#and he finally lets himself be a kid again

[alchemistc]

Inspired by Lou mentioning that we're getting B**** f*********

"Tell me about your old captain," Bobby says. It's not a question. It's not a suggestion - or if it is, Tommy doesn't have the ability to view it as anything but a demand.

Bobby's eyes catch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

They're in Bobby's office. Tommy's pretty sure he's been in this office twice since Bobby took over - he doesn't do things in any sort of official capacity, seems to hate the four walls and the door like a man with experience stuck in tight spaces.

"Off the record, of course."

Tommy's a grown ass man who's been through more Captains and Sergeants and other miscellaneous authority figures than Bobby can count on fingers and toes.

There's just something about Bobby that makes him feel wrong-footed. Like he's simultaneously the most comfortable he's ever been and the most terrified he'll ever be. Like he has to get this right.

"Sir?"

Bobby tosses a balled up piece of paper at Tommy's forehead. That's fair. That's absolutely fair. Tommy blinks, and the nerves sort of just... fall away.

"He was a homophobic, racist, misogynist prick and I still hate that I followed along like a little duckling."

Bobby purses his lips. Widens his eyes with brows raised.

The silence and the eye contact stretches.

Eventually, Bobby steeples his fingers, leans his chin on them. Stares. "We can circle back to the second part in a moment. I'm asking because I sent in your transfer papers last week."

There's that fear crawling right back in. He'd never even fucking tried it, under Gerrard. Too afraid to watch him crush that dream, too afraid to make a move for himself.

He'd mentioned flying offhand, a month and a half ago, a second serving of roast melting on his tongue while Howie stole potatoes off his plate.

Two days later Bobby'd pulled him aside and told Tommy he'd reached out to Harbor - that Harbor had an opening in air ops and he'd asked them to hold the position internally for an extra day or two. In case Tommy wanted it.

("I saw the way you look when you're talking about flying, kid. If I overstepped, tell me to shove it, but the 217 could use a man like you."

Tommy's had the words 'man like you' running on a loop in his head ever since.)

"Did they fill the spot?"

He hasn't let himself get excited about it. Hasn't told a soul other than Bobby that he's even thinking about it. He never would have done it without that push, and he's already gearing up to make himself not resent Bobby for even putting the thought in his head.

Bobby smiles. "They did."

Tommy would love it if the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Their newest pilot is going to be Thomas Kinard. Pending my approval, of course."

His heart does something strange in his chest. A squeeze, a jump, a flurry. He's gonna be in the air again. Going to have to use whatever's left of his mind to learn new birds, to teach someone else, one day. That's not as daunting a task as it would have been, a year ago.

Tommy squints, because Bobby looks entirely too pleased with himself for nearly giving Tommy a fucking heart attack. "What does that have to do with Gerrard?"

Bobby tips his head side to side, fidgets with a pen. Tommy never knows if that's a nervous habit or if he's so committed to the "fucking with you" bit that he's adopted a bunch of other people's tics.

"He tried to block it," Bobby tells him, a little solemn, finally. Tommy can feel his teeth clenching. His body tightening. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn't remember the act of raising them from the armrests. "I told him, respectfully, where he could stick it."

Bobby has this insane ability to ease a thousand worries with just a turn of phrase, a tone of voice. Tommy can feel the ire melting right off. "You already did it?"

Bobby huffs a soft laugh. "Professional disagreement. We don't see eye to eye on your talents. Harbor was fairly easily convinced, once I started listing them."

The lump in his throat makes it a little difficult to forge ahead. "Why'd you ask about him, then?"

Bobby's soft grin turns to a full on smirk. "Because I thought, given that this is your last week here, you might want to get it off your chest, Firefighter Pilot Kinard."

[musclesandhammering]

Don’t be sorry, I live for meta like this, lol.

You know, I didn’t even make the connection but what you said was so true about Odin forgiving Thor and Loki because they ultimately came around to protecting the kingdom whereas Hela ended up taking her anger out on Asgard.

I could analyse this family’s issues for hours but I think it’s really interesting how you could make a 3-circle venn diagram explaining the various comparisons and contrasts that each child has to the others in regard to Odin’s parenting of them.

Like, all three of them had an unhealthy dynamic with their dad. Thor was clearly the golden child- the one Odin was closest to and most proud of- while hela and Loki were kept at a metaphorical distance due to their rebellious history and reluctance to concede. On the other hand, Hela was set apart from the boys in that, as you mentioned, she never recovered from her wayward spiral and because of that, was never embraced by her father again. Finally, Loki is different from Thor and hela because, where they’re both (biologically and metaphorically) beneficiaries of his imperialism, Loki is a victim of it, and should have a completely different perspective on Odin’s warmongering than the other two.

All of that is to say that it’s fascinating how, despite them having mutual experiences as well, they also all have very individual grievances re: Odin’s treatment of them- and that lets us see Odin himself from three completely distinct angles. I’ve mentioned in the past that it’s like they all represent different era’s of his personal journey. Hela is his full-on conquerer days and all that baggage that came with it. Thor is his attempt to be better and leave those things behind him (even though, as we see with Thor, all is not perfect there. Despite his attempts at benevolence, the empire is still going strong, even if he’s not actively invading new realms). And Loki is the skeletons in his closet- Loki’s very origin is a reminder that Odin is still very much a coloniser and just like Loki’s heritage, his solution is not to deal with it in an atonement-seeking way, but rather try to cover it up).

That being said, none of this means Odin is a bad person or doesn’t care about his kids. In fact, I think it’s a very good parallel to real life boomer parents (lol) who love their children but are so tangled in their olden mindsets that they’re never fully able to love them in a healthy way. They may try to learn and get marginally better overtime, but unfortunately they don’t usually ever become model parents. Odin realises he’s made mistakes with his kids and the guilt over that haunts him, but he also doesn’t know the correct way to handle things. Even when he’s trying to improve, he’s still basing his self corrections on that same old warmongering king-before-father thought pattern and because of that, he just makes the same mistakes in a slightly less obvious way.

Anyway, I’m done yapping I guess. I love finding people who see Odin as a complex character instead of either “he’s an evil pos” or “stfu he was a great dad!” because, to me, the whole story is way more tragic if Odin and Frigga (and Laufey and Farbauti and Hela’s mom I guess) weren’t trying to mess their kids up but ended up doing it anyway.

brb just thinking about how Odin banished Hela a thousand years ago and then he banished Thor in 2011 and then his anger turned to Loki and Loki decided to banish him to a retirement home before Odin could get him

[kaxserlvr]

It was supposed to be a normal date. Just dinner, some casual conversation, maybe a walk through the park afterward. That’s all you and Kaiser had planned.

But a little girl, no more than five or six, standing in the middle of the park with a lost look on her face. Her tiny hands clutched a teddy bear, her eyes wide and teary.

You immediately crouched down to her level, your voice soft. “Hey, sweetie, are you okay?”

She sniffled, shaking her head. “I lost my mommy.”

Kaiser was standing beside you , arms crossed, looking annoyed. “We can’t just babysit some kid. We’re on a date.”

You gave him a side eye and ignored him, your focus completely on the girl. “Don’t worry. We’ll help you find your mommy, okay?”

The little girl nodded, wiping her eyes. Kaiser muttered something under his breath, but you didn’t catch it. You just stood up and looked at him. “Come on, let’s help her. It’ll only take a little bit.”

He sighed, looking around. “This is ridiculous.”

But even though he complained, you could tell he wasn’t going to walk away from a kid in need. He just stood there, reluctantly waiting for you to take the lead.

You guys spent hours walking around the park, asking around, checking every corner for any sign of the little girl’s mother. Kaiser was grumpy the entire time, rolling his eyes every time you knelt down to talk to the girl, offering her some comfort or reassurance.

But as the hours passed, something began to change in him.

The little girl clung to him more, her small hand reaching for his every time we walked. At first, he’d stiffen, pulling away, but then, slowly, he started to soften. Every now and then, he’d look down at her with something like gentleness in his eyes, even offering her a small smile when she’d giggle at one of his sarcastic remarks.

“You’re pretty good with her,” you said, glancing up at him as you guys walked down a new path, the girl holding onto his hand now.

Kaiser shot you a look, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m not the baby whisperer, you know.”

But his words lacked the usual bite. You could tell he was starting to enjoy the little girl’s company,how she’d shyly ask him to pick her up when she got tired, how he’d pretend to grumble but do it anyway. He was showing a side of himself you hadn’t seen in a long time, a softer, quieter side.

When you guys finally found her mother, a woman frantically searching the park. The girl ran toward her, and the woman scooped her up in a tight embrace.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

You smiled, patting the girl on the head. “Glad we could help.”

Kaiser, who had been unusually quiet throughout the whole ordeal, cleared his throat. “Yeah, no problem,” he muttered.

You both waved them off, watching the mother and daughter walk away. The entire experience had been exhausting, but something about it felt… right. Like you could’ve stayed with that little girl forever, and Kaiser might’ve felt the same.

You guys didn’t say much on the way home, the air between you both heavier than it had been before. When you got back to your apartment, you set your things down and flopped onto the couch, tired but content. Kaiser leaned against the doorframe, looking lost in thought.

“You okay?” You asked, watching him closely.

He looked down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you with an intensity you weren’t used to. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“You really are good with kids,” he said softly.

You smiled. “I like to think so. I’ve always wanted a family.”

Kaiser didn’t respond right away, instead, he walked over to the couch and sat beside you . His arm brushed against yours, and you could feel the tension in his muscles. He looked at you again, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

“I’ve thought I didn’t want kids,” he admitted, his gaze flicking to the floor for a second. “Thought I wasn’t the kind of guy who could handle it.”

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“But after today…” His fingers grazed the edge of your hand. “I don’t know. Watching you with her… it felt like family.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to face him, eyes wide. “What are you saying?”

Kaiser’s expression shifted, his jaw clenching before he sighed. “I guess I’m saying I was wrong. I could be… I could be good at it. At being a father, I mean.”

The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. He seemed to be processing it all, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by a rawness that was completely uncharacteristic.

Finally, he looked at you, his face flushed. “It’s just after seeing how you are… I can’t help but think you’d be an amazing mom. And maybe… maybe I could be a good dad, too.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in.

He suddenly leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet, but… I’ve been thinking about it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, reaching for his hand. “Maybe not now…but we’ll figure it out together.”

Kaiser stared at you, his face still soft, as if something inside him had shifted. He kissed you softly, and for a moment, it felt like you were already a family—no words needed, just the quiet understanding that whatever happened next, you’d be there for each other.

Always

[rulesofdisorder]

wait actually. yanno how when people complain about endgame steve leaving bucky and the dudebros go “oh my god not everything is about your stupid ship they were not in love steve and bucky were like brothers” and. arguably leaving your brother is worse in that situation i think. let’s look at steve and buckys whole dynamic through a sibling dynamic shall we.

like okay youre steve rogers in this scenario and your brother was presumed dead only for you to find out that he had been kidnapped by nazis and tortured and brainwashed for 70 years to the point where he didn’t even know his own name and had no bodily autonomy and when you found out about this you dismantled an entire sect of the government and then you’re brother in his confused state disappeared and you spent 2-3 years looking for him and then he was framed for murder and you believed him innocent despite the fact that he was an assassin for those 70 years when he was being tortured by nazis and maybe actually did do that for all you know but you fight the government (again) and a bunch of your new friends on his behalf and in doing so become a fugitive and spend another year(ish) on the run and then world gets attacked by this fuckass alien freak and you and you’re brother who is finally (mostly) himself again join the fight against the fuckass alien freak and you lose and your brother gets turned to dust and is dead for 5 years and so you join up with the friends who you had a falling out with to bring back all of the people who died and you succeed and your brother comes back to life and while he is much better than he was when you found him 4 (9?) years ago he is still fucked up in 15 different ways but you finally get the chance to actually be with your brother again after so long so that’s good right? wrong. you decide to leave that brother who you spent years trying to find and became a fugitive for to go back in time (a time where your brother is getting tortured by nazis and you can’t do anything to stop it because it will like break the timeline or whatever) to be with the girl you kissed once. like are you kidding me. who in their goddamn right mind would leave their sibling after all that. the answer is you wouldn’t and steve’s ending is stupid.

[lias-writings]

cruel world

pairing: finnick x district12!victor!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, mentions of: forced prostitution, violence, and death but not described, established relationship, kissing, pet names (sweetheart, love, honey etc.), one slightly dirty joke, other characters mentioned, usual thg stuff, set in catching fire

a/n: uhhhhh i’ve been writing this for two weeks now, just couldn’t get myself to finish it, it’s here now tho so enjoy!!! ALSO IM THINKING ABOUT MAKING THIS A SERIES WHAT DO WE SAY?? (divider by @dollywons)

word count: 4.6k

finnick o’dair thought that he will never feel worse than when he was reaped for his games, barely at fourteen years old having to fight for his life in an arena with twenty three other kids. when he won his games and had to live with the heavy weight of the lives he took or when he was being sold and used by the capitol ever since he was fifteen.

that all changed when finnick met her. the love of his life with the same fate. a victor that was desirable for capitol’s citizens. a big mistake. he felt horrible whenever she was pulled from his arms to be used by violent, greedy men.

the feeling that beat those was when the quarter quell was announced. finnick he was the only male victor in district four and when mags, his mentor, volunteered as tribute for his friend annie cresta it was even worse.

finnick put on the typical mask of arrogance and pride, smiling into the cameras while his eyes hid fear and worry, his mind begging for his girlfriend not to volunteer, as he watched the screen from the justice building in his district.

“as always ladies first.” effie said into the microphone, cameras pointing at her face as they finally streamed the last of the twelve district. it was different this time, sadder. everyone was confused, heartbroken and angry.

katniss’s name was called and before anyone had the time to process it, the only other remaining female victor immediately raised her hand.

“i volunteer.”

finnick’s vision went black, he suddenly felt nauseous and sick. he didn’t know if he wanted to strangle her or hold her and never let her go. probably both.

the train ride was a lot less calmer than two years ago, when you were reaped at sixteen years old, as a tribute for your district.

the setting was quite familiar, really, haymitch was trying to drink himself into oblivion as always, effie was speaking about manner and being a team, peeta was quiet probably bracing the probability of death more than last year and you were thinking about finnick. what he’s gonna say, what are you gonna say, everything.

you wouldn’t really blame him if he was gonna get mad at you. you would too. you had the chance to not go back, yet you decided you will. although, you knew finnick would do the same in your place, katniss had a family she had to take care of, you had only finnick and friends, that all were going to the arena as well, making you wonder, how could anyone think you’d stay home and just watch? a lot of people would, but not you.

the train finally stopped in the capitol and from the window you saw people on the station, screaming and cheering and waving, greeting you and peeta. you just gave a fake smile, before disappearing behind the curtains again and following after effie to the exit.

deep breaths. in and out. your brain repeated to you, as you walked through the familiar hallway, hand in hand with peeta, showing each other support, through a little gesture.

“they all know each other, have been friends for years which gives you two a disadvantages since y’re newbies, try to make a good impression and allies, that is the most important.” he warned looking straight at you and not at peeta at all.

“but- that makes no sense, getting too close to them will just give them an opportunity to kill us right away.” you argue with your mentor.

“sweetheart, if you two stay alone, they’re gonna hunt y’ down, immediately. say what’cha want but i know these people.”

“how can we even trust them?” you throw your arms defensively, sitting on the chair, in between your blonde friend and effie.

“hey, c’mon…” peeta tried to convince you. of course he thought that your trust issues were valid, but he also understood that if you wanted to live at least after the bloodbath, you’d have to make alliances with some of the other victors.

“it’s not about trust it’s about staying alive.” haymitch gave you a strict, pointed look, ending the debate, placing the empty glass that smelled of whiskey, back at the table.

after the talk with haymitch you both were send to your quarters before your prep teams would call you and discuss the opening ceremony.

the elevator felt too small, too slow and too hot to keep your nerves in check. you knew you wouldn’t be able to calm down until seeing finnick, yet everything around you was making it even more unbearable, the feeling of being pressed together into a little ball, like the walls would close around your body, squishing you together.

“see you later?” your blond district partner’s voice echoed in your ear, taking you out of your thoughts and you give him a brief nod of agreement as an answer. if it was not for him maybe you wouldn’t even notice that the elevator’s door clicked open at your destination.

walking into your room, you slump on the bed, diving back into your restless mind. the room was just so capitol like. modern and luxurious, brightly coloured. a king sized bed places in the very middle of the chamber, a lone painting of the city’s skyline hung on the wall, soft carpet covered the first three feet of a measure from the edge of the bed so coldness of the floor would not be the first thing waking you up in the morning as if to make up for the coldness of the room on it’s own. there was nothing personal, nothing idiosyncratic that would make it imperfect, that would make it human and feel like home.

the swirls of your own brain would maybe swallow you whole if there was not a knock on the door and then a face of your district’s escalator appeared.

“sweetie, be ready in few down at the hall, pleas. also, special someone is waiting for you.” effie smiled, and her eyes held a sparkle of mystery. oh, how much she rooted for you and finnick, how much she rooted for katniss and peeta. she tried to hide it, but you were an observant person and the lessening ignorance from her was just making you like her more but you understood the importance of keeping up a mask.

“thank you, effie.” sparing her a small smile, watching her leave, you walked toward the mirror that decorated one part of the wardrobe’s door. you fixed the mess your two braids had become and tied the bows of ribbon on each side again. it was there to ground you. maybe you were crazy, but that little flashes of colour in the grey and dusty district you grew up in, were giving you hope. hope that not everything was black and white and that there was a way out. you hoped they would work the same in here. to remind you where you’re from, that fighting is a second nature to you.

impatiently stepping, from foot to foot, in the elevator you waited for it to get to zero. you didn’t know why you felt so sick. you did this before. you can do it again, right? maybe if finnick’s fallen, worried face wasn’t the first thing you saw when the elevator let you into the lobby, where prep teams were supposed to pick up their victors in no time, those affirmations would’ve been more affective. just maybe.

puffing out your chest, straightening your back, and walking towards the group of much older and skilled victors with confidence seemed like a good idea second ago, the other second when enobaria pierced through you with her gaze, not so much. you had a deep respect for that woman.

swallowing down you walk up to the other duo standing there. you counted five victors in total, which was not much, but you assumed others were or requested to be escorted from their private rooms. few meters from the career pack, there was no one other than finnick with mags next to him.

finnick chatted with his career co-victors for a while, trying to appear as indifferent and as charming as he always is. there was no way for him and you to be in a public relationship, no. it’s been just a secret between you and your closest friends. you did try to hide it from snow, but he found out in a matter of weeks anyway. surprisingly he let it slide, a thought forming in his head how great of a extortion method this could be for him.

“i won’t look into what you do in private, but for everyone else, you and her have to appear available and willing, mr. o’dair.” snow’s voice ringed in finnick’s head often, killing him from the inside like a parasite.

a good way to describe president snow, who always found ways to hurt and destroy more and more. increasingly often you and finnick found yourselves escorted at the capitol from your districts, to satisfy the greedy clients that simple objectified and violated you, leaving you feel used and dirty.

finnick had a comforting arm around mags’ shoulders, few moments after excusing himself from the conversation with the other careers, waiting for their prep teams. a familiar sounding footsteps echoed through the room, familiar scent lined through the air as you neared him, finnick adverted his eyes from mags’ looking up so he was met with a warm, soft but confident gaze of his lover.

he wanted to run to you, take you into his arms and kiss you senseless. instead he just gave you that warm smile, waiting. he was still upset about earlier events but also incredibly understanding and content to see you alive.

giving a brief nod of acknowledgment to the careers you hurried to hug finnick, while trying to make it look like he wasn’t the love of your life or something.

“finnick.” you breath out loud in relief almost, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck, feeling his muscular arms envelop you once again after all the long weeks of being out of reach, just relaying on a belief the other one was safe.

“my love…” he whispered softly, almost inaudibly so no one would hear, but you did and that was enough.

he didn’t wanted to pull away from you, almost felt like he physically couldn’t until you did, leaning back, taking away the warmth you provided for the brief moment the embrace lasted.

“hi mags.” you greet mags, the wonderful old lady you’ve grown so much to, finnick’s mentor and the female tribute for district four. she returned your hug, giving you a smile, her gentle motherly hand brushed your cheek.

the next day the training began, you were given your training suits and alongside peeta, you walked into the training room. so similar to how you remembered it. the survival stands, fighting matts and of course simulators, for archery, knife throwing, sword fighting and much else.

you part ways with your district partner, for now, walking around slowly, trying your hardest to smile at the other occupants of the room, but most, just hissed or glared at you, until by the corner of your eye, you caught those crazy geniuses from the third district or whatever haymitch said, struggling to make a fire.

“you should move your hands downward and faster.” you try to advice putting a smile on your face, as you tried unnoticeably take a closer look at the pair, sitting down next to them, watching beetee try again.

“a little brutal force..” wiress gasped as she saw the smoke coming out of the wood.

“is always helpful. thank you.” beetee finished the line for his district partner and smiled at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose.

“by the corner of the table.” the female tribute whispers mysteriously, making you look up at the balcony, the gamemakers watched you from like hawks analysing their preys. you squint your eyes trying to figure out what was wiress talking about, so you ask.

“plutarch?” the head gamemaker had talked to you, at the victor’s party very briefly, few momths ago, but wiress shook her head and beetee seemed to be only remaining from the trio to catch on what his co-victor was talking about.

“force field.”

“how do you know?” you ask curious, scanning the area, but you just didn’t know what to catch onto.

“the shimmering. top left side.” beetee explained lightly turning your head towards the imperfect edge of the figurative border, “you see it?”

you nod along, fascinated by the occurrence. “almost like glass.” you commented.

“it separates them from us.” wiress sighed and you frowned knowingly.

“i know who’s fault that is..”

“electro-magnetic.” beetee stated after analysing the force field for few another seconds.

“how can you tell?” you ask again, confusion settling in your expression a they laughed. “is it obvious or something?” you pout almost as they giggled some more while you were trying to figure pit if there was something you were missing.

“they might as well put a sign there.” wiress laughed some more as beetee tried to explain it to you.

“look around, the holograms, the lights, every once a while, they flicker. why?”

“because the force field is taking up too much energy.” you answer, nodding understandingly, feeling a little better after seeing his pleased smile at your correct answer.

“there’s always a flaw in the system.”

and that made you think for few seconds, just about how true that was, but before you could dive too deep into those waters, by the corner of your eye, you caught mags, making fish hooks. you excuse yourself politely, from the district three victors and made your way towards the eldest mentor and this years tribute.

your gaze scanned over her creations. you knew how to make those, because finnick taught you some time ago, it came in handy a lot, you just wanted an excuse to talk to her.

“volunteering for annie was really brave.” you say standing next to her, giving her a soft encouraging smile.

mags just shook her head, her gentle hand touching your chest, which was your answer. you knew what she meant. that she admired your bravery to volunteer for your best friend instead.

before you had a chance to say anything else, finnick appeared behind you with a trident and a rope in his hand, grinning, like he was having the time of his life.

“you know this is the best knot you can know in the arena.” the blonde said hanging a noose around his neck.

you just gave him an unimpressed look but barely could fight back the smile as you were looking at him, knowing full well that was his only intention beside showing off.

“don’t look at me, look at the knot.” he chuckled as he tried to lecture you, dramatically tugging on the end of the rope, towards you.

“hilarious.” you comment, crossing your arms over your chest, but an amused smile was plastered on your face, reaching your eyes even.

“do you wanna take me for a walk?” finnick cocked his eyebrow, while keeping his tone light, his bronze waves already were a mess after his training, and maybe you even would if it wasn’t for the given circumstances so you just roll your eyes over him coyly, walking past him, for your chosen weapon to train more your skills.

“oh, really?” you heard finnick’s voice call behind you and you just had to smile for yourself before focusing on the task at hand again.

“good news.” haymitch walked into the lounge room of their floor that peeta and you were occupying, stopping right in from of the couch you were sitting on.

“more than half of the tributes want you as their ally.” haymitch said, arms folded over his chest, but what he said, was meant as a praise, he was relieved you made a good impression.

“well they saw her fight.” peeta said, standing next to haymitch, mentioning how you left everyone speechless at the training earlier today after showing your chosen skill in full swing.

“well sweetheart, who’s your pick?” haymitch asked expectantly before muttering under his breath. “beside o’dair of course..”

“i want wiress and beetee.” you say without much thinking, blinking as you saw haymitch’s expression shift ever so slightly.

“johanna calls them mats and voltes.” your district partner comments, not so sure with your choice of allies.

“well honey, who’s else?” haymitch tried again, his last hopes mirroring in his eyes.

“mags.” you shrug softly almost pouting at the looks you have gotten from your mentor and co-tribute.

haymitch swallowed, hard. looking at peeta who was right now rethinking all his life choices before looking back at you.

“i’ll tell them y’re still makin’ up your mind.” he settled on before walking back towards the elevator.

soon enough the prep teams plugged out their victor, to make them look as significant as attractive and as glorious as they can. you were waxed off of all your additional body hair beside those on your head. they bathed you, scrubbed and soaped up your body with the expensive products that held rich scents of vanilla, strawberries and sweet cakes.

it didn’t take more than hour before cinna walked through the door of the room where you were supposed to wait for him.

“cinna..” you hug him, your hair still wet. he was the first person from the capitol, you ever trusted. he was a great stylist and even greater man. as a stylist for district twelve, he dressed both you and katniss for your games.

breathtaking, mesmerising, magnificent, enchanting and just simply beautiful. all those words could describe the dress you wore. white, wedding like, but incredibly revealing even if they were floor length. that’s how you first would call it, they wanted you to be desirable. you knew why. you knew it was all president snow, teasing, poking and provoking. it was just so him.

“and if i die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips.” you watched finnick say on the stage, next to caesar flickerman, and god did it sounded so fake. the audience swooned, some of the other victors beside you made disgusted faces and you, you were the only one in the room, knowing it was real.

flickerman sent him off the stage with a laugh, and called the female tribute from district five on the stage. the victors kept changing and before you could listen more to johanna’s screaming, finnick’s voice stole your attention away.

“break a leg, or whatever you say in twelve.” the typical arrogant smirk decorated his perfect face as he snickered, throwing yet another sugar cube into his mouth, you knew it always did ease his nerves.

“maybe johanna will break his leg.” you mutter adverting your gaze to johanna mason, raging on the podium. when finnick introduced you to her first, you found her hard to trust, but soon enough you got used to her unpredictable, fierce nature. your calmer and rational thinking was a great contrast to your friendship.

the observation earned a chuckle from finnick as he took a little step closer to you, looking at you with his sea green eyes, for a long moment as if complimenting your beauty with just the look on it’s own. finnick had his way with words, there was no discussion about that, but his eyes always spoke for him first.

“see y’ later, honey.” his thumb ever so gently brushed against your chin, as he turned to walk to the other already interviewed victors.

“peeta.” finnick acknowledged your district partner with a brief nod, and he got one back, from the younger blonde.

“finnick.” peeta muttered, walking up to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder briefly before he saw haymitch nearing both of you with effie trying to keep up with him on her dramatically tall heels.

“you know what to do?” haymitch switched gaze between his protégés, before sipping some alcohol from his flask again, to make sure they understood. earning a nod from both you and peeta he sighed, for now leaving it to the fate.

“it’s time.” effie chimmed when your name was called and started lightly pushing you towards the staircase leading up the podium.

“our lovely girl, all the from twelve, doesn’t she look beautiful?” caesar gushed putting a hand over his chest, while holding the microphone in the other. the audience cheered, they loved you here, you were such an interesting victor to the capitol.

“tell us, did you leave a special someone at home? i don’t believe you didn’t.” laugh erupted from the crowd but everyone awaited your answer.

“thank you, caesar. what a..nostalgic feeling to be here again., but i didn’t, really.” you smile sweetly, your eyes searching for a head of bronze waves underneath the podium but the moment of silence flickerman left you was way too short, for you to be successful. and also technically, you weren’t lying. the special someone was there with you.

“unbelievable. such a beautiful young lady. ain’t i right gentlemen.” the crowd cheered once more before caesar asked you other number of questions.

“you did good, now you two should get some rest, the raiting starts early again tomorrow.” haymitch said as he walked with you and peeta to the elevator after introducing you to his friends, seeder and chaff, the victor tributes from district eleven.

you gave a hum in an answer, leaning against the glass wall of the lift while it gone up, not paying attention to the conversation haymitch had with peeta, getting lost in your thoughts once again before johanna’s loud voice pierced through the compressed space.

“care to unzip?” she grinned at peeta which you just rolled your eyes over, until by the corner of your eye you caught familiar tall frame that stepped in just behind johanna. finnick.

“haymitch.” the victor from district four cocked at your mentor, who just gave him a nod, brief annoyance flashing over his expression, just before johanna completely stripped off her clothes having all of the three blond’s eyes on her.

“thanks. lets do it again some time.” she called over her shoulder winking at you, before walking away into the hallway of the seventh floor where her quarters were.

“thank you.” the oldest member of the group answered and finnick threw a smirk at you making you roll your eyes once again, not even noticing haymitch’s judging look thrown into your boyfriend’s direction.

“not tired, o’dair?” your mentor uttered indifferently, looking everywhere around just to not catch your gaze.

“ve got a great stamina.” the younger blond mused while peeta just shifted awkwardly not comfortable in the position between the two older victors.

you just fake coughed lightly into your fist, reminding everyone of your presence so all the male victors around went quiet rather than being scold for the childishness of their arguments.

“twelfth floor.” the voice in the elevator announced and peeta was the first one to get out just to disappear into his bedroom, wanting to leave you and finnick some space, knowing he will talk to you later, but mainly wanting to get away from any other possible drama.

haymitch almost lazily shuffled out, into the hall, drinking the liquor from his flasks once more, before turning his head to look at you, making that disapproving face.

“use protection.” he just muttered before getting lost as well, before you had any chance to yell something back at him.

“are you even allowed to be here?” you turn to finnick, before he led the two of you slowly to the balcony railing, his hand holding yours.

“i didn’t ask.” is your answer from him along with that charming, kind smile of his. finnick leaned against the railing, reaching his free hand out to cup your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

it was more than comforting, to after weeks of loneliness, spent the night in finnick’s warm, loving embrace, his presence always had the charm to keep the nightmares from haunting every minute of your not so peaceful sleep.

the four days went even faster than it did last time. the individual rating was something that went completely around you and your brain wasn’t able to process much of the given informations, when it was occupied by the thoughts of what is gonna happen tomorrow and if you will live to see what happens after tomorrow.

“pst. hey, hey baby.” the familiar gentle voice took you out pf your thoughts and you turned around to see finnick standing at the doorway of your bedroom. for tonight, you had agreed to sleep separately, so you’d be strong and fully rested at the dawn.

“finnick!” leaping into his arms you take the feeling in, as if it was the first and last time, you ever get to feel his love and care.

finnick smiled, holding you close to his chest his arms supporting your weight as he leaned his head down, kissing your lips gently. then again, and again.

“i’ll see you in the mornin’ m’kay, sweet girl? ‘s all gonna be okay.” he gave you a reassuring look pecking your forehead.

“yea, in the morning.” you mumble, just clinging close to him, not being able to say much right now, feeling your insides being tangled in a one knot and squeezed tightly.

“good night, my love.”

“good night, finn.” unwillingly you let him go only comforting thought being that it all, might soon be over.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Bobby's dead, and Eddie's only back because of it, and Buck's been living in his house, and they've both been so lonely, and they know they can lean on each other, and a loss like this is something they've never faced before they don't know how to face it.

And the funeral is beautiful, Athena and the kids keep it together better than the 118 ever could, and there's fucking Tommy, and Gerrard, and all the reasons Bobby's life was made hell before he died and it's too much.

Eddie keeps himself together until they get home and Buck finally allows himself to break. They don't know what to do, there's nothing they can do but comfort each other. The hug doesn't feel close enough, doesn't let them feel alive enough, and Buck's always one to be impulsive when his emotions are too much.

And Eddie asks what he can do, a parallel to when Eddie's life was crumbling around him. He rests their foreheads together, whispers as he still clings to Buck, I'm here. What can I do? and Buck kisses him.

It's not how it's supposed to happen, but nothing about their lives or their relationship has ever been the way it was supposed to. Bobby brought them together over a grenade and it's finally traveled enough distance to go boom. They neither one care if they survive the blast.

And then Buck's phone rings, it's the only thing that separates them. He doesn't want to answer it, doesn't want to let go of Eddie for anything, but it's Maddie, he has to answer it, freaks out that it may be Chim, or the kids, or-

"Bobby's alive."

And they neither one talk about it, neither one acknowledge it, how can they sort out their own feelings when they're running to the hospital to piece back together the family they thought would never be whole again?

[lolottes]

Okay, okay, I'm going to write the scene that came to mind to write this:

A very sick Danny, from his new life as a Gotham street rat, with his stomach twisted by hunger, is attacked, but this time he's too weak to resist and ends up getting killed.

He waits for the humans to leave his body to emerge from his corpse, then transforms/becomes human again, and

and

He's not hungry at all! All his little wounds have disappeared... even his clothes are in "good" condition

...

OMG, he found it, he's always had the ultimate cheat code!!!

He looks back at where his attackers hid his corpse.

He didn't have to worry about it because THEY must have gotten rid of the evidence!

OMG

...Several weeks later...

Okay, Danny, maybe this is a little too relaxed, but why resist hunger when you can just let yourself be killed? Well, some of the attackers are starting to recognize him and be scared of him, but hey, it's not like they're going to admit to killing a child.

No, he was doing wonderfully, he'd taken a page from Tecnus's book and hacked a new identity and a place in a school with opportunities in his dream fields.

No, everything was going perfectly!!! He even had a new administrator who stared at him for a very long time as if he were the most interesting insect in the world. Which he found frankly hot. They even got to talk for the first time yesterday, and the boy had been touchy with him, even though he wasn't with anyone (at least from what he saw)!!! (He had the subcutaneous tacker inserted, and between his current absurd pain tolerance and the bi-panic panic he was going through, he didn't notice a thing.)

Danny POV: Things are finally getting better, everything's fine, the sun is shining, and my fields are watered. ~

Batfam POV: A horrific investigation and extreme confusion with so many atrocious theories about what's the fuck happening to this sunny child.

Gotham's attackers POV: horror movie: this kid comes to them again and again and again, provokes them and seems disappointed that they apologize and ask for forgiveness, contrasting with his happy face when they kill him. They must have hidden so many children's corpses. If the hood finds just one and goes back to them, they're dead. But the kid keeps coming back, hunting them down to do their work again and again. If they manage to hide well enough, then he adds a new person to his list of victims, pushing a new person to kill a child and condemns himself to the hood, to damn himself. They can't talk to ANYONE about it, not even each other, because the bats can hide in any shadow and relax on any rooftop. And then they'll investigate, then the hood will, then they'll all be dead.

They are so dead

dc x dp corpse ua

The bats find several identical teenage corpses and panic

Corpses also match the new student at Gotham Academy

So they decide to put a subcutaneous tracker on "Danny" as a perfectly reasonable means of investigation *cough cough*

That same evening, they follow the tracker's signal to find a new corpse.

In the morning, the new student, Danny, acts normally as if nothing happened.

[bwobgames]

She decides to hang out with a friend!

Which is. A bit of a shame since everyone seems to be somewhere else.

Which is why, the wonders of technology!

She looks at her phone and sees a clear lack of signal. So that’s how it is huh.

But, she also sees some unread notifications from a dear friend.

She puts the phone close to her ear and hears the first of multiple voice messages.

“Hey girl! How are things going? Please tell me if the train is any good I’m dying for a quick escapade. If I hear anyone else try to explain to me how the stock market works, I’m going to be on the news.”

“Is my baby okay? Did he shave that awful moustache? Please say yes.”

It’s Eva! Her friend from work!

A fellow young mind wanting to live it up in the world of business, although unlike Mari, she had some family capital with her already.

Probably why she always managed to stay cheery even while taking difficult business decisions.

Before Nina stepped in, Eva was her one ally in the rough path of maternity, picked up the slack when Eugene got bored of taking care of his pregnant wife, as he does. Although due to her international responsibilities, she wasn’t available as much as she wanted.

Until Eva suddenly showed up with a baby of her own.

They made a glorious system. When Eva had to travel, Mari and Nina would take care of Owen. And when Mari and Nina were too overwhelmed by work, Eva would look after them.

And of course, they all got to have play dates together!

She’s a bit envious on how easy Eva could take care of 3 children. The second Nina was out of the picture Marigold started to struggle.

It seems that pure unfiltered love is not enough to stop children from chewing cables.

It takes a village, truly.

Of course, someone of Eva’s calibre could’ve just paid a nanny, but she wanted Owen to grow in an environment full of friends.

And when he already got those friends, boarding school it is. A boarding school the three of them got exact knowledge on who the teachers, the directors and even the janitors are.

At this point, those kids have 3 moms now.

“By the way, tell Nina her cake recipe is a godsend. I fought myself not to eat more than one piece of it and I lost. That wife of yours is gonna give me diabetes!”

For a long time, Eva thought Mari and Nina were already married. Which made for a very interesting situation when she finally saw Eugene at the house.

She called the cops.

Eva doesn’t know what happened at the mansion.

And if it were for Mari, it would stay that way.

Owen himself might tell her someday, but secretly, she hopes he doesn’t.

Eva already lost her husband; she doesn’t need to know her son died too.

Died under Marigold’s supposed watch…

She lied to her. She said she doesn’t know where Owen’s sudden aggravation of his storm fear came from. She said she can trust her with her son.

She refuses to break that promise again.

“Also, also, did Vivi go or not? If she did tell her I said hiiiii! If she didn’t tell her I said byeee! Oh, the two lovely boys as well!”

Ángel got along with her, he even played matchmaker with a friend of his! That cheeky little man.

“Bring me something yummy! Bring cheese! And meat! And many many drinks because I have gathered so much gossip you wouldn’t believe!”

She needs that information now.

“Alright I’ll leave you be, I’ll be watching your stocks from the sidelines, don’t worry. And! I booked a trip for the telescopes I was telling you about! This time I will not be stopped by sudden emergencies I swear! We will have a fun star gazing bonanza I swear!!”

“Okay byeeeee! buy me something nice, eat well, don’t let Owen convince you I allowed him to drink, don’t attack people and relax for once!!”

She’ll try.

But first, time to respond

“I need that information. I’ll get any and all drinks necessary, I need it. And I’ll be holding onto that promise, I want some stars!”

“Also, the TV show you recommended? I watched it all in 3 days. Amazing. The second I get signal and a private room I need to discuss it with you, or I’ll explode”

“Currently Owen still has that moustache and I’m afraid his mind is not going to change anytime soon. My condolences.”

“Everyone says hi and they miss you! If they don’t say it, I’ll make them.”

And for a final message, something important.

“That is all, I’ll call you later!”

It’s always nice to catch up with friends, even with both of them being busy working women, they always find time for a tea break.

Which sounds like a great idea right now! Relaxing tea adventure!

Until a pink haired creature finds her.

<PREV START NEXT>

[riverbends]

Twin anon again

Imagine if one of the twins were like himself as a kid. I'm not all the way through, but in the clips I've seen, it seems like he's selectively mute, so maybe one of his twins talks with ASL and maybe only speaks to her sister and her mother when they're alone

Extra angst they were born while pope was in prison so they don't know him at all and he's doesn't know ASL so he literally cannot communicate with the daughter who is most like him 😭

God i have pope brain worms i swear

and i am eating the pope brain worms like it’s food for the soul. i think, obviously, he is generally awkward with most people but a little less with children. if one daughter is more than happy to interact with him and the other sort of just sits around him—legs swinging over the seat with her head in the clouds—he’s going to have the most excruciating time trying to pay attention to the chatty one.

you spectate the whole thing, probably on the porch while the three of them are engaged in some little activity and you can’t ignore the way pope is so removed from the conversation with his happy girl because his gaze keeps lingering on the quiet one, who won’t really even look back at him.

a lot of things keep him up at night but this has him pacing around the house like a madman and there’s nothing you can do to draw him back to bed. if there is ASL involved, he spends every night trying to teach himself and he won’t let anyone help him.

after some time, he does find her one morning and the signing doesn’t really seem to get through to her so he communicates in his own child-like way.

i imagine him drawing a picture for some reason. uses the girls’ crayons to scribble a messy but identifiable stack of pancakes or something. and then a chair and table beside it. he hands it to her and doesn’t say a word, just disappears into the kitchen and she’s left to look at what he tried to illustrate.

he’s in the middle of pouring batter onto a pan when he notices her standing by the kitchen island in her pyjamas, no taller than the countertop. her hair is untamed and she wears the straightest face as she blinks at him. he blinks back.

it’s enough to warm everything inside him. it’s more than enough. he knows he’s finally worked his way through their barrier as soon as she goes to sit at the table while she waits patiently for her breakfast.

he notices, later on, that she’s kept his drawing. she keeps every drawing he gives her over time and he continues drawing childish little scribbles for her months after they’ve learned to talk to each other properly.

yeah i’m sobbing now👍🏽

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 8 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 3.6k words

You and Bucky finally talk back at his apartment. Without work and the public watching, you can finally be yourselves again. But what will that look like now the truth is out?

Warnings: 18+ language, mentions of HYDRA and the Winter Solider, adult content, p in v, dirty talk, mentions of bratting, dirty talk, oral (f recieving). S is for Sir.

A/N: This is the last chapter and I'm so excited to share it with you! Thank you so much for reading, whether it was from the start, part way through or you're just here for the smut! If you enjoyed this series please reblog to share with your friends :)

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 7 | Bucky Barnes

The ride back to Bucky's apartment was filled with fraught silence. The driver tried desperately to make conversation before turning the radio up and tuning in to the coverage of what was apparently several attacks on several political offices.

Bucky paid in cash as he always did and you rolled your eyes, stepping out close behind him, his shadow. And he loved it, had missed the smell of your perfume when you tugged on his jacket sleeve.

"Mr Barnes —"

"Let's not talk here," Bucky could feel how tight his smile was, the edge in his voice.

You were finally here, finally coming to his home where he'd spent hours preparing for you — only to come back and shove the flowers into the trash compactor. He'd downed the bottle of wine he picked out sat in the bath while the water went cold and then he'd shoved the dressing gown to the back of his closet and decided he'd done as much crying as he felt became a man of his age.

Now you were here, his apartment was a mess, he had no food in and he was pretty sure he hadn't even put his clothes in the hamper from yesterday. He felt like a boy again and despite the decades of time that had passed since he'd last seen his mother, he could hear her scolding him for his slovenliness. Hear his father's raised voice —his stomach turned.

None of this was right anymore, not his life, not this day, not the awkwardness he felt with you when he'd been so happy before.

He was right, his apartment was as he left it. Dirty dishes by the sink and his coffee table covered in books, candy wrappers and cups.

"Come in, I guess, can I get you a drink?" He offered, getting a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, at least that was full, maybe Anna had sent someone round.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you're drinking." You sat awkwardly at the breakfast bar, watching him, and a prickle on unease ran up his spine.

He still wasn't sure who you really were. Sam had told him you were security, but did he even know your real name?

Bucky placed the glass in front of you and opted to stand on the other side of the counter, he rolled his shirt sleeves up and undid his tie, watching your eyes tracking his movements as he went. That was real, he knew it, he didn't imagine the way your throat moved when you swallowed, or flick of your eyes to his forearms.

"Okay, you wanted to tell me your side of things so. You said back there —"

He was still replaying what you'd said, that you cared about, had been frightened for him.

"You have to know, I wasn't sent to —"

"Sleep with me?" Bucky took a swig of water to try and calm himself down, "sure, you said."

"I was tasked with making sure you're safe. You get lots of letters, nice letters, from kids and enhanced people and that's lovely. But you get a lot of hate mail too, it just doesn't reach your desk and Sam— he was worried."

"Do you even really know Sam?" This had stung Bucky as much as anything else, that Sam would lie so much something had to be true and he really hoped Sam had been telling the truth about your bravery during Project Insight.

"Yeah, I do.I've worked with him, as Captain America, I've done private security, undercover ops, freelance stuff…that was true. He trusts me, that's why he trusted me with his best friend." You looked at him pointedly, making sure to keep eye contact.

You hadn't looked away from him the entire time, you weren't shaking or nervous, you were telling the truth — or you were an insanely good liar because Bucky could hear your heart beating when you got excited, and right now, it was a steady thump.

Bucky wasn't so sure he was still best friends with Sam, he had a lot of apologising to do for the way he'd spoken to him.

"You worked for SHIELD?" He used his glass to wave at your faded Kevlar vest.

"Yeah, I did." He could see in your eyes, you knew what was coming next.

"Were you there?— Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, were you there?"

"Yes." You said it proudly, chin up, and he he was reminded of why he was so drawn to you. Your persistence, your pride in your role, your willingness to take responsibility. "I was there."

"And did you follow your orders then?"

"I followed the right orders,"

Bucky's heart sank momentarily

"— I listened to Agent Hill. I did my job, not as directed by SHIELD officials, but by the principals it was founded on. I protected the people. I protected Sam and Captain Rogers, Agent Hill and Agent Romanoff. I shot one of my colleagues, point blank, to protect them." You did look down then. "I was mostly a desk agent before then, it changed my life and I'm still not sure if I'm glad of that or not. But it did. I have to live with it, what I did, killing him. I had to make it mean something, so I found Sam after and I've been freelancing for him every since. Is that what you wanted to hear?" You looked like you were fighting back tears.

Bucky ducked his head, ashamed. Of course you did. Sam was a man of principal too, he wouldn't have been friends with you if you'd have run away or listened to the HYDRA agents. But it also wasn't everything he wanted to know…

"And did you see me?" Bucky let the question hang, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"I saw you, yes. I saw you as him, the Winter Soldier and I saw you drag Captain Rogers from the river. I saw you walk away a different man. And it's that man I promised Sam I'd protect."

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, "I don't need protecting, sweetheart."

"Seems to me like you do, if you keep forgetting you're a congressman and not a superhero. You were going to go back into the building today, if I hadn't called that cab."

"That's true." Bucky downed his water, he'd have walked back in without a second thought, he was still a little troubled by how easy it had been for you to lead him away.

"It's what makes me care about you, Mr Barnes, more than the job required."

It was your turn to look awkward now, playing with the condensation on your glass of water, the ice clinking when you moved it between your palms.

"You don't have to pretend I meant anything more to you to make me feel better, I just wanted to know the truth."

He was lying and he knew it, but he hoped you didn't.

"Hmm —" your gaze slowly moved over the counter, tracing up his arms until it felt like you were trying to see his secrets, eyes keen and trained on his own. "It meant a lot more to me than that, and I think it meant more to you. You know — I really never meant to hurt you, Mr Barnes, I got carried away. Sam was right to remove me from the position, I would've got us both in trouble or, worse, killed."

Suddenly there were tears spilling over your cheeks.

Bucky had never been good with crying, it was in many ways his biggest weakness. He wasn't an idiot, he'd spent years comforting his sister, Steve, the Howlies. But crying just seemed to make him panic.

"Oh - oh no —" he rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head against his chest, one hand rubbing circles on the small of your back, the other stroking over the back of your head. "I hurt myself, I was stupid and reckless, inappropriate and unprofessional. Regardless of who you are, I should never have —"

You looked up, your arms circling his waist and pulling him closer, "I'm glad you did, I wanted to, I still —" you ducked your head, wiping your finger over the smear of mascara on his white shirt. "That'll stain."

"I don't care, what were you going to say?" He cupped your cheek in his vibranium palm, thumb nudging your tears away.

"I hated not seeing you every day, I hate being apart from you, I know that sounds pathetic, we only had a few weeks together but I —"

Bucky bent down and pressed his lips to yours, salty from your tears. He licked away the sadness, holding you steady against his body. You hesitated for a moment and he kicked himself, ready to let you go, back away and call you a cab, then you sighed into his mouth and kissed him back.

Everything felt right again, the way you allowed him to take some of your weight, leaning back into his palm, your lips parting for his own, hands clutching at his shirt and in his hair.

It felt the same. But it was still different, now that the truth was out.

"You're in your head," you whispered, tucking his hair behind his ear and searching his gaze.

"It's hard not to be," Bucky bent forward, resting his forehead against yours, "you taste the same —but—"

"But —"

"At the hotel, you — the things you said and did, what was real?"

You pulled back further, "are you asking me if I wanted to have sex with you? Of course I did, none of that was — no one asked me to do that." A little crease appeared between your eyes and Bucky fought the urge to kiss it away.

"Come on now, you know what I mean. I may be an old man but I understand playing these games, the bratting, calling me sir — I —fuck — I spanked you, sweetheart. What of that was you maintaining this illusion of the sweet little secretary, and what was real?" He could feel his ears going pink at the memory, your gasps, your begging voice asking for him.

"Would you think less of me as an agent if I wanted you to spank me, if I enjoyed playing the little brat for you?"

Bucky paused, "no, of course not, it was so sexy and I was thrilled you wanted to share that with me, sweetheart, I would've been happy no matter what you wanted to do."

"You still call me sweetheart," you tugged on his tie and he allowed himself to be brought closer to your lips.

"You're still sweet to me, regardless of what you tell me next. Unless you don't like it?"

"I like it." Your voice was breathy, dreamy and far away. "And you're still Mr Barnes —"

"That's my name, sweetheart."

"Hmm…." you lifted your chin, your lips against his, "you could still be sir to me, if you want to be."

"Oh I want to be—"

And then he was kissing you again because he couldn't help it, he had to kiss you. And you were pulling at his hair, tugging him down and arching up into him.Bucky slid his hands down your back and scooped you up into his arms marching away from the kitchen towards his bedroom. He didn't care that his sheets were messy anymore, if he got his way he'd have to change them all anyway when he was done with you.

"You like it when I take control, hmm?" He asked gruffly, nipping at your ear. The sharp sensation had you arching in his arms, trying to press yourself against him, get some friction, but it was too hard.

"I trust you, sir, but I also like that frown you get when you want to be mad at me," you kissed his cheeks and then between his eyes where Bucky knew he had a permanent wrinkle forming. "It's so sexy, I just can't help myself." You bit your lip, smiling cheekily.

He debated between dropping you to the sheets to enjoy your shocked expression or lowering you gently, but instead decided to sit himself, keeping you in his lap. Above him your face was all smiles, your eyes lit up with excitement and your mouth parted slightly. Your tongue darted out to lick nervously at your lip.

Bucky cupped your cheeks, allowing you to settle in his lap, arms looped around his neck and your fingers playing with his hair.

"I haven't been able to get you off my mind, sweetheart, couldn't stand being without you."

You both paused, bodies still, drinking in the moment.

"Then don't be, let me stay with you." You kissed him softly, coaxing him back out of the nervous shell he'd found himself in. "Let me be with you."

You pressed your hips forwards to rock against the outline of his cock and smiled when he gasped.

"You're torturing me," he groaned, dropping his head to your collarbone and pressing kisses through your shirt. His fingers made light work of the buttons, pushing the heavy kevlar vest off first and then the softer cotton.

Shyly you brought your hands up to fiddle with your bra, plain cotton to match the shirt, "didn't expect to be doing this today, had a whole lingerie set picked out for after your speech and —"

Bucky took your hands and placed them in your lap before quickly releasing the clasp of your bra and sliding the straps down your arms slowly, "you look gorgeous," he praised, ducking forward to lap at a pert nipple.

"So you don't want to see the blue lace I chose?"

"Oh I definitely want to see the lace, but right now, I just want to see you, sweetheart."

With that he lifted up, easily turning you both so you were sprawled on the bed beneath him.

"I think I promised that I'd kiss every inch of you," he lifted an eyebrow, ghosting his lips down over your collarbone and the swell of your breast. You lifted up into him but all he gave you was a flick of his tongue on your sensitive nipple.

"Tease," you groaned, tugging on his hair.

"Brat," he countered, sliding lower, kissing down to your belly button. "These have to go," Bucky began unbuttoning your office slacks, "god please say you're wearing neat little cotton panties to match that bra."

"Mr Barnes!" You covered your face with your hands and pushed at him with your foot, "you said you liked it."

Bucky caught your foot and kissed your ankle before placing it over his shoulder, "I do, I mean it — wait." His fingers slid over your ankle holster, "do you still have weapons on you?" He could feel himself getting harder, his underwear pressed uncomfortably against the wet head of his cock.

"A few, wanna find them?" You slid your foot from his shoulder down to his chest.

"Fuck, yes." And then he pounced, all pretence of romance and delicacy out of the window along with your trousers, ripped down the seam to allow him better access.

You were wearing neat cotton panties, as predicted, but Bucky didn't think he'd seen anything sexier than your concealed ankle holster, or the knife hidden on your thigh.

Bucky trailed his fingers over your thigh and then followed with his tongue, pressing down under the strap. You writhed against the sheets, "please." You whined and Bucky throbbed — that tone, the pout, your eyes. He was worried things would be different, that he would notice the previous lies in the new truths. But this was you just as you'd been at the hotel. Just as you'd been kissing him in his office.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can have anythin' you want when you beg so pretty." He slurred, lust drunk, love drunk and preparing to bury himself between your thighs.

Your panties were gone in a second, torn and thrown over his shoulder into the darkness of his room. Instantly forgotten when his tongue touched your clit, swirling and then pressing in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," you grabbed at his hair, mussing it between your fingers and tugging, the pain was a delicious flash down his spine urging him on.

"That's it sweetheart, take what you want," he speared his tongue between your folds, lapping at you, squeezing your thighs and encouraging you to wrap them around his shoulders.

You obliged and with a final tug you went taut beneath him, thighs locking around his head.

"Good girl, give it to me, c'mon," Bucky mumbled against you, pressing you apart with his thumbs and catching your arousal on his tongue.

You panted above him, one arm covering your eyes, the other hand still tangled in his hair as he crawled back up your body, kissing you as he went. He was painfully aware that he was still clothed and though the image of you, naked, aroused, post orgasm, beneath him while he was still in his suit was incredibly sexy. He needed to feel you.

Before he could move though your hands were on him, tugging at his buttons and pawing at his trouser zip, pressing the heel of your hand against the firm length of him.

"Please, Mr Barnes," your eyes were wide, that doe eyed expression back, "fuck me."

"Fuckin' hell," it was like his entire body was hard, his whole being. He shoved his trousers and underwear to the floor, his shirt open and half off his shoulders, undershirt rucked up when he pushed you back down, looping your leg over his hip. "You're irresistible, do y'know that?"

You smiled, slowly, and tugged him down so you could whisper in his ear, "takes one to know one —sir." Your hands were all over him, sliding up his back, teasing down his chest. He was surrounded.

Your kisses were as needy as he felt, fervent, teeth clashing as you attempted to get closer, your hands clasping at each other, Bucky didn't bother to line himself up, he didn't need to. As you writhed and arched into each other his cock caught against your soaking folds, he knew when he was against your clit by the high whine that resonated from you.

"Puh-puh-puh-" your begged, rolling against him until finally he was buried inside you, blissful heat and the tight wet feeling of you thrumming around him overtook you both.

"You feel so fuckin' good, could stay here forever," Bucky kissed your temple, giving you time to adjust, for that glassy look to fade enough to know you're ready.

"God yes," you breathed and Bucky drew back, watching your mouth open in time with his thrusts, almost shocked at the sensation and the little punched out 'uh-uh-uh' noises you made. "Wanna stay, missed you so much - yes -uh - just there - yes!"

Bucky dropped to his elbows, caging you against the bed, narrowing his vision until all he could see was your face, feel the puff of your breath on his cheek and smell your perfume.

It was everything, this is what he wanted, what he'd missed, the hollow part of him that was never satisfied before. He'd known it as soon as you'd walked in his office door and he'd been completely helpless to let go of you. You were meant to be here, with him, around him — you were everything.

"Fuck —" he was close, he could feel it building and he wasn't sure if — "sweetheart, I'm so close, god I —" he pulled back, meaning to finish in his hand, on your belly or legs if you'd let him but..

"Don't you dare," you locked your ankles behind him, "I wanna come with you - I'm so so close — oh god oh god — "

He could feel you fluttering around him and, helpless to stop himself, he came hard, flush against your writhing hips he kept himself buried as he twitched, spent, inside of you. He was so happy, so tired, he let his forehead drop to your shoulder where he placed a single kiss.

"I mean it, I don't want to be without you anymore," he whispered, afraid to look at you.

"I don't want to be without you either." You closed your eyes and he allowed himself to just indulge in the feeling of your warm soft body wrapped around his own.

"I'm glad you're here, sweetheart. Do you need anything? I could order take out, run you a bath?" Bucky offered, lifting himself onto his elbow to better view you.

"I don't need anything…although…"

"Yeah," Bucky felt dreamy and far away, he caught your eye and you were smiling again, that low indulgent smile.

"I can't really keep calling you Mr Barnes, can I?" You smirked.

"I guess not," Bucky let out a chuckle, "you can call me Bucky, that's what all my friends call me."

Your smile deepened and Bucky blushed, of course you knew that, he'd forgotten his own notoriety for a moment.

"Bucky." You whispered, stroking a hand over his cheek, scuffing your thumb over his stubble. "Bucky," you sighed his name again, curling into him, tipping him over onto the bed and moulding your body with his. "I like it, I think we need to try it out properly though."

"Yeah?" Bucky said, half listening while he let his hands wander over your back. "How would we try it out."

"Hmm…" You pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his half-hard cock. "How about — please fuck me, Bucky?" You did your best pout, eyelashes fluttering and breasts pushed forwards.

Bucky opened his eyes to find you giggling as well.

"Yep, that'll do nicely." He agreed, before rolling you over again with a laugh of his own.

[tinylilacbun]

how do you think daddy! rafe would respond if he found little! reader with his gun or a weapon of sorts?

Warnings: kinda dark!rafe turning soft at the end, cussing, mentions of guns, angst/comfort

You didn't mean to snoop around, really, but you're bored out of your mind and have been waiting for Rafe to be finally done with whoever he's talking on his phone for what feels like hours.

Somehow you end up in his office that he keeps locked most of the time, especially when you're little, today he seems to have forgotten it, giving you the chance to look around.

You smile when you see a few of your colored pictures pinned on the cork board that's hanging on the wall together with notes and documents you don't even bother reading as you wouldn't understand a single thing that's written on them.

As you move to sit on his leather chair you swivel around in it a few times, some giggles slipping past your mouth before turning to sit properly at his desk, eyeing how organized everything is.

Moving your gaze lower, your curiosity gets the best of you as you start to open the drawers, seeing different files, papers, and pens, until you reach the last drawer your breath hitches at what you discover.

A gun. Rafe's gun. Something you only get glimpses of when you are big and even then those times are extremely rare, not even thinking as you reach inside the drawer to pick it up carefully.

It's so heavy, a lot heavier than you expected it to be, turning it from left to right and admiring it with big eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rafe's voice cuts through the silence, making you jump in the seat and almost drop the gun.

Your heartbeat picks up as he strides towards you quickly, snatching the gun from your trembling hands and grabbing your jaw with his free one, his breathing ragged.

"You know better than going in here without my freaking permission." He sneers at you, his grip on your face getting firmer as he lifts the gun for you to see. "This. This right here, is not a fucking a toy, do you hear me?"

You try to nod as best as you can, your eyes brimming with tears at his tone and the way he holds your face. "M-M'sorry daddy..."

He leans down so your noses are almost touching. "Never do that again." He mutters, letting you go a bit too harsh, making your back hit the leather seat as you shrink under his gaze.

You watch him walk over to the painting that has a safe hidden behind it and unlock it, laying the gun inside it before shutting it again quickly.

The tears finally start to pour down your cheeks as you can't keep them at bay anymore, sobbing quietly to yourself and tense up when you see him coming back over to you, expecting another scolding of which you're not sure if you're able to take any more today.

"C'mere..." He sighs, gently picking you from the chair and sits down himself with you on his lap, your face nestled in his neck as you sniffle. "Shh, shh, it's all good. I'm not mad, I was just- you could have hurt yourself real bad, and I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something ever happened to you, baby."

You relax against him as he explains his sudden outburst towards you, understanding that he was just worried about your safety more than anything else and that he's still working on his temper, still learning how to approach you gently whenever you're in that sensitive headspace.

"M'sowwy, daddy...d-didn' mean to-" You whimper against his skin, reaching up to fumble with one button of his shirt as he rubs his hand up and down your arm, rocking you both slightly.

"I know, I know you didn't. Daddy's office is off limits for a reason, kid." He reminds you, letting you curl yourself more against him to be comfortable.

He keeps holding you until your sniffles and hiccups completely stop, only standing up with you still in his arms when he's sure that you've fallen asleep.

[channieschaoscorner]

New Beginnings - Part Three - Stray Kids x female!9th member

Pairing: Chan x 9th Member

Summary: The aftermath of your final practice leads to a very memorable performance, but how will that impact your friendship now? And what will happen years later when management wants you to perform together again?

Genre: Angst, some small hurt/comfort

A/N: Part Three guys!!! I feel like I’m just going to keep apologising for the amount of angst in this but it’s what I love to write to we all need to make our piece with it lol. The more parts I write to this, the longer I feel like I could make it so who knows how many parts we’ll get out of this? I hope you enjoy, please leave any feedback if you have it!

Also a huge thank you to @mythicmochi for their idea that inspired the very last scene <3

Part Two

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The final pose always felt like the longest moment in the entire rehearsal. One hand on your waist, the other cupping your face. Your hands resting on his chest. It was choreography, just steps—he kept reminding himself of that—but it never felt like that.

Not tonight.

Chan stood still, the echo of the music fading into the walls of the practice room, leaving only the sound of your breaths mingling with his. His heartbeat was uneven. Loud. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The tips of his fingers pressed just slightly into your waist, grounding himself in the warmth of you. His palm against your cheek felt like it might burn through his skin. You were looking at him. Still. And he didn’t want to break the moment. Couldn’t.

His throat was dry, lips parted slightly like he might say something, but no words came. What would he even say? That he forgot where the routine ended and real life began? That being this close made his head spin more than any performance ever had?

God you were right there.

His thumb moved against your cheek—he didn’t even mean to, just a small, nervous shift—but even that felt too intimate. Like a secret was about to be whispered without sound.

Your eyes met his. Locked. And then they dropped—just slightly—to his mouth.

Chan’s breath caught.

He shouldn’t.

But he didn’t lean in like someone making a choice. He leaned in like someone being pulled—like gravity had shifted and you were the center of it now. His lips brushed yours, soft, brief, barely anything at all.

But everything in him lit up. And shut down.

He pulled back instantly, stunned, eyes wide. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. He just stared at you, like somehow this was all wrong, like he broke something and didn’t know how to fix it.

What did he just do?

“I—” he started, but the words caught in his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

You looked as shaken as he felt, your hand going to your lips, your eyes darting like you were trying to understand it all just like he was.

“It’s okay. I don’t know what—” you said, but your voice cracked like it didn’t want to finish the sentence either.

And then you stepped back. Just a little. But to Chan, it felt like miles.

“I just… I need a minute,” you said, and his heart dropped.

“Yeah. Me too. I just… I didn’t—” mean to? He didn’t even know what he was trying to say.

And you were gone. Grabbing your bag with shaking hands, your shoulders hunched like the weight of it all was finally crashing in. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to wait, to tell you—

What?

That it was a mistake?

That it wasn’t?

He just stood there.

Frozen.

Watching the door close behind you like it was the end of something he couldn’t name.

The room was cold without you in it. Too quiet.

Chan let out a breath that shook on the way out. He sat down where you’d just been standing, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. His lips still tingled where yours had touched. That fleeting kiss playing on repeat behind his eyes like a memory trying to etch itself into his bones.

He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t understand what he felt. All he knew—all he knew—was that the thought of losing you made his stomach twist into knots so tight he could hardly breathe.

You were everything steady in his life.

And now, this... whatever it was, whatever it could become—he couldn’t let it break the one thing that kept him together. But how could he pretend it didn’t happen?

How could he pretend he didn’t want to do it again?

Chan dropped his head into his hands.

He didn't know what this was but he knew it would ruin him if he lost you.

And that was enough to terrify him more than anything else in the world.

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was quiet when Chan got back.

Late enough that the others were already asleep or pretending to be. The silence wrapped around him like a second skin—heavy, suffocating, impossible to shake off.

He slipped off his shoes quietly and padded down the hallway, still in his practice clothes, hoodie half-zipped and damp at the neck. Every step echoed too loud in his head.

He passed your room. The light was off under the door, but he could hear the faint sound of your breathing, the tiny shifts in your bed, like you were turning over again and again, restless. Just like him.

He stopped. His hand hovered over your doorknob.

He should talk to you. Say something. Anything. Just… not let things hang like this.

But what would he say?

Sorry for kissing you?

Sorry for wanting to?

Sorry that it felt like the most right and wrong thing all at once?

His hand dropped back to his side, defeated.

He couldn’t do it.

He backed away slowly, as if any sound might wake the whole building, and retreated to his own room. He sat on the edge of his bed for a long time, elbows on his knees, head bowed. The silence followed him, even louder in here.

His phone screen lit up once. An email from management about filming times for tomorrow. He ignored it.

The performance. Right. He had to focus. Had to forget what had happened. Had to bury the weight of it and act like it was all fine—like the kiss was just a stress response, a one-off moment between two friends caught in something intense.

“You’re her best friend.” he told himself. “Don’t ruin this.”

But when he finally lay down, hours later, his body wouldn’t settle.

He tossed.

Turned.

The second he closed his eyes, he saw you.

But not the way he expected.

You were laughing in the studio, curled next to him on the couch, legs tangled up with his. Your hand was in his hair. He was holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you kissed him—soft, familiar, like you’d done it a thousand times before. He felt your lips curve into a smile against his, felt himself laugh, his hand cradling the back of your neck.

It was warm. Safe. Real.

He didn't want to wake up.

But he did.

His heart was hammering in his chest. The room was still dark. His sheets tangled around his legs, damp with sweat. He stared at the ceiling, throat dry, the dream clinging to him like smoke which was fitting because every nerve of his body felt like it was on fire.

It felt too real.

It felt like wanting you wasn’t just a moment of weakness—it was something buried deep, something he’d been trying to deny for too long. And it scared the hell out of him.

Because he couldn’t feel this way. Not about you.

Not when it could tear everything apart.

You were his best friend.

His safe place.

His person.

And if he let this grow—if he let himself feel what that dream felt like then he could lose all of that.

Lose you.

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he wanted to knock on your door right now and ask if you’d felt it too, he couldn’t.

He had to protect what you had.

Even if it meant pushing you away.

Even if it meant burying how badly he wanted to hold you again.

So, he turned on his side, stared at the wall, and promised himself one thing:

Tomorrow, he’d put the performance first.

He’d keep it together.

He’d keep you safe.

Even if it shattered him in the process.

────୨ৎ────

The morning of the final performance arrived, but everything felt off.

You barely slept, the ghost of the kiss and the silence that followed wrapped tight around your chest like a second skin. You hadn’t seen Chan since practice ended. He hadn’t messaged, hadn’t knocked. And now, minutes before you were due on stage, the two of you stood in the dressing room, barely speaking, barely breathing.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

You watched him in the mirror as the stylists worked on your hair. He sat across the room, shoulders hunched, staring at his phone like it held the answers to something neither of you knew how to ask.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Not with you.

There was always something easy about the way you were around each other, a comfort you could fall into. Now, that familiarity was gone—like a wall had been built in the night, and you hadn’t noticed until you were on the outside of it.

Why is he being so cold?

You couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t figure out how he could be that distant with you now… and still expected to hold you on stage like you meant everything to him.

How are we supposed to perform like this?

The thought made your stomach twist.

But somehow, you did.

The lights went down, the music cued up, and just like that—you were in it.

His hand slid around your waist, the same way it had in every rehearsal. His eyes met yours, and something sparked between you, sharp and aching. It felt different on stage, like everything was louder.

His touch, your heartbeat, the ache in your chest.

The performance was emotional, raw. Every move you made together was synced like second nature. Every glance, every breath, timed perfectly.

But behind the smooth choreography and aching harmonies, your head was spinning.

Your heart was in your throat as the music faded out and his hand rested ever so softly on your cheek. You would’ve thought he was the perfect performer, able to put on a perfect mask to hide how on edge he was.

Except you knew better.

The hand on your waist, you felt it. His fingers stiffen and then flex, ever so slightly, that if you weren’t so aware of him touching you, you would have missed it. The muscle in his jaw clenched, his eyes looking through you, not at you.

The applause rang in your ears, but none of it sank in.

Chan all but threw himself away from you, shaking his hands out, which to everyone else would look like leftover nerves but to you made your chest ache. Like the slightest touch of you burned him.

How could he look at you like that, sing those words, hold you so gently only to freeze you out the second the music ended?

You bowed with him, your smile tight, stomach in knots.

Backstage, JYP approached you both, pride glowing in his voice. “That was your best yet. Emotional, restrained, exactly what this stage needed. You both did very well.”

You nodded, too dazed to respond.

Chan bowed low in gratitude. “Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

He didn’t even glance your way. No shared smile. No subtle nod like always. Just silence.

You stood there, caught in the aftermath, the makeup team swarming to fix your smudged eyeliner, your mic being removed, people congratulating you but none of it felt real.

All you that was running through your mind was how that entire performance felt like one long goodbye.

Because the performance had been everything. Every unspoken word, every longing glance, every secret you couldn’t say aloud. And if that was the last time you’d ever feel close to him like that, if that was the final moment before whatever this was shattered for good. Well, you didn’t know how you’d come back from it.

You were scared, scared of how many feelings were running through you, scared of the possibilities, but more than anything, you were scared of losing him. The one person who understood you completely.

You couldn’t risk that kind of friendship over something like this, no matter what you wanted to imagine.

It was that thought that sent you in the same direction as him, feet stumbling, hand clasped to your stomach as if that could stop the waves of nausea overwhelming you at the thought of your life existing without him in it.

You found him alone in the hallway, the hum of the building surrounding you but you paid no attention. He didn’t turn to look, but you knew he knew you were there. He always knew.

“Hey.”

His voice was so low.

So distant.

“You did great out there.”

“So did you.”

It was polite. Professional. The kind of exchange you’d give to someone you hadn’t known for years. Someone who didn’t know the very best and the very worst things about you.

Everything about this was cold and unfamiliar. It made you want to run away until you couldn’t feel this anything, until you couldn’t remember the tone of his voice and the way he wouldn’t look at you.

You stared at him for a second longer, watching the slope of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides like he was bracing himself for a blow.

“That kiss…” you said. “We should talk about it.”

You didn’t want to but you couldn’t sit in this atmosphere anymore. It was too harsh, too uncomfortable, too cruel for the both you.

He was still for a moment too long.

And then, “It was just the performance. We got caught up in it. That’s all.”

Your heart stuttered. “Right. That makes sense.”

It did, but at the same time it didn’t. Nothing that could hurt like this would make sense.

Still, you didn’t say that. You just nodded, trying to shove everything back down where it had lived for so long already without you realising.

“I just don’t want this to get weird,” he said, finally looking at you and you wished he hadn’t. Not when his eyes looked like that. Like he was hurting and trying to pretend he wasn’t.

“You’re important to me. I don’t want to ruin anything.”

“Me either.” you whispered. It felt like a lie, even though it was the truth.

Something already felt ruined.

Your friendship teetering on the edge of something, rocking back and forth until someone made the decision.

Chan pushed on, his voice tight as if it hurt him to speak. “We’ve always been good together. As friends.”

You flinched at the word. “Friends.”

It shouldn’t have felt like a cut. But it did.

“We need to stay focused.”

“Yeah.”

Then you said it, the thing you knew he needed to hear, even though it nearly choked you.

“It was a mistake.”

He nodded. Slowly. “It was a mistake.” He agreed. “Let’s not talk about it again.”

You nodded too.

But you didn’t mean it.

When you turned away, your whole body felt hollow. Every step hurt. Like walking away from something that had never even been yours to begin with.

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t need to.

You could feel his heartbreak echoing yours.

────୨ৎ────

*4 Years Later*

“Did you eat?” Chan’s voice floated from the kitchen, half filled with concern, the other half knowingly. You were balancing your phone in one hand and tugging on your jacket with the other, trying to keep up with a group chat while getting ready to leave for the meeting.

“I had a coffee earlier on.” you mumbled.

He gave you a look over his shoulder, the one that said you know that’s not food, the one he’d been giving you since you were teenagers. You rolled your eyes, and he tossed a banana at you without looking. You caught it with a sigh and a tiny, amused smile.

“Eat it.” he said.

“She won’t.” Seungmin said from the couch, scrolling his phone. “She’ll just pretend and give it to Jeongin later.”

“I heard that,” Jeongin shouted from the other room. “And I don’t want your reject banana!”

Hyunjin was already half-dressed for the meeting, dramatic coat draped over his shoulders, posing by the mirror as if they were heading to a runway. Felix was curled on the arm of the couch, sipping iced coffee and humming under his breath, while Han narrated an imaginary trailer for their “album meeting adventure” in a dramatic voice that had Minho threatening violence every five seconds.

It was chaos.

Predictable, beautiful chaos.

And right in the middle of it all was Chan, calm in his usual way. Eyes sharp, energy steady, keeping things on track even when it felt like herding cats. You stood beside him for a moment as he packed his laptop bag, sipping from another coffee. Chan gave you another lecturing look that had you grinning in return.

“This is iced, it’s doesn’t count.”

“Your heart’s going to give out from the amount of coffee you drink.”

“Nonsense. I drink a perfectly acceptable amount of coffee.”

“You get cranky if you have less than three before lunch.”

You gasped in mock horror. “I won’t tolerate this level of judging from you Christopher.”

He shoved a cereal bar into your hand. “Eat something please.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, but only because your heart’s about to give out from stress.”

He hummed in response, silently pleased that you were finally eating something, he knew you’d already been up for hours.

“How long do you think this meeting’ll be?” you asked.

“Depends,” he said, glancing at you. “If they ask us about solos again, it’ll take a while. You ready for that?”

You shrugged. “If they want something emotional from me again, I might cry just to get it over with.”

He chuckled under his breath. “You’d still make it look cool.”

You looked at him then, and the warmth in your chest was something familiar. Something steady. Years of friendship had made you experts in these moments—quick glances, casual jokes, easy silences. Everything had gone back to the way it always was.

At least, mostly.

“Come on.” Chan called, voice loud over the noise. “We’re gonna be late.”

Everyone scrambled. Someone spilled something. Minho cursed. Felix laughed. And you fell into step beside Chan without thinking, the way you always did.

He bumped your shoulder with his, like he used to when you were trainees heading into evaluations.

“You’ll be fine.” he said.

You smiled. “So will you.”

And neither of you noticed how the others watched, how they still sometimes wondered about the way you two moved around each other.

Because to you, this was normal.

Even if deep down, nothing about it ever really had been.

────୨ৎ────

The meeting room was too bright for how early it was. The long table stretched in front of you, lined with laptops, notebooks, and water bottles. The members were scattered around, some half-slouching in their chairs, others hunched over their phones while the rest of management shuffled in and set up.

You had another coffee placed in front of you, which had you smiling at Jeongin who had learned to accept your cooing when he did something you liked. He’d never actually admit to enjoying it.

Your eyes met Chan’s across the table, he raised an eyebrow at the cup as if to say he told you so. You hadn’t even realised you’d sat opposite him, you didn’t mean to. It was just a habit, falling into place like always.

“Alright,” one of the producers said as they finally took their seats. “Let’s talk about the new album.”

Everyone’s head snapped up at once.

“The concept’s solid, and we’re excited about the group tracks.” Someone spoke. “But this time, we want to add something more personal.”

Hyunjin leaned forward. “Personal how?”

“We want each of you to write and perform a solo track.”

A collective beat of silence.

“Solo?” Jeongin blinked.

“Wait—like, full solo?” Han added, eyes wide.

“You’ll each have your own moment,” the producer said, grinning at the mix of panic and excitement around the room. “A song written by you, performed by you. Whatever you want to express.”

Seungmin immediately dropped his head to the table with a soft thud. “That’s too much responsibility.”

Felix clapped once, grinning. “I love this.”

Chan glanced around, half-amused, half-leader-mode. “That’s gonna take a lot of work,” he said, but his voice was calm. “Still it sounds like a challenge worth taking.”

Minho raised a brow. “You’re just excited to have a dramatic ballad moment again.”

Chan smirked. “And you’ll do what? A diss track?”

Han grinned. “Please let him do a diss track.”

You tried to stifle your laughter as the table broke into overlapping chatter. Ideas started bouncing around—Han’s plans for a storytelling rap, Hyunjin’s dramatic staging, Felix already thinking of a concept with glitter and softness.

The meeting had gone on longer than expected, voices buzzing with new ideas and half-formed lyrics. The energy was light, playful. Everyone was excited, already spinning dreams of what their solo stages might look like, what stories they’d finally be able to tell in their own words.

You felt it too, excitement edged with nerves, your pen tapping silently against your notepad as you half-listened to the final rundown of schedules and deadlines. Too focused on what your own stage could be like.

You could feel Chan’s presence across the table like a quiet hum, the familiar tension long settled in your bones. Dormant. Tolerable.

Mostly.

You weren’t prepared for what came next.

“Oh, one last thing,” your manager said, casual like it was just a side note. “We’ve also decided to include a duet on the album.”

You barely registered it at first, until his eyes landed on you. And then shifted to Chan.

The room stilled.

”What?” You choked, Jeongin placed a hand on your back but you waved him off.

Chan blinked. “A duet?”

“Yes. Between you two.” The manager smiled, like it was obvious. “The fans have been asking for it for years, and with the solo tracks allowing for individual creativity, we thought it was the perfect time to bring you together again. You know you haven’t performed just the two of you since the survival show.”

Han looked up sharply. “Wait, really? You guys haven’t?”

Minho frowned. “Huh. You’re right. That’s weird.”

You laughed. Too quickly, too loudly. “Guess it just never lined up.”

Chan cleared his throat. “Yeah. Different concepts. It didn’t really… fit.”

No one noticed the way your voice had gone tight, or how Chan’s fingers curled around his pen like he needed something to hold onto. But you noticed. And he noticed. And that was enough.

Hyunjin tilted his head, suspicious. “But you were so good together back then.”

“Legendary,” Felix added. “The fans still talk about it.”

You tried to smile. “Yeah. It was a long time ago.”

Your heart thudded too hard in your chest.

Chan didn’t look at you. Not once. His gaze was locked on the table, his expression unreadable.

“We’re excited.” Management continued. “It’ll be emotional. Honest. We want to showcase how you two have grown, not just as artists, but as people. Your voices have always matched well. We think this is going to be something really special.”

You nodded automatically, your mouth dry. Chan gave a tight nod too, the muscle in his jaw twitching once.

The meeting ended with a shuffle of papers and scraped chairs, jokes echoing around the room again, but you stayed seated a moment longer, frozen in place.

Chan was the opposite. He stood instantly like he couldn’t stay in the room for a second longer. He didn’t wait for you or the others, he left before anyone could say a word to him without so much as a look back.

And just like that, the air between you felt heavy again. Like the years hadn’t passed at all.

────୨ৎ────

You pulled your ponytail tight, rolled your shoulders back, and stepped forward.

The practice room was loud with movement.

Shoes hitting the floor, the base pulsing through the speakers, breaths pushing through effort. The mirrors reflected eight bodies in motion, all slightly out of sync, sweat soaking into shirts, brows furrowed in exhaustion.

You were meant to lead the practice today.

Not just be present, but lead. Correct angles, tighten transitions, keep everyone locked in. And for the most part, you were doing it. Step by step, breath by breath.

But your head wasn’t really in it.

Your eyes kept flickering to him.

Chan moved through the formation a few counts behind, clearly tired but focused in that meticulous way only he could be. He hadn’t said much since the meeting. None of you had. But you’d caught his gaze earlier when the music cut, just a moment too long. Just enough for your stomach to knot.

“Ok guys, take five.” you called out, clapping your hands, forcing a smile.

Everyone dropped to the floor, limbs sprawled, groans filling the space. You walked to the side to grab your water, heart hammering harder than it should have been.

You barely noticed him until he was beside you.

His voice came quiet, meant only for you. “Can we meet later tonight?”

Your hand froze on the bottle cap.

Chan didn’t look at you, not fully. He kept his eyes on the others stretching across the room, pretending it was just another conversation. “After everyone’s gone. Just to start the duet. Doesn’t have to be long.”

You swallowed. The air in your lungs felt thin.

You hated how this didn’t feel familiar anymore. You never would’ve second guessed staying behind with him, it was how you became friends in the first place. The comfort from the building going quiet after hours, just the two of you left working yourselves to the bone. You loved that rhythm with him. The ease. The way no one else ever made you feel more seen, more in sync.

But now, the thought of being alone with him? You couldn’t lie, it scared you.

Because you already knew that it wouldn’t feel the same.

You nodded, your voice soft. “Okay. Just for a bit.”

Chan gave a slight tilt of his head in understanding, and that was it. He stepped back toward the others, already locking back in. Like it hadn’t been a loaded question. Like your heart wasn’t pounding in your chest. Like it was a completely normal thing to ask.

You turned your attention back to the mirrors, your reflection suddenly harder to look at.

“Focus.” you told yourself. “It’s just a duet.”

Nothing’s changed.

But everything had.

And you weren’t sure how long you could pretend it hadn’t.

────୨ৎ────

The halls were silent, the kind of silence that only came when the building had emptied. You could hear the hum of electronics before you saw him. You knew where he would be, like how he always knew to find you in the practice room, you knew you could always find him in the studio.

Chan was already there, seated at the desk, headphones around his neck and his laptop open in front of him. He looked up when you entered, eyes flicking toward yours for a beat too long before he nodded.

“Hey.” he said softly.

“Hey.” you echoed, closing the door behind you.

It was strange how this place still felt safe. The room was small, cozy even, padded walls, dim lighting, the faint scent of coffee and fabric softener still clinging to the hoodie Chan had shrugged off onto the couch.

You sat across from him, folding your legs up on the seat without thinking, the usual position for you. His lips twitched slightly at the sight.

He tapped the edge of the desk. “I was just thinking that maybe we don’t need to go too literal with the lyrics. Keep it emotional, but vague.”

“Right.” you nodded. “We can make it more about feeling than specifics.”

But what feelings?

You shoved the thought aside before you could voice it, choosing instead to watch him. He clicked a few keys on the laptop and let a soft instrumental play. It was a gentle piano, a slow build of strings, something aching beneath it all. Your chest tightened.

“We’ve always worked well like this,” he said suddenly, not looking at you.

“What?”

“Together. Late nights. Empty rooms.”

You bit your lip, a small smile flashes briefly. “I’ve got some of my best work done with you sat down the back of the practice room.”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked. His eyes searched your face, something soft and hesitant behind them, you shifted in the chair under the weight his gaze. Untucking and tucking your legs back, holding your own notebook like it was a tightly like it was a shield.

“We never talked about that night,” he said, barely a whisper.

You froze.

Your throat dried. “I didn’t think we needed to.”

Chan’s lips pressed into a line. “I think about it more than I should.”

The air between you shifted again, the room felt like it tipped and was about to take you with it.

You swallowed hard and inhaled deeply, in a futile attempt to ground yourself. “We said it was the performance. That it didn’t mean anything.” Your voice was tense. You were desperately fighting to keep it stable.

“We did say that didn’t we.”

You couldn’t tell if he was asking or agreeing, so you did the safest thing. You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He nodded, but the tension didn’t ease.

The music looped again in the background, quiet and full of yearning, echoing the words you didn’t have the courage to say. He handed you a pen, your fingers brushing. It was so small, so minor, just a touch, not even, a brush of fingertips but it felt like it someone had shocked you.

You jumped and your breath caught in your throat. He kept his eyes on you, you broke first, you let your eyes drop down onto a blank page and started to write.

For the next while the only sounds that filled the space were the music looping, your pen scratching at the page and the keys on Chan’s laptop as he typed.

He turned the laptop toward you, showing you a half-written verse. His words were raw. Lines about silence, distance, the fear of saying too much. You read them once. Twice. And then slowly looked back at him.

“Is this how you imagine it?” you asked.

Chan’s lips parted like he might say something else but he just nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Neither of you acknowledged the weight of it.

You took the pen and wrote down a line that matched the melody, something gentle, aching.

Something you’d never say out loud.

He read it over your shoulder, his breath close to your skin. “That’s good.”

The room stayed silent, but the air between you buzzed with everything that wasn’t being said.

────୨ৎ────

The practice room was hot, stuffy with effort and frayed patience. Hours of choreography had worn everyone thin, sweat dripping, clothes sticking, tempers shortening. The music blasted in loops, the thrum of bass shaking the walls, but it was nothing compared to the unspoken weight pressing on everyone’s shoulders.

Especially yours.

You and Chan hadn’t really spoken since the night before.

Not about the lyrics, not about the silence afterward, not about the way you’d both avoided eye contact since you left the studio late at night until you stepped into the practice room this morning. His words from the night before echoed in your chest, circling like storm clouds. Every step you hit in time with him felt like it cracked the distance a little more, revealing the thin layer of control you were barely clinging to.

“Again.” Chan said, voice clipped. He hit play before anyone could catch their breath.

You pushed through the steps, muscles aching, mind clouded. The choreography wasn’t hard. It was sharp, clean, something you knew like second nature. But your body felt slower, your chest heavier, like your heart was caught in your throat.

Every time you crossed paths with him on stage, your eyes darted elsewhere. He didn’t look at you either and you were thankful for it. Your focus was already strained, you weren’t sure what would happen if he actually made eye contact with you now.

You danced through the routine, but your mind was miles away, stuck in moments you didn’t want to revisit. It wasn’t just exhaustion running through your body, it was that unbearable weight in your chest, the tension between you two building like an ache you couldn’t stretch out.

Then Felix misstepped a beat too early. It was small, but it was enough.

Chan slammed the music off. “Seriously?”

Felix froze, wide-eyed.

“You’ve done this six times now,” Chan snapped, tone louder than it needed to be. “Are you even paying attention?”

Felix shrank, his lips parting like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

“Do you want to ruin the entire performance?” Chan kept going. “Because that’s what you’re doing. If you can’t keep up, don’t stand in the front.”

The room went silent.

Felix blinked fast, jaw tightening as he turned slightly away, one hand brushing under his eye before anyone could catch the shimmer there.

But you did.

You saw it.

And something snapped.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Your voice cut through the silence.

He turned to you, shoulders tense, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “He’s dragging everyone down—”

“He’s doing his best!” You stepped forward. “He’s tired. We all are. That doesn’t give you the right to speak to him like that!”

“Then maybe you should stop babying everyone and hold them accountable.”

You moved in closer, jaw clenched. “Maybe you should stop pretending this is about the group when we both know it’s not.”

That did it.

His eyes met yours, raw and burning, his voice low and furious. “Don’t start this here.”

“Too late.”

Felix wiped his cheek and stepped back, murmuring, “I’m sorry, hyung. I’ll get it right.”

“Felix,” you said softly, reaching out, but he was already moving toward the back, head down, heart clearly cracking with shame at the thought of disappointing you.

You looked back at Chan, your chest burning. “That’s not holding him accountable., That was cruel and you know it.”

He stared at you hard, something flashing in his eyes but he pushed it down and then turned away.

“Take five.” he said through gritted teeth, grabbed his hoodie, and stormed out.

The door slammed hard behind him and the noise echoed through the room.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting behind your eyes. You weren’t sure what made you angrier, what he said, or the fact that you knew why he was unraveling, and still couldn’t stop it.

The rest of the group stood frozen, glancing between each other. Jeongin fidgeted with his sleeves, Seungmin looked down at his shoes, and Minho’s expression was a mix of concern and confusion.

You sighed and clapped your hands once. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure…?” Jisung asked gently, eyeing the door.

“Yeah,” you said, steeling yourself. “We don’t stop because things get hard.”

The practice went on, but you could feel their concern, every time someone missed a beat, every awkward glance when you turned your back.

By the time the sun had begun to sink, casting gold across the floor, the energy had drained from the room entirely. The group finally broke for water, everyone stretching in silence. You spotted Felix sitting on the floor near the mirror wall, his knees pulled to his chest, arms resting on top. His head was down, face hidden behind the fall of his blonde hair.

You didn’t hesitate.

Sliding down beside him, you didn’t say anything at first. Just sat, shoulder brushing gently against his, letting him know you were there.

He sniffled quietly and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to mess it up earlier.”

Your heart ached.

“Felix…” You turned to him, voice soft but firm. “Hey. Look at me.”

He hesitated, then lifted his gaze, eyes red-rimmed but trying to be brave.

“You didn’t mess anything up,” you said gently. “You were doing your best. Today’s just… tense. That wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head, lips pressed together. “Still. I should’ve been better. I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

Your breath caught.

You leaned closer, hands resting on his shoulders to keep him grounded. “You could never disappoint me. Never.”

Felix’s eyes shimmered again, and he gave a little laugh that cracked right down the middle. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” You smiled softly, letting your forehead rest briefly against his. “You’re one of the most hardworking, dedicated people I know. One off step doesn’t change that. You’ve got nothing to prove to me.”

He exhaled shakily, then nodded. “Thanks you.”

You pulled him into a hug, one arm wrapped tight around his shoulders, and he melted into it like he needed it more than anything.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, chin resting on top of his hair. “Always.”

You let go as Minho approached. Felix took the silent hint that he needed to speak to you and moved away to sit with Hyunjin, thanking you again before he left.

Minho crouched beside you, handing you a water bottle without saying anything. You took it, nodding in thanks.

Then came the low voice. “You need to go talk to him.”

You stiffened. “Why me?”

“Because the rest of us like having our heads attached to our bodies.”

You didn’t laugh. Neither did he.

“Great.” You muttered.

You pushed yourself off the floor and headed for the door. You didn’t bother explaining to the others where you were going. You were too concerned about what you were supposed to say to Chan once you found him.

────୨ৎ────

You found him where you always do when things get too much. Alone in the studio. The lights were off so the only light in the room came from the soft glow from the hallway, casting long shadows across the walls. He was pacing. Shoulders tight, jaw clenched, running his hands through his hair like he couldn’t quiet the storm in his head.

You stood in the doorway, watching him for a second.

“Chan.”

He froze.

Didn’t turn. Didn’t answer.

“Chan, you can’t talk to him like that. Felix didn’t deserve it.”

His voice came out low, sharp. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I’m losing it, alright?” he snapped, finally turning to face you, eyes wild and tired. “I’m trying to hold everything together and I can’t. Not when—” He stopped himself, breathing hard, words choking off.

You stepped in, closing the door behind you, plunging you both into darkness. You could just about make him out by the small amount of light off his phone on the table. “Not when what?”

He looked at you like you were a loaded weapon. “Don’t.”

“No,” you said, voice trembling but strong. “Say it. If we’re going to survive this duet, if we’re going to survive us, then just say it.”

He laughed bitterly, raking a hand through his hair again. “There is no us. There can’t be.”

The words hit you like a punch, even though some part of you already knew he’d say them.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?” you fired back. “You’re talking about what happened last time and that you think about it more than you should but now you won’t even look at me. Like everything you said means nothing.”

“Because it can’t mean something.” His voice snapped. “Because if it does, everything breaks. You break. And I can’t be the reason you fall apart.”

“I’m not falling apart,” you said, stepping closer, anger rising in your throat like fire. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I’ve been fine without you—”

“That’s a lie.”

You flinched, knowing he was right but too proud to admit it.

“So what, Chan? We just keep pretending?” you said, voice cracking. “Is that your solution?”

“I’m protecting you,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No.” You rolled your eyes, fed up with his sacrificial attitude. “You’re protecting yourself.”

His breath hitched.

You could feel it—how close the edge was now. Years of holding back, of pretending to be fine, of burying every look, every brush of skin, every stolen second that meant more than it should have.

“I hate this,” he said suddenly, voice raw. “I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you. That every time we’re in the same room, it hurts. I hate that I want you, that I—”

He broke off, eyes blazing.

You didn’t breathe.

“I hate that I can’t even say it,” he whispered. “Because if I say it, it’s real. And if it’s real, then I lose you.”

The silence stretched, thick with heartbreak.

And then, without warning, he crossed the space between you in two strides, grabbed your face with both hands and kissed you—hard, desperate, like it was the only way to shut himself up.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t careful.

It was years of pain and denial and longing, crashing into each other like a tidal wave.

You kissed him back, matching his fire, pouring every unspoken word into it until you both had to pull apart, breathless and shaken.

He stared at you like he didn’t know whether to scream or fall to his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to—”

But he did.

And so did you.

And now, the distance between you had never felt wider.

────୨ৎ────

Taglist: @m-325 @imeverycliche @mythicmochi @hynjnnie @mbioooo0000 @psychobitchsthings

There’s a few people that wanted to be tagged but it won’t let me tag you, please check to make sure you’ve allowed your account to be tagged in the settings :(

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist <3

[nthewriter]

Thank you all for sticking with me 🫶🏻✨️

Bad ending to being Simon's long lost biological child

It shouldn't have happened.

It shouldn't have.

Simon blamed himself. Who wouldn’t? His baby laid dead in a grave. Their body had been repatriated by the air force, recognising the features and the last name on the dog tag, his dog tag actually. The ones that disappeared at the same time than his child, that only left a note. Forgive me, dad. He did. He forgave them.

The flowers laid on the marble, fresh tulips and in soft colors. He hoped they were seeing them from where they were. From what he had understood and what Kyle had been willing to tell him, they found his kid's body intertwined with another. A friend, perhaps. At least they didn't die alone.

The crunch of the leaves made Simon look up. He exhaled as Johnny took his hand and squeezed it, trying to comfort him. But how could he be happy now? He had finally his child back, he had been trying to be a good father for them. He had loved his kid. And now... they had slipped from his hands again.

"Hey..." Johnny's voice reached his ears. It was clear he didn't know what to say as well.

"I know." Simon gruffly spoke, trying not to cry. He felt weak. He felt like a disappointment, a piece of shit of a father.

He could only stare at the name on the tomb. Elsie... What would Elsie say? What would Elsie think? She would protest, yell at him, that he couldn't have protected his own child from themselves. And she would have been right.

When he thought about it... His kid was likely reunited with their mother now. It was a gentle thing to think about. They weren’t alone up there.

"Let’s go back home." He heard Johnny murmur.

Home. What did it mean now? It meant... coming to a empty house with Johnny, without the sight and the presence of his kid. Simon had insisted to keep the room they stayed the same, that they wouldn't even clean it. He had already laid in their bed, trying to breath in the faint scent of his progeny, trying to remember what they sounded like, what they smelt like.

Simon once had believed he had the right to be happy. And now... he had lost it.

[vivalas-vega]

fine line / part four

ok last one for the night !! again, so sorry to my followers that don't care about the mcu, very sorry for spamming your dash :( don't know for sure when the next part will be coming but I'm actively working on it!! enjoy and please please please let me know what you think!

fine line / mcu x reader / part four

part one / part two / part three

summary: Three kids from Brooklyn. A war that asks too much. And a woman with secrets stitched into every seam.

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary

word count: 2.8k

warnings: (not specific to this part, but for the series as a whole. this fic is 18+, you are responsible for your own media consumption). language, angst, drinking, smut, violence, references (and descriptions) of bucky's abuse within hydra, canon-typical situations - this is the mcu y'all, shit will get a little crazy, and a little devastating

Early 1945

You got the assignment in a burned-out church in northern Italy. The message came folded into the binding of a field manual, passed through five hands and two borders to reach you. The words were sparse, the tone unmistakable:

Extraction required. Austrian alps. High priority, dangerous terrain. Low probability of return. You’re the only one close enough to make the drop.

You’d accepted without hesitation, but before you moved you sent a message of your own. Not to command, not to any handler… to a name you hadn’t spoken aloud in months, and you knew it wouldn't arrive before you did.

It took three days to track them down; a whisper in a tavern, a smudged map pinned to a wall, a soldier who recognized your eyes and lied to his captain so you could pass… but you did find them, just after dusk, in a makeshift camp nestled in the dense woods near the border. Fires burned low, tents were pitched with weary hands, mud clung to everything and the air was heavy with smoke and frost.

You stood in the tree line, half-shadow, watching. Steve looked nothing like the boy you’d left behind. He moved differently– taller, stronger, but somehow still Steve. He laughed at something Bucky said and the sound carried like it belonged in another life. And Bucky… he looked older, not in the lines of his face but in the way he held himself. The war had soaked into his bones and left its mark and it was then that you finally stepped out of the woods.

It didn’t take long for Steve to see you, Bucky preoccupied with something in his tent. He was halfway to you before anyone even registered movement, his face shifting from disbelief to something softer, something a little broken. “Button?” 

You smiled, small and tired. “Took you long enough,” you said, just above a whisper. He caught you in a hug that lifted you off the ground and for the first time in years, you let yourself melt into something comforting… grounding. “You look good,” you said as he set you down carefully. “Huge. But good.”

“You look… thinner,” he said, cautiously, concerned.

“I haven’t been eating much sausage,” you replied, lips twitching and he shook his head despite his grin. You heard a rustling from behind him and peered around his large frame to meet the eyes you so desperately needed to see… and he stood there in quiet shock, unable to move, questioning his grip on reality.

“Hey, Sarge,” you said, breaking through and he let out a sharp exhale. You could see the weight drop from his shoulders. He was on you so quickly you hadn’t even processed the first step he’d taken and you felt emotion immediately swell in every inch of you as the arms you called home cradled you so closely, so tightly.

“You never write,” he murmured into your hair.

“You never wait,” you teased as he pulled back to hold your face in his palms, touch so featherlight it seemed he was scared he’d break you. Looking at you now, he wasn’t sure he could hold on to you. He pulled you right back in, hand cradling the back of your head as he tried to feel every inch of you pressed against him. You were here, you were real and breathing in his arms. 

Finally, he whispered, “I thought you were dead.” You pulled back, just enough to look at him, not far enough to separate your bodies.

“I was, for a little while.” His eyes flickered over your face, noticing all the little differences. Your sharper cheekbones, a scar above your brow you didn’t have before, the way you carried yourself now, like a blade drawn halfway.

“You’ve been in deep,” he stated and you nodded. “Too deep?”

You almost smiled, “depends on who you ask.”

He didn’t. He just cupped your jaw like you might slip from his fingers, he wasn’t entirely sure you wouldn’t, and ran a thumb along that sharper cheekbone. “You’re meaner.”

“And you’re dirty and bleeding.”

He looked down at a scrape on his knuckle and huffed a laugh, “so, really not much has changed.” Steve had watched from the side for a moment, he needed to see the two of you like this as much as the two of you needed to feel it. Three kids from Brooklyn, brought back together through blood and secrets, somehow surviving it all… and then he slipped away while the two of you slipped into his tent, knowing you needed more than you could have in the middle of camp.

Bucky didn’t say a word as he lit the lamp low and shrugged off his coat, unfastened his boots. You watched in silence, trying to convince yourself this was back then. The routine was the same, the setting was not. You crossed the space and kissed him like it was the first and last time all at once. Slow, aching, deliberate… then quick, fiery, desperate. His hands came to your waist and drew you in, and he felt your whole body shudder against the heat of him.

He peeled you back layer by layer, scraps of you littered around the tent, and pulled you onto a makeshift pad on the floor… not much by way of comfort but it didn’t matter. You didn’t need any more than this right now. You hadn’t stopped fighting, not for a single moment, since you’d left Brooklyn, and that fight was still in you right now, a habit you couldn’t seem to drop, not even here. Not even in his arms.

The need in your chest was bubbling and overflowing and it made your movements sharp, and a little frantic, but Bucky cut through it all. He grabbed your hands and pinned them on either side of your head, and gave you a steady look before dipping down to kiss the soft skin of your neck. He took his time, not leaving even an inch of your skin unmet, unloved by his lips, and with each gentle movement you slowed, you melted.

“There she is,” he muttered, sending a shiver up your spine, and while he still had your hands pinned you used your head to nudge him back up to you, to meet your gaze. You tilted just slightly, asking for something he’d never deny you, and he captured your lips again in slow, languid movements. Savoring you, because who knew when you would have each other like this again? 

He started to kiss down your body but you shook your head, pulling him back up to you, “I need you,” you whispered, completely broken and full of such longing it cracked his chest in two. Perhaps there wasn’t enough ceremony as there should have been, but it didn’t matter. When he pushed into you, you both exhaled in relief. Low and absent of any tension. Your legs wrapped around his hips, hands cradling his jaw like you were scared he’d leave, and you could feel tears stinging your eyes as you pulled him down for another kiss.

Pleasure bloomed in every fiber of your being, each slow drag and snap of his hips driving you towards something you wanted to stave off as long as you could. You didn’t want this to end… just like that night back in Brooklyn, you wanted to stay right here with Bucky, just like this, for the rest of your life. You hooked his leg, a new move you’d learned for much different situations, and flipped your bodies, your knees settling on either side of him as he looked up at you in awe.

His hands roamed every inch of you, committing each soft sigh and whimper to memory as he traced a set of bruises along your rib cage, and you leaned down to press your chest flush against his, hips rocking back and forth in a way that made it hard to think of anything but each other’s name. It felt like something of the old you was being put back together, while the new you was being ripped apart at the seams. 

You let out a gasp when he bucked his hips to meet yours, a new angle that made you slump against him, unable to do anything but take what he gave you. A hand threaded through your hair, gripping at the base and pulling, not sharply but enough to feel a dull, delicious ache. “Want to see you,” he muttered, and you nodded softly, the movement pulling tighter against your scalp and coaxing a moan from your lips. His head tilted at this, just slightly as he analyzed your reaction, the way you’d clenched against him and something flipped… and it wasn’t just you. 

“You’re not delicate anymore,” he hummed against your lips, hips snapping harder against yours and you tugged at the strands of his hair, just like he had with you.

“Never was,” you managed to get out but words were lost when he grabbed a leg and hooked it over his shoulder. Your nails raked along his skin as he took you, and you were never more content to submit to anything in your life. For just a brief moment you could pretend this was it. You were Bucky’s girl, and nothing more. You weren’t a spy, constantly on the move, on the run. You weren’t headed for a mission you may never come back from. For just a brief moment, you got what you always wished for. You and Bucky and a bed, nothing else.

You unraveled when a hand rested on your throat, featherlight but steadying against the motion of your bodies, and he wasn’t far behind. You locked yourself around him, keeping his hips flush against yours as warmth coated your walls, not wanting to let go of any part of him, and he let his forehead rest against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. Your hands softly traced every inch of him, moving from his back, to his chest, his shoulders, then his face. You held him against you, fingers splayed across his jaw, “I am so in love with you I think I’d throw it all away to run away into these woods right now, if you asked.”

He shifted the two of you slightly, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, hooking your leg over his hip and not letting himself pull out of you… not just yet. He wanted to keep the two of you as close as possible, for as long as possible. “I’m so in love with you I’d say yes if you did,” he murmured, hand carding through your hair as he gazed down at you. “Are you asking?”

You took in a deep breath, “I don’t think I can.”

He nodded, “I don’t think I could mean it if I said yes.” You dragged the pad of your thumb across his lip and he kissed it softly, pulling a smile from you. “How long are you staying?”

“Until first light,” you answered and he sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t enough, but it never would be.

“Where are you going?”

“North. Austria.”

“That’s deep,” he replied, pain evident in the way his voice stretched, like it was about to crack. “How dangerous?”

“I might not come back,” you said, deciding not to lie to him. Part of you wanted to, to give him hope that everything would be just fine, but you thought that was cruel… to not prepare him for that possibility. 

His grip on you tightened, “then stay.” he said. “We’ll find a place for you, a job that’s worthy of you. Frankly, we could use you here, Button.”

You smiled softly, “you don’t even know what it is I do,” you said, but he shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. We need it. We need you.”

“You know I can’t,” you said, pressing your forehead against his. “We all have jobs to do, Bucky.” 

“You’ll come find me when it’s all over?” he asked and you nodded, pressing your lips to his. Telling him everything you didn’t have enough words for, and when you felt him twitch inside you, you just pulled him closer, deeper, and let that be enough.

The camp was quiet as you moved through the shadows between tents, the kind of hush that felt like the world was holding its breath. Like it knew today was a big day. You thought this would be easier, leaving the same way you’d made him promise to back then, but it wasn’t. Each step felt like a betrayal, felt like a painful sludge through molasses, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. If you’d seen the way he looked at you, not fully awake but eyes full of admiration, you wouldn’t have been able to do it at all. There was still a war to be won, and you played a part in that. You couldn’t abandon when it seemed you were so close, even if some part of you thought you deserved to be selfish now. You’d given enough, let someone else do the rest… but you couldn’t. You had to see it through.

Steve was already up, because of course he was. He sat near the dying fire, poking the embers with a stick and a cup of steaming coffee in one hand. He didn’t even look up when twigs cracked beneath your boots. He knew it was you, that’s why he was here. “You could’ve stayed long enough to let him wake up.”

You hesitated, then lowered yourself beside him, letting your bag hit the ground with a thud. “It hurts less this way.”

He nodded slowly, “that’s what Bucky thought, too. When he left you.”

You gave a dry laugh, no real humor in it. “We’re great at running away, the two of us.”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But not from each other.” That sat between you for a while, warm and honest. You reached for his mug and took a sip without asking, and he let you. He’d let you take anything he had to offer.

He didn’t press you for details, even though he wanted to. He just sat beside you and watched the sky shift from violet to gray, until finally, he said, “you gonna come back?”

You didn’t answer right away. “I want to.”

“That’s not the same as will.”

You looked down at your hands, “no. It’s not.”

Steve glanced towards the tent, “he’s gonna wake up and be furious.”

“I’m counting on it,” you said, trying not to smile. You turned to look at him, to really soak him in and without even thinking your hand trailed along his arm, feeling the expanse of muscle and you breathed a soft laugh. “It’s unbelievable.” you said. “Almost didn’t when I caught a photo of you in a newspaper. Thought someone pasted your face onto someone else.”

“Feels that way sometimes.” You let your hand fall but you found his instead, wrapping your fingers around it and pulling it into your lap. You clung to it like you would a life raft, and he gave you a soft squeeze, but you could still feel the strength beneath it.

“I knew I was right to believe in you,” you said softly. “You’ve made me prouder than I was back then… which is a lot.” 

“You always were,” he said with a slight chuckle. “And you always knew just what to say… When it felt like nothing made sense anymore I thought ‘Button believes in me, believes I can do this, and she’s always right’. Kept me going.”

“I’m scared,” you replied, more honest than you expected to be but Steve knew how to pull it out of you without even trying.

“I know,” he said, hand still firm in yours. “But I’ll be here when you get back, so will Buck.”

You smiled, barely. “So, that’s your job now? Waiting around for the people who run?”

He looked at you now, and his voice was quiet but sure. “No. But it’s what I choose.” Something about that made your chest ache, for just a moment. “Ten minutes before the whole camp’s up. Not enough, is it?”

You shook your head, not wanting to get up. Not just yet. Just like you had back on that tiny cot somewhere in Brooklyn, you turned and threw your arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could feel how strong you’d become since he last saw you. 

“I love you, Steve Rogers, you know that?” you asked, the words the exact same, but with a different kind of weight.

“I feel it no matter how far away you are,” he replied, slightly muffled by your hair. “I hope you feel it, too.”

You nodded against him, pulling away and cupping his face to press a soft kiss to his cheek, committing him to memory the way you had Bucky. “I’ll see you on the other side?” 

“See you on the other side.”

prev / next

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

Uhh, concert band au because I (a former band kid) say so. Here's the bats and co. in a couple situations that I have witnessed or experienced from my time in band.

Alright, in my mind, we got:

Dick on tenor sax, Jason and Tim on trumpet (Tim because he'll probably follow Jason wherever he goes), Damian on clarinet, Steph, Roy, and Babs on percussion, Cass on Euphonium, Wally on trombone, Kon on French horn, and Jon on alto sax. Duke doesn't want to be there but is forced to handle passing out music. And Bruce as conductor, obviously. Bear with me now.

Walking down the halls and transporting instruments after a performance

Dick, rolling a timpani, struggling: "I don't get why I have to take this broken ass timpani. I don't even play it."

Jason, holding a cymbal: "Yeah, good luck with that."

Tim, walking back to the band room: "Dude, that was so bad. I cracked like half those notes."

Damian: "I would've been fine, had my reed not chipped."

Tim: "Yeah, that's the thing to blame."

*Hears a loud thump and turns around, seeing Dick crashed the timpani in the doorway and Jason cackling on the floor*

Tim: *Turns to Damian*

Damian: ".. We were never here."

Kon: *Leaving to get water*

Jon: *Takes his mouthpiece and passes it to the back row*

Jason, taking the metal: "Haha, this is so much funnier when it's not happening to me." *Passes it down the line to Wally*

Kon, coming back: "The fuck? Where's my mouthpiece?"

Bruce: "Alright, horn on measure 15"

Kon: "Where- WHERE'S MY MOUTHPI-"

Duke and Babs chatting:

Roy in the background, gearing up to smack Dick's ass:

Wally: *Playing his music*

Cass, in the middle of rests: *Flips his page upside down*

Wally: *Panic*

Percussion having a lil jam sesh, AKA being called out and worked on by Bruce:

Everyone else: *Silently bopping their heads and dancing every time Bruce looks away*

Duke, in a mocking voice: "Duke, go pass out music! Duke, Collect all the originals! Duke, go find me an overture! Duke-"

Bruce, calling out from his office: "Duke, go make me copies!"

Duke:

Bruce: "Okay Jon, this run we're playing through your solo, so be prepared to go on."

Halfway through the piece, before the solo

Roy: *Farts audibly*

Jon: *Giggles*

Jason and Tim: *Grabbing onto each other in silent laughter*

Steph, head in her hands on the marimba: *Snorts*

Jon misses his entrance and the solo is replaced by silent giggles across the room. Bruce does not stop conducting, sighing in disappointment.

Roy, trying to cover up the boards:

Steph, very much in his way, trying to hump Cass while she packs up her horn:

Bruce: *Working with percussion*

Tim, sighing: "Man, it's always the percussion."

Steph: *Hits him on the head with a drumstick* "You take that back"

Duke, passing out new sheet music: "The fuck is a bassoon? Are any of you a bassoon? What even are you, you all look the same."

*Moves on to brass*

Duke: "Are you a trumpet or a cornet?"

Jason and Tim: *Shrugs*

Duke: "I- whatever, have both."

Duke: "Finally, Cass. Someone reasonable. Are you baritone or euphonium?"

Cass: *Shrugs*

Duke:

Dick and Jon watching a Minecraft parkour video from the phone placed on their stand:

Tim, Jason, Wally, and Cass watching from the row behind them:

Anyone needing to play a solo:

Everybody turning around to stare into their soul:

Jason, minding his own business:

Wally: *Snatches his music and passes it down a row*

Jason: "Hey wait- nO-"

Damian, counting his rests on his fingers: *Looks over to Jon*

Jon, with a different amount of fingers up even though they have the same amount of rests: *Panic*

Damian and Jon, silently communicating and panicking about the rests, both missing their entrance

Jason, squinting at his music: "The fuck? Why the hell is there a 6/8 in here?"

Tim: "How do you count 6/8 again?"

Jason: "That is a very good question." *Mumbling the rhythms to himself* "1 and 2, 3 and, and- no that's not it.. 1 e a 2? 1..2?"

Tim:

Jason:

Jason: "Maybe Damian has the same melody before us."

Tim: "Yeah, let's just listen to him."

[boringsickness]

Idc if I said it already but Bernard would be trying so hard not to cry while "family line" is playing.

You could literally see his whole body going rigid, face almost covered by raised shoulders as if he wants to be absorbed back in his own body.

The trembling hands shoved in his pockets or simply beside his body as if they were not even his limbs.

The nose and the zone around it going red from the force put into not bawling, not sniffing back mucus and not fucking fall on the ground sobbing.

Because yes, he's doing better now. He has new friends, a few but better than nothing, he has a found family whose including him and a better life.

But at the end of the day, he's still the kid that just wanted to be told he was doing a good job. He's still a kid that had to watch his father yelling at his face while his mother was unable to defend him, his own fucking son.

And oh, how he hates the fact that he still yearn for that. For motherly love, for a loving parent who would simply pet his head and say "it's going to be okay."

And sometimes, oh sometimes, when the song is playing all goes back to that kid and he feels his progresses going back and he wants to grumble again under the pressure of feeling useless and unwanted.

But at least, he has Tim there. Taking his shaky hands into his own, asking him if it's okay to touch him and hug or if he prefers to just let it go alone. If he wanna talk or if he prefers the silence, if he actually want him to stop the music or simply, finally, feel what he has suppressed for so long.

Holding his face against his neck, fingers running through his hair, and telling him "I'm here".

And no, it's not actually gonna change his relationship with his family and it's not gonna make everything go magically better with everyone or himself.

But at least, he finally has someone who's not running away. Who's embracing him, asking about HIM and it's okay.

It's something, it's a start and it's more than enough.