Recently Got Reminded Of Jason’s “hello Bed, Hello Pillow,” Line And How Deeply I Feel That Reflects

hi, pepp!!! i just wanna say that your art is sososo pretty ;>∆<; so i was wondering if we could get a disheveled dr. ratio after being smothered in lipstick kisses on his face (and neck maybe.... #scandalous)?? i think he deserves lots of smooches... even if he'd try to deny them at first. thank you!!! and i hope you're having an amazing day. your art & friendly vibes give me so much serotonin ♡

Hi anon!!

Ty!! I hope you have a great day as well! I’m happy that my art gives you a shot of serotonin :)

I’ve decided to make your request into a comic!

There’s space for more kisses!!! For you!!

the sillies

Batman Wayne Family Adventures!

Tsukishima thinks breaking up with you is the stupidest thing he's ever done.

Despite completely rationalizing it in his head, watching his grades slip as you two grow closer and closer, the only reasonable thing to do is break it off, right? You've started to become a distraction- an obstacle in his path to his future.

It's not like you two were dating for long- nothing important happened in the 6 short months you two were together. So even as his heart cracks as he watches you silently sniffle and leave his car, his grip tightens on the wheel, he sits in silence as he drives away.

His schedule becomes mundane once again, his room silent instead of the sounds of your laughter, or the videos you'd watch on your phone with the volume high enough to catch his attention. His meals continue without a dessert, ones that you'd normally bring nearly every other day. You aren't at his games, and he still finds himself scanning the crowd to search for you nonetheless.

Against his hopes and to his dismay, his grades get worse. He's losing sleep and shows up late to practice, his bitter mood bringing down the team. No one nearby is safe from a snide comment or an instigating remark.

Every single time he closes his eyes, turns around the corner- he sees you. He hears your laughter echo in the hallways, but every time he (not so subtly) quickens his pace to get a glance- you're gone. It makes him wonder if you were there in the first place.

He's nearly yanking at his hair, groaning in frustration before sighing, letting his hands flop onto his desk as he glances at the picture next to his laptop- the only photo he's ever bothered to frame. You're smiling up at him with a bouquet of flowers he'd gotten you for your birthday, gleaming as the sun highlights your eyelashes.

-

The winter chill has set in and the snow lightly falls outside your window, you almost consider calling Tsukishima to cancel your date- maybe postpone to the next weekend. Before you could even open your phone, a firm knock on the door interrupts. You're greeted by Tsukishima, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a drink tray in another.

You take the flowers from his hand before opening the door wider to let him in, "I was just about to text you!"

"About what?"

"If we should've canceled- I didn't think you'd want to drive or even walk in this weather."

He nearly glares at you, almost offended at the proposal. "It's your birthday. Why would we postpone it?"

You shrug, looking down at the flowers before setting them down, taking his coat to hang it up before turning back to hug him.

"Thank you. The flowers are beautiful."

He lightly pouts and looks away, not quite used to how open you are with physical affection. Still, his arm pulls you closer and his face turns red, "It was the first one I saw."

A total lie, he spent a good hour and a half in the flower section before buying different sets and arranging one himself. You didn't have to know that.

You admire the flowers one more time, admiring the pinks of the roses and the light purple dusting the edges of the snapdragons, down to the way the baby's breath flows alongside the greenery. Your smile is bright as you look up at Kei, noticing how he takes his phone, the shutter of his camera snapping quickly before he deftly puts his phone away, turning to hand you the warm chai he grabbed before he came in.

-

The dried bouquet of flowers on your windowsill is haunting, menacing almost. The sight of them alone makes your stomach bubble and churn at the memories that accompanied them.

It's darker now- the petals brittle and fragile. You had made the effort to dry them and immortalize their memory- an action you've come to regret since he broke up with you. They still remain perched delicately on your windowsill, the vase tied with a ribbon and a note that had "happy birthday" in his handwriting.

The days passing by had felt like a blur- meshing together as each day grows more repetitive. Kei was no longer nearby to tease you, to berate you for getting questions on the homework, to hold your hand as you walked through the freezing winter to school. The mindless chatter and gossip from your friends went stagnant in your head, all you could think about was Kei.

Spring has come to a full bloom, the cherry blossoms littering the sidewalks as you stroll through the streets. The "ding!" of the cafe bell rings as you walk in, only to be met with a familiar head of blonde hair, slightly mussed and unkept.

You almost wonder if you should turn around and leave- but you decide against it. He broke up with you for a normal reason. His grades were slipping and he's just trying to be considerate about his future. He wasn't mean or unkind, there wasn't any reason to hold a grudge or hide from him.

You take your spot behind him in line, thankful he doesn't peek behind. It's not until he moves to the side and hears you ordering does he turn around to see you.

And oh, is he drinking in the sight. You're as beautiful as ever, hair cascading down the back of your sweater, half held up by a clip to get a clear view of your face. He can't decide if he's relieved or upset to see you. Tsukishima stares, nonetheless, tired eyes locked onto you as you happily conversate with the barista before eventually moving to the side as well, locking eyes with him.

Tsukishima is normally well kept, but today he looked- for lack of a better word, like shit. If his hair wasn't a dead giveaway, the bags under his eyes were. His shirt was crinkled and half tucked in, and his zip up had a mustard? stain on the left side.

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod of acknowledgement before looking off in a different direction, and Tsukishima swears his world ended. It was what felt like the worst day of his life and the person he wanted most won't even glance at him.

It's his fault, either way.

He feels like a creep as he waits outside the cafe, waiting for a chance to talk to you. Usually quick-witted and composed, Tsukishima struggles to figure out what to even say to you. Why he wanted to talk to you in the first place.

As you exit the cafe, he watches you briskly walk away, barely noticing him as your face is buried in your phone. Kei barely thinks as he follows behind, grabbing your wrist to turn you around.

When you look back up at him, his heart swells at the sight of your face. He's stuck once again, hand dropping to his side as he looks at you as if it's the last time he'll ever see you again. It might as well be, if he fucks up this chance.

"Hi."

You look at him hesitantly before smiling, "Hey."

"How are you."

A laugh almost escapes your lips at how stiff he is, frozen still as his brown eyes bore into your soul.

"I'm doing alright, how are you?"

"Terrible."

Your brows furrow as he looks down and to the side nervously. Eyes slightly flitting as he waits for a response.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

It's silent. Painfully silent. He wishes you would start talking and never shut up like you used to, for something, any kind of response. He's never felt so strained while talking to you. He's never been this stuck, this frozen while standing in front of you.

"I should have never broken up with you. I'm sorry."

You stiffen and Kei's heart drops to his ass, knowing he definitely fucked this up. You're never going to want to talk to him again and he won't be able to see your face, tell you where you misplaced your things, to hear your voice first thing in the morning once he leaves his house. He's already gone this far- his accidental blurt put him six feet under. It probably wouldn't hurt to dig a little more.

"You weren't the problem. You're not a distraction. I've done exponentially worse in everything, and my teammates are sick of me. I haven't been able to sleep because every time I try to close my eyes; I think of you and how stupid I was to break up with you because I thought you were some stupid distraction."

You're still stunned a little bit, and to his surprise, you laugh.

He thanks whatever god might exist, because he thought he might never hear it again. He doesn't even care if it might be at him or the situation, all Tsukishima can do is admire as you catch your breath.

Tsukishima swears he might actually become religious, because instead of breaking him off and walking away, which you could have done, you invite him for another drink in the cafe.

-

Tsukishima's voice is soft as you dry his (now freshly cut) hair, "I love you."

You snicker as you throw the towel at his face, "Love me so much that you broke up with me?"

He can't argue, so he rolls his eyes and pulls you in for a kiss to shut you up.

Old Faces

Characters: Albedo, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,151

Warnings: None

Premise: In which the reader runs into their ex

Author’s Note: Did something a little different by changing which character perspective it was for different prompts. I found it a good way to explore this particular prompt.

Okumaya devam et

Service Dog Johnny Headcanons:

Johnny is a service dog to Reader as well

Why Simon chose Reader

Why Simon only 🖐️ 🍆 with Johnny there

Johnny/Reader kink dynamic

Pre-sex briefing

Why Johnny thinks he’s unlovable

Why Johnny and Simon joke about sex with each other

Why Simon doesn’t touch himself with Reader

Simon/Johnny romantic differences

Johnny's Love

Johnny’s motivation and beliefs about the situation

The first time Simon told Reader about his trauma

Simon’s support system

Simon’s trauma makes it hard to keep up sometimes

Simon getting jealous

Johnny is okay

Who’s getting cast aside?

Missing piece of the pentagram

Simon’s house

What Simon whispered to Johnny

Rough sex between Simon and Reader

Catching feelings

Ghost is a war criminal

Service Dog Johnny Drabbles/Bonus Scenes

"First time she ever showed me--"

Being silly with Bob

Cigarettes

Simon therapy

Pet names

Girlfriend

Johnny POV Part 1 (Laney)

Johnny POV Part 2 (Falling for her)

Johnny POV Part 3 (Family Day)

Johnny POV Part 4 (Rehab)

Johnny POV Part 5 (You’re a good person)

Johnny POV Part 6 (Just a graze)

Johnny POV Part 7 (Ghost in the bedroom)

Johnny POV Part 8 (Crafts)

Johnny POV Part 9 (Baby)

Johnny POV part 10 - Johnny comes over

Johnny POV Part 11 (Tinder)

Johnny POV Part 12 (Rookie)

Simon POV Part 1 (No bra)

Simon POV Part 2 (butterfly in the garden)

Simon POV Part 3 (help me help you)

Simon POV Part 4 (BJ)

Simon POV Part 5 (Shoelace)

⬅️ Back to Service Dog Johnny main page

I'm BEGGING for a continuation of the drabble where Reader breaks up with Jason

Thinking of him injured and alone after almost dying is killing me 😭

this got more serious than i intended lol but i hope you like it anon! finally there is resolution!

jason todd x gn!reader. tw jason almost dies, hints of self destructive behavior, guilt, communication (i am forcing the batboys to be good communicators!!!), injured jason, dick being the bestest goodest big brother.

pt 2 to this

****

It's extremely stupid for you to be out this late, but if you hadn't left tonight, you'd probably never leave. And you needed to leave. You can't sustain whatever you and Jason had.

Asking him to quit would've been unfair, and you know he won't do it. This city pulls him back in every time.

"Where ya headed?" the cab driver asks. He doesn't look too shady. He'll definitely overcharge you, but at this point, you don't care. You just want to go home.

"Gotham Heights." You don't give him the exact address, but someplace close enough.

It's begun to rain. You try not to think about how you just left Jason. You turned off your phone as soon as you closed the door; you know he's probably calling like crazy, but as soon as you answer, you'll go back.

And you can't.

You blink back tears. You can't keep watching him throw himself into worse and worse danger. Jason fights crime like he'd sooner let it kill him. One day, it will.

The car pulls up to a stoplight. You're dozing; it's nearly eleven o'clock after all.

Suddenly, something lands on the hood. You jump, heart dropping.

"What the fuck?!" the driver squawks.

Nightwing perches on the hood of the cab. He lightly taps the windshield.

"Evening. Mind pulling over?" he asks pleasantly. "I'm actually their designated driver tonight."

"Nightwing!" you snap, hot with anger. "Get off the car!"

"You shut off your phone and left," Dick says, those white lenses zeroed in on you. His tone is cutting. "He's losing his mind. You know we don't go dark."

You close your eyes briefly. "We almost lost him, 'Wing," you croak.

"So your instinct was to leave?"

"Alright, that's it! Get outta the car," the driver says, unlocking the doors. "Fuckin' crazies..."

Dick opens the door for you and tosses a roll of twenties on the seat. The cab speeds off. You wrap your arms around yourself as he guides you to the sidewalk.

Several emotions cross Dick's face, before he lands on one. Sympathy.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

Your face crumples. "He died, Dick."

"I know," he says, holding your elbow. "I was scared too. But he's okay. He's the toughest guy I know."

"How am I supposed to keep him alive?" you ask desperately. "I can't."

Dick frowns. "That's not your job. I wouldn't expect that of you, and I know Jason doesn't either. None of us do."

You press your palms to your eyes and start to cry for real.

"I just want him to be okay. Every time he goes out, I think it'll be the last time I see him. I love him too much to lose him, Dick."

Dick hums. "Have you told him this?"

You shrug, wiping your eyes with your hand. "Some of it. I-" You wince. "I yelled before I left. He was being so nonchalant about it, and I know it was so I wouldn't worry, but..."

"I know. He can be a real pinhead about some things, but Jason's on it when it counts. He loves you a lot, and I think he'd want to know you're feeling this way."

You rub your eyes so hard you see shapes. "I don't know, Dick. I don't know if I can tonight."

Dick sighs sadly. "Alright. Look, I'll take you home. But can you at least tell him you're okay? He called me up, terrified. Said he dreamt you were in an accident."

Nightmares. The guilt triples.

You turn on your phone. Ten missed calls and fifteen unread texts pop up.

[10:38pm] Baby please come back

At least text me you're okay

I messed up, and you can leave, but at least tell me you're safe

[10:42pm] I'm calling Dick

Sweetheart don't get into a car

[10:43pm] Please don't I have a bad feeling about it

Call me please

You sniffle and tap on Jason's contact. The phone rings once before he picks up.

"Baby? Hi, hi. God, fuck. Are you okay? Is Dick there?"

Jason sounds wrecked. His voice is raw like he's been crying. Tears start to build up in your own eyes.

"H-hey, Jay. Yeah, I'm okay. Dick is here."

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have scared you. Shouldn't have been reckless. I won't do that again. I won't patrol alone anymore. I'll-I'll work with Batman again. I called him just now. Told him I'd be at the Cave next week."

"Jay, don't force yourself to work with Batman for me," you say, your stomach a pit. "I don't want you to do something that'll make you miserable."

It's been better, lately, Jason's relationship with his family. It's not perfect, but then again, you wouldn't expect a family that dresses up in Halloween costumes every night to fight crime to be perfect.

"It won't!" Jason says. "Look, B and I have our differences. That's for damn sure. But I'm not so mad about it these days. And I should be safer. You were right. I want to come home to you, sweetheart, I do. If that means working in a team, then I'll do it. I'll do whatever will make us both happy and safe."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner, Jay. I should've been."

"Oh." Jason sounds heartbroken. You can imagine him running a rough hand through his hair right now, tearing through the strands. "No, no, no. Baby, my love, listen. I don't blame you for any of this. That's not your responsibility. It's my job to keep myself alive. And Leslie's, once in a while. But I don't expect that from you. Never from you."

It's quiet for several moments. Then Jason speaks again, tone timid.

"Have I... did I make you feel that way?"

"No, you didn't," you say, opening your eyes. "Not directly. But... I don't know, Jay, I've just felt like there's nothing holding you back some days. You fight like you're fighting something inside of you." You bite the inside of your cheek. "I don't want it to burn you out for good."

Not again, you don't say.

Dick bows his head, and suddenly, you're there, watching them lower Jason Todd's body into the ground.

"I won't let it," Jason whispers. "I won't. I'm sorry I did this to you. Made you feel like this. I only ever wanna be good for you. I'm-I'm trying to be good."

Your lip trembles. "I wanna come home, Jay."

Jason makes a desperate sound, like a wounded animal. "Please come home, baby. I don't want you to leave. Wanna hold you so bad."

"Okay." You nod at the phone and look at Dick. "Can you take me home?"

He smiles, small and hopeful. "Of course."

****

Jason nearly tears the door off of its hinges before you can knock. He's probably been listening for your footsteps all evening. Your throat tightens.

"Hi, baby, hi, hi," Jason says, bracing himself against the doorframe as he pulls you into a hug. "Missed you so much. Love you so much. I'll be better, it'll be better. I promise."

You kiss his shoulder and bury your face in his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat. A-live, a-live, a-live, it says.

"Thanks, Dickie," Jason murmurs into your skin.

"Sure thing, Little Wing," Dick says, and you think he might sound a little misty-eyed. Sentimental sap.

"Thanks, D," you say softly, and Dick squeezes your shoulder.

"Get some sleep, both of you."

"You first," Jason says, and Dick laughs on his way out.

You help Jason inside, tucked under his arm, and this time, he lets you guide him to the bed. He allows you removal of your shoes and jeans before tugging you in with him.

"I'll be better," he vows, and rolls you over so you're face-to-face. "I promise."

"I believe you," you say, thumb brushing over his salt-streaked cheek. "I'm sorry I went dark, sweetie."

He shakes his head. "'S okay. Well, I mean, it's not, but I understand. I just want you safe. And here. But only if you wanna be here. I won't force you."

"Of course I want to be here, Jay," you say, kissing his cheek. "There's no place I'd rather be. I just... I want us to live."

Jason swallows and nods.

"I'll live. I will. For both of us."

what would a drinking contest with the bois look like?

Unforgettable

Filthy Fingers.

summary: You check on Bucky after the mission in Madripoor.

warnings: Angst | TFATWS!Bucky | PTSD episode | Sexual trauma | Mentions of SA & SH | Slight SH | Vague descriptions of medical procedures | Swearing

a/n: Back on my bullshit with angsty fics. I wish the series had done something more than brushing this scene off as nothing. I have similar trauma with his experiences, so I sort of put my heart into this. I hope you enjoy, he needs a hug. Unedited. ;; wc: 4.4k

It horrified you, even if you knew about it prior.

After the mission, you searched for Bucky upon returning to the safehouse that Zemo had insisted on using. Bucky had already retreated to the bedroom you both shared, locking himself inside. You knew something was wrong, you knew him better than anyone honestly. He had barely muttered a few words about feeling exhausted before withdrawing from the group. The locked door and his sudden disappearance had you concerned about his well-being, especially considering the shitty mission you had done.

Zemo pushed Bucky to act as the Winter Soldier again, the man took great pride in being his handler and controlling him like a puppet, just as HYDRA had done. He relished in ordering him to attack and heel like a dog, and his cruel comments about using his body, about selling him in exchange for information, made you furious. Sam didn’t quite get the depth of the situation, though he had a good idea, he just didn’t know the extent. He didn’t want to ask.

Bucky’s behavior back at the house seemed unusual, even for someone typically reserved like himself, and you couldn't decide what to do, debating whether to check on him or give him the space he seemed to desperately need.

You also had to fight the urge to break Zemo's jaw.

As deep night fell over the city, a hush descended upon the streets. Sam and Zemo, too, decided to call it a night, bidding their farewells before retiring to their respective rooms. You found yourself alone in the kitchen, the sudden quietness of the house sounded so loud in your ears. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you made the decision to head towards the bedroom. Your footsteps echoed softly in the hallway as you approached the door.

Your knuckles gently rapped against the wooden surface as you announced your presence. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a moment before you slowly turned the handle and pushed the door open. You stepped into the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately fell on Bucky. You weren’t surprised that he wasn't asleep; sleep often eluded him, and considering the memories that undoubtedly came back to him after the mission, you didn’t blame him.

He sat on the floor beside the bed, his back pressed against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His gaze was fixed intently on the wooden floorboards, tracing the intricate patterns etched into their surface. The silence in the room was heavy and Bucky remained motionless, not even lifting his eyes to acknowledge your entrance.

You closed the door with a gentle click and cautiously made your way towards him, your footsteps barely audible on the floor. As you approached, you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. "Hey..." You began, your voice barely above a whisper, carefully considering each word as you prepared to navigate this situation.

You took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders as you shifted your position, crossing your legs where you had been kneeling. Your eyes never left Bucky's face, searching for any sign of acknowledgment. He remained motionless, his lack of response hanging heavy in the air between you. But his stillness was preferable to a negative reaction. At least he wasn't pushing you away or lashing out in his distress.

"I know this is stupid, and it's probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but..." You paused, weighing your words carefully before continuing, "Do you want to talk about what's going on? About what happened?" The question left your lips in a gentle, non-pressuring tone, leaving the decision entirely up to him. You sat there patiently, ready to listen if he chose to open up, or to simply provide a comforting presence if he preferred silence.

Bucky remained silent initially, his gaze fixed intently on the floor. He drew in a shaky, uneven breath, his eyes noticeably bloodshot and surrounded by dark, heavy circles. It was obvious that he had been struggling with sleep, but you knew that even a small amount of rest would be beneficial compared to none at all, especially dealing with the Flag Smashers and all the bullshit you were both thrown into again.

"Why don't you try to lie down and get some rest? I'll stay right here with you," you suggested gently, your voice filled with concern as you waited patiently for any sort of reaction from him. After a moment of hesitation, you added, "I know you might not feel like sleeping right now, but we have so much shit we have to do tomorrow.” You mumbled, “A few hours, at least.”

Hoping to appeal to his practical nature, you attempted to persuade him to sleep by emphasizing the logical reasons for doing so. However, your efforts seemed to fall on deaf ears as Bucky remained unresponsive. You sighed, your arm stretched up to reach for the blanket that lay haphazardly across the bed, intending to cover him and provide some comfort if he wasn’t going to sleep. Just as your fingers brushed against the soft fabric, Bucky's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"I felt it," he murmured, his words so faint that you had to strain to hear them, the pain and vulnerability in his tone made your heart stutter.

You turned to look at him, your hand still grasping the edge of the blanket, and you settled back down fully on the seat. Your eyes met his, searching for understanding as you softly inquired, "Felt what?"

"Hands," he muttered, his gaze flickered momentarily before meeting yours again. "I felt... hands. On me. They weren't his," Bucky spoke slowly but with a certainty that sent a chill down your spine. He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing, "Not Zemo's hands, but I would have preferred if he didn't touch me at all during the damn interrogation." His words trailed off, hanging heavy in the air between you.

You watched as his brow furrowed deeply, his eyes growing distant as he seemed to retreat into the labyrinth of his thoughts. A maze he still couldn’t get through, he’d always be lost, stumbling upon memories randomly and losing others he had a grip on. The silence stretched on, filled with unspoken memories and the weight of past trauma.

You nodded, remaining silent for a moment as you processed the situation. The anger bubbled within you, fueled by Bucky's own emotions. Zemo's arrogant behavior had struck a nerve, his deliberate attempts to provoke Bucky were infuriating. The man was more than just an asshole in your eyes and words; he was a calculated manipulator, intent on unraveling all the progress Bucky had made.

His creepy obsession had drawn tension between the group. Zemo had persistently tried to breach Bucky's defenses, attempting to draw out the Winter Soldier persona that lay dormant within him. His tactics were cruel and precise, aimed at undoing years of healing and dragging Bucky back into the darkness of his past.

What made it so much worse was Zemo's obvious familiarity with the red book - that cursed tome that held so many of Bucky's painful secrets. You were certain Zemo had pored over every page, absorbing all the horrific details it contained. The book was a comprehensive record of Bucky's torment: control words that could strip away his free will in an instant, precise actions that would render him a puppet, and graphic descriptions of the punishments HYDRA inflicted whenever Bucky showed the slightest hint of disobedience or failure. The thought of Zemo possessing this knowledge, wielding it like a weapon against Bucky, made your blood boil.

"Bucky..." you began, your voice soft and laden with emotion. You paused, searching for the right words to convey the depth of your empathy. "I'm so... sorry. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult this is for you. It's just…not fair…that you have to endure all of this. You never asked to be pushed into this shit again." There was clear frustration in your voice with a mix of anger at the circumstances and deep concern for Bucky's well-being.

Your mind drifted to the apartment you shared with Bucky, while he wasn't always at his best there either, it was a vast improvement compared to situations like this. The space was familiar. He was surrounded by sights and sounds he knew, Bucky found a measure of peace inside the walls, mostly because you were there with him. He still struggled with his demons, but within the safety of your home, he could face them without the added pressure of external threats or responsibilities that weren't rightfully his to bear.

But it seemed that no matter what, the outside world was determined to drag him back into conflict.

In your apartment, there were no manipulative villains, no reminders of his painful past, no hidden ulterior motives to hurt him, just the warmth of your presence and the promise of a better future than past. He had you, and you were always there with him, helping him navigate through the storm that always threatened to pull him down again.

"M'used to it," he mumbled weakly, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying the weight of resignation and defeat. The words fell from his lips like heavy stones of the burdens he had borne. "I've had worse than simply being traded away for sexual favors."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't just be used to it," you countered, "You didn't deserve anything they put you through. I don't care what justifications they gave or what they forced you to do. You, Bucky Barnes, are a good person. You, at your core, are pure and untainted. You are the one in control now. Not the soldier they created, not HYDRA with their manipulation, not anyone else. It's all you."

Your eyes locked onto his, your gaze gentle yet unyielding, radiating unwavering belief in him as you tried so desperately to let him see how much faith you had in him. "You've already won over their programming, Bucky. You've reclaimed yourself."

"Then why won't his memories go away?" Bucky croaked out, his voice cracking under the weight of suppressed emotion. "I want nothing more than to...to forget. It's...it's so hard, doll," his voice wavered, the floodgates of emotion threatening to burst open despite him trying his damnedest to keep it all in. "Why can't I forget the bad, and why can't I remember the good?"

Bucky sounded completely worn down, his voice cracking with heavy emotion as he spoke. He couldn't bring himself to raise his head, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and self-loathing washing over him. The weight of his perceived inadequacy pressed down on him, making him feel incredibly pathetic and foolish.

Your support through numerous similar episodes didn’t shake off the intense feelings of guilt and self-deprecation that consumed him during these moments. It was as if he viewed himself as nothing more than a heavy burden, a complex problem that you were obligated to solve time and time again. Even a glued vase is still cracked and much weaker than an untouched one.

No amount of reassurance or comfort seemed capable of mending his fractured psyche. He’s still broken, no matter what you do to help.

In his mind, he was irreparable, his former self having been long gone. Hell, he's not even whole. The prosthetic arm, the threatening object that he despised with every fiber of his being. Vivid, haunting memories flooded his consciousness as he recalled the moment HYDRA had finally attached the mechanical limb.

The sensation was overwhelmingly unpleasant - the arm felt unnaturally cold against his skin, its heavy weight throwing off his balance and coordination. In his disoriented state, he could feel the lifeless metal appendage hanging limply at his side, dragging him down both physically and mentally. The phantom sensations of drills and saws assaulted his senses, causing him to relive the trauma of the procedure.

Wide awake.

He was desperate to rid himself of the foreign object, so he clawed frantically at the point where metal met flesh, feeling the cold, unyielding surface beneath his fingertips. The memory of being forcibly restrained to prevent him from damaging the prosthetic flashed through his mind, the clinical indifference of his captors etched permanently behind his eyelids. It was clear to him that their sole concern lay with preserving the integrity of the mechanical marvel they had created, with no regard for the man to whom it was attached.

He was nothing more than a vessel for their prized creation - the arm was their priority, not the broken soldier who bore it.

Then their hands came.

Never-ending hands on his body, everywhere.

They always came when he couldn't fight back.

Teasing, pinching, groping, twisting, penetrating.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Make it -

Bucky's loud thoughts were abruptly interrupted as you reached out and gently grasped his flesh hand, your voice filled with concern as you spoke, "Bucky, hey, hey, stop... It's alright, you're safe now, it’s just you and me." The urgency in your tone was notable, yet you managed to keep it soft and reassuring.

His brow furrowed deeply, a mix of confusion and realization crossing his features as he slowly turned his gaze from you to his hand, which you now held firmly in your own, having pulled it away from his body. A searing hot sensation radiated from his scar, and with a sinking feeling, he realized what he had been doing.

He had been scratching at the old wound, hard. Clawing, digging, as if trying to remove something from his skin. His arm, the metal - titanium, vibranium - did it matter?

"It's okay, you're fine," you whispered gently, your voice acting like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. Your hands worked carefully but firmly to keep his own from returning to where he had been clawing. Your thumb gently rubbed circles on his inner wrist in an attempt to keep his mind grounded. You were always scared during these moments, worried for his well-being as the rooted fear threatened to overwhelm you.

But you pushed it down, maintaining a calm and composed demeanor for his sake. Your voice remained steady as you continued to comfort him, "It's okay... you're doing so good, Buck Buck..." The silly name slipped out naturally, reminding him of where he was and who he was with. You always called him Buck Buck instead of just saying Buck once, you knew that endearment made him think of Steve. And he didn’t like doing that with Steve being gone.

"Breathe," you gently instructed him, guiding him to take slow, deep breaths as the memories and vicious flashbacks gradually began to subside. "You're doing great, just like that. Keep focusing on your breaths." You continued to offer words of encouragement and carefully guide him through the breathing exercises, your voice soft yet steady. His eyes, now rimmed with red, glistened with moisture, the strain of the moment evident in his features.

Delicate streams of tears traced paths down his cheeks, tiny rivers carrying his pain and guiding it out of him. The sight tugged at your heart, but you remained a pillar of support and strength for him to lean on.

"Make it stop," he rasped out to you, his voice thick with desperation and fear. "Make it stop," Bucky repeated, his body instinctively moving towards you as if seeking shelter from an invisible storm. "They're on me," he added, his words barely above a whisper, laced with a haunting mixture of panic and pleading.

You immediately wrapped your arms around him the second his body touched yours, enveloping him in a protective embrace. You would always wait for him to make the first move closer, respecting his space and not wanting to inadvertently exacerbate his episodes. Your touch was gentle yet firm, grounding him in the present moment.

"No one is touching you but me, baby," you assured him, your voice steady and filled with warmth. "And I'm not doing any of those awful things. I would never. You're safe here with me, Bucky. We're getting through this, you’re doing so good. Just focus on me and taking those breaths okay?"

Bucky remained pressed against you, his body tense and trembling as he desperately attempted to hide himself inside your smaller body. His hand darted up to his shoulder, fingers curled as if to claw at something unseen. Then his hand quickly moved to his neck, desperately grasping and pulling at an invisible entity.

The frantic movements sent a chill down your spine as you watched him struggle against phantoms of his past, it never ceased to horrify you to see him react to the glimpses he was shown again from HYDRA. You tried not to let your imagination run wild, but the implications were clear and it only made you feel even worse seeing him play it out.

You felt helpless.

All you could really do during these episodes was be there for him.

Holding him close, enveloping him in a gentle embrace that provided a sense of security and reassurance, something so simple yet so luxurious in his life. Your touch was carefully calibrated, always mindful of his boundaries and sensitivities, ensuring that every contact communicated safety and understanding. You learned what he liked, disliked, what made things better and worse. You would soothe him with those very tender caresses, running your fingers through his hair or tracing calming patterns on his back, grounding him in the present moment.

Bucky really liked when you rubbed his back.

You would speak words of encouragement, your phrases were carefully chosen so they’d break through all the rampant thoughts flooding his mind. You reminded him of his resilience and progress. You whispered affirmations of his worth, validate his feelings, and reassure him of your presence and support throughout the episode.

“It’s not real, Bucky. No one is here, no one is touching you. It’s just me. You are safe.”

The efforts you put into comforting him so tenderly often felt mediocre or not enough, you always felt like nothing was ever working or meant a thing. But for Bucky, they were his lifeline, you helped him more than you could possibly fathom. Having endured these episodes alone for so long, the contrast of facing them with your loving support made them significantly easier, more manageable.

You held him for a while, gently cradling his body against your own. Most of the time, he just needed this physical connection to be brought back to reality, to feel grounded and secure again. Your arms enveloped him in a protective embrace, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort. Sometimes you’d wrap him in a blanket, but you didn’t think Bucky was going to let you move to grab one.

Slowly, deliberately, you moved your hands up and down his back just how he liked. Your fingertips tracing intricate, soothing patterns across the fabric of his shirt, random shapes and swirls, sometimes a letter or number that he’d weakly repeat into your chest. The repetitive motion seemed to have a calming effect on both of you, a silent reassurance that everything would be alright.

As you continued to hold him, your gaze wandered towards the window. Through the thin, gauzy curtains that hung there, you could make out the blurry silhouette of the city in the distance. The lights twinkled like earthbound stars, their glow softened and diffused by the cloudy barrier between you and the outside world. It created an almost dreamlike atmosphere in the room, emphasizing the intimate bubble you two had created. It reminded you of home.

Still whirling from the events that led to this moment, your mind gradually began to quiet. Bucky appeared to be much more relaxed, no longer breathing heavy and shaking as terribly during his attack.

"You okay?" You inquired softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The darkness of the room cast a deep, night blue hue, partially dulling the angry red blotches that you knew still marred Bucky's face from your sight. Bucky’s sweet, rosy nose glistened from his recent emotional turmoil.

He turned his face fully into your chest, burrowing against you as he sniffled. Amusement colored your voice as you gently teased, "Are you wiping your snot on me?" Your tone remained cautiously gentle, not wanting to upset the fragile calm that had settled over him.

Bucky's response came muffled against your chest, a small chuckle that vibrated through you. His voice was barely audible and tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Maybe..." he admitted as he pulled back and finally looked you in the eye.

You rolled your eyes, casting a concerned glance back at him as you gently used your thumbs to caress his cheeks. The tender gesture was comforting for him. "Are you okay?" You repeated. You wanted—no, needed—to hear the truth directly from him, to gauge his emotional state beyond the façade he often presented.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, finding solace in the warmth of your hands against his skin. His eyes fluttered closed slowly, almost involuntarily, as he drew in a deep, shaky breath. The contrast between your warm, caring touch and his own clammy cheeks made him shiver. He allowed himself to be vulnerable with you, to absorb the comfort you offered.

"Yeah... I'm..." Bucky started, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, reconsidering his words. "I'm fine." Another pause. "I mean, no, I'm not but... you know. I'm good." The contradiction in his statement was painfully apparent. He cleared his throat, as if trying to dislodge the emotions threatening to spill out verbally, and slowly opened his eyes again.

They met yours, a swirl of conflicting emotions evident in their depths. It was a typical answer from him, a reflexive response born from decades of forced conditioning and denial of feeling. You had expected it, of course, knowing his tendency to downplay his struggles, but that didn't make it any less concerning.

"Well, it's late. Maybe we should try to get some sleep?" Your lips softly kissed his forehead, tenderly giving him some affection. As you pulled back, you looked into his eyes and reassured him, "If you say you're alright, then I believe you. I trust your judgment, and I want you to know that I'm always here for you, whenever you feel ready to talk about it. There's no pressure, no rush. And in the meantime, I'm more than happy to simply be here, to be your comfort, your support... your pillow, if that's what you need."

"You're too good to me, doll... you really shouldn't have to deal with all this," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. He rubbed his nose a little with the back of his hand, a nervous habit he'd developed over the years. "You've got more than enough on your plate already. Your own struggles, your own dreams to chase. You don't need my baggage weighing you down too."

"Hey, now. I won't hear any of that," you insisted, your brows furrowing slightly in concern. Your voice was firm but warm, you understood why he felt the way he did, but you didn’t like it. "I love you, sweetheart. That means I love every part of you - the good, the bad, and everything in between. Taking care of you, making sure you're okay... it's not some burden I'm shouldering. It's not something I'm just 'dealing with' because I have to."

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. "I'm here, by your side, because that's exactly where I want to be. Because you deserve love, support, and care. And because giving you those things brings me joy. It's as simple as that."

You squeezed his hand softly, your eyes meeting his with a look of pure, unconditional love. "So please, don't ever think you're too much or that you're burdening me. You're not. You're the person I choose, every single day. And I want to be here for you, through thick and thin."

"I love you too, doll... I don't know what I'd do without you," Bucky replied quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He was still avoiding your gaze, but you didn't mind. Vulnerability was difficult for him and you appreciated his honesty even in his discomfort.

"Let's get comfortable, we need to rest for whatever shit is going on tomorrow," you said softly, your voice filled with care and concern, yet a small bite for this ridiculousness of the mission. You were still annoyed you and Bucky had been dragged into this mess.

You began to shuffle the comforter and blankets on the floor, creating a cozy nest beside the bed. Bucky's brow furrowed as he watched you meticulously prep the area, his eyes following your every move with curiosity and confusion.

"You're not planning on sleeping on the floor with me, are you?" he questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief as he observed you fluffing the pillows to ensure maximum comfort. The idea seemed to both perplex and touch him deeply. You had before, of course, at home. But he always insisted you go back to bed after his nightmares died down and he could fall asleep on his own. He didn't like the idea of you sleeping on the hardwood floors with him at night, especially when you could have the bed all to yourself.

"Of course I am," you replied without hesitation, your voice firm but gentle. "You think I'm gonna just let you sleep by yourself after this? Nope, that's not happening. I'm gonna be right by your side, supporting you through this. That's a promise, Bucky, and I intend to keep it." Your words were filled with determination and unwavering loyalty, leaving no room for doubt about your commitment to him.

He let out a deep, resigned sigh, fully aware that you wouldn't budge from your decision, despite the presence of a perfectly comfortable bed in the room. You'd pick sleeping on the floor with him over the warmth and softness of the bed any day. Bucky inched closer and settled into the makeshift sleeping area you had prepared.

Once situated, he gently pulled you towards him, enveloping you in a tender embrace. No words were exchanged, but he carefully repositioned himself, shuffling down slightly to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your presence.

He wanted to be held tonight, and that was perfectly fine with you.

Thank you for reading. -em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Cover images from Pinterest