You’re absolutely right. We should be talking about,” she points at someone across the yard with her cup, “Yoongi instead.”

Currently leaning back against a stone wall making up part of the fence, Yoongi nurses a beer. Sticking out like a sore thumb now that he’s making it big as an idol, no longer as mundane as the rest of them.

Hushed whispers follow his every move, his bleached hair and flashy outfit commanding all sorts of covert attention.

The sharp cut of his shirt flatters his lean frame, the black leather jacket over top emphasizing the width of his shoulders. Dark jeans cling to his legs, as tight as a second skin, and causing your attention to stray where it shouldn’t.

And his eyes - oh, how you ever forgot is beyond you.

Dark, hooded, deep, and hungry; intense as they drag over the planes of your face like the caress of his fingers.

Shit.

You shove Kae-In’s hand down with a loud smack before she makes an even bigger fool out of you in front of another ex.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hiss. “That’s so rude!”

Not to mention embarrassing as fuck.

“Y’know,” she pauses to wiggle her brows and shoot you an impish grin, “I bet Yoongi would be more than happy to remind you of how rude he can be.”

You smother a groan in your hands, heartache temporarily forgotten. “I can’t believe you. Seriously. We’re no longer friends.”

“Bitch, you love me. And anyway, you know what I can’t believe?” She asks. “You!”

She gestures towards him again amid your flailing attempts to stop her. “Look at him. Like goddamn, you had it good.”

You take a sip of cider to give your hands something to do, nearly blanching at the warm liquid. Refusing to respond or look up as the topic of conversation watches like a hawk, gaze heavy.

How can he still make you weak-kneed after all this time?

He wasn’t even touching you and you still feel his presence down to your toes, setting your teeth on edge.

You hear your own heartbeat, your breathing shaky, sparks of awareness dancing along your spine. Heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks.

“Knock it off, I’m serious.”

“No, when are you going to get that Chang-ryul isn’t good for you?”

You swallow roughly, all the moisture leaving your mouth.

“Yoongi was the best boyfriend you ever had and treated you the way you deserve. And you know he’s never been interested in anyone but you. Hell, he’s barely looked away from you since he got here and the break-up was years ago.”

You shift, perspiration breaking out on your brow. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“When will you give it up?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head. “I know you regret how it went down between you guys. Now that he’s here - when you finally have a chance to make it right you just - just - ugh!”

Shooting her a weak half-smile and a shrug, you turn your attention to the small glowing fire pit.

Other’s are gathered around it, relishing in the glow of warmth that wars against the balmy summer breeze cutting through the air. Focusing on the dance and flicker of the flames is a needed moment of peace in entropy.

Though you know it isn’t going to last - not with a motormouth for a friend.

“So-o, what are you waiting for?”

“Sorry?”

She nods towards Yoongi subtly.

He’s finally busy with his own conversation, his gummy smile a quick flash of brightness. “When are you going to stick it to Chang-ryul and hop on that dick?”

“Oh my god!”

Kae-In shrugs. “What.”

“Don’t 'what' me. Seriously?”

A bony elbow digs between your ribs. You wheeze.

“C’mon,” she says, “You already know it’s good with him, and you deserve someone who’s there for you 110%. Someone who will treat you right. You know I worry about you.”

A wave of emotions threatens to completely drown you in that moment, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Her tender concern - her care - feels altogether too much and not enough.

As overwhelming as a tsunami; your heart a raw, exposed nerve.

All you’ve ever wanted was to be loved.

To feel like someone’s first and only choice.

You used to think Chang-ryul was someone who could provide that. What a fool you’ve been. Men like him don’t fall in love, they only pretend to.

They sneak inside your heart and take what they want from your bed. To him, you’re nothing but a fun little stop; a footnote, read and forgotten.

Your heart squeezes, shuddering from a pain your palm can’t soothe away.

It’s a terrible idea.

But maybe…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to lick your wounds with someone you know cares about you. Has always cared about you, and probably always will.

Clearing your throat, you consider his profile from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi's always made you feel wanted. Looked after you as though you were something rare and precious.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that.

Somehow, some way, he senses you looking because he pauses mid-sentence.

Turns to meet you head-on, tracing your face with what can only be called greed. Stopping short when they catch on the lip trapped between your teeth.

Something akin to hunger cuts across his face.

His brows dip low, a palpable heat flooding the inky depths of his eyes. Shadows deepen the lines of his face, the shifting firelight highlighting the flex of a jawline for days, burning halo gold in his hair.

It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with.

Usually preceding a hand-shaking, mind-numbing fuck session where his cock gets as deep as it can, rutting hard and fast, bringing you over the edge again and again until you’re left a wrecked mess. 

Your heart jumps, gallops headlong into a rapid beat.

You feel the rush of blood in your chest, every breath stuttered, stomach lurching. Shaking. Jittery. Tongue tied in a thousand knots and you haven’t even said a word.

It was much easier to pretend you weren’t so magnetically drawn to Yoongi when you weren’t riding the single’s train. When he was away in Seoul chasing after his dreams.

Now that he’s got downtime and your relationship has hit a brick wall? His mere presence sears you to the bone. Drags you in like a black hole.

And that?

So not good.

Swallowing roughly, you tear your attention away. You’d forgotten how intense and blindly bright he can be.

There’s a throb developing in your temple, sharp little darts of pain lancing through your skull. An impending headache if you don’t get some air that doesn’t taste like wood-smoke and cheap alcohol.

“I think I’m gonna head in for a bit. Need to get away.”

You shake your head and toss your bottle into the bin on the way inside, Kae-In shouting her acknowledgement with a thumbs up. Makes you promise to contact her in case of any change in plans.

Nearly everyone’s outside so it should be less crowded, more quiet. Most importantly, away from Yoongi and that penetrating stare which makes you more flustered than you care to admit.

Alas, the kitchen isn’t empty not for long.

You’re lounging against the counter, elbows bent, head rolled back and stinging eyes closed when the back door creaks open. Biting off a groan, you swivel your head to the side.

When you see it’s Yoongi who follows you in, you almost slip and brain yourself on the tile. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, heart beating out of control; scrambling into a more flattering posture while patting down your hair.

He chuckles, his nose scrunched and smile coy.

Seeing him happy always makes you tender, weak.

It seems that hasn’t changed a bit.

No amount of pictures or videos do it justice. Granted, Yoongi looks good any time, any day. But seeing his whole face light up like that in person? Utterly priceless.

It’s a struggle to breathe properly around the lump forming in your throat.

Of course, it has to be him.

Wiping your palms off on your thighs, you greet him with an awkward wave, “Uhhh, hey - hey there, Yoongi.”

Oh my god. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission.

“Y’know what,” you say, “I was just about to head back outside…”

As you pass by, he catches your arm.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, callouses dragging across your pulse. Your gut clenches, an unexpected bloom of warmth shooting through your core at the sight of his broad palm holding you captive.

His grip is firm but loose enough that you could pull away.

All it serves to do is remind you of nights spent beneath his body, the slide of sweat-slick skin, the taste of him heavy on your tongue, pussy filled to the brim with cock. His rough voice music to your ears, prideful as he gloats about how well you’re taking him.

"Leaving so soon?” He asks silkily.

A hard tug sends you slamming into the wall of his chest.

Air rushes from your lungs, your hands trapped against his collarbones. Firm muscles contract beneath your palms, his body shoving into your touch.

Twisting your fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt, you look at him from beneath your lashes. Your voice whisper soft when you say, “Yoongi…”

His dark eyes, the colour of a rich espresso, track the path of your tongue as you wet your lips. Fingers drag over the soft line of your neck, tracing your fluttering pulse.

Touch feather light as it stops by the corner of your mouth, pressing down on the swell of your lip.

“I haven’t said hello yet.”

Eyes wide, all you do is watch and wait with baited breath. Stunned into silence at his proximity. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, the smell of his expensive cologne nostalgic.

Your body recognizes his, responding all the same. The connection between you electric, overwhelmingly so.

His head bows, bleached strands brushing your forehead. The tip of his nose rubs yours. You get lost in counting his eyelashes, tracing the bridge of his nose to the carved slope of his cheeks.

Surrounded by him, the urge to resist what’s happening is nearly non-existent. Though you wish it wasn’t so easy to be caught by him.

“One of the guys said something interesting,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face; mint and beer. “It's about you actually.”

He flashes the smile that sends your heart soaring, your stomach flipping.

The slightest peek of a metal chain resting in the crook of his neck, surrounded by a very tempting patch of skin you want to taste, has you a little dumbfounded, absentminded.

“Oh?”

You really hope you don’t sound as frazzled as you feel but the haughty superiority of his slow appraisal of your body, the cocksure smirk on his lips states otherwise.

You really wish you could knock him down a peg but confidence looks amazing on him.

Always has.

“They said you have a boyfriend now. Is that true?”

You manage the slightest shake of your head in the negative - no, not anymore - your heart thundering in your ears.

Your breath catches in anticipation just before Yoongi closes the remaining inches between you with a hum of approval.

His head tilts to the side as he slots your mouths together in a kiss that’s got your toes curling. A filthy wet slide of lips, his the slightest bit chapped, send you under, liquid warmth filling your belly.

You inhale sharply, a moan vibrating against his lips.

Melting into the cage of his arms as his hands clamp down on your hips possessively, tugging you closer. Pressed stem to stern like this there’s no hiding the evidence of his desire.

He’s already half-hard in his jeans, his erection pressing against the zipper.

His eyes are hooded when he pulls away.

“Wanna take this somewhere a little more private, baby?” Yoongi asks, running his nose up the length of your neck and inhaling.

How is this my life, you think, dazed.

His hips grind forward against you so there’s no mistaking what you’re dealing with. “It’ll be just like old times.”

After an awkward fumble and an elbow to the side, you settle on the downstairs bathroom. He follows, quickly pinning you to the door while struggling to toss his leather jacket over the sink.

With a flick of the lock, you’re finally alone without any possible interruption. The door muffles most of the ruckus outside, leaving you hyper aware of every hurried breath, every low-throated murmur.

For a long while it’s nothing but a mess of lips, his body molding to yours. Easy to fall back into the old rhythms of your relationship as though you never left it.

He holds you down.

His fingers in your hair, on your jaw. His tongue gliding over your lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slide back out through his teeth.

You meet him kiss for kiss, your hands finding their way into his back pockets, tugging, groping, loving how he bucks up into the cradle of your hips in response.

A sweet ache settles low and deep.

“Yoongi,” you sigh. “Fuck, I forgot how much you like to tease.”

His thumb circles your nipple through your shirt, teasing it into a sensitive, stiff peak that shows through the thin fabric.

The caresses send soft pulses straight to your clit, the intensity getting stronger and stronger the rougher he is.

Before long, you’re aware of how achingly empty you are.

Yoongi nips the corner of your jaw.

“Never forgot how fun teasing you is,” he murmurs into the silk of your skin. “How wet you get for me.”

“Shit, you can’t just say something like that.”

“Can’t I?” His laugh, genuine and vibrant, sounds through his chest and into yours. “You can bitch all you want, but I know you love it.”

A smile, all teeth.

“Isn’t that right, baby?”

You glare at him weakly through half lidded eyes.

Two can play that game.

“Fuck!” Yoongi bites out, those impossibly dark eyes sliding shut when you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

His breath whooshes from him in a loud exhale, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s cheating.”

You smirk, feeling him throb in your hand.

”What were you saying, Yoongs?” Humming, you rub your chest against his, using a fingertip to trace the outline of his shaft. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Spearing you with a weighted look, Yoongi shoves you back into the door harder than before, the wood creaking under the pressure. Fist resting on the frame next to your head, his body cages you in.

Every shuddered inhale has the planes of his firm chest pressing into yours with the expansion of his lungs. His hips buck up into the softness of your palm with a grunt.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he cautions.

Competitiveness is a gift and a curse.

Not one to be outdone, you brush away any lingering reservations - which being honest, there weren’t many left. His relieved groan when you tug out his cock reverberates through you.

Shit, that’s so unfair.

Yoongi already sounds wrecked yet you’ve barely touched him. How the fuck are you going to get through this without completely combusting when he actually cums?

Thinking that maybe focusing on what you’re doing will help, you look down.

Big mistake.

Dark designer jeans circle his thighs, low enough for his cock to spring free.

Flushed, curved towards his belly, the head swollen and sticky with pre-cum. The shaft a decent handful that pulses when your palm skims the side.

Feminine appreciation at the sight has velvet heat pooling between your thighs, pussy clenching at the thought of him inside you.

Sex with him was always stupidly good.

All those veiled lyrics about his skill in the bedroom far too accurate for comfort.

Since you broke up, you haven’t been with anyone that comes close to his ability in getting you off.

He’s ruined you.

His face burrows into the crook of your neck with a low groan. His breath puffs across your skin, shivers racing down your spine.

Low voice full of grit, he says, “Shit, baby, that feels…”

Hot palms anchor themselves to your hips.

“Wait a sec,” he says, body twitching with aborted thrusts, strong fingers kneading. “Wanna do you too.”

Heart jumping, you let go of him long enough to yank your shirt over your head and kick off your pants before returning your hand to his cock.

In the meantime, he rucks his shirt up under his armpits. You can’t help but make a noise in the back of your throat as the length of his torso is exposed.

All that soft, smooth skin stretching over his stomach as he flexes. You have to fight down the urge to run your tongue along the outline of his hip.

Mouth slack, Yoongi pushes up the cups of your bra. Watches laser-focused on the bounce of your tits as they drop free, subtly swaying with every jerk of your wrist.

His hips fuck up into the circle of your hand while one of his own inches down to brush the crease of your thigh. Your hips tilt towards his touch, desperate for friction.

“Oh god.” He moans, calloused fingers dipping between your folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

You wiggle, whining against his lips as you meet in a messy kiss. His touch is light, gentle, barely there as he traces the length of your slit.

You’re trembling, skin too tight, body feverish. “Stop teasing, I want you inside me.”

Those seem to be the magic words because Yoongi gives a rumble of approval, using his thumb to spread slick over your swollen clit in tight circles.

Heat coils in your belly, electricity racing down your spine. Your thighs splay as wide as they can, making room for his hand.

His knuckles brush your skin.

Dipping down to your entrance, Yoongi works on spreading you open with shallow thrusts until you take three fingers comfortably.

Your needy sighs and soft moans bounce off the walls.

His low murmurs right in your ear as the pads stroke your walls, his wrist flexing. He’s hitting all the right spots, still remembering how to get you off years after the fact.

You’re quickly turning weak-kneed and wet eyed.

“Fuck, Yoongs, right there,” you keen, baring down on the digits nudging your g-spot, your grip tightening around his shaft.

You grind your palm over the swollen tip, gathering beads of pre-cum.

He hisses, thrusts off beat.

Fingers nudge up suddenly, pressing deep and holding in retaliation. White lightening crackles behind your eyelids, thighs twitching, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty girl.”

Your world narrows down to every filthy slide of his cock in your hand, every gush of slick as he stuffs fingers into you over and over again until you’re a writhing mess against the door.

Your nerve endings are alive with pleasure, the stimulation too much and not enough.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, doubling his efforts, wrist working faster.

Dapples of sweat litter his brow, his eyes staring into yours, glazed over and lusting.

Fuck, he’s handsome like this.

It’s a little embarrassing how bad he’s got you but between the blissed-out expression he’s wearing, the weight of him in your hand, and how full you are, you know this orgasm is going to be quick, messy.

The pace of his hips pick up, his breath hitching in his throat, length twitching and thickening in your grip.

He’s getting close, his touch rougher, more force behind the snapping thrusts of his hips, teeth nipping at the side of your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you say, breathless, twisting your hand on the upstroke. He smothers a grunt in your shoulder. “Give it to me.”

It doesn’t take much more to bring him to the edge.

A particular spread of his fingers has you jolting, a sudden, intense spike of pleasure shooting right to your clit.

In turn, you unintentionally massage his cock, knuckles bumping the underside of the swollen head.

He’s a goner.

Cumming with a low, wounded whine and a shuttered thrust, Yoongi smacks the door with his free hand. Thick spurts of jizz make an absolute mess of his stomach and your knuckles.

Sagging forward like a doll with cut strings, all his dead weight bears down on you.

He pants, small tremors wrack his frame. “Baby,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I missed you s’much.”

“Missed you too,” you reply, using nice, languid strokes to wring the last of his orgasm out of him. “More than I thought I did.”

In lieu of a response, Yoongi wiggles his fingers inside you, rebuilding the rhythm he lost. He flutters them, curls up against your walls, peppering kisses along the length of your jaw with a hum.

Slick drips down his wrist, the sloppy sound of him finger fucking your cunt blending with a surge of desperate moans.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Yoongi says against your chin. “So fucking hot, wanna see you cum.”

Your back arches, your fingers digging into the width of his shoulders, head smacking the door with a dull thud.

“Can you do that for me?”

Nodding frantically, you fall apart with a broken gasp. Clamping down so hard he can’t move, the cramps softened by the throbbing heat washing over you. Blood rushes in your ears as your pussy gushes around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, tone heated. “You did so well for me.”

By the time your brain comes back online, you’ve forgotten all about Chang-ryul and the constant vibration of your phone where it’s shoved - forgotten - into your pocket.

The only thing that matters is Yoongi with his tender kisses and greedy hands.

[sanguineterrain]

Hello madame terrain, I have been thinking about boxer!jason for some time now and I'm wondering if you have any thoughts about him? if not that's totally okay too ☺️ love all your writing!!!

lol hi, madame terrain is adorable 💕 also boxer jason is big brained!!! let's do it ;)

boxer!jason todd x gn!reader. reader is an apprentice to a ringside doctor (leslie thompkins). tw creepy OMC intimidates reader, jason protects/defends r, fluff, my attempt at boxing stuff.

****

Leslie said she'd be back in an hour.

You're currently at the thirty minute mark, hoping for a natural disaster, an angel, anything, because...

"Doc gives me stuff for my pain all the time," Keith says for the third time. "It's real simple."

Keith Dixon is one of the gym's regular fighters. You haven't seen enough matches to judge his fighting, but you can confidently say that his people skills are in the toilet.

He'd barged into the office ten minutes ago and had refused to leave even when you said Leslie was out.

You need to make a break for it.

"You have to wait for Dr. Thompkins," you say, lifting your chin. You won't give in and risk losing this job. No way in hell. "I can't administer medications. I'm not licensed."

Keith rolls his eyes. He's a hothead, new to Gotham. Likes to fight. Likes to fight mean.

"Look, you're new. I'm just giving you a heads-up on how things work around here," he says, backing you up further. You're nearly against the wall.

Where the hell is Leslie?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dixon, but I can't prescribe painkillers without her supervision."

"Uh-huh. Know what I think? I think you're just not cut out for the ring," Keith says, cornering you against the cabinet. "Cute thing like you shouldn't be hiding in an office. The Doc ought to know better..."

"Is there a problem?"

The new voice makes you flinch, just a little. Keith pulls back, posture easy but guarded. The second guy holds himself similarly. He's also well-built, clad in a gray tee and black sweatpants. His hands are wrapped.

"J-man," Keith says, daggers in his teeth. "Man, I thought you were benched for the week. You meet our new assistant? They're still getting used to how things run around here."

The mystery man looks at you. His eyes are a lovely teal.

"Is he botherin' you?" he asks.

"I—" You swallow. "I was just explaining to Keith that I can't administer medicine without Dr. Thompkins."

Keith huffs. "Jason, tell 'em how this works."

Jason faces Keith. They nearly match each other in height and bulk. You hope to God they don't decide to brawl here and now.

"I think you're the one who needs a reminder, Dixon," Jason says coolly. "Seems pretty straightforward to me. You need to wait for the Doc. So was there something else you needed?"

Keith's mouth presses into a line. You can tell he's got about a hundred ugly thoughts on his tongue right now.

"Nope," he grits out.

"Mm. Then step off."

Keith obeys. You slip out of the corner.

"I'll come back," he says.

"When the Doc's here," Jason adds. It doesn't sound like a suggestion. "If y'need a reminder of her schedule, I don't mind giving you one."

Keith looks at you. You hold his gaze, heart pounding.

"Of course," he says, all false charm, and pushes past Jason. "See ya in the ring, J.T."

You can't relax even after Keith leaves. Jason remains in the doorway. You close your eyes at the thought of dealing with another fighter. It's not bad with Leslie here, but this is your first time alone. It's already a disaster.

Obviously, none of the fighters respect you like they respect Leslie, even after three weeks of you working here. You don't even know all of the fighters.

"Hey." Jason doesn't move from his spot as he asks. "Y'okay?"

"Yes," you say, keeping your back straight. "I'm fine. Do you need medical attention?"

"I just came to get some more wraps. But I can get 'em at home."

His voice is softer now that Keith's gone.

"No need," you say. "That's what I'm here for."

You get a roll of tape from the drawer. It takes you three tries to pull the edge out. You drop it twice.

You feel Jason's eyes on you. You keep pulling the tape, but it won't comply.

"I got it," he says. "I can wrap myself. Toss it here."

You pause, tape half unfurled. "Dr. Thompkins told me to do all wraps myself."

"Leslie's cool. I won't tell her, anyway."

You shake your head. "Why don't you want me to wrap your hands?"

Jason glances to the side. He leans against the doorframe, purposely casual.

"'Cause Keith's a big guy. And I'm a big guy. And your hands are still shaking."

You tighten your grip on the tape.

Jason gestures to the office. "This is your space. I won't come in if you don't want me to. That's not how this works."

"It's... it's the job," you say, startled. "I don't—I've heard that Keith's rough with everybody."

"Yeah, well, he's an asshole. You shouldn't have to be rough back. Good fighters turn it off outside of the ring. I don't want to make you feel small. Alright?"

Tension bleeds out of your spine. You no longer feel like prey.

"It's easier if I wrap them for you," you say, and turn your back on him to fetch the antiseptic.

The tiles behind you creak as Jason hesitates for a moment. Then he walks in and sits in a chair, so you're higher than him.

He looks up at you. He really does have beautiful eyes. His eyelashes are dark and delicate. There's a faded bruise on his cheek.

He's boyishly handsome, with a mouth that looks like it smiles a lot.

"Do you also fight here?"

He nods. "Since I was eighteen. Been here a while."

You take one of his hands in both of yours. Jason's already thrown out the old tape. His knuckles are cut up. They're covered in scars. His fingernails are short and neat.

His hands are big, far bigger than yours. Veins feed into each other from the backs of his hands up his forearms.

You take out the antiseptic spray.

"Might be cold," you warn.

"'S okay."

You spray his skin. Jason doesn't even flinch.

"Your hands are really soft," he says.

"Oh, thank you. I use Isley's Salve. Works great."

Why did you share that?

Jason's mouth quirks. "Yeah? Might have to try that. My hands have seen better days."

"I have some in my bag." You let go of the half-done wrap and dig through your backpack. You pull out the small tube of salve and squeeze some onto his hands.

Jason is quiet and still as you rub in the lotion. He's pliant as you finish the wraps, letting you turn his hands over. You pull the wraps tight.

"All done," you say, face suddenly warm like you've been caught doing something you weren't supposed to.

He flexes his hands a few times. "Thanks. You're good. I can see why Leslie chose you as her apprentice."

You shrug. "Anybody can wrap hands."

"Dunno. I've seen some pretty shit wraps in my time."

"Oh. Well, um, I'm here most of the time, so feel free to come by and get your wraps changed."

He hums. "Sure. Don't worry 'bout Keith. I'll take care of it."

Your eyes widen. "I don't want more trouble..."

"You won't get trouble, I promise. We don't tolerate that here. 'Sides, he's overstayed his welcome."

You nod. "Okay. Thank you, Jason."

"No need for thank you's. Y'alright getting home?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Leslie's dropping me."

Jason nods, then picks himself up. He pauses like he wants to say something else, but he strides out of the room like he's in a rush instead.

"Well, um. G'night," he says over his shoulder. "Take care."

It's about fifteen more minutes until Leslie returns.

"Everything alright?" she asks in a tone that tells you she already knows the answer. "I ran into Jason on my way in. He said Keith Dixon gave you some trouble. I'm sorry I took so long. Are you alright?"

"You ran into—I thought Jason went home for the night."

Leslie looks like you've just told her the sky is red. "He wanted to make sure you were okay. So he waited till I came back. Are you okay? Did Keith hurt you?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm alright. Just shaken up. He's a bully. Wanted painkillers."

Leslie frowns. "He won't bother you again. I'll make sure you're not alone."

"It's okay. I mean, Jason was there."

She nods. "Mm. He's a good boy. I know his father."

"Yeah, he, uh, was nice. I wrapped his hands."

Leslie raises an eyebrow. Your shoulders rise.

"What?" you ask. "You said to practice my wraps."

She shrugs. "Nothing, nothing. I did tell you that. I'm glad you got some practice in."

You follow her to her car. Soon, Leslie pulls out of the lot.

"Leslie, do you mind if we stop at CVS?"

"Sure. What for?"

You feel for the little tube in your pocket.

"Need more Isley's Salve... I'm, uh, running low."

[itiswormtimebaby]

Pairing: Dark Mafia!Bucky x fem reader CW: DARK. dom Bucky, sub reader, not safe or sane, slut shaming, degradation, implied violence (against omc), boot stuff/licking, dubcon (to be safe), implied voyeurism

“You let him in my pussy?” 

Prostrated in front of him you don’t dare lift your head from its position- forehead pressed into the cold concrete floor between your spread arms. Bucky circles around behind your prone form, kicking your legs further wide, knees skittering painfully across the rough surface. “Answer me.” His voice is as lethal as the gun on his hip.

“N-no.” Your voice is weak in the presence of his ire, any good time feeling you’d had earlier in the night has gone cold, as cold as the arousal drying on your puffy lower lips. An undignified yelp escapes you unbidden as the toe of one of his expensive leather boots settles against your cunt, swiping across it before he moves to stand in front of you. At his command you lift your head up, allowing him to slide the offending object into your line of vision, your slick marring its otherwise pristine polish; “Then why are you so god-damn wet?” You shake your head weakly, knowing there was no correct answer, he wouldn’t believe a placating lie no matter how sweetly delivered and the truth would only- 

“Clean it up.” Tearfully you begin to kitten lick across the soiled surface, ashamed at the fresh wave of arousal that the action insights within you, knowing any seconds you’d be leaking all over the floor. You vaguely wonder with a filthy thrill if he’d have you clean that as well. He doesn’t speak again until he is satisfied with your work; “Assume the position.” Like a puppet on a string your body jerks into place, legs folding under you until you are on your knees, bare ass cheeks pressed into the heels of your feet, hands limp against your thighs, neck bent. 

“Don’t make me ask again. Speak.”

“He…he touched me.” 

A fresh wave of slick gushes from your neglected opening as you revel in the fear, the shame, the desperate desire that being pinned under Bucky’s gaze is causing you.

“He got you wet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“He touched my pussy?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

“How many fingers?” 

“SIR!”

Bucky scowls at your tone, at your audacity, he gives you everything and you think he’d be okay with you going on dates? On letting someone besides him touch you? 

“Fine,” He grits out between clenched teeth, “You don’t want to tell me?” 

The room is deathly quiet aside from soft schlick of your thighs rubbing together, you can’t tell what he’s doing and won’t risk looking around to try and figure it out. It doesn’t matter, the answer becomes clear soon enough. “Steve?” The muffled voice of his right hand man alerts you to the fact that he’s on the phone, “Break all ten.” 

Fingers, you realize, he’s talking about your dates fingers. 

“Then bring him in.” 

Terror, arousal, shame, regret- it burst forth from your body in the form of tears.

Bucky crouches down so your eye level, calloused fingers gathering the salty droplets and sucking them into your mouth; “You want to act like a whore, Doll? Then I’ll fuck you like one. That sorry son of a bitch is going to see exactly who owns this pussy, and if you ever so much as breathe in his direction again I won’t just break his fingers, I’ll take both fucking hands.”

[wild-karrde]

I HAVE to rec the fic What Blooms in Thunder by the wonderful @rowansparrow.

Just, bloody fantastic. I’ve taken -20 emotional damage (in a good way) and just everything about the story, the characters, the writing; it’s just top shelf. A must read.

YES YOU ABSOLUTELY DO HAVE TO REC THIS FIC. Ro COMPLETELY WRECKED ME with the final chapter this week. There was gasping, shouting, desk pounding, and I'm still in my 3-5 business day recovery period. The world that Ro has created is just so complex and intriguing and the characters? ALL TOP NOTCH. I can't say enough good things, truly. I am EAGERLY awaiting the next installment of this series with the grabbiest of grabby hands.

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)