#thanks Brady!

[fbfh]

leo valdez with a breeding kink… i’d literally give that man anything he wants 😫

OHHHHHH FUCK ME. I WANNA KISS YOU ON BOTH CHEEKS FOR THIS ONE. Leo does not realize he has a breeding kink until it hits him like a fucking semitruck. you're with some family and friends at a little get together, and you end up looking after a baby cousin to give their parents a break. you have the kiddo on your lap while you chat with your friend, and when Leo gets back with drinks he nearly drops them. Boom. Light switch on, breeding kink in full force. He doesn't even realize what's happening, not quite yet, but all he knows is that it's going to take every ounce of self control he has to wait until the party's over. after a physically painful eternity that he suspects is his eternal punishment from the gods worse than pushing a boulder or being strapped to a boulder or holding up a planet sized boulder (it's maybe an hour and a half max) you're finally on your way home. He nearly pulls an irish goodbye just to get his beautiful beautiful hands on you sooner, and Leo is NOT the type to leave without at least a dozen hugs and cheek kisses and leftovers and plans to meet up next time, so you know something must be going on with him. the only reason he doesn't fuck you in the car (and he is this fucking close) is because he knows that he wants to take his time with you. Also, he can get pretty vocal. Also so can you. (anyone would with him jfc) so he keeps his hand on your thigh while he drives. He rubs it, inches it up higher and higher, higher than he ever has outside the bedroom until he's practically fingering you in the passenger seat. Honestly you wouldn't complain if he did. The sound of your flustered, surprised giggle when he pick you up and carries you into your house over his shoulder, all unga bunga like something primal has woken up inside him. And it has. When he lays you down on your bed which is still descheveled from the fun you'd had that morning, when he kisses you like he's hungry and strips you down like he's unwrapping a christmas present, neither of you know what's gotten into him yet. But he knows one thing for damn sure.

There's no way in hell he's pulling out tonight. Or ever again, if he's being honest.

So really, you'll both find out what's gotten into him (and you) in about nine months

[ratatatastic]

https://youtu.be/RbgDHyeQNdE?si=WXnghZZuAyvgumVL

Keith saying him and Matthews fiancé do the cooking for him and he just sits there and heckles them. So on brand.

"And how about your barbecuing skills? It looked like you knew what you were doing behind that grill!" "Well, Matthew is pretty useless so! Unlike Brady—Brady can, you know, does things on his own but Matthew likes when I'm down there so I do cook and his fiancée, Ellie, does a great job so. He just sits back and critiques us but forgets that we're the ones doing all the work for him. Which—hey! It was playoffs! I'll do anything for my children."

NHL Tonight: First Shift | 10.16.24 (x)

unfortunately tracks for him and im still crying into my hands its always the one who cant cook for shit thats the mouthiest about it

and considering this clip from faceoff it really does track

[mattsmunchkin]

GET THIS GAY GIRL IN MY BED NOWWWWWW

[alienoresimagines]

*After Bucky comes out as bisexual to Curt and Brady* Curt: I thought you were straight! Bucky: *points at Buck* I thought I was too until he went and did that! Brady: ...You just gestured to all of him.

[sieglinde-freud]

okay, gonna pitch an idea to you for if someone ever manages to make a fe13 poly mod:

chromgailivibelle

because chromlivia is already great (and chrom as inigo's father works too well as discussed many times)

but then you've also got gaius being TOO DAMN SHIPPABLE. the greatness of gaimari (GOD-TIER supports imo), chromgai (need i say more?), and gailivia (featuring gaius offering sweets to someone else - is there a higher form of love? - AS WELL AS THE VERY IMPORTANT CHROM ORANGE-EATING METHOD LORE)

AND THEN you've got the wonders of oliviabelle, with maribelle teaching olivia to flirt with people to get over her shyness (which she in turn kinda advises inigo to do in the future)

and I know a lot of people prefer lissabelle to chromibelle, but the dialogue when chrom recruits brady as his father is TOO DAMN HILARIOUS

plus now lucina has TWO easy-to-cry younger brothers who won't stop arguing with their cousin

anyway, that's my thesis; does the board approve?

not only do we approve but we think following sibling dynamic would be something like this

[fannyyann]

[cryinginthedeep]

matthew tkachuk - all your life, did you know, you'd be picked like a rose?

something..something...tying your skates like your dad used to but also, outgrowing the shoes you're expected to fill

[meet-the-courier]

are they twins? with different traumas?

Brodie: "I look nothing like this jackass" Brady: "He looks nothing like me." ________ // They're doppelgängers ! All the couriers are. :3

[hogans-heroes]

Branded

Crossposted on AO3

Brady POV. Inspired by discussion on this post about Gale's neck bruises.

_____________________________________________________________

There must have been something Brady could have done to stop it.

But there were some new guards now, ones that were harsher and fresher from training, who hadn’t been softened by familiarity with the prisoners, yet one was particularly brutal, with a temper quick with blows and other punishments. He had everyone on edge, and it was really only a matter of time, but why did it have to be Buck? Of course it was, though, he was always somehow in front of the other prisoners, the one to speak up or negotiate on their behalf, toeing that fragile line of mediation with his chin held high and starved-scrawny fists clenched behind his back.

They presented their requests weekly at the little deck at the entrance to the mess hall, clustering loosely as the prisoners and guard leaders talked out their needs and issues. Buck was commonly the representative speaker—certainly the most level headed choice—yet this time things had gone different. That new brutal guard towered over them, yelling and ranting and generally escalating the situation. Brady had been hanging back, eyeing the group fringes, when without warning the guard hauled off and struck Buck hard enough to make him stumble back. Before he could catch his footing, the guard seized his neck and bent him backward over the deck railing.

The small group of prisoners shouted in alarm, jostling forward on instinct, but Brady could only stand rooted to the ground, breath snatched right out of his lungs. Crank had lunged forward, nearly reaching Buck before the other guards leveled their rifles at all of them, screaming commands and forcing them to freeze in their steps, to stare in horror as the big guard growled, red in the face as he dug his fingers into Buck’s neck and pressed him farther down. Buck made a choked sound as the railing dug into his back, hands scrabbing on the man’s arm and feet slipping from under him. 

The guard shouted something else, then grabbed his pistol from its holster and jammed the barrel against the side of Gale’s head. A cold horror choked Brady and his vision tunneled, world narrowing to the hatred and rage on the man’s face as he forced his prey down and squeezed . Buck’s grip faltered. His body began to go slack, arms falling from his attacker's arm, and a scream lodged itself in Brady’s throat, limbs trembling with the need to run, to fight.

Suddenly the prisoners’s senior officer and the kommandant’s aide burst onto the scene, and rapid-fire arguing followed. One by one, the guards lowered their rifles, and after more arguing the big guard finally hauled Buck back up by the neck, and threw him off the deck. It wasn’t a big drop, only one step, but Buck still went down like a ton of bricks. His head hit the dirt and Brady flew the few yards over to him, knees skidding on the ground as he dropped beside him. Buck was coughing and wheezing—pale as a sheet—and Brady nearly vomited, but the adrenaline and newly-bubbling anger swamped all his senses as he and Crank hauled their leader to his feet.

“It’s alright,” Buck rasped, patting their frantically hovering arms even as he swayed a little. His voice was absolutely wrecked, and on either side of his neck were rapidly-darkening bruises in the shape of a thumb and fingers. 

“Fuck,” Crank hissed. “Bucky’s gonna lose his shit.”

.....

Bucky did, indeed, lose his shit.

When they entered the barracks it took barely a second for Bucky to spot them and take in the scene, eyes lasering on Gale’s bruises like a cat on the hunt. Sequences of shock, panic, then thunderous anger crossed his face and he lunged with his full height towards them, so much like an avenging angel Brady half-expected mighty, soot-covered wings to swoop out from his back. With fiery eyes he snatched Buck from them and sat him on the edge of the table.

“What happened?” he spat, the Major voice taking over. “Who did it?”

“Usual negotiations went bad,” said Crank. “New guard hit him and choked him.”

Bucky cursed viciously under his breath, which for some reason made the corner of Buck’s lips quirk into a grin. This seemed to make Bucky angrier. He could have levelled the room with it, and Brady resisted the urge to step back. 

“Was he unconscious at all?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t think fully, but he went limp for a bit.”

Brady could have sworn Bucky’s eyes went black, hands gripping the lapels of Buck’s coat. Buck swayed a little, lifting a hand to rub his neck, and Bucky’s gaze darted back to him. One side of Buck’s hair was messed up a little from where the gun had been shoved, and Brady had to lean on the nearest bunk to stop the room from spinning.

“He had him at gunpoint,” he said, voice dazed to his own ears.

“What do you mean he had him at gunpoint?” Bucky snapped.

“He had a pistol against his head alright?” Brady burst out, vision blurring. He vaguely heard Buck muttering it’s alright before DeMarco appeared from nowhere, grabbing Brady’s arm and pulling him out the door into the barrack hallway. He closed the door behind them and firmly but gently pushed Brady against the wall, stepping close with his hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Breathe, Johnny.”

Brady choked, then sucked in a breath, trying to keep the rolling panic at bay. He had seen other men shot in the camp, gunned down as an afterthought by guards who hardly needed a reason, but it could have been Buck, it could have been Buck��, it very nearly was, and the image of his gentle friend going limp as the guard crushed his neck had seared painfully into his mind. 

“ Johnny ,” DeMarco begged, hands now gripping either side of Brady’s head. “It’s ok, just breathe.”

“Sorry,” Brady forced out, scrubbing his face roughly, but DeMarco shook his head.

“Don’t be. It was horrible, no one will get over it,” he said, and it made Brady pause.

They wouldn’t, would they? Of course Bucky wouldn’t—if he wasn’t unhinged before he certainly would be now, and Brady felt a spike of sick terror at the thought—and Buck would act like he was alright, but the glassy sheen on his eyes would get thicker and he would become even quieter, walking like his own body was too heavy to bear. 

DeMarco swallowed, eyes understanding, but before he could say anything a panicked shout came from the other room. They bolted back in to find Bucky’s face painted with raw fear and Buck draped limp against him.

“He’s…he’s not…” Bucky panted. “Get the doc!”

DeMarco ran out, and without being conscious of moving Brady found himself at Bucky’s side, helping him lift Buck into the nearest bunk. Buck was unresponsive, eyes half closed and head rolling a little as they laid him down, and Bucky’s hands shook where they gripped his body. His expression shuttered, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as his chest heaved with breaths he struggled to control. 

With aching lungs Brady grasped him by the collar and gently pulled him down, tucking Bucky's head under his chin, and Bucky made a keening sound that stabbed Brady’s gut. He held him like that for a while—let him gasp brokenly into Brady’s chest with his hands still fisted in Buck’s coat—until Brady was more or less sure he wouldn’t shatter into irreparable pieces on the dirty floor.

When Bucky finally, hesitantly, pulled back, his eyes were wet and he released one hand from Buck to scrub at them, schooling his face back into composure with disarrayed curls falling over his forehead. He looked like such a lost little boy that Brady’s heart cracked again. 

“He’s gonna be alright,” Brady murmured. 

Bucky nodded, inhaling a deep breath and unable to meet Brady’s gaze.

......

The “doc” gave Gale more or less a clean bill of health. The bruising wasn’t too bad, probably no damage to the trachea, but in Buck’s weak state even a small time deprived of oxygen would take a toll. He just had to rest. He regained coherence fairly quickly and was fussed over by everyone in the barrack until nightfall. By lights out the tension and panic hadn’t quite faded, but eventually they all settled, dropping off to sleep one by one. 

All except the two majors, and Brady, who couldn’t quite tear his eyes from the bunk where their leaders lay intertwined, Bucky cradling Gale in his arms without a trace of shyness. Vaguely Brady found it strange he had been thinking of Buck as Gale now, but Bucky had said it softly so many times that day that it had begun to cement itself in Brady’s mind. It felt too intimate, somehow, and opened another small wound in Brady’s chest.

He pulled the blanket to his chin and curled up a little more, watching Bucky smooth Gale’s hair and push it back from his face, stroking Gale’s cheek with his thumb. After a moment he ran a hand down Gale’s arm and wrapped it around his back, leaning in to tuck his face under Gale’s jaw. Gale’s hand shifted a little against Bucky’s waist but he stayed otherwise still as Bucky pressed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss to the worst mark. He then moved his face under the other side of Gale’s head, nuzzling to lift Gale’s chin just enough to reach that side of his neck, and Brady realized he was kissing both bruises. The simple tenderness was so uncharacteristic of the brash major that it drowned Brady’s chest in a swell of affection and tightened his throat. Bucky’s hand flexed against Gale’s back. His jaw worked where it was hidden in the crook of Gale’s neck, drawing a soft inhale from him, and Brady quietly rolled over to face the wall. 

The next morning, the tense lines on Buck’s face had faded. And if the marks on his neck were slightly different shapes and a little deeper shade, Brady didn’t mention it.

[hellofanidea]

Prompt: “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay.”

Pairing: CrozBrady

TW: disordered eating, vomiting, recovery from starvation

The doctors tell them it's going to take a while for them to tolerate food like they used to.

It’s almost a given, especially after watching Hambone choke down more canned meat than he’d had in two years and then puke it up into the snow whilst they marched, but it’s still more difficult than Brady anticipated to adjust to eating regularly when they get back to England. He manages to not make himself sick, but it’s a near thing a few times, and his stomach protests at the unfairness of food finally being available but being denied. Then comes the other side of the coin, the fact that he doesn’t actually even realize when he’s hungry anymore, or when he’s full. Eating becomes something between a gamble and a science. 

He weathers it well, though, because that’s what they’re all doing, slowly readjusting with the idea that they’re fine, they’re not hurting, that the Stalag was just a bad dream or a big adventure. They cling to the idea that they’re returning heroes, and not suffering, broken, shells of the men they were.

Which all leads to John Brady staring at the bag of oranges on his bed like they’re a mirage.

He had breakfast this morning, toast and juice and even a little bit of bacon, but that was hours ago. He might be hungry now. He should be hungry now. He can manage an orange. He wants to manage an orange, and can feel his mouth salivating despite the lack of hunger signals just at the sight of the fresh fruit. The first orange he’s seen since leaving the states. As a child he had loved oranges, would bite through the thick skin with his teeth before ripping them open with his thumbs. He’d spit the pips out as he went, competing with himself for how far he could get them.

The need to be that child again, just for a moment, makes the decision for him, and he takes one of the oranges.

It’s sweet and tart and perfect. The flesh tastes like summer and home and joy, and Brady’s pretty sure he moans a little as he swallows. There are barely any pips to stop and spit out, the ones he does collecting by his thigh, and soon the whole orange is devoured.

This is where he should stop, pause like the doctors told him to try and read his body, but his mouth is still stinging with juice and desire, so he snatches another like the bag is about to be ripped from him. It disappears just as fast, and so does the third. He’s on his way through his fourth when his throat seizes, his stomach cramps, and he forces himself very, very still. He’s panting, he realizes, has been between bites like some kind of feral animal. There are dark spots dancing in his vision.

His stomach cramps again, tight and warning, and the saliva gathering at the back of his mouth is definitely no longer a sign of hunger. 

He makes it to the waste bin just in time.

Brady heaves into it on his knees until there’s just bile coming up. It burns the back of his throat, leaves him feeling shaky as a newborn kitten, and he slumps on the floor with his forehead on the rim of the trashcan. The door to the barracks opens, and Brady cringes at being found like this by anyone, even the guys who had been in the Stalag and had seen much worse.

“Shit, John, is that you?”

Fuck.

Brady doesn’t have the strength to look up as Croz rushes over to kneel beside him. A gentle hand lands on his back.

“Are you okay? What happened? Should I get the doc?”

The questions all come out in a rush, and Brady feels himself get so overwhelmed he retches again. More bile. More shaking. When it passes he realizes he’s not only trembling, but crying, tears rolling down his face as he thinks about the fact that he’ll probably never be able to eat another orange without thinking about this, about being folded over in the barracks with the sour smell of vomit in his nose because he can’t eat a few pieces of fruit without consequences anymore. 

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid, he tells himself, but it feels so deeply unfair to have another thing stolen from him, and he just can’t seem to stop crying-

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” Croz says, gently tucking an arm around him and maneuvering him upright to rest against his chest. He’s rubbing soothing little circles along his spine that just seem to make Brady cry harder. His chin tucks over Croz’s shoulder, and he turns his face into his neck like he can hide there. “Hey, hey, shhhh. Shhhh. You’re okay. It’s alright. You’re gonna be alright, John.”

“Fucking oranges,” Brady manages to hiss, his sobbing losing force as it saps the last of his energy.

Croz makes a soothing noise, then an upset one. He keeps rubbing Brady’s back.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Was meant to be a present, I didn’t know you’d get sick.”

How sad Croz sounds, how guilty, breaks his heart. Sniffling, he pushes himself back, wiping his face with the back of his hand until Croz passes him a handkerchief.

“Not your fault,” Brady mutters. “Was me not having any goddamn self-control-”

Laughter from Croz cuts him off, and he scrapes together enough energy to glare at the navigator. There’s a wet patch on his shoulder that Brady quickly looks away from.

“I don’t think anybody’s expecting you to have self-control right now, John.”

Brady’s pride prickles at that, but Croz is watching him so softly, so warmly, that the fight goes out of him instantly.

“Thanks for the oranges,” he says instead, so he doesn’t have to hear Croz talk more about how he should cut himself some slack. “I’m sorry I threw most of them up.”

Croz laughs him off again and gets to his feet, holding out a hand to help Brady off of the floor. His knees wobble treacherously, but Croz steadies him with an arm around his waist. It brings them hip to hip, nose to nose, and Croz presses a kiss to Brady’s cheek even though he knows he has to reek of vomit.

“Don’t sweat it. Christ knows you’ve dealt with me throwing up more than enough.”

[realtapiocafan]

https://x.com/yusefclipz/status/1887285174024462544?s=46 oh man 😭 ofc he did

out of ANY qb ALL-TIME ---and he chooses jayden, ofc he does

[sweetl4cy]

oh how i love them 🫂

[wexhappyxfew]

Kennedy and John with “feeling their pulse” from the prompt list? I love them already

HI ANON!!!! can i just say when i got this prompt request, i was so so excited because o m g i am so glad!!! despite the fact i don't have writing with them out yet (and their only interaction so far was a snippet from a while ago) i am BEYOND EXCITED to put this out!!! :D definitely a fun duo to write and something i'd be happy to go deeper with writing on as well! there is a LOT to unpack haha! please enjoy and thank you so much!

run along lover boy

(a/n): safe to say i could've kept writing these two in every possible way, but i held myself because alas, i have every opportunity to write more for them. so please enjoy my chaotic duo - kennedy farley and bucky egan in stalag talking about the one thing no one seems to want to talk about. enjoy!!! :D

"She's still out there." Lieutenant Bradshaw said quietly from where she stood on the opposite side of the table, her arms crossed over her chest, face both sternly held and downcast, the look in her eyes dismissive and cold, "I saw her when we dropped. She couldn't have been far from me."

Kennedy watched as Annie glanced towards Brady who stood next to her - it was unmistakable not to notice the level of protectiveness Brady had seemingly taken on when Annie showed up to the Stalag, limping and bloodied. And now, it was nearly every time they weren't forced to be apart, they were beside one another. And the look in Brady's eyes said enough these days it seemed.

"How far you thinking, Bradshaw?" Bucky said from behind Kennedy, "You jump outta those things and you're playing with fate."

"A bit more to my right. Bes was to my left, Kennedy closest. Margie was somewhere behind the three of us," Annie said softly, her voice trying to hold. Kennedy watched as Annie glanced around the group, "I tried looking for her, I really did." Kennedy watched as Annie met Kennedy's gaze before looking down again and letting her shoulders fall.

"You did what you could, Annie," Kennedy heard Brady whisper quietly, before squeezing a hand on Annie's shoulder, "that's what matters." Kennedy caught the look Annie and Brady shared, those few extra seconds they held one another's gazes.

"It's Margie Harlowe," Buck said from the other end of the table, "she's still out there. We know that."

"No body ain't a dead body," Hambone said from his own spot opposite Buck, "how far from here you think you dropped?" Annie looked to him and pulled a thinking face across her lips and then sighed.

"Had to be somewhere upwards of 50 miles. We weren't deep into Germany on the mission. Outskirts." Annie offered.

"Yeah, suicide run, if anything," Kennedy offered and sat back in her chair, "gotta hand it to Lieutenant Bradshaw though, she probably was the calmest outta all of us." The group looked to Annie who wearily smiled at the group and nodded.

"Guilty is charged." Annie said and the group seemed to share smiles amongst one another.

"Probably closer to 60," Bessie said from where she laid on one of the higher bunks, flipping through a book, "whatever it was, those Krauts are damn sins. One nearly took out my eye."

"Did he miss the goddamn Lieutenant bar on your neck?" Bucky asked her. Kennedy glanced back and sent Bucky a look who shook it off.

"Buck-" Buck started, but Bucky cut in and stepped forward.

"Any of those sick fuckos try anything with any one of you ladies, you tell anyone of us, alright?" Bucky said, meeting each of their eyes, ending on Kennedy, "You don't know how fucking brain-washed they might be. They even lay a finger on ya, I'll-"

"Hear ya loud and clear, sir," Bessie said, pulling her legs over and hanging off the bunk edge, "Kennedy popped a guy in the balls. Pretty sure we can all do what we can. In a pinch."

"Really." Buck said glancing at her.

"I'm impressed," Bucky said looking down at her from where he leaned back against the bunk, "how hard ya hit him?"

"Did he bleed?" murmured Benny from his own bunk - he wasn't tending well to the Margie news, but he was coping it seemed.

"Oh he bled," Kennedy said, leaning against the table and sending a look to Bucky, "he was on the ground. Beggin' for Ma at some point. Last time one of those Nazi-fucks tries to touch the hair on my head. You do whatever you damn please, but you don't touch the hair."

"I knew I always liked you, Farley." Bucky said with a smirk, Kennedy catching a glance of that grin in her peripheral. He held her gaze a second longer, which she quite enjoyed; the way his eyes lingered a little on her eyes and then the scar on her cheek that was finally healing.

"She's right on that, "Annie said, as Kennedy pulled her gaze from Bucky's face, "they think they can keep doing whatever they want. Don't think it's gotten through their minds yet that we don't put up with that sorta shit."

"Guess that they haven't met a member of Silver Bullets yet and they're finally learning they can't just do whatever they want," Hambone said with a chuckle as he flipped through a mangled deck of cards, "c'mon, Bradshaw, tell me what the one said again?" Annie chuckled.

"The guy said that he was overjoyed to learn that America had things like baseball and cold beer," Annie said, "what a lunatic."

"Hey, don't be knocking it now. They're the gifts that keep on giving." Bucky said, looking at Annie with a smirk, "Ain't that right, Farley." Kennedy rolled her eyes and glanced back at Bucky with a raised brow.

"For some people," Kennedy said, with a knowing look, "if you're team is actually winning, that is." Bucky smirked before looking at the group.

"That's because she's a Red Sox fan." Bucky said, lowering his voice with a chuckle, "Traded Babe Ruth and it was game over for 20 years. Still kinda is." Kennedy leaned back and took a shove at his arm with a roll of her eyes, a few of the guys chuckling around them.

"She'll show up, she has to," Annie said with a firm nod, "I'm gonna go take a walk along the perimeter. Find the Colonel," Annie shrugged her shoulders and sniffled, that damn cold doing its number, "get an eye on some of the higher ups."

"I'm coming with you." Brady said quickly from beside her and Kennedy briefly heard Bucky let out a chuckle.

"Try and figure out who the one guy was who wouldn't stop staring, alright? He got that crazy look in his eye," Kennedy told Annie and Brady watching as they pulled their scarves around their necks and their beanie's on, Annie looking much smaller than Kennedy remembered in her coat now, "taller, teetering son-of-a-bitch."

"Will do," Brady said as he followed Annie out of the room, a few of the others taking that as their note to disperse, settle onto cots or start up games of cards or chess. Kennedy let out a sigh and then turned towards Bucky behind her and raised a brow.

"Really?" she said, her voice unamused, and slightly monotone.

"What?" admonished Bucky, shoving his hands in his pockets, a big, winning grin showing on his face, "Brady's walking around like a love-sick fool, I gotta have a little fun." Kennedy raised her brow further.

"C'mon, tell me you don't hear it at night, 'It's just you and I….here….now.', and all this other lovey-dovey shit, too, Farley," he said, nodding at her, "swear if you heard it yourself, you'd lose your mind to."

"He's been crazy about her since she got here, let them live a bit." Kennedy said, standing to her feet and coming to his side before lowering her voice, "Especially here."

She looked back up at Bucky and noticed how soft his face had grown so close-up. His eyes gently resting on her own, lingering gaze, his presence something back at Thorpe Abbotts she would've scorn about, but something here she was latching onto more often these days.

Even with Bucky's roughhousing and good-natured fun, Kennedy found herself gravitating towards him more often than not these days - she remembered when she'd first come in, barely alive, hoping to get her eyes on even just one of the guys from the 100th who was familiar to her. And Bucky had been the first, pulling her from the arms of the Germans who had been dragging her, forcing her to walk as she was fighting a fever, who immediately had taken her to where the others guys had been, and gotten her soup, water, and watched over her as she rested.

Back at Thorpe Abbotts, he'd been someone she could throw a bit of flirty words and teasing nature around, just for fun.

Now, he was the one who had pulled her from those few days of being lost, sick and far from home and in the hands of the Germans.

"You have to remember the first time you were in love, John," Kennedy said as she leaned on the bunk beside Bucky and surveyed the small bunk room, "all those butterflies, that lusting feeling, c'mon, with a face like that, you oughta know." She looked to him with a grin, but instead was met with a sour-looking frown. Her smile fell.

"Seems I forgot to do that." Bucky said, reaching up to rub a finger along his upper lip and then sighed, sending her a glance, "And the butterflies, or whatever the fuck you're supposed to feel." Kennedy stared at him and waited until he met her gaze fully.

"Let me guess, you got a cushy guy back home, your Ma set up for you from the country club, and just broke a guys heart before you came out here," Bucky said, his tone falling into a somewhat jealous and distant mantra, "you don't even gotta tell me. Look at you, any guy woulda been lucky to know you." Kennedy stared at him, her heart beginning to race the longer she stared at him and his stupid pretty face.

"No actually." Kennedy said, about just as firmly and slightly cold right back, "Guys at the country club were stuck-up twits anyway. Only heartbreaking that was going on was mine." Bucky looked her way and opened his mouth, before closing it again.

"Yep," Kennedy said with a nod, "strung me on like fish to a hook with bait. Showered me in love or whatever the fuck he called it. He stole a whole lot from me that I'll never get back. Youth, whatever else." Bucky was rather intently staring at her and refusing to look away.

"What the hell was his name?" Bucky said, his jaw clenched a bit tighter, his shoulders broader as he had turned to look at her now, watching her with a look that was enough to make her insides twist.

"Stephen." Kennedy said and then shrugged, "It's stupid anyway. First love is a load of bullshit half the time." Bucky was still staring at her and she was sure anymore of looking into his eyes and she wouldn't hold back. Whatever she was feeling.

"Anyway," Kennedy said looking away and grabbing some of the canteens from the table, seemingly catching Bucky off guard with her sudden dismissal of the conversation, "I'll go refill some of the water. I'll be back." With that she turned, heart pounding.

"Wait, Farley-" Bucky said, reaching out to grab her free hand, his large fingers clasping around her wrist, his hand hot, sending goosebumps all over her form. She turned to him and watched as his wheels turned, trying to figure out whatever he was thinking of saying.

"I shouldn't have said that about you - the country club bullshit, and he sounds like a complete asshole. Steve - whatever the fuck his name was." Bucky said and then righted himself, his grip loosening, but not free, "I'll come with you. To get the water." She stared at him, mildly surprised, but almost not. He'd been giving her that quiet look for days now. Whatever it meant. Enough it made her pulse race. And she knew he could feel it. Kennedy smirked at him and then reached forward, pulling her hand from his loose grasp and grabbed a few more canteens and placed it into his arms.

"How chivalrous." she said, before giving him a smile and heading out the door. Bucky stood there silent for a moment, and was left with a snort from Bessie on the top bunk.

"What?" grumbled Bucky, glancing over towards the woman - whom he hadn't realized was still here nor paying attention. Bessie chuckled and flipped a page in her book and smiled.

"Nothing." she said with a chuckle, before glancing over at him, "Run along, lover boy."

[whatever-dude]

no because i am so obsessed with the brothers tkachuk being a bigger narrative than mattdrai. like. if i think about it too long im going to go crazy

[smashorpassgilf]

orla brady

[pucktyreshannism]

i did NOT come prepared