Simp42Dbois

The first thing you noticed, before you had even opened your eyes, was that the mattress beneath you felt wrong. It was firmer than yours, angled differently, and the pillow smelled like cedar and gun oil instead of the vanilla candle you kept burning on your nightstand. You lay there for a long moment trying to piece together why your body felt heavier than it should, why your shoulder ached in a way it never had before, and why, when you finally cracked one eye open, the ceiling above you was unfamiliar in a way that made your stomach drop. This was not your room. The realization crawled through you slowly, the way cold water spreads through fabric, and you pushed yourself upright with a suddenness that made the world tilt. That was when you caught sight of your own hand braced against the sheets, except it was not your hand at all. It was broader, scarred across the knuckles, and where your left arm should have been there was instead a gleaming column of vibranium plates that shifted and clicked as you flexed the fingers in confusion.

You screamed. It came out lower than you expected, rough and unfamiliar, and the sound of your own voice startled you so badly that you scrambled backward off the bed and landed hard on the floor in a tangle of limbs that did not feel like they belonged to you, because they did not. You caught your reflection in the dark screen of a turned-off television mounted on the wall and nearly screamed again, because staring back at you was not your face. It was Bucky's face, pale and wide-eyed and looking every bit as horrified as you felt, and it took several seconds of frantic, disbelieving staring before the truth of the situation settled into your bones with all the grace of a falling piano. You were in Bucky's body. You were in Bucky's room, in Bucky's bed, wearing Bucky's face, and somewhere in this tower your own body was presumably waking up with someone else's consciousness rattling around inside it.

Down the hall, in your room, Bucky was having a considerably worse morning. He had woken up warm and soft and smaller than he was used to, which alone might not have alarmed him on a groggy morning, except that his hair was suddenly long enough to fall into his face in a way that felt distinctly wrong, and his hands, when he lifted them to rub the sleep from his eyes, were not his hands. They were smaller, softer, unscarred, and both of them were flesh, which struck him as so deeply strange that he sat bolt upright and stared at them for a full ten seconds before his brain caught up to what his eyes were telling him. He looked down at himself, taking in the oversized band shirt you always slept in, the unfamiliar shape of a body that was not his own, and felt a wave of nauseated vertigo roll through him so intensely that he had to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from toppling over. He knew immediately, with the kind of instinctive certainty that came from a life spent adapting to impossible things, exactly whose body he was in, and the knowledge did nothing to make the moment any less disorienting.

"Oh, no," he said, and the voice that came out was yours, bright and startled and nothing like the low rasp he usually spoke in, which made the whole situation feel about ten times more surreal. He scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the hem of the shirt because your legs were shorter than his and his brain had not yet recalibrated to the new proportions, and made his way toward the door on legs that felt borrowed, because they were.

You met in the hallway between your two rooms, both of you frozen in matching expressions of horror, staring at each other with a kind of dawning, mutual dread. Bucky, standing in your body in your oversized sleep shirt with your hair a wild mess around your face, looked at you, standing in his body in nothing but the sweatpants he usually slept in, and for a moment neither of you said anything at all, because there did not seem to be words sufficient to the occasion.

"Please tell me I'm dreaming," you said, and the sound of Bucky's voice coming out of your mouth again made you flinch, because it was deep and rough and utterly bizarre to hear yourself produce.

"If you're dreamin', so am I, and that don't seem likely," Bucky said back, and hearing your own voice say his words, his careful old-fashioned phrasing, was almost worse than hearing his voice come out of you. He dragged a hand through your hair, a gesture so purely his own that it looked strange performed with your fingers, and let out a breath that trembled at the edges. "This is your doing, isn't it. Your powers did this."

"How is this automatically my fault," you said, though even as the words left your mouth you knew, with a sinking certainty, that it probably was. Your abilities had never been predictable things. They had announced themselves eighteen months ago in a burst of energy that had knocked out three city blocks and had been misbehaving in small, unpredictable ways ever since, flaring during nightmares, sparking when you were startled, and apparently now, evidently, swapping your consciousness into your boyfriend's body while you slept. "Okay. Okay, it might be my fault. But I didn't do it on purpose, I don't even know how I did it, and also can we please not stand in the hallway discussing this while you're wearing my face and I'm wearing yours, because Sam already thinks we're weird and this is not going to help."

As if summoned by his own name, Sam Wilson chose that exact moment to round the corner from the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand, took one look at the two of you standing there in matching states of dishevelment and panic, and stopped so abruptly that coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug and onto his knuckles. He hissed at the heat, set the mug down on the nearest surface without looking, and pointed a finger back and forth between the two of you with the slow, deliberate motion of a man trying to make sense of something his eyes refused to accept.

"Why is Barnes standing there in his pajamas talking like he just walked out of a soap opera," Sam said, gesturing at you, "and why do you," he continued, gesturing now at Bucky, standing there in your shirt with your face doing an expression Sam had genuinely never seen it make before, "look like somebody just told you the sky was falling."

"It's a long story," you said, and your voice, Bucky's voice, came out clipped and irritated in a way that made Sam's eyebrows climb even higher.

"That's the thing," Bucky cut in, using your voice, and gesturing helplessly between the two of you, "he's me. I'm—she's me. I'm her. We switched, Sam, we woke up like this, and I don't know how to explain it any better than that."

Sam stared at the two of you for a long moment, his expression cycling rapidly through confusion, disbelief, and something that looked dangerously close to delight, before he pulled out his phone and started typing without so much as blinking. "Wanda," he said, more to himself than to either of you, "you are gonna want to see this."

Within twenty minutes the common floor of the tower had assembled into something resembling an emergency briefing, though the mood was considerably less tense than most of the briefings that usually took place in that room. Steve stood near the window with his arms crossed, doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face while looking back and forth between you and Bucky. Natasha had claimed the armchair in the corner and was watching the proceedings with the quiet, focused amusement of someone who fully intended to remember every detail for future use. Wanda sat cross-legged on the couch with her hands hovering an inch above the coffee table, red light curling faintly around her fingers as she studied the two of you with genuine scientific interest rather than mockery, which you appreciated more than you could say. Sam had not stopped grinning since he walked in, and had already, to your considerable irritation, taken several photographs on his phone before Steve told him to knock it off.

"Okay," Wanda said, drawing the attention of the room back to her as she let the crimson light fade from her fingertips, "so it is not a spell, and it is not an external interference. Whatever this is, it originates from inside you." She looked at you, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch in Bucky's body, still visibly unnerved by the extra height and the metal arm you kept accidentally knocking into things. "Your ability reacts to emotional states, yes? Stress, fear, strong feeling."

"Usually, yeah," you admitted, flexing the metal fingers experimentally and wincing at the faint whir of servos that responded, a sound that felt deeply invasive to be hearing from your own hand. "It flares when I'm upset. It's never done anything like this before, though. Usually it just breaks windows or sets off the fire alarm."

"You've been more anxious lately," Bucky said quietly, from where he sat beside you, and it struck you as strange and a little tender to hear him voice that observation using your mouth, your inflection, though the concern underneath it was entirely his own. "About us. About whether you're settlin' in here alright, whether the team really wants you around, whether I'm gonna get spooked and pull away like I do sometimes. You've been carryin' that around for weeks and not sayin' anything."

The room went very quiet, and you felt your face, or rather his face, heat with an embarrassment that had nowhere to hide, because apparently even body-swapped and disoriented, Bucky Barnes was still entirely capable of reading you like an open book and saying so out loud in front of everyone you knew.

"That is not the point right now," you said, aiming for firm and landing somewhere closer to strangled.

"It's exactly the point," Wanda said gently, though there was a knowing softness in her expression that told you she understood precisely how mortifying this conversation was for you. "Powers that respond to emotion often manifest their most dramatic effects during sleep, when the conscious mind isn't there to suppress them. Whatever you were feeling last night, it was strong enough to reach across the hall and pull the two of you together instead of just breaking something."

"Well, that's romantic in a deeply inconvenient way," Natasha said from her armchair, not bothering to hide her amusement, and Sam let out a laugh that he quickly turned into a cough when Steve shot him a look.

"So how do we fix it," Bucky asked, cutting through the commentary with the steady practicality that had kept him alive through decades of far worse situations than this one. "She just needs to calm down, and it reverses itself?"

"In theory," Wanda said, though the caveat in her tone was not lost on any of you. "Emotional-trigger abilities tend to be symmetrical. If distress caused the swap, then resolving that distress should, eventually, cause it to reverse. I cannot promise a timeline. It could be hours. It could be days."

"Days," you repeated, the word coming out flatter and more horrified than you intended, and beside you Bucky went very still in a way you recognized even through the unfamiliar shape of his own face on your body, the particular stillness that meant he was doing everything in his power not to laugh.

"This isn't funny," you told him.

"No, it's not," he agreed, and then immediately ruined the sentiment by grinning, an expression that looked deeply strange stretched across your features, all wrong in the eyes and too wide at the corners, because it was his smile trying to exist on a face that had never learned to make it. "Sorry. It's just—you're really tall right now, and you look real unhappy about it."

"I am extremely unhappy about it," you said, "your center of gravity is completely different from mine, I nearly walked into a wall on the way down here, and this arm keeps twitching whenever I get startled, which, given the morning I've had, has been constantly."

"Yeah, that happens," Bucky said, glancing down at your much smaller, much softer hands with an expression of genuine bemusement. "I keep forgettin' I don't have the arm right now. Tried to catch myself on the doorframe back there and just about ate concrete because I reached for stability that wasn't there."

"You're shorter than I expected it to feel," you admitted, studying him, studying yourself, from across the couch, and there was something surreal and oddly intimate about watching your own face express an emotion that was unmistakably Bucky's, the crooked half-smile he wore when he found something charming despite himself.

"You're heavier than I expected," he shot back, and you swatted at his arm before you both remembered, in the same instant, that the touch landed strangely because neither of you was quite where you expected to be inside your own skin, and the moment dissolved into a fit of laughter that neither of you could entirely explain, except that it felt better than the panic had, and that counted for something.

The rest of the morning unfolded as an extended lesson in the particular chaos of occupying someone else's body while a team of superheroes tried, with varying degrees of helpfulness, to figure out how to reverse the situation. Bucky discovered, with visible dismay, that navigating your body meant navigating reflexes he had never had to think about before, a lower center of balance, a different length of stride, hands that did not carry seventy years of muscle memory built around a metal prosthetic. He knocked over a glass of orange juice within the first hour simply by reaching for it the way he always reached for things, with the confident, weighted certainty of a man who knew exactly how strong his grip needed to be, only to discover that your grip strength was nowhere near what he was used to compensating for.

"This is genuinely humbling," he muttered, mopping up the spill with a dish towel while Sam watched from the kitchen island with poorly concealed delight, "I've fought off a small army with this arm and I can't pour a glass of juice without makin' a mess."

"To be fair, that's not your arm right now," Sam pointed out.

"I'm aware, Sam, thank you," Bucky said, in a tone that was unmistakably his own despite emerging from your mouth, dry and a little put-upon, and Sam laughed so hard he had to set his coffee down again.

Across the room, you were discovering your own set of complications, chief among them the sheer, unrelenting awareness of the metal arm attached to your shoulder, which whirred faintly whenever you moved it and which responded to your thoughts with a fraction of a delay that felt deeply unnerving. You had watched Bucky use that arm a hundred times, had marveled at the easy, practiced grace with which he wielded it, and had never once considered what it might actually feel like to have a machine grafted onto your nervous system, responding to signals your body had never learned to send. You knocked a mug clean off the counter within your first ten minutes of trying to make coffee, catching it half a second too late with reflexes that were faster than yours had ever been but calibrated to a different set of instincts entirely.

"You get used to it," Bucky told you, coming up beside you to help gather the pieces of the broken mug, and there was something gentle in the observation, an old, worn patience that had clearly been earned the hard way. "Took me the better part of a year after Wakanda before I stopped breakin' things. You're doin' better than I did, honestly."

"I highly doubt that," you said, but the comment settled something warm in your chest anyway, and you found yourself looking at him, at yourself, with a fresh kind of appreciation for everything he carried around every single day without complaint.

Steve wandered through around midmorning with the particular expression of a man determined to be supportive while also visibly fighting laughter at every turn, and made the mistake of asking Bucky, still occupying your body, whether he wanted to spar later, a habit so deeply ingrained between the two of them that the question came out before Steve had fully processed who he was talking to.

"Steve, I'm real flattered you think this body could take you in a spar," Bucky said, gesturing down at himself, at your frame, considerably smaller and considerably less enhanced than his own, "but I think you'd break somethin' that ain't mine to break."

"Right," Steve said, looking faintly embarrassed. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"S'okay," Bucky said, and then, because he could not help himself, added, "Though I gotta say, findin' out what her cardio's like on the treadmill this mornin' was an experience. I ran two miles and about died. You've got stamina for days but your legs give out way before your lungs do, doll, you know that?"

"I did not need a full report on my physical fitness," you called from across the room, though you were laughing despite yourself, because there was something endearing about the fact that even trapped in your body, disoriented and off-balance, Bucky had apparently spent part of his morning testing out what your workout routine felt like from the inside.

By early afternoon, Wanda had set up a small monitoring station in the common room, mostly out of scientific curiosity and partly, she admitted, because she found the entire situation genuinely charming and wanted an excuse to keep an eye on it. She had you both sit across from each other at the kitchen table while she studied the faint shimmer of energy that occasionally sparked around your borrowed hands, a visible tell, she explained, of your powers still actively holding the swap in place.

"It's stable," she said, tilting her head as she studied the two of you, "which is good news, in the sense that neither of you is in danger, and bad news, in the sense that it means whatever emotional knot caused this hasn't come undone yet."

"So we just have to talk it out," you said, and felt Bucky's gaze land on you from across the table, steady and searching in a way that made your chest feel tight even filtered through the strange, secondhand experience of watching your own face hold an expression you knew to be entirely his.

"Guess so," Bucky said quietly, and Wanda, with the tact of someone who had clearly decided this was not a conversation she needed to witness, rose from her chair and excused herself from the room without being asked twice.

You ended up on the small balcony off the common floor as the afternoon light softened toward evening, the city stretched out gold and hazy below the tower, and for a long moment neither of you spoke, both still faintly unsettled by the strangeness of watching your own gestures performed by someone else, your own voice carrying words you had not chosen.

"I didn't mean for you to find out like this," you finally said, wrapping Bucky's arms around yourself, a gesture that felt oddly comforting even secondhand, "the stuff about being anxious. I didn't want to make it your problem."

"It's not a problem," Bucky said gently, turning to look at you, "it's just somethin' you're feelin', and I'd rather know about it than have you carry it around alone until it short-circuits your powers and swaps us into each other's bodies." A faint, crooked smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as he said it, an expression that looked so purely like him despite being worn on your face that it made something in your chest ache with fondness. "I know I've got my own baggage about pullin' away when things get too steady, too good. Old habits. I'm workin' on it. But I need you to know that you bein' here, with all of us, with me, isn't somethin' I'm gonna spook over. You don't have to walk on eggshells wonderin' if I'm gonna bolt."

"I know that, logically," you admitted, and it was strange to hear Bucky's low, rough voice say something so vulnerable, though the words were entirely your own, carried across through borrowed vocal cords. "It's just hard to shut the worry off sometimes. Especially with everything that happened this year, the team splitting, you being on the run, all of it. It still feels new, being here, being with you. I keep waiting for the ground to shift again."

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly, "I get that better than almost anybody could." He reached out, his hand, currently yours, small and unscarred, and closed it gently around your borrowed metal fingers, the same gesture you had both performed a hundred times before in your correct bodies, and it landed strange and familiar all at once. "But I ain't goin' anywhere. Not unless you get sick of me first."

"Not likely," you said, and the words came out steadier than you expected, and something in the air between you seemed to loosen, a knot you had not realized you were still holding onto finally beginning to slip free.

You felt it before you saw it, a warm, prickling rush that started at the base of your spine and rolled outward, and Bucky must have felt it too, because his grip on your hand tightened and his eyes, wide and startled in a face that was currently yours, went bright with a familiar shimmer of gold light that had absolutely nothing to do with the sunset. The world tilted, briefly and gently this time, nothing like the disorienting lurch of that morning, and when your vision settled you were looking up instead of across, and the hand wrapped around yours was broad and scarred and metal, and the voice that came out of your own mouth when you gasped was unmistakably, wonderfully, your own.

"Oh, thank god," you said, staring down at your own hands, flesh and blood and entirely familiar, and then up at Bucky, back in his own body, tall and solid and grinning at you with an expression of such open relief that you laughed out loud.

"There she is," Bucky said, reaching up to brush a strand of hair back from your face with his real hand, warm and steady in a way that felt like coming home after a very long, very strange day. "Was startin' to get used to bein' shorter, not gonna lie."

"You complained about it for six straight hours," you reminded him, though you were still laughing, giddy with relief and the simple, uncomplicated joy of being back in your own skin.

"A man's allowed to complain," Bucky said, tugging you gently into his side, and you went willingly, tucking yourself against the solid, familiar warmth of him, feeling the low rumble of his laugh against your ear. "For what it's worth, I meant every word I said out there, even if it came out of your mouth instead of mine. You don't gotta be scared this is gonna fall apart."

"I know," you said, and found, for the first time all day, that you actually believed it.

The two of you made your way back inside just as Sam was rounding the corner with his phone raised for what was very obviously going to be another round of photographic evidence, and he stopped short at the sight of you, back in your correct bodies, tucked into each other's side with matching expressions of exhausted relief.

"Aw, you're back to normal," Sam said, sounding almost disappointed. "I had a whole album goin'."

"Delete it," Bucky and you said, in unison, and the perfect synchronization of it startled a laugh out of both of you, loud and easy, the kind of laugh that came only after a day spent thoroughly, thoroughly weird.

"Absolutely not," Sam said, already backing away toward the elevator, phone clutched protectively to his chest. "This is goin' in the group chat. Steve! You gotta see this, they're back to normal and Barnes still looks personally offended about the whole thing!"

Wanda's voice drifted from the kitchen, warm with amusement. "I told you it would resolve itself. Emotional-trigger abilities. Very predictable, once you understand the pattern."

"Predictable," you repeated, shaking your head as you let Bucky steer you toward the couch, both of you dropping onto it with the particular heaviness of two people who had spent an entire day fighting their own nervous systems for control of unfamiliar bodies. "I woke up as my boyfriend this morning. Nothing about today was predictable."

"Fair point," Bucky murmured, tucking you against his chest, his arm, the real one, settling warm and heavy around your shoulders in a way that felt like the single most normal thing that had happened all day. "Though I will say, for the record, you make a much better version of me than I made of you."

"You were a decent me," you said, tilting your head back to look up at him. "A little dramatic about the running, though."

"Two miles, doll. On legs I've never had before. I think I earned some drama," Bucky said, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, easy and warm and entirely his, in a body that was, thankfully, entirely his own again.

In hindsight, he should've seen it coming.

"Oh, we'd absolutely love to." Yelena had drawled. Her voice was positively sunny, her grin wolfish and pleased. "Bucky never even thought to invite us over."

And he genuinely never would have. But you, his wife, wanted it, and so he made it happen, with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth stitched into a docile, agreeable smile. For you only, of course.

The others, not so much.

But at least it was over. And, he thought begrudgingly to himself, not entirely horrible. You were, for reasons unclear to him, utterly charmed. Yelena made you laugh, and Alexei tided you over with a barrage of nonsensical anecdotes. Bob brought some sort of dessert that turned your eyes to hearts. Ava was…Ava, which suited you just fine, and John wasn't too much of an asshole, so, okay, whatever. You were happy with how it went.

And he was very happy with the silence that currently reigned over the house, a blanket of complete and utter quiet save for the sound of Alpine's purring across his lap. That is, until your voice drifted out, muffled through the bathroom door.

"Bucky?"

His blood froze to ice. You sounded agitated, the syllables sharp and thorny through the wood. He immediately stood, crossed your bedroom in two long strides, and dragged his knuckles across the door in a cursory knock before pushing it open.

You were in those clingy, cotton pajamas of yours, frowning, lips pursed, one hand holding on to something at the nape of your neck.

"What?" He managed.

"My hair's caught in my necklace. Can you…?"

He nodded, once, a jerky cut of his chin through the air, and stepped in behind you. Bucky wet his dry lips. Gently, he nudged your hand away and took a look at the necklace. Its chain was trapped beneath a small knot made by your hair. He started unraveling it.

His fingers set to work, careful and steady, but his thoughts were occupied. Eventually, though, he worked the necklace free and unclasped it.

A sigh of relief left you. Bucky leaned over you to place the necklace on the counter; you turned to face him, your arms curling around his neck, mouth open in a smile that suddenly collapsed halfway through.

"What's with the frown, handsome?" You tilted your head, your own brows furrowing.

The petname put him a little at ease. He shifted, but couldn't get far with your arms around his neck. That eased him, too.

Bucky's voice was almost a whisper. "You're not upset with me, are you?"

"What—?" Your face scrunched in confusion.  "James, no. Why would I be?"

His spine went soft with relief. Exhaling, he took your face in both his hands. "Please," he breathed, "never call me that again."

"What?" You murmured again. The furrow then loosened between your brows, a laugh brightening your expression as you realized. "Bucky?" You guessed, grinning at the pained look on his face.

"Please, doll."

"You're so dramatic," you said fondly.

He made a low, wounded sound in his throat.

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "It's cute," you insisted. "Makes you sound all cuddly. All of your friends call you that."

"They're not my friends," he said automatically.

"I thought I'd try it, too," you continued as if he hadn't spoken, still grinning. He really couldn't see what was so funny. It was physically painful to him, an axe hacking its way through his chest.

You were the only one who called him by his given name; you always had been, since day one. He liked the sound of it in your mouth, private and sweet and just for him, just from you, your James.

Sometimes, when you were teasing, you called him Barnes. When he was getting a scolding, it was the whole, James Buchanan Barnes, just like his mother used to, and he'd find himself going so soft he'd have no rebuttal for whatever it was, only, yes Ma'am, sorry, sorry, sorry, dotted in kisses across your face.

"Don't call me that again," he begged quietly, a desperate, desperate plea.

You pressed your forehead to his, a softer smile tugging at your mouth. "Why not?"

"'Cause it's not my name," he murmured. "Not to you."

He felt your fingers sifting through his hair. Your lips ghosting over his.

"James."

He hummed, kissing you. "Baby. That's right."

You stop rambling when you finally look up at Hannah and Allie, both girls staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“What?” you cautiously ask, kind of terrified of what they’re going to say. They both stay silent, looking at each other before laughing, seemingly at you.

“What?!” you ask again, not knowing if you should start laughing with them or be incredibly concerned. The girls’ chuckles die down as Allie grabs her coffee, looking you up and down. Your eyebrows raise at her, continuing to become more confused as the seconds pass.

“Cute bandana,” she says, her coffee cup near her lips as she takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. You furrow your eyebrows as she taps at her head, indicating the bandana tied around your head.

The red bandana tied around your head.

Logan’s red bandana. 

Tied around your head.

✧

You feel a warm arm wrap around your waist, pulling your body into his as you smile, snuggling yourself deeper into him and the blankets. Logan lifts his head, placing soft kisses along your neck, making your shoulder scrunch up, goosebumps traveling down your body at the sensation.

You turn your head, leaning up and giving him a kiss, him reciprocating as his grip on your waist tightens, holding you in place as you lazily kiss.

Despite every part of your body begging you to stay, you pull apart from the kiss, giving him one more quick peck on the lips before you sit up, stretching.

“I’m sorry babe, I gotta get up, I told the girls I’d meet them for a study date at 10,” you say, getting out of bed and finding your bag, changing back into the clothes you came here in last night.

Logan rubs his face before sitting up. He looks out the window and something tells him to check his phone. His heart drops when he sees the time,

10:30am

He doesn’t want to send you into a panic, but you’re clearly taking your time, he can hear you in the bathroom humming as you brush your teeth. And while he loves how domestic you two are together, he knew he had to tell you.

“Baby?” he asks and you finish up in the bathroom, walking back into his room, immediately noticing the look of concern on your face. He couldn’t even say it, him just holding up his phone.

Your eyes squint looking for anything out of the ordinary – a weird text, a missing call – and then it clicks.

“Oh, fuck me,” you say, rushing now, putting your shoes on. How could you have forgotten to set your alarm?

Well probably because Logan’s hand down your pants last night was pretty distracting.

You have virtually no time to do your hair, makeup, nothing. Panic sets in, knowing the girls were probably incredibly concerned about your whereabouts and going to press hard about what's going on, as you're never late.

“Here, here, here,” Logan says, handing you his red bandana. You sigh in relief, silently thanking him as you can at least make your hair look presentable. You brush through your hair before tying the bandana around your head, securing it with a knot in the back.

You reach up to peck his lips once more before rushing out of his room and down the stairs, hoping and praying that no one was home. You peek around, not seeing anyone before you bolt, jogging down the street where you left your car. You sigh, putting the car in drive and trying to get to the café as quickly but as safely as possible.

This whole sneaking around thing is really starting to test the both of you. You and Logan met through your mutual friends, and the connection was instant. Neither of you really understood why you were still doing the whole ‘sneaking around’ thing, but it just kind of stuck. And added a thrill to your relationship.

But now that thrill is causing you to miss alarms and having to watch your wording so you don’t slip up.

✧

“What about it?” you say, acting naive.

“It’s nice, looks good on you,” Allie replies casually, “It looks really familiar though, does it not, Hannah?” she asks, clearly a joking tone in her voice as Hannah nods.

“It does look very familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen it… Or who I’ve seen it on before,” she says, your heart sinking.

They’re so onto you.

You double down, “It’s a very common color and I didn’t have time to wash my hair this morning. I just had it lying around,” you say, not entirely lying as you lean back in your seat.

Allie’s eyes look like they’re reading your every thought as you maintain eye contact with her, her looking at you like she’s waiting for you to break. You brush her off with an exhale, breaking eye contact and standing up.

"I need caffeine," you say, heading to the counter to order.

The girls watch you as you walk over to the counter. They turn back around, noticing you left your phone, flipped so the screen is facing the table. Hannah immediately catches onto Allie's plan.

“Allie, no,” Hannah says, “I know we wanna know if it’s true, but we can’t snoop,” she finishes.

“Who said anything about snooping? I just wanna know what time it is,” Allie nonchalantly says, as she grabs your phone, Hannah now playing lookout.

“Oh my god, I knew it,” she squeals, nudging Hannah as she looks over, a simple message on your phone spilling your secret.

10:45am

Logan🩷 – hope you made it safe, gorgeous

They’re so full of emotions - excitement, intrigue, joy - staring at your phone so intensely, they don’t hear or see you approaching the table.

“What are you guys doing?” you ask, as they snap out of their trance. You grab your phone from Allie’s hand, your smile dropping slightly at the very visible text on your lockscreen.

Another thing you forgot to do – turn your phone on Do Not Disturb.

Trying to not smile too hard at the text, you quickly 'heart' the message and hope that just ignoring this whole thing will work, shoving your phone in your back pocket as you sit down.

You three sit there silently as you take sips of your drink. The silence is about as loud as it can get, as Allie can't bite her tongue anymore.

“Oh, for god’s sake, what the hell is going on between you and John fucking Logan?” Allie asks, clearly having enough of this beating around the bush.

You nearly spit out your drink at the bluntness of the question. Before you can even try and come up with any more excuses, she continues,

“I mean today alone, you’re wearing his bandana, he’s calling you ‘gorgeous’, you have a heart next to his contact name! We know you’ve been sneaking around with someone but we didn’t know it was right under our fucking noses,” she says in disbelief, almost annoyed that she didn’t clock it sooner.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, if that’s why you didn’t tell us,” Hannah reassures. 

You sigh, sitting back in your seat. It was a lost cause at this point to try and come up with more excuses.

“No, I’m definitely not ashamed, I just… I don’t know, it was nice having a little secret. It felt fun sneaking around. But honestly, I’m exhausted with it, we’re both so happy together. I just really liked being in our own little bubble, I guess,” you admit, the weight being lifted off your shoulders as you tell the girls.

“And what do you mean you know I've been sneaking around with someone?” you ask, intrigued by their (correct) assumption.

“That glow on your face is not from a new skincare routine,” Hannah remarks, the three of you breaking out into laughter, as you cover your face with your hands.

The study date turned into you spilling everything about your relationship, feeling so happy to talk about your man and how amazing he is. How amazing he is to you.

Liked by user1, user2 and 652,865 others

tmz Hailey Baldwin posts a not so cryptic post about her short relationship with Harry Styles in relation to a recently released song by the singer.

The socialite captioned her post saying "can 'me and you' run it back?". The caption is a reference to a song by Styles called 'Coming Up Roses' and the lyric "There's only me and you," while the relationship seemed to be brief is there any weight to what Baldwin is implying?

It's important to remember that Styles has been in a relationship with singer Y/n L/n for over 2 years now, which is making people wonder if the two are as happy as they appear...

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user1 oh brother this guy STINKS

user2 does she know that y/n does NOT play about harry or....

->user3 like she's going to come on here and drag her ->user4 idk she hasn't been like that for a good minute 😬

user5 she ain't got no business acting like they were anything more than a fling

user6 they dated for a month YEARS ago... why is she doing this??

user7 patiently waiting for y/n to come on insta or twitter and put her in her place

user8 how do you slap someone through the internet?

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Liked by user1, user2 and 136,721 others

deuxmoi Y/n L/n seen keeping a low profile admist split rumors with Harry Styles.

L/n and Styles haven't been seen together for close to a month.

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user1 oh im sick

user2 say it ain't so!???!??!

user3 need them to step out together SOON

user4 she's still in london so i feel like they haven't broke up

->user5 when her and her ex broke up she was out of london the next day 😭 ->user6 yeah they gotta still be together

user7 at least their next albums are going to hit i guess?

user8 they had engagement rumors like a month ago, i just don't believe this lol

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Liked by lewishamilton, bellahadid and 7,159,944 others

yourusername 'love language' out May 1st.

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user1 oh i have no clue what to expect

user2 the cover is just her serving face.... this song is going to be so fucking good

user3 please be a happy song i BEGGGG

user4 her ex in the likes but not her man.... im so fucking scared right now

->user5 wait now im scared ->user6 hs is rarely on ig, i wouldn't be too shook up

user7 needing her to drag h*iley a little bit

user8 new song and they haven't been seen together IM SICK

user9 it's going to be about how only SHE knows his love language 🤫

->user10 see i like this hopeful language

user11 babe can we get a hint at the topic pls

user12 lewis please back up she's TAKEN

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Liked by user1, user2 and 752,865 others

tmz Hailey Baldwin releases an apology to Y/n L/n and Harry Styles after the socialite captioned her post saying "can 'me and you' run it back?" in reference to a song by Styles called 'Coming Up Roses' and the lyric "There's only me and you".

Baldwin said "The caption was only meant to be a joke between friends and it left it's circle. I sincerely apologize for the way that it came off." she posted on her Instagram story.

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user1 trying to clear her name before the song comes out lol

user2 "for the way it came off" girl what other way would it come off???

->user3 she just wanted a little bit of attention ->user4 like "it left it's circle" when she has millions of followers.... don't be dense

user5 omgggg girl find someone else to leech off of

user6 she had no business to be talking about him after being together for like a week

user7 honestly just stop giving her attention she's annoying

user8 we really don't gaf...

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Liked by harrystyles, dualipa and 9,846,378 others

yourusername celebrating 'love language' being out now 💐

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user1 oh so she really meant that when she said "I ain't tryna sign no lease, I'm just gon' make you my home"...

user2 i feel like you're also celebrating something else.....!??!?!??!?

harrystyles 😊🤍

->yourusername 😚🤍 ->user3 GIRL WE THOUGHT Y'ALL BROKE UP!??! ->user4 parent are getting married WTF

user5 i did not think i would find out that harry styles was getting married from a photo dump.... and it's not even the FIRST picture 😭

user6 this is so much better than a break up

user7 u are gonna be the most iconic bride I can’t wait

user8 !!!!!!!! AHAHAHAGAGWOWOW !!!!!!

charli_xcx congratulations lovebirds 💞

->yourusername ty ily <3

user9 OH MY GODDDDD Y/N ❤️❤️❤️💍

user10 not the point of the post but harry looks so hot in the 3rd picture

dualipa 🤍💍🤍💍

->yourusername ily !!!!!

user11 the most casual engagement announcement wth??

user12 she'll forever have long songs written about her.... i've never been more jealous

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✎…… hopefully you like anon <3!!!

(let me know if you want to be added to any taglists here also let me know if you want to be removed for certain people)

[added captions are in brackets] ღ

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

indented italics are additional voice overs ღ

Hello! Welcome back to my channel! And if you are new… buckle up because I have something to get out of my chest *clears throat*

I know it’s been MONTHS already but we need to have a SERIOUS discussion because I, for one, feel PLAYED. BAMBOOZLED. GASLIT. MANIPULATED. LED ASTRAY.

Now, as we ALL know, Jeonghan and Luna’s relationship has been confirmed for a few months now. Not only that, but they’re also confirmed to be ENGAGED.

And do you think they’re being lowkey about it? Do you think they’re subtly easing us into this new reality?

No! They are out here posting, commenting, and flirting PUBLICLY like they’re getting PAID for it— oh wait, they’re not. They just enjoy making all of us feel single and stupid. Which, honestly, good for them. I respect it. ALL THE SIGNS WERE THERE! SOME OF US WERE JUST TOO STUPID TO SEE!! *points to myself*

Now that I look back, these two have been soft launching their relationship for FIVE YEARS. FIVE YEARS. And we all just ate it up like clowns. Like, ‘Oh wow, what a beautiful friendship! Soulmate besties!’

Meanwhile, Mr. Manifest-Manipulate-Meditate Yoon Jeonghan and Ms. Gaslight-Gatekeep-Girlboss Bae Jiyeon were out here actively LYING to our faces. And we BELIEVED THEM.

“We’re just best friends.” Is their go-to response or excuse to all the speculations… GIVE THEM AN OSCAR!!

So, in today’s video, we’re revisiting all the moments where Jeonghan and Luna did NOT know the cameras were on them. Moments where they straight up forgot they were in public. Where they weren’t even TRYING to hide anymore. Bonus clips of my favorite moments in general and some accidental slip ups.

Because let’s be real, the only reason they got away with this for so long is because we were all blind… and easily gaslighted.

So grab a snack, grab some tissues, and prepare to cringe at how obvious these two were being while we sat here thinking they were just besties… premium besties.

Let’s get into it.

THE IDEAL BOYFRIEND, YOON JEONGHAN

Starting strong with this iconic exchange between Luna and a Carat.

The soft hum of overlapping voices filled the air as SEVENTEEN and Luna sat in front of their respective tables, each lined up with tablets in front of them, virtually speaking to fans in an online fan sign event. The lighting in the room was bright, illuminating the members as they interacted with Carats through their screens.

Luna sat comfortably at her own table, her elbows lightly resting against the surface as she leaned in slightly toward the screen in front of her. She had her earphones in, nodding along attentively as she listened to the fan on the other end. A warm smile lingered on her lips, her head tilting slightly as she responded to whatever the fan had just said, eyes twinkling with genuine interest.

[She’s so pretty 😭]

As their conversation began to wrap up, the fan, who had been chatting animatedly with her, hesitated for a moment before calling out softly, “Jiyeonie…”

Luna, mid-smile, nodded, encouraging the fan to continue. “Yes?” she replied smoothly, her voice light and inviting.

The fan hesitated for just a second before continuing. “I have one last question before my turn ends.”

Luna let out a small hum of curiosity, straightening her posture slightly. “Oh? What is it?” she asked, her tone effortlessly warm as she adjusted the position of her hands, fingers lightly tapping against the table.

The fan took a deep breath, almost as if building up the courage to ask. “Who, out of the other members, would be the ideal boyfriend?”

[AMAZING QUESTION BTW!!]

Luna chuckled at the unexpected question, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she processed it. A light laugh escaped her as she leaned back slightly in her chair, her head tilting in amusement. “Ideal boyfriend for you?” she asked, lifting a brow before trailing off. “Or…?”

[For you, babes]

The fan, catching onto Luna’s playful hesitation, let out a giggle. “Just in general! Like, who do you think would make the best boyfriend?”

Luna exhaled a short laugh, her fingers playing with the wire of her earphones for a moment as she smiled. “Well,” she began, already thinking carefully about how to navigate the question. “Honestly, all of the members have qualities that would make them ideal boyfriends. They each have their own charms and unique personalities that people would find appealing. They all have their strengths.” She spoke smoothly, clearly doing her best to dance around giving a direct answer.

[She’s speaking facts]

[All thirteen of those men are boyfriend material]

[Jiyeonie is girlfriend material]

[GOSH– I want all of them…]

The fan, however, wasn’t having it. “Only one!” she insisted, grinning.

Luna’s smile lingered as she paused for a few seconds, eyes slightly narrowing in amused contemplation. Then, with zero hesitation and a completely natural ease, she simply said, “Jeonghannie.”

[AAHGSYEBUSGEYBEJEBSIHEUEBUEBDU]

[THAT SMILE]

[THE SMILE, THE TWINKLE IN HER EYES, THE QUICKNESS OF IT ALL!!!]

A high-pitched squeal immediately erupted from the fan’s side of the screen, making Luna burst into laughter, her head tilting downward as she tried to compose herself. She held up a hand as if in surrender, shaking her head at the overjoyed reaction.

[Same]

[Fell off my bed when I watched this for the first time]

“Wait, wait, let me explain!” she said between small giggles, pressing her lips together to suppress another laugh. “I just think he’s the most boyfriend material out of all of them.” She shrugged as if her answer was obvious, tilting her head slightly. “He’s obviously very thoughtful and knows how to take care of people in a way that’s subtle but meaningful. He remembers little details, and he’s good at making sure the people around him are comfortable. He’s funny, he’s smart, athletic, hardworking… I think those are important qualities, right?”

[miss thing out here listing all the qualities she clearly like in a man]

[WE. WERE. BLIND.]

The fan, barely containing their excitement, was already speaking again. “Okay! Jeonghan is the ideal boyfriend in general… but how about for you? Who’s your ideal boyfriend?”

[GREAT QUESTION AGAIN!!]

Luna’s eyes widened slightly at the follow-up question before she let out a soft chuckle. She lowered her gaze momentarily, shaking her head with an amused smile before simply muttering, “I already gave my answer.”

[GOODBYE WORLD I–]

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A. RAHHH 🦅🦅]

That was all it took.

The fan on the other end of the screen let out an even louder squeal, completely losing it as Luna bit her lower lip, laughing at the dramatic reaction.

[She’s not even at all hiding it]

This particular clip from the fan sign quickly made rounds online. It spread like wildfire across Caratland, becoming one of the most well-known moments in their fandom.

Fans analyzed every micro-expression, every shift in Luna’s tone, and every flicker of hesitation in her words. Even back then, before their relationship was public, Carats had suspicions— but it was only after their confirmation that this moment became a clear and undeniable piece of evidence.

[I never doubted my JeongNa]

“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN A PARTNER?”

And since we are in the topic of ideal types, here is another fan sign moment where JeongNa completely disregarded all form of discretion in front of a lucky Carat who by the way we should also thank for asking such a great question to our bunny couple.

At the offline fan sign, rows of excited Carats filled the venue, eagerly awaiting their turn to meet the members of SEVENTEEN. Each member sat behind a long table, interacting with fans one by one. Albums, posters, and various gifts piled up before them, each a testament to the unwavering support from their fans.

[Let me present to you another iconic JeongNa moment]

Luna, seated between Jeonghan and Vernon, radiated her usual calm and comforting energy. Her doe-like eyes focused on the fan before her, who clutched an album with trembling hands. Despite her clear excitement, nerves were evident in her quivering voice.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Jiyeonie,” the fan stammered, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Luna offered a gentle smile, reaching out to clasp the fan’s hands reassuringly. Her touch was warm, grounding the girl before her. “Don’t be nervous,” Luna said softly, her voice like a soothing balm. “I’m happy to meet you too. Thank you for coming today. I like you’re dress!”

[She’s the bestest girl fr 🥹]

The fan took a deep breath, her face breaking into a smile at Luna’s comforting words. “Thank you… Oh! I have something for you!” she exclaimed, reaching into her bag and pulling out a delicate beaded headdress. The beads shimmered under the venue’s lights, their colors dancing with every tiny movement.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Luna marveled, her eyes wide with delight. She tilted her head slightly and glanced at the fan with a playful grin. “Will you put it on me?”

The fan’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink as she nodded eagerly. “Yes! I’d love to.”

[I’D LOVE TO!!!]

As Luna focused on signing the album in front of her, the fan carefully leaned forward, her hands trembling slightly as she placed the beaded accessory atop Luna’s head. Luna sat still, allowing the fan to adjust the headdress until it settled perfectly, the beads framing her face elegantly.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Once the headdress was in place, Luna turned her head slightly, testing its weight before glancing up at the fan with a bright smile. “How do I look?” she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

[LIKE YOU JUST CAME OUT OF A FANTASY WORLD]

The fan clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “So beautiful! Seriously, your future partner is going to be so lucky,” she gushed, eyes filled with admiration.

[The “future” partner sitting right next to her]

Luna let out a soft, melodious laugh, dipping her head slightly as if to hide the slight blush dusting her cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured, fingers idly tracing the cover of the album she had just signed.

Growing bolder, the fan leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been asking all the members about their ideal type today,” she began, her eyes darting briefly to the line of members seated beside Luna, “and I want to know yours too!”

[He’s seated right next to her]

Luna’s eyebrows shot up in amused surprise, a chuckle escaping her lips as she considered the question. “My ideal type, huh?” she echoed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Well… I think I would want someone who’s a genuinely good person overall. Someone who’s hardworking, funny, and smart. I like someone a bit mischievous— someone who can keep things interesting.”

[wHO cOulD tHaT pOsSibLy bE?!]

The fan’s eyes sparkled with intrigue, nodding eagerly as Luna spoke.

“Most importantly, I think I want someone who can be my best friend first. Someone I know well and can trust with anything,” Luna concluded with a soft, affectionate smile that seemed to light up her whole face.

[The best friend in question is sitting right next to her]

The fan beamed at her response, clearly thrilled. But she wasn’t done yet. “What about looks? Do you have a type when it comes to features?”

[You’ll meet him in a sec, miss thing… or you could just turn your head to the man seated next to Luna]

Luna shook her head, her smile never wavering. “I don’t have a specific type when it comes to features. But…” she trailed off, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, “I do tend to find guys who look like anime characters attractive. Someone who can pull off both short and long hair.”

[SHE WASN’T EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT ANYMORE]

The fan burst into delighted laughter, completely enchanted by Luna’s answer. She nodded in agreement, clearly relating to the sentiment.

After her conversation with Luna the fan moved down the line, she arrived in front of Jeonghan, still giddy from her conversation with Luna. She barely had time to settle before Jeonghan, with that signature mischievous smirk of his, tilted his head and playfully narrowed his eyes at her.

[THAT. DAMN. SMIRK.]

[Bae Jiyeon, I get you. I feel you. I relate to you.]

“Why are you smiling so big?” he teased, his tone light and curious. He leaned slightly forward, resting his forearm lazily on the table as he signed her album. “Was Jiyeonie really that much fun to talk to? I’m telling you, I’m way more fun.”

[A menace]

The fan laughed at his antics, amused by the way he immediately started competing for her attention. The moment she glanced toward Luna, who was still signing for the next fan, Jeonghan followed her gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Luna, catching on to the conversation, barely spared him a glance before shooting him a playful glare, the kind that wasn’t meant to intimidate at all but rather to silently tell him to behave. Jeonghan, of course, didn’t take it seriously. He simply chuckled, throwing her a quick wink before shifting his attention back to the fan in front of him.

[AHVHNEBHEBSHS MOM! DAD! ADOPT ME!!]

The fan shook her head with a laugh. “All of you are so much fun to talk to.”

“Really?” Jeonghan feigned skepticism, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. “Then what were you two giggling about?” He signed her album effortlessly, eyes flicking up briefly as he waited for an answer.

[As if you weren’t listening 🤐]

The fan smiled knowingly, gripping the edge of the table in excitement. “I asked Jiyeonie about her ideal type in a partner.”

At that, Jeonghan’s hand stilled for a fraction of a second before he finished the last stroke of his signature. With a lazy sort of curiosity, he leaned back slightly and looked up at her, eyebrow raised. “Why are you so interested in our Jiyeonie’s love life?”

[OUR?!? SIR?!? WHATTTTT?!!?22)2)6:?277/)]

[Love life… he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore]

The fan giggled, shaking her head. “I asked everyone! I wanted to know everyone’s answers.”

Jeonghan hummed in understanding, nodding as he leaned forward once again. “You’re gonna ask me too?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable glimmer in his eyes.

[HE IS TOO EXCITED TO ANSWER]

[you can practically see the answers trying to escape his mouth]

The fan nodded enthusiastically. “Of course!”

Jeonghan let out a thoughtful hum, tapping the marker against the album cover as if considering his answer.

[*pretends to think as if he didn’t already prepare a answer*

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he finally spoke.

“Well… I like someone who’s cute but also really cool. Someone who’s down to do things I enjoy but also won’t force me to do things I don’t want to,” he started, his voice smooth and casual, but there was an unmistakable weight behind his words. “Someone I can be lazy with— you know, stay at home all day and just rot in bed together.”

[wHO cOulD tHaT pOsSibLy bE pt. 2?!?]

The fan immediately caught on. Her eyes widened slightly as he continued.

“Someone similar to me, but not exactly the same,” Jeonghan mused, glancing up at the fan briefly before looking back down at the album. “Hardworking, smart… Someone who would take care of me.”

[‘I know something you don’t’ ~]

The similarities to Luna’s answer were undeniable. But Jeonghan didn’t stop there. His voice softened ever so slightly as he added, “And someone who knows everything about me. Someone who was a friend first.”

[THE SAME FUCKING ANSWERS FROM THE BOTH OF THEM, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!]

[‘AND WHAT THE HELL WERE WE? TELL ME WE WEREN’T JUST FRIENDS!!!’ ~]

The fan, who had already been suppressing her excitement, bit her lip, practically vibrating in her seat. “And physically?” she asked, leaning in with a teasing smile.

[She’s a JeongNa shipper for sure and we love her for that 😝]

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, pretending to think.

[*pretends to think again as if he isn’t fighting the urge to just name Luna or point at her*]

Then, almost imperceptibly, his gaze flickered to his right— so quick and subtle that if you blinked, you’d miss it. Luna was still speaking to the fan in front of her, completely immersed in their conversation, unaware of the way Jeonghan had glanced at her.

[I SAW IT?!? DID YOU SEE IT?!?]

[*plays in slow motion repeatedly*]

[WNHEJEBSJWNNE HE COULDN’T HELP HIMSLEF?2!):&2’ziwj]

Jeonghan looked back at the fan, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Nothing too specific,” he said casually. “But I think long hair is nice.”

The fan sucked in a quiet breath before nodding along with a huge smile on her face.

“A dimpled smile,” he continued smoothly, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. “A really beautiful smile, actually.”

Her eyes darted toward Luna instinctively.

[WHATTHEFUCK JUST FUCKING NAME HER AT THIS POINT]

“Pretty eyes,” Jeonghan added, then, as if an afterthought, he chuckled. “Oh, and moles. I think moles on the face are really attractive.”

[Translation: “Bae Jiyeon”]

[Jeonghan’s type: Luna, Jiyeon, Bae Jiyeon, Luna Bae, Nana]

The fan’s mouth fell open slightly.

There was absolutely no mistaking it. He had just described the girl sitting right next to him.

Jeonghan, completely nonchalant, handed back the signed album, his smirk still firmly in place as if he hadn’t just exposed himself in the most discreet yet obvious way possible.

[HE KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK HE’S DOING]

[NO REGRETS FROM EITHER OF THEM TOO!!]

The fan, who was still in the middle of processing his words, barely managed to thank him before she was ushered by the staff to move down the line.

And just as she did, Jeonghan shifted in his seat ever so slightly, leaning toward Luna’s side. He lowered his voice, murmuring something only meant for her ears. Luna, caught off guard, paused mid-signature. Then, just as quickly, she bit her lip to suppress a giggle, shaking her head as she continued writing.

[I WANNA KNOW TOOOOOOOBEHUSGEUWHSJ]

[They are probably giggling at how they are teasing us 🫠]

Their words were theirs alone, but the moment— the way she grinned, the way he leaned just a fraction closer— was enough for anyone paying attention to suspect that there was more to their exchange than what met the eye.

DINNER AT NEW YORK

New York JeongNa was a vibe iykyk.

The video, taken discreetly from a few tables away, was slightly shaky at first, the fan adjusting their phone’s position to capture the scene without drawing attention. The dim, warm lighting of the New York restaurant cast a soft glow over the space, the low hum of conversations and the occasional clinking of silverware creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

[They were so cute here]

At the very corner of the room, tucked away from the more crowded center, Jeonghan and Luna sat together in a booth, but instead of sitting across from each other like most couples would, Jeonghan had chosen to sit right beside her. His body was angled slightly toward her, his arm draped lazily across the back of the booth, fingers lightly resting behind her shoulder as if it was second nature.

[GAHHHHHHHHHH IS ALL I CAN SAY]

There was no unnecessary space between them— the way their bodies leaned into each other made it clear that this wasn’t a calculated attempt at privacy but rather a natural display of closeness.

[THEY WEREN’T HIDING OR ANYTHING]

Luna was speaking, her hands occasionally gesturing slightly as she explained something, and Jeonghan— despite the quiet noise of the restaurant, despite the presence of other diners, despite the occasional movement of waitstaff passing by— was focused on nothing but her. His head tilted down, his gaze locked onto her face, listening intently as if whatever she was saying was the most important thing in the world.

[YOON JEONGHAN, THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 🧎‍♀️]

[HOW TF IS SHE NOT MELTING IS THE QUESTION?!]

[Bae Jiyeon is stronger than me cause I would have jumped on him if I her—]

The fan’s camera zoomed in slightly, capturing the way Jeonghan’s lips quirked up at the corners, his expression soft, his eyes crinkling faintly. Whatever Luna had said must have amused him because a quiet chuckle left his lips before he subtly leaned in closer, murmuring something just for her. Luna turned her head slightly, reacting to his words with a small, knowing smile, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the fabric of his sleeve.

[Brb literally crying in the club rn…]

[They are perfect together 🥹]

The moment felt so intimate yet so casual, as if they had done this a thousand times before— shared a space like this, lost in their own little world, unaware or simply unbothered by the outside eyes that might have been watching.

And then, without hesitation or fanfare, Jeonghan leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of her head. It was brief but undeniably affectionate, his lips grazing her temple with an ease that spoke of familiarity, of comfort, of love that didn’t need to be hidden.

[HOW DID WE NOT KNOW?!?]

[IT WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF US!!]

Luna didn’t react with surprise. Instead, she simply turned her head slightly toward him, her expression warm, her lips curving into something impossibly fond. It was as if she was used to moments like this— small, quiet gestures that didn’t need words to be understood.

[*googles ‘how to be Bae Jiyeon’*]

Before the video cut off, their food arrived, the plates being placed in front of them, momentarily shifting their attention to the server. But even as Luna reached for her utensils and Jeonghan adjusted his seat slightly, there was still an unspoken connection between them, the kind that lingered even when words weren’t being exchanged.

And then, the screen went black.

‘BE THE SUN’ IN LOS ANGELES SOUNDCHECK

this. just this video right here.

The Los Angeles sky burned a soft orange as the sun began to set outside the stadium, but inside, under the glow of dimmed stage lights, the atmosphere buzzed with an entirely different energy. Hundreds of lucky VIP ticket holders stood eagerly in the pit, their phones raised, recording and capturing every second of SEVENTEEN’s soundcheck.

The exclusivity of this moment made it even more special— this was their chance to see the members in a relaxed, unfiltered state before the actual concert began. The stage was void of the extravagant lighting and pyrotechnics that would come later, leaving just the members, their voices, and the electrifying connection they shared with their fans.

[I want to experience soundcheck so bad 😫]

As the first chords of the song rang through the stadium speakers, the members casually moved around the stage, each of them interacting with the fans in their own unique way. Seungkwan, ever the entertainer, exaggeratedly pointed at a fan holding a sign that read, “SEUNGKWAN MARRY ME,” before dramatically clutching his chest and pretending to swoon. Hoshi mimicked a fan’s dance moves, laughing as they tried to keep up with each other. Mingyu crouched at the edge of the stage, grinning as he reached out to accept a plushie from a fan, holding it up like a prized trophy.

Luna, standing near the center of the stage, swayed lightly to the rhythm as she sang, her gaze scanning the sea of fans. She occasionally waved and shot playful winks at the screaming crowd, her presence radiant yet effortlessly cool. Beside her, Jeonghan sang along, his voice smooth and melodic, but his attention drifted between the performance and teasing interactions with the fans.

[THEY ARE ALWAYS TOGETHER ITS ADORABLE]

When one particularly excited Carat in the front row jumped up and down waving her phone, Luna pointed at her and chuckled, mouthing, “Careful, don’t fall!”

[I fell for you already, miss thing]

After performing three songs, the members gathered at the front of the stage, slightly out of breath but all smiles. Joshua, always the composed and charming spokesperson, lifted his mic.

“Thank you all for coming to the soundcheck,” he said warmly, his voice carrying effortlessly over the speakers. “We can’t wait to see you all again when the show starts later. Make sure to save your energy, okay?”

“Drink water!” Luna chimed in, earning a wave of laughter from the crowd.

[*chugs a gallon of water*]

The members waved as the VIP section erupted into cheers, their voices blending into one chaotic yet affectionate roar. With that, the group began making their way toward the back of the stage, heading for the wings where they would disappear until the official concert began.

Even as they exited, the fans’ eyes remained locked on them, knowing that they could still be seen through the side openings of the stage. The members continued chatting amongst themselves, some throwing last-minute waves and finger hearts to the crowd as they disappeared from sight.

[HERE WE GO 🤭]

That was when it happened.

Jeonghan, walking beside Luna while talking animatedly to Joshua, swung his arm a little too far in his expressive storytelling— and hit Luna square in the stomach.

[honestly… HIT ME NEXT, JEONGHAN]

A collective gasp echoed from the crowd.

Luna stopped in her tracks, her body instinctively recoiling as she clutched her stomach, her face morphing into an exaggerated pout. Her wide eyes flickered up to Jeonghan, who had frozen mid-step, realization dawning upon him.

[Apologize to my pookie right now 🥺]

The fans could see it unfold in real-time— the exact moment he realized what he had done. His mouth parted slightly, and without a second thought, he moved toward her in a hurry.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

The next thing they saw was Jeonghan wrapping his arms around Luna from behind, pulling her close as if to protect her from the very damage he had caused. His hands, gentle and warm, smoothed over the exposed skin of her midriff where her crop top left it bare, a silent apology written in the way his fingers traced soothing circles over the spot he had unintentionally hit.

[*malfunctions*]

[*passes out*]

[*squeals in JeongNa*]

The stadium erupted into screams.

If that wasn’t enough, what happened next sent the fans into an absolute frenzy.

Still holding Luna close, Jeonghan dipped his head down, his lips brushing against the crook of her neck once. Twice. Then a third time, as if sealing his apology with a kiss. Luna, though initially flustered, visibly relaxed in his hold, her lips parting into a small, knowing smile.

[WHATTHEFAWKKKKKKKMKKKKKK]

[THANK YOU TO WHOEVER FILMED THIS]

[THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE, OP 🫡]

[*plays that part again on a loop*]

Fans were screaming so loud now that their voices could probably be heard beyond the venue itself.

And the best part?

Jeonghan didn’t even seem to care.

His lips lingered near Luna’s ear for a second longer before he murmured something only she could hear, causing her to chuckle softly as they continued walking like that— Jeonghan’s arms still wrapped around her waist from behind, his hands resting comfortably on her stomach, their steps naturally falling in sync.

[MOM AND DAD?!!?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?]

[JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY— oh wait… they are about to 🤭]

The two of them walked together like that until they finally disappeared from sight, leaving behind a stadium full of fans who were still reeling from what they had just witnessed.

[Another iconic JeongNa video in the bag]

“THIS SONG REMINDS ME OF HANNIE”

And now here we have, Mother Taylor doing us a service.

The dim glow of Luna’s hotel room in Japan cast a warm, intimate ambiance as she sat comfortably on the bed, propped up against the plush pillows with her phone in hand. The screen in front of her illuminated her face softly, the gentle hum of background music filling the otherwise quiet space.

She had been live on Weverse for a while now, casually chatting with fans, answering their questions, and occasionally laughing at the more amusing comments that scrolled past.

[Side note: she is glowing in this live… she always is, who am I kidding?]

Dressed in an oversized hoodie, her hair loosely tied back, Luna exuded a calm, cozy energy that made the live feel less like a formal interaction and more like a late-night conversation between close friends. The air felt easy, relaxed— just her, the fans, and the soothing music playing softly from her laptop.

At this point in the live, Luna had settled into a quieter rhythm. Instead of talking continuously, she had let the music take the forefront, reading through the flood of comments in comfortable silence. Every so often, she would read one aloud, her voice naturally soft yet engaging.

“‘Luna, did you eat already?’” she read, her gaze flickering up to the camera before nodding. “Mmm, yes. I had udon earlier. It was really good. I was craving something warm after practice.”

She continued scrolling, occasionally responding with small smiles and hums. The sound of the song playing through her phone wrapped around her like a gentle embrace, the melody soft and sentimental. It wasn’t until a particular comment caught her attention that she blinked and tilted her head slightly, a small flicker of recognition in her eyes.

[I LOVE THIS SONG EVEN MORE NOW 🥹]

“Oh—‘Jiyeonie, what song is playing?’” she read aloud, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she turned her attention back to the music.

For a moment, she simply listened, letting the familiar chords settle in her ears before answering.

“This is ‘Invisible String’ by Taylor Swift.”

Her voice was warm, unhurried, as if she were sharing a quiet secret. Leaning back against the pillows, she let the melody play a little longer before she continued, her tone carrying a sense of quiet admiration.

[HONESTLY, THIS SONG IS SO JEONGNA CODED]

“I love this song.” Her gaze remained fixed on the scrolling comments, reading them silently before she spoke again, her voice thoughtful. “It’s so… I don’t know how to describe it. It feels nostalgic, but comforting at the same time.”

She exhaled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of her phone. There was a brief pause as if she were debating whether or not to say what was on her mind. And then, with a small, almost imperceptible smile, she added,

“This song reminds me of Hannie.”

[GAJNMAJEJEVEIBSKWNSGWUSBJSBWUSHAJ]

[THE SONG ABOUT THE INVISIBLE STING THEORY REMINDS JIYEON OF JEONGHAN!!!!!!!]

[GOODBYE–]

[THEY ARE SOULMATES INDEED]

The reaction was instant

The comments exploded in a frenzy of capital letters, exclamation points, and rapid-fire messages from fans losing their minds. The chat box scrolled at lightning speed, filled with variations of:

“LUNA PLEASE.”

“NOT INVISIBLE STRING LUNA DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS.”

“THIS SONG IS ABOUT SOULMATES ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?”

“BAE JIYEON I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“LUNA JUST SAID JEONGHAN IS HER INVISIBLE STRING EVERYONE STAY CALM.”

The sheer intensity of the fans’ reaction was almost comical, and Luna— fully aware of the chaos she had just caused— pressed her lips together, failing to suppress the amused smirk that tugged at her mouth.

[the smirk on her face says it all… she don’t care no more]

[SHE LOVES IT]

[THEY BOTH DO]

[JEONGNA ARE MENACES]

Luna didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. The soft, knowing expression, the way her fingers drummed against the back of her phone as she continued reading the comments, all of it hinted at a quiet amusement that she had expected this reaction.

[I KNOW DAMN WELL SHE CAN SEE THOSE COMMENTS AND SHE’S JUST OUT HERE SMIRKING]

And then, in a moment of effortless, almost unconscious sincerity, Luna’s voice rose gently over the melody as she sang along, her voice a soft murmur against the music.

“‘And isn’t it just so pretty to think…’” she sang, her tone light, delicate, as if she were singing purely for herself rather than for the thousands watching.

“‘All along there was an invisible string…’”

“‘Tying you to me~’”

[MOOOOOOOM IS SERENADING US]

[JEONGHAN, I MEAN. SHE IS SERENADING JEONGHAN]

[But seriously, we NEED a full cover]

Luna’s voice trailed off, fading into a quiet hum as she swayed slightly to the melody. The chat was still in shambles, a never-ending stream of reactions, but Luna only smiled, her expression unreadable yet undeniably warm.

She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

The music played on, her fingers absentmindedly scrolling through the comments as she hummed along, her thoughts drifting elsewhere— perhaps to a certain someone who, unbeknownst to the fans, was probably watching this very live at that very moment.

[AND YES, YOON JEONGHAN WAS INDEED WATCHING THE LIVE]

‘I HAVE LOVED YOU SINCE WE WERE 18’ ~

Since we’re already here…

Another moment of Luna telling fans about songs that remind her of Yoon Jeonghan.

Idfk why we didn’t see know… THEY WERE BEING SO OBVIOUS!

The evening air in Paris carried a crisp chill, the soft golden glow of the hotel entrance casting long shadows across the cobblestone pavement. The soft hum of conversation mixed with the occasional shuffle of feet as a group of fans stood gathered outside, waiting for one last glimpse of Luna before she left for the airport.

Dressed in a sleek, oversized coat that draped effortlessly over her frame, Luna stepped out of the hotel lobby, her presence instantly drawing the attention of the crowd. The moment she appeared, a wave of excited murmurs rippled through the fans, followed by a chorus of greetings and camera shutters clicking in rapid succession.

[She is so European 🤩]

A warm smile graced her lips as she lifted a hand in greeting, fingers wiggling slightly in a playful wave. “Hello!” she greeted, voice carrying over the group. “How are you guys? Did you wait long?”

The fans eagerly responded, some shaking their heads, others calling out variations of, “We don’t mind!” and “We wanted to see you before you left!”

Luna’s gaze softened, touched by their dedication. Without hesitation, she stepped closer, carefully maneuvering past her team, who stood at a respectful distance, allowing her this brief moment with her fans.

[I WANT TO MEET HER 😞]

[she is just truly the sweetest]

She took her time— posing for selfies, signing albums and posters handed her way, and accepting small gifts wrapped in delicate ribbons. A plush bunny, a handwritten letter, a small bouquet of flowers— each one received with genuine gratitude as she murmured soft thanks to each fan.

“You guys are always so sweet. There is no need for all of this but thank you so much,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag as she leaned in to sign another album.

[It’s what you deserve, Queen!]

The fans around her beamed, soaking in every second of the interaction. Despite the limited time, Luna made sure to acknowledge as many people as possible, meeting their eyes, sharing small jokes, and responding to their excited words with unwavering patience and warmth.

[Jiyeon always makes sure she has talked to everyone. It’s so endearing 🥹]

Eventually, as the last few fans remained, Luna reached for a poster being held out to her, her marker uncapping with a quiet click as she bent slightly to sign her name.

“Paris carats will miss you,” the fan holding the poster said earnestly, her voice tinged with both admiration and a hint of sadness.

Luna glanced up, eyes twinkling under the soft glow of the hotel lights. “I’ll miss you guys too,” she assured her, her tone gentle but certain. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

The fan, who had been filming the moment along with many others around her, nodded excitedly. “You have to!” she insisted. “We’ll be waiting!”

Luna chuckled, nodding as she finished signing with a small flourish. “I will, I will.”

[The Europe air does something to her istg]

As she handed back the signed poster, the fan hesitated for a second before grinning. “Jeonghan’s birthday is in a few days,” she pointed out. “Do you have a gift for him?”

[Duh 💁‍♀️]

At that, Luna looked up, her hand still midair as she processed the question. A slow, playful smile curled on her lips before she nodded. “Of course,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The fan leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “What is it?”

[Herself]

Luna let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “It’s a secret.” Her voice carried a teasing lilt, making the surrounding fans giggle in response.

“A secret?!” the fan whined dramatically.

Luna only shrugged, the smirk on her lips giving nothing away.

[She loves teasing istg]

[Bae Jiyeon enjoys torturing us]

The fan huffed before suddenly perking up with another question. “Okay, okay! If there was a song you’d dedicate to him for his birthday, what would it be?”

Luna barely hesitated before deadpanning, “‘Happy Birthday.’”

[SHE CRACKS ME UP 😂]

[She really said, “Girl, bffr, what other song would I dedicate on his birthday.”]

The fan let out a loud laugh, shaking her head. “Aside from that!”

Luna hummed, combing her fingers through her hair as she thought, “Hmm… I’ve been relistening to One Direction albums lately.”

The moment she said that, the fan gasped excitedly. “Really?! I love One Direction!”

Luna’s face brightened. “Really? Same! Their songs bring back so many memories.”

The fan nodded eagerly, urging her on. “Okay, okay! So which one?”

Luna paused for a second before tilting her head slightly. “I think… ‘18.’ It’s one of my favorites. It reminds me of Jeonghan, so probably that.”

[THAT SONGGGGGGG]

[‘I have loved you since we were eighteen’]

[AGHHHHHHHHHHHSBIEHSUWHAJNWKWB]

The reaction was instant— the fan let out a squeal of excitement, hands clutching her phone tightly as she processed Luna’s words. The surrounding fans echoed similar reactions, gasping, laughing, and whispering amongst themselves.

Luna smirked at their reaction before giving a small wave. “Alright, I have to go now,” she said, stepping back slightly. “Thank you all for coming! I’ll be back soon. Stay safe, okay?”

[She really answered that question, smirked because she caused a commotion, and then dipped as if nothing happened.]

[Icon behavior]

The fans waved frantically, voices overlapping as they called out their goodbyes. “Safe flight, Luna!” “We love you, Jiyeonie!” “Come back soon!”

Her bodyguard finally stepped forward, gently guiding her toward the waiting car. As she reached for the door, Luna glanced over her shoulder one last time, smiling at the sea of waving hands before slipping inside.

As the door closed behind her, the fans outside erupted into excited chatter, their cameras still recording, capturing every last moment of her departure.

THE INFAMOUS ALMOST CAUGHT CAR KISS (?)

Just this fucking video right here… just watch.

The air outside the SBS building was thick with excitement, the energy of the crowd buzzing like static in the cool night. Lined up neatly along the curb, a fleet of black vans awaited their passengers— SEVENTEEN, fresh off their Inkigayo performance, now finally off the clock and heading home.

[Side note: ‘Super’ might be my fave stage outfits]

Beyond the barricades, fans stood shoulder to shoulder, their cheers rising in pitch as they caught glimpses of idols making their way out. Media personnel crowded the front, cameras poised, ready to capture every moment of the artists departing. The bright flashes of cameras flickered like lightning against the night, illuminating the scene in rapid bursts.

And then, the commotion intensified.

SEVENTEEN had finally emerged from the building, now dressed in their own comfortable clothes rather than their elaborate stage outfits. Though exhaustion clung to their post-performance bodies, their faces still carried that familiar warmth as they acknowledged the sea of fans waiting for them.

“SEVENTEEN! SEVENTEEN!” The fans screamed, voices overlapping as they called out each of the members’ names.

[Icons doing iconic shit]

Luna and Jeonghan were among the first to step outside. Luna, wrapped in an oversized zip-up hoodie with the hood resting against her back, lifted a hand in greeting, a soft, dimpled smile gracing her lips. She bowed politely, waving towards the cameras and the fans alike.

[She’s so smol 🥹 (she’s taller than me)]

[I wanna keep her in my pocket and take care of her]

Jeonghan trailed behind her, dressed in a loose-knit sweater and black jeans, his long black hair slightly tousled from the hours spent on stage. His eyes crinkled in a quiet smile as he too waved, effortlessly charming as he dipped his head in greeting.

The screams intensified.

[They are so hot]

[They just look good together yk]

[They. Just. Make. Sense. Together.]

“LUNA! JEONGHAN! OVER HERE!”

“JIYEON-AH, I LOVE YOU!”

“HANNIE! YOU LOOK SO HANDSOME!”

The energy was infectious. As Luna and Jeonghan made their way towards their designated van, Luna took her time, sending small finger hearts toward the fans, mouthing silent “thank yous” to those who shouted words of encouragement. The bright lights of the cameras danced in her vision, but her attention remained on the fans, her steps slow and intentional, as if she wasn’t quite ready to leave yet.

[She loves us so much]

Jeonghan, however, had already reached their van first. With the door now open, he turned back, watching as Luna lingered for a moment longer, engaging with the fans.

[Han waiting for her 🥹 I’m so soft for them]

Then, in one swift, playful motion after debating, Luna reached out and plucked a plushie from the hands of a fan reaching over the barricade— a soft, brown teddy bear.

“OH MY GOD, SHE TOOK IT! JIYEON-AH! I LOVE YOU!”

The fan gasped, clutching onto their friends as a high-pitched scream escaped them. The surrounding fans erupted into excited shrieks, their hands flying to their mouths as they processed the interaction.

[Honestly same]

[Bae Jiyeon can snatch my arm right out the socket and I’d cry in happiness]

Jeonghan, still standing by the open van door, chuckled at the scene unfolding before him. His grin stretched lazily across his face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, simply watching her antics with amusement.

[‘A man. A man. A man. A maAaAnN’ ~]

Luna shot one last wave toward the crowd before finally making her way over, clutching the plushie to her chest. As she approached, Jeonghan— ever the gentleman— lifted a hand to the top of the car’s frame, ensuring she wouldn’t accidentally hit her head as she stepped inside. She slid in with ease, murmuring a soft thank you under her breath before settling into the seat.

[WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN?!?]

[YOON JEONGHAN THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 🧎‍♀️]

With a final glance toward the crowd, the two of them waved once more before Jeonghan followed suit, stepping into the van. The door shut behind them, muffling the sounds of the screaming fans just outside.

[And so it begins…]

[Buckle up, ladies and gentlemen]

Though the outside world had been shut out, the interior lights of the van were still on, casting a soft, golden glow inside. The thick, black curtains that usually shielded them from the outside were slightly pushed open, leaving just enough space for the fans to get a glimpse inside.

[This is the universe showing us that it is a JeongNa shipper as well 😝]

And what fans saw made their hearts nearly stop.

Luna and Jeonghan sat side by side, both leaned back comfortably in their seats, facing each other as they engaged in quiet conversation. Though the details of their words couldn’t be heard, the way they looked at each other spoke volumes.

[Fucking adorable]

“Oh my god, look at them—”

“JEONGHAN IS JUST STARING AT HER—”

Through the slight gap in the curtains, it was evident that Luna was saying something animatedly, her hands moving slightly as she spoke. But Jeonghan… he was quiet. Just gazing at her with that small, lazy smile that never quite left his lips, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but still holding that familiar warmth.

[JEONGHAN! MY DUDE! CHILLLLLLL!!!]

Then, without warning, Luna lifted the teddy bear she was given earlier, holding it up as if inspecting it. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she made the plushie walk across Jeonghan’s chest, bouncing lightly as if it had little feet.

[IT’S SO FLUFFY I’M GONNA DIE! (I’m talking about Luna not the teddy 😊)]

The fans outside watching could see Jeonghan chuckle, his head tipping back slightly as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Then, Luna moved the plushie again, this time making it lean in and kiss Jeonghan’s cheek.

The fans lost it.

“JIYEONIE IS SO CUTE—”

“SHE MADE THE TEDDY KISS HIM I’M GOING TO SCREAM—”

[Same]

Jeonghan only shook his head, reaching out lazily to poke the plushie before turning his attention back to her, their conversation continuing in hushed tones.

But then— something changed.

[Here. We. Fucking. Go.]

Jeonghan lifted a hand, his fingers reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Luna’s ear, his movements slow, deliberate.

The fans watching held their breath.

Then, slowly, he began to lean in.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAHHHH 🦅]

Luna, mid-sentence, suddenly shifted. Her eyes darted toward the window— the small opening in the curtain— and her breath caught. Her expression flickered for just a moment before her eyes widened slightly in realization.

The fans saw the exact moment it happened.

“WAIT SHE NOTICED US—”

[Yeah no shit 😩]

[I wanted to see them kisssssss]

Luna quickly pulled back, her lips parting as she lifted a hand and subtly pointed toward the overhead light.

Jeonghan, noticing her shift, stopped just before closing the space between them. Instead of pulling away, he simply turned his head, following her gaze toward the window.

[He don’t care, gurl… just kiss him already!]

For a brief moment, the fans were able to see his expression— curious, then amused. Then, as if fully processing the situation, his lips curled into a smirk.

[THAT. DAMN. SMIRK. YOON JEONGHAN]

And then— he reached up, fingers flicking the light switch off.

Darkness.

Before the fans could even react, his other hand moved, gripping the curtain —and with one smooth motion, he pulled it shut.

That was the last thing they saw.

[HOW MUCH YA’LL WANNA BET HE MADE OUT WITH HER RIGHT AFTER?!? I BET EVERYTHING I OWN!!]

Were they about to kiss? Or was he simply going to whisper something?

A mystery to this day.

The fans outside erupted.

“WHAT THE HELL DID WE JUST WITNESS?!”

“I CAN’T BREATHE—”

[Same]

“JEONGHAN SMIRKED. HE KNEW. HE KNEW.”

[He knew and he didn’t care]

[Wasn’t even phased]

“THE WAY HE JUST CLOSED THE CURTAIN AND TURNED OFF THE LIGHT I’M ACTUALLY SICK.”

[Same pt. 1563]

The screams carried on, the energy electric, as theories and speculations ran wild through the crowd. And with that, the van pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the Seoul night.

KISSING SOUNDS (?) ON JEONGHAN’S LIVE + LUNA’S APPEARANCE

Here we have another moment where I am a hundred percent sure they were kissing.

THEY MAKE ME GO INSANE!!!

Just LISTEN closely!

The night was quiet, the only sounds in the dimly lit room being the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of the blankets.

Jeonghan lay comfortably on his back, his phone resting on his chest as he spoke to the thousands of fans tuned into his live. This wasn’t a traditional broadcast— no bright lights, no setup. It was a ‘voice only’ live— just his voice filling the space as fans listened in, his words casual and unhurried, carrying the weight of exhaustion from the long day.

[THIS VOICE ONLY LIVE IS ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVES]

[Jeonghan’s voice ugh 😩]

Unbeknownst to the listeners, Luna was beside him, nestled under the covers, her body curled slightly toward him as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. She had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice, the quiet lull of his speech acting as a soothing rhythm.

Jeonghan knew she was tired, the kind of exhaustion that seeped into her bones, and he hadn’t minded when she tugged at his sleeve earlier before he started the live, mumbling something incoherent before settling against his side. She barely stirred now, her breaths slow and steady, the warmth of her body pressed gently against his.

Jeonghan continued talking, his voice lower than usual, careful not to disturb her. “Ah, that’s funny,” he murmured, reading the flood of comments appearing on his screen. “No, I don’t have any snacks with me right now… Should I get something? Ah, but I’m too comfortable to move.”

The chat scrolled rapidly, fans reacting to his words in real-time. He lazily skimmed through them, his thumb scrolling up and down at a sluggish pace. Then, suddenly— acomment caught his eye.

He blinked, rereading it, and then— laughter.

A real, unrestrained laugh burst from his lips, much louder than he had intended. The noise cut through the quiet air, startling even himself.

[He has the prettiest laughs]

[MY GOD 🧎‍♀️]

[I have used this 🧎‍♀️ emoji one too many times… but that’s how I honestly feel.]

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

And, unfortunately, his laugh also startled Luna.

Beside him, she jolted slightly, her brows knitting together as a soft, disoriented hum left her lips. She shifted, her fingers weakly gripping at the fabric of his sweater as if grounding herself from the sudden disturbance.

Jeonghan immediately turned his head toward her, guilt flashing in his eyes. His laughter faded into a breathy chuckle as he mouthed, “Sorry.”

Luna blinked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, barely registering what had happened. She let out a sleepy sigh, nodding sluggishly before snuggling closer, her face pressing against the warmth of his shoulder.

Jeonghan felt something in his chest tighten at the sight. The way she looked— soft, half-asleep, and utterly vulnerable— made his heart ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Still feeling sorry for waking her, he lifted a single finger and gently tilted her chin up. She barely resisted, her drowsy gaze meeting his for just a second before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

She sighed into the touch, her body relaxing even further. The kiss was brief— but it was enough to silently convey what he couldn’t say out loud in that moment.

[LISTENNNNNNNN?!?]

From the fans’ point of view, all they heard was the sudden silence following Jeonghan’s laughter. A pause, a shuffle of movement, and then— a sound.

Something.

A light, fleeting noise— soft but unmistakable.

It wasn’t clear. It wasn’t obvious.

But it was something.

A smack? A wet sound? A kiss?

[THAT WAS A KISS, GOODBYE–]

The chat exploded.

“What was that sound?!”

“YOON JEONGHAN. EXPLAIN YOURSELF?!?”

“OH MY GOD DID HE JUST—”

“He’s not talking. He knows what he did!!”

[I WAS WATCHING THIS LIVE AND IT WAS INSANE!!]

The chaos in the comments went unnoticed by Jeonghan for a brief moment as he pulled back, watching Luna nuzzle into his shoulder once more, her breathing evening out again.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he returned his focus to the phone and in his moment of distraction, he accidentally tapped the screen.

The camera turned on.

For a split second, the fans were no longer just listening to his voice.

They saw him.

And more importantly— they saw her.

Luna, lying right next to him, her face partially buried against his shoulder, her expression still soft with sleep.

[PEEK-A-FUCKING-BOO]

[Imagine how psycho we were theorizing about him possibly kissing some random person then BOOM Bae Jiyeon laying next to him]

[I CANNOT MAKE THIS SHIT UP?!?]

[IDK WHY WE WERE SO SHOCKED WHEN THEY CONFIRMED THEIR RELATIONSHIP?! IT WAS RIGHT HERE ALL ALONG!!]

The reaction in the comments were instantaneous.

“OH MY GOD???”

“LUNA????”

“JEONGHAN?! JIYEON?! WTF?!”

“WE CAUGHT YOU. WE ALL SAW.”

The realization hit Jeonghan at the same time Luna processed what had happened.

Her eyes widened slightly, a delayed reaction, before she made a sound that was almost a whimper of embarrassment. Quickly, she turned away, covering her face with the sleeve of her hoodie as she scooted just out of the frame, her body half disappearing from view.

[Gurl…. We all saw you]

Jeonghan, unfazed, only chuckled, his lips quirking into an amused smile as he reached up and tapped the screen again, turning the camera back off.

[HE 👏 DOES 👏 NOT 👏 GIVE 👏 A 👏 DAMN 👏]

“YOU CAN’T JUST PRETEND THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN.”

“JEONGHAN WE ALL SAW HER.”

“THIS IS INSANE I NEED TO LAY DOWN.”

Jeonghan let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well,” he mused before turning the camera back on, “you might as well say hi now. They already saw you.”

Luna, still curled into herself, let out a muffled groan before slowly peeking out from her hoodie. She glanced toward his phone, her voice raspy with sleep as she mumbled, “Hi.”

[Shes’s adorable 🥹]

The chat erupted.

“SHE’S SO CUTE PLEASE.”

“She looks so sleepy I’m going to cry.”

“YOU GUYS TWO ARE ACTUALLY INSANE.”

Jeonghan grinned, his tone light. “She was sleeping,” he explained, “but I accidentally woke her up.” He conveniently left out the part where they had, in fact, been kissing.

[“… and kissed her.”]

And just like that, the mystery of that sound would remain unsolved.

“THE EYES, CHICO, THEY NEVER LIE”

Ending this video with this cute footage of them in the background of a behind the scene clip.

This video has a special place in my heart just because of the way they look at each other.

Enjoy!

The gymnasium was vast, its polished floors gleaming under the harsh, fluorescent lights overhead. The room was buzzing with activity as SEVENTEEN and their dancers milled around during their break, bodies moving in various states of exhaustion and playfulness.

Some members were still running through choreography, muscle memory guiding their motions even as their breaths came in short, measured exhales. Others were sprawled out on the floor, limbs stretched as they tried to catch their breath, sweat glistening on their skin. A few wandered around, chatting, hydrating, and indulging in lighthearted banter, their voices echoing through the open space.

[THIS DANCE PRACTICE IS ✨SUPERIOR✨]

The behind-the-scenes camera was currently focused on Hoshi, who stood in the middle of the gym, slightly out of breath but still beaming as he spoke animatedly to the lens. His hands gestured wildly as he explained the intensity of their practice, the difficulty of the ‘Super’ choreography, and how important synchronization was with such a large group.

However, in the background, a quieter scene unfolded by the bleachers.

[I love you Hoshi but I was focused on JeongNa at the back]

Luna sat there, crouched down with her knees hugged loosely to her chest, sipping on a water bottle as she watched the members goofing around. Her hair was slightly damp from sweat, her face glowing from the rigorous practice, but her expression was relaxed, her lips curling faintly as she observed the chaos around her. Her gaze flitted from member to member, watching them in their own worlds— Dino playfully shoving Mingyu, Seungkwan dramatically collapsing onto a bench, Woozi stretching out his sore muscles.

[She’s adorable 🥹 pt. 164367]

And then, movement caught the camera’s eye.

Jeonghan.

He approached her with a slow, unhurried pace, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his sweatpants, his gaze never leaving her. There was something effortless about the way he moved, like he wasn’t walking toward her so much as he was being pulled there naturally, as if his body was drawn to hers without conscious thought.

[HE– no comment.]

Reaching the bleachers, Jeonghan stopped just in front of Luna, looking up at her with that signature, knowing smirk playing on his lips. Since she was sitting on the elevated bench, their height difference was reversed— he had to tilt his head slightly to meet her gaze while she looked down at him.

Without a word, he lifted his arms and placed his hands on either side of her, palms pressing against the cool metal of the bleacher seat, effectively caging her in. His arms formed a loose barrier, not restrictive, not confining— but there was a certain intimacy in the way he leaned in, closing the space between them just enough that their conversation felt like it existed in its own little world, separate from the bustling gym.

[I love them together. It is not even funny anymore.]

Luna’s reaction was immediate.

A soft, dimpled smile appeared on her face, the corners of her lips curving naturally as she gazed down at him. There was a warmth in her expression, her features softening in a way that was almost imperceptible yet impossible to ignore. She looked at him like she had been waiting for him to come over, like his presence was something expected yet still delightful.

And Jeonghan— he was looking at her the exact same way. His lips were curled into a quiet grin, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of amusement and affection.

[The way they are looking at each other 🥹]

[they love each other.]

They exchanged words, their voices too quiet to be picked up by the microphone, but their body language spoke volumes.

The way Luna’s shoulders relaxed as she spoke softly, the gentle tilt of her head, the way her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the cap of her water bottle. The way Jeonghan listened— his gaze locked onto hers, his smile widening at something she said, his eyes never straying from her face.

There was a brief moment where Luna’s eyes sparkled— an unfiltered joy flickering through them as she spoke, something playful and lighthearted passing her lips. Jeonghan’s response was a low chuckle, his shoulders shaking slightly as he dipped his head for just a second before lifting it again to meet her gaze.

[‘The look of love, the rush of blood’ ~]

And then, silence.

Not an awkward one, not one filled with hesitation— but a moment suspended in time, where they simply looked at each other.

[I pray a love like this find me 🙏]

Luna’s fingers stilled against the water bottle, and her smile softened, turning quieter, more intimate.

Jeonghan’s expression mirrored hers, his grin gentling, his head tilting just slightly as if taking her in.

[The way they are just looking at each orher so lovingly and smiling]

[They are each other’s safe place]

The camera, though focused on Hoshi, couldn’t help but capture this small, quiet exchange in the background. It was fleeting, just a moment in between the energy of their practice, but it was real. A glimpse into something genuine, something unspoken, something effortless.

And though they were surrounded by people, it felt, just for that moment, like they were the only two in the room.

There you have it folks, just a handful of moments where JeongNa either exposed themselves or nearly got caught.

Cannot believe we had the audacity to act surprised when the confirmation came out. Like—HELLO? HELLO?? Were we watching two different people this entire time? Because they were not hiding. At all. Not even a little bit.

If anything, they were gaslighting us into thinking we were delusional when in reality, we were just blind. Stupid. Clowning ourselves daily.

They really sat there, in broad daylight, touching, flirting, giggling, eye contacting, ALMOST KISSING, and we just… brushed it off? We deserved to be lied to. Honestly. Because HOW did we not see it??

At this point, I’m convinced they weren’t hiding at all. They were just playing a game of ‘How Much Can We Get Away With Before They Notice?’ And guess what? THEY WON. BECAUSE WE DIDN’T NOTICE UNTIL THEY TOLD US.

But in all seriousness, I love them. I love them so much. The way they look at each other, the way they care for each other— it’s just so genuine. And honestly? That’s all that matters. So yeah, we were dumb. But at least now we can openly scream about it. And I, for one, am never shutting up about them. Ever.

Congratulations to Luna and Jeonghan. You won. We lost. And we couldn’t be happier about it.

Till the next video! Toodleloo!

comments…

@/lunababybae • 1 day ago ╰ We were played. We were played good. But then again why am I surprised?! These two are the aces of GoSe 😝

@/rinarieee • 1 day ago ╰ I for one have been shipping them since the fucking beginning… just had a feeling they were made for each other. You can call me Cupid!

@/gyusshadow • 1 day ago ╰ LOVE LOVE LOVE YOUR VIDEOS AS USUAL! You are hilarious 😂

@/moonbae17 • 1 day ago ╰ the way they were both clearly describing each other is what gets me every time 2:16 🤭💖

@/saluttteee_17 • 1 day ago ╰ THE WAY JEONGHAN JUST SMIRKS EVERY TIME THEY SLIP UP IS CRAZY ATTRACTIVE. HE IS A MENACE!!

@/mad-lineeee • 1 day ago ╰ the way Hannie looked at Luna 3:30 before he rants about what his type is

@/mrsbaebae • 1 day ago ╰ I have said it once and I will say it again… YOON JEONGHAN SEEMS TO BE AN AMAZING KISSER 🫠

@/alyy1625 • 1 day ago ╰ 5:45 DAMN 🥵 Han loves kissing her neck. He did this a few times to her in Game Caterers

@/jeongnanana • 1 day ago ╰ I am proud to say that I was at that soundcheck and we were all losing our minds over those two 🤭

@/gyuuuuudaily• 1 day ago ╰ invisible string and 18 are so their songs!

@/lunaticforluna• 1 day ago ╰ Jiyeon always dedicates songs for the guys but mostly Hannie and she never misses.

@/lulu-nana17• 1 day ago ╰ 8:03 her smile when she was singing Invisible String 😭 ik she felt that in her bones

@/sebongrighthere • 1 day ago ╰ THE. WAY. THEY. STARE. AT. EACH. OTHER.

@/missbitchhhh • 1 day ago ╰ Gurl you crack me up with the captions and your commentary 😂

@/shadowmyshadow• 1 day ago ╰ JEONGNA IN THAT DAMN VAN ALMOST KISSING WAS AND IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE

@/angel7266 • 1 day ago ╰ 11:30 JEONGHAN SMIRKING BEFORE TURNING THE LIGHTS OFF AND SHUTTING THE BLINDS?! IK THEY MADE OUT IN THERE!:$/?)/

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 1 day ago ╰ 10:55 just me and Jeonghan being soft for Luna playing with a teddy bear

@/user763816262 • 1 day ago ╰ carats’ reaction as they watched JeongNa is the car 😂

@/ashonashonash_ • 1 day ago ╰ Hannie’s live till this day makes me giggle because it was so obvious they were kissing 🤭

@/jijijiyeonienie • 1 day ago ╰ that clip of JeongNa at the background while Hoshi was speaking to the camera was so wholesome. You can clearly tell how much they adore and love each other. It’s adorable and anyone who says otherwise are liars.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - selఌ

"I think we should... take a break," Jeonghan says, his voice muffled by his hands. "We can't keep doing this. We can't keep going round in circles, arguing about the same things over and over. You're tired of it, and frankly... so am I. I'm really, really tired."

You barely recognise your own voice when you reply, "I...I didn't..."

"I know," Jeonghan replies, although he doesn't actually know what either of you mean. "I know. But I'm also allowed to be upset at this. At you. I can't keep coming home and fighting a new war each time. We can't do this and then pretend everything's fine five minutes later. You're stressed, I'm never available enough... we're not the same people we fell in love with. We're not the same people we used to know."

It all sounds very transactional, you almost say out loud. But all that comes out of you is a gentle nod. A nod more gentle than anything you'd said or done to him these few months. "Right."

Above all, you were sorry. Sorry that you'd driven the both of you to this bitter, bitter end. Sorry that you couldn't even apologise for it. Sorry that you were the reason why this man, this beautiful man who had always loved to smile, couldn't even look you in the eye right now.

He looks up, as if he can't believe your easy agreement himself.

You swallow so hard that the lump in your throat actually hurts. "Okay. Um... I'll go."

He looks alarmed at your words. "No, you don't have to--"

"I can't stay, Ha-- Jeonghan," You mumble, looking around the house. A roof, and four walls containing so many fond memories. Way too many than what's good for you. Of him lying in your lap, of singing completely off-key to Katy Perry, of drunken giggling and inside jokes and dancing in the dark. "This place is yours. You bought it. I'll...I have to go. I'll go now."

"Not now," He replies, standing up. "It's late, and it's cold. Don't just go now because we're taking a break--"

"It's--it's really nice of you," You mumble, wiping your nose. "Really. I'm not leaving because I don't want to see you. It's just that if I continue to see you, I think I might not want to leave anymore. Take this as me trying to give you the peace you -- we need. I... I really have to go."

He shakes his head. "Stay for the night, at least. We've... we've loved each other too much to let this just be the end of it. And I really don't feel great about you leaving right now."

Loved. The word rings through you. And it takes all the fight out of you. So all you do is nod. "I'll take the couch."

Jeonghan still looks uncomfortable at the idea. But you, too, shake your head. "Please don't try to convince me."

After a few moments, he finally relents. "Alright, then."

You pack quickly in (what used to be) your shared bedroom, spend one exceedingly awkward night on the couch, and by eleven the next morning, you're closing the front door and stepping away from the apartment you called home. You don't even know if Jeonghan wakes up to see you leave. By eleven, you've bid goodbye to the life you once knew, and to the man you'd given your entire heart to.

It's summer, and you're alone.

The months have truthfully flown by. You don't see Jeonghan at all, and you make no move to contact him. Work is the same as it always is, only now you throw in a hundred and ten percent just to make sure you're well and truly exhausted by the time you get home. You don't want to leave any space in your time, or your head, to think about him.

A nice, long drink before bed is your alternative. But alcohol, as you know it, has always been a fine line, and it only takes a teensy step, a "just one more" to turn everything upside down and cross it to the point of no return.

And so you find yourself dialing his number one warm night, intoxicated and barely seeing straight. The half-empty tequila bottle reflects all the mistakes you're about to make. He picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

Some part of your consciousness is screaming no, no, no!!! And yet, you can't bring yourself to hang up just yet. So you just stay silent and hear his voice.

"Hello?" He repeats. "Are you there? What's happening? Are you okay--"

"I'm okay," You reply, lips curving into a smile. "Aaaalll good."

There's a pause. You can almost hear the click in his brain when he makes the connection, because he's Jeonghan, your boyfriend of four years -- well, was, and he knows you so well, you could say he knew you inside out, and--

"Are you drunk?"

"No!" You insist. "Mm... I drank a little, but you know me, I have an iron liver--"

"The tolerance of a fruit fly," He interrupts, deadpan. "Are you drinking at home or outside--"

"Oh, home," You reply airily. "Home, home. Although I don't know where that is."

"Do you need me to pick you up--" He sounds alarmed. "Are you lost? Send me your location."

"No, no," You sigh. "I'm saying that just 'cos... I'm not used to it, you know?"

"Used to what?" He asks softly.

"Just... this!" You gesture around your kitchen, as if he can see it from wherever he is. "A great big apartment, and plates for so many people, but no one at home. Just me and my four walls. And this Jose Cuervo."

He stays silent.

"Oooh, plates." You say, opening a cabinet and promptly bumping the door into your head. "Oh, ow."

"Baby-- I mean--"

"Yeah, there's baby ducks on this one," You say happily, pulling one out. "I bought it because I thought you'd like how their beaks are lopsided."

"Hey," He says. "Look, I know you're drunk, but you can't just do this in the middle of the night."

"Riiight." You reply, face flushing red. "I'm sorry, I'm embarrassing myself, aren't I?"

When he doesn't reply, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. This isn't the Jeonghan you know -- the one you love would always reply, always talk, always play along with the bit, because you'd laugh, and he'd smile because you were laughing.

"I'm sorry you had to pick up... bye--"

"Wait. You're sure you're safe? Do you need me to come and find you?"

"No, no," You say. "Don't come near me. Don't come and find me."

"What?"

"If you come, I might not let you leave," You mumble, a little more incoherently. "I can't get used to... I'm gonna go now."

"Well, finish your thought before you go," He says sternly. "You can't get used to what?"

"I just got used to not being at home," You reply, the phone beginning to slip from your jelly fingers. "My home doesn't feel like one right now."

"Yeah?" He asks, quieter now. "What does home usually feel like, then?"

"Like you," You say sleepily, the phone falling, seconds from clattering on the table. "I think it always felt like you."

And then you fall asleep, the tequila finally taking over.

It's almost autumn, and Jeonghan spots you first in the grocery store in the central district. You're focused on picking out the perfect apple.

You almost turn on your feet and bolt when he calls your name, but you force yourself to slowly turn around and face him. "Oh. Jeonghan. Um... hi."

Jeonghan looks at you. You don't look like you want to be here at all. You're looking everywhere but at him, you're shifting on your feet, and you look jittery -- something he'd only seen the night before you'd surprised him with a watch he'd been eyeing for months.

So, instead of firing off questions, he glances at a nearby diner. "Want to grab something to eat? They serve good shakes."

--

"How are you?"

"Oh, uh, fine." You fidget with the edge of the menu. "As per normal."

"Where did you go to stay?" He asks again. "I couldn't get a hold of you after... everything. I wondered where you went."

"Just further away," You shrug. "Found a studio apartment closer to work, and, well, it's just me. I don't need a space that big."

He nods once.

It takes a few more bites before he takes a deep breath and tells you, "I'm sorry. For how I... ended things. I -- I don't..."

"Jeonghan, you don't need to apologise," You interrupt, putting your fork down. "Honestly, it was mostly my fault. We were just trying to survive on our own, and I made you feel horrible for doing it differently than I was. You didn't deserve that."

He nods silently, raising an eyebrow. "That's... really nice of you to say."

"And I should have realised..." You clasp your hands and look down at them. "That you five years ago wouldn't be the same as you now. I loved you because of your kindness, and gentleness, but now I know... being in love with you didn't mean finding you only in what I thought you were."

Jeonghan stares hard at you, as if he hasn't quite seen you properly before. "What does loving me mean, then?"

"I think it means finding you in every version, even when you're worn down by life and rebuilt by growth, because it's all the real you," You look down at your own plate. "And choosing to love all of it, and every version of you still to come. I know that now."

"I'm not going to ask you for another chance," You continue, swallowing hard. "I know we're way past that. I just wanted you to know that... I'm trying to become better. I'm trying to learn how to stop controlling something that I should've let run its course."

And it's really good to see you again, you almost say, but hold your tongue.

The remainder of the meal passes in silence, and when you can see the bottom of your glass and Jeonghan has taken his last bite, you offer a small smile. "It was nice to talk about this. Really. Thanks for staying to eat."

He doesn't say anything, just continues to watch you silently as you gather your things.

You bid him goodbye, and leave the small diner. You're about to step on the crosswalk when you hear rapid footsteps. You turn and Jeonghan's standing right behind you, looking as though he can't quite believe himself either.

"Um... are you okay?"

"No."

"Oh," You reply. "Did... did I say something hurtful again? Look, I'm really sorry--"

"No, you didn't."

"What is it, then?"

He shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this."

"What?"

"There's just one tiny, really important flaw in your otherwise stunning reflection," He mutters.

"What do you mean?"

"You really weren't going to ask for another chance?"

"No...?"

"And that's where you went wrong," He declares firmly. At your incredulous expression, he shakes his head. "You're right that 23-year-old me won't be the same as I am now. But every version of me, whether I'm 23, 28, or 90, will always want you."

"Jeonghan--"

"I wasn't perfect either," He tells you ruefully, shutting his eyes as if he can't face you. "I shut down and stopped talking. I didn't tell you what I really wanted. You're not a mind reader. I shouldn't have assumed you'd just know."

"Still. I had the nastiest mouth. I recognise that now."

"And you're learning from it," He counters. "I'm not making excuses for your mistake. If you haven't noticed, you're more at peace. You seem.. calmer, less on edge. I had lessons of my own that I needed to learn, too. I can't let you take all the credit for this one." A wry smile finds its way onto his face.

You huff a laugh. "So what now?"

"What now?" Jeonghan repeats, taking one timid step closer. "We sit down. You call me out on my shit, and I'll call you out on yours. We'll talk about everything huge and small, even if we think it won't matter later on. We won't be stupid and try to start over as friends. I know I said I was tired, but frankly, I'm even more tired having to go through my day waiting for you to call while sober, or wishing that I could call."

"I would've picked up if you did," You admit.

He smiles. "I know. So would I, drunk or not."

It's winter, and you've never been happier.

He catches you being more aware on what you're saying, and how you're saying it. You notice him trying to vocalise his thoughts, when he's struggling and when he needs comfort. And suddenly, your words make a hundred times more sense, even to you.

To fall in love with Jeonghan had always been easy. To love him over and over, during the easy and the hard, was the part where you could never stop trying. Luckily for you, you had someone who was just as willing to choose you, over and over again.

thank you for reading! 🪽

If anyone knew how to ruin something good, it was you.

All that you had to do was get inside and make friends with some of the people in the Avengers tower. But the mighty Avengers were a group of saps, and that made your plans so much harder to carry out.

They practically melted for you.

Against your better judgment, you let yourself into their lives. Everyone there loved you, and you let them think you did too. Even though deep down a part of you wanted to let it be real, you remind yourself of what they lacked, and what you'd lost in the face of these so-called “heroes." 

At first, Steve was the one who felt the most for you. He took pity and empathized with you like a kindhearted moron, thinking he'd made a grave discovery and recognized the potential you posed for the team. As if you didn't plan for that to happen all along and planted that seed in his mind the moment he met you.

You were trained for this kind of manipulation, and you weren't going to feel bad for it, not when you had something to achieve and no one to fall back on.

With nothing to lose, what's a little heartbreak?

You told them of your parents' passing when you were young, leaving you with no family other than the immediate ones who were already dead. What you didn't tell them was how they were killed, just brushing it off as something that happened too young for you to remember. Though you knew it all too well, and you were there for a reason. 

You let Steve take credit for your idea of becoming an Avenger, and they all fell perfectly for your little plan. 

It was Steve who introduced you to Tony—the man you were there to kill. 

You put on a fake smile and tucked your hands behind you, keeping yourself from inching forward and carrying out your mission. You'd spent so many years of your life having Tony's image drilled into your mind as the villain who was posing himself as a hero, telling yourself that he was utterly deserving of the smear campaign you originally planned to put him through. That was before you got close to the team. Before you landed on the idea of killing him, because you were finally close enough. The proximity that joining the team allowed you, it tempted you regularly, but you had to wait for the right moment. Pretending like you didn't hate Tony's guts was probably the hardest part. 

You infiltrated their trust and broke into their space. You took root inside their lives from the inside, and they welcomed you in with open arms. Like the perfect orchestration of a gorgeous tune, you drew the trap and they all fell inside, letting the kindness you showed them translate into trust and love. But you? You played the greatest trick on yourself. 

The grandest part of the scheme was the relationships you formed and the love you pretended to have for too long. Until that became real, because the truth was, you were never faking.

Bruce offered up his friendship and Clint his home like you were one of their own. Far too trusting for people who were meant to be protectors and careful assessors of danger. It was hard to pretend like the warmth you felt wasn't real when Clint baked cookies with his family and brought you some, or when Natasha would peel an orange and hand you half quietly. Natasha made it infinitely harder to hate her when she'd train with you endlessly as though she wanted to prepare you for when she wouldn't be around. She became your closest thing to a best friend you were sure you ever had— until she died.

They were all family that you loved despite it all. You let yourself believe that maybe you could have some sense of normalcy, that you could let your guard down even a little bit, and you let too many people in. 

Some people more than most— like Bucky. 

You didn't plan on falling for Bucky; you didn't even want to pretend like you loved him until you really did. But you had your own plans, your own mission, and your own vengeance to achieve, so stepping on some toes and hurting some feelings didn't mean shit to you. Even if it was the man that you didn't mean to fall for, who was carrying the brunt of the bargain. 

Bucky made it so hard to ignore him, with his soft smiles and his hand on your hip when you'd spar. His warm palm on your shoulder when you were out gazing on the balcony too long, and calling you to come inside for a cup of tea that he knew you would like. When your guard would fall, just for him, and he wouldn't push you for information, sitting in your silence with you. Because Bucky knew what it was like to get lost in your thoughts, and your mind is a war in itself.

Bucky watched you and knew you had your demons; he just hoped that in time you'd tell him about them. Slowly, you stopped calling him Barnes. You didn't know it yet, but you helped him take back his name, calling him James when others would call him Bucky.

Just being around him made you feel more human—more alive.

And damn him for making you care.

You hated how he made your heart flutter around him and your stomach drop when you'd worry for him. You shoved him into a wall once after he returned from mission, when he wouldn't answer you because he was occupied with disarming someone. One gruelling hour of him not responding over the comms on a mission you took as partners.

He came back to the jet with a few scratches on his face, but nothing major, and you still felt like you couldn't breathe at the thought of him not coming back. His chest heaved as you put a finger in his face, and his gaze seemed to soften in recognition that you were afraid, that you were scared of losing him.

It didn't take long for you to push him again and for him to catch your wrists, pulling you in, flush against him.

That was the first time he kissed you, swallowing your whimpered protest when you’d fisted his shirt and drawn him further into you. Desperately, you couldn’t even pretend like you didn’t want him once you’d touched. The two of you moved in unison toward the jet's couch as he walked you backwards, stripping you from your clothes without breaking the kiss. He lay you down like a careful art, taking his time while you calmed from the bottled-up emotions you refused to express out loud.

He loved you gently and softened the rough ends of his exterior so you could let yourself sit in the feelings that he also struggled to outwardly express. When you finally let him in and stopped pushing him away, he didn't just sleep with you, but he made love to someone for the first time since Hydra took him away. Truthfully, it was the first time he ever loved someone so deeply, and it scared him, but he knew it scared you too, so he let it consume him whole— for both of you. He did it again, and again, and he would've kept doing it if you'd let him. 

Bucky took you apart and put you back together as though you were his favourite mystery, caressing you like a Goddess on Earth.

Every touch felt like a blessing and in his mind leaving any part of you untouched was a sin.

Leaving bites over the scars on your skin, buried under layers of clothes that no one else had touched this delicately. You were completely and undeniably his. Neither of you ever told anyone about it, and how he held you after missions went wrong or how you sat with him when his nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep. Bucky never pushed you for anything more. He was afraid of you losing interest, so he tried to build your relationship silently.

When you wouldn't come out of your room for dinner, he'd bring it to you, cooking things he knew were your comfort food. He'd knock silently and linger there just to make sure you really did eat it. He made quiet dinners for just the two of you, leaving specks of food on his shirt or his brow as evidence of his labour.

After going to the bar with the team one night, and you drank too much, and he offered to take you home. You, however, were entirely wasted and couldn’t give proper directions.

Bucky took you to an apartment that no one else knew he had and let you sleep it off there. Except you cried like a wounded, inconsolable child, and he felt the heaviness of your sorrow like it was resting on his chest. He gave you a key to keep going there the next day, and you never gave it back. 

Part of you knows you'll always be his, even after you have to break his heart. He would unwrap you over and over again like a gift he was grateful to receive. He held you after it all, and you knew it wouldn't be the last time because of how safe you'd felt in his embrace. And Bucky knew from the moment Steve introduced you that he wouldn't be able to let you go. That you were and are the reason he'd wake up in the morning despite his nightmares and demons. You made it all worthwhile for him.

You fell hard for him, head over heels and disgustingly in love. But Bucky fell so much harder, unravelling for you after years of conditioning and trauma that ran deep. You chipped away at his walls by letting him love you and letting yourself love him back.

It wasn't because of your mission that you did it. You truly did care for him and you wanted to tend to his wounds that cut through his mind like a plague. It all happened so fast that you couldn't stop it. You couldn't help the way you loved him so deeply that you wanted any part of him you could have, even if it was for a little while. Even if the love was built on lies and deceit.

You knew that once he found out, nothing would be the same, and the two of you would never be able to go back. So you settled for now, stealing kisses between missions and meeting him in his bedroom when everyone else fell asleep. He settled for holding your hand under the briefing table and bringing you snacks that he knew you loved, even when you'd push him away.

Despite your reluctance, he wanted you the same way you wanted him. He would take any bits you offered him because, in his mind, he wasn't worthy of anything else — and you helped him break that barrier of self-deprication by loving his scars like your own. 

It was Bucky Barnes who had to stop you when you cornered Tony in the lab. It was Bucky who caught you in the grand act of your plan and had to witness everything about your relationship crash and burn in front of him. You didn't want to do it like this, but you had no choice now. 

After the annual Gala that Tony threw in honour of his father, Howard Stark, the sack of shit who mindlessly supplied weapons to the most immoral people across the country, and even larger weapons of destruction overseas. It didn't fucking matter that Tony didn't do it himself, but he was aware, and that was more than enough. Tony worked with his father, did demonstrations of his destructive weapons, and had years of experience helping with the supplies before he was abducted.

It took seeing the destruction, feeling the pain that had been felt for decades through his own suffering, for him to understand the gravity of the shit he was part of. The fact that he couldn't come to that conclusion without all of that unnecessary suffering that made your blood boil.

After he praised his father and Stark Industries' history at the Gala, you couldn't take it anymore. 

You were getting too emotional. 

So you followed him into the lab, using your stealth training to sneak in behind him, just before the doors would have locked. Using the training the team had helped teach you against him, you made your move. Your hand on your holster, you silently pulled it out and pointed it towards the back of his head, mind full of doubt and unsteady conviction that told you this was what you had to do. 

His voice startled you as he was still facing the computers, "You've finally come to finish the job, huh?" 

You scoff, gripping your gun a little tighter, "You knew that I was going to do this, and still you let me join."

Tony turns to face you, his hand still holding his glass of whiskey he'd been coddling all night. You were watching him while everyone else conversed— while Steve asked if you were alright, and Bucky tried meeting your gaze. This anger was bright and intense, and it was all his fault. Maybe if he weren't alive, it might calm your thoughts— 

"Well, it's taken you what? Over a year to muster up the courage to kill me. You really think I don't do intensive background checks, sweetheart? Go on then, take your shot." He brought his glass to his lips and drank, testing you. "But you know this is quite ironic, right?" 

Tony was always skilled at this type of thing, riling people up and seeking a reaction. 

Shoving the magazine into place fully, your finger danced over the trigger, "Don't tempt me, Stark. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time."

He steps closer to you, "then why the hell didn't you? You could have, hell, you probably should have done it before you got the rest of the team attached to you."

You didn't let your expression fall, remaining as stoic as you could as you spoke, "I'm only here for you." 

Despite your differences and wanting him dead, you'd grown fond of Tony.

Tony says your name, the sound slightly slurred from drinking too much all night, which you were banking on. A hint of tenderness behind his voice, as though speaking to an old friend. Having him not entirely lucid would've made this easier, but alas, Tony was always even more talkative than usual when he was drunk.

"I know what Stark Industries did to your family and what they," he pauses to correct himself, "what we took. I know I'm not perfect, but you have to acknowledge that what you've done is evil just as the rest." Though his words felt harsh, he spoke as though he wanted you to know it was okay. That he understood. "Just tell me, is revenge what you truly want?"

You didn't trust your voice, so instead you nodded. He continues with the soft scoff, "Did you ever even really care?"

Your breath hitched as the words sank in. You did care, you cared so deeply that it hurt. Still, you let your hurt evolve and eventually involve the people you'd gotten to love. The people you were supposed to hate. But that didn't matter now; you knew you were too far gone. The only thing that should have been on your mind was killing the man in front of you for the crimes of his company. The crimes of his father and his father's father, even if you knew your judgment was bordering on playing God. 

Taking on the role of judge, jury, and executioner, because someone had to, right? If you had to be somebody's villain, then fine, as long as you finally felt like you'd done something. Done anything to ease the pain of the younger version of yourself that lost so much and vowed to do something about it. You shift the weight of the gun in your hand and look back up into Tony's eyes, unrelenting on you. 

You're about to answer him when the door slides open, shifting your focus from Tony and taking in the two men storming in. Bucky and Steve emerged in the midst of a conversation as they took in the scene before them and froze. Bucky's eyes immediately fell on you — gun in your hand, cocked and pointed at Tony. It was unmistakable that you had been playing them, but Bucky didn't want to believe it, not even when Steve put a hand to his shoulder and tried to keep him from moving closer to you. 

He says your name, his voice careful and soft, "What are you doing?" 

You take a shaky breath, trying not to meet his gaze and feigning unamusement, "What does it look like, Barnes?"

The sharpness of your tone made his brows knit into a pained expression. The use of his last name and not calling him James, like you usually would, punched him in the gut. You weren't here to coddle him or anyone else, including yourself. He says your name like he's pleading for you, and you shut your eyes, masking your emotions and swiftly swiping a forming tear away. 

"Don't do this," his voice a pleading whisper as he inches closer to you, but you don't let him.

You ignore him and kick Tony in the back of the knee, knocking him over. You turn to face Bucky, just as he's about to touch you.

The gun turns to him, and he inhales sharply, his resolve crumbling, "baby."

"Don't," you try to hide the shakiness in your voice as Steve also inches closer, "don't call me that and just stay right fucking there. I'm not here for either of you, just Tony."

Bucky's face drops further, a bitterness forming in his mouth as he repeats your harsh words back, "you were never here for me," repeating after you like each word was ripping his throat raw as he said it, "you're here for Stark."

Reluctantly, you nod. This was your mission, this was the vengeance you needed since you were a child, and you'd gone and made it a hell of a lot harder. He nods back, the gears in his mind turning, and his breathing uneven. You knew his tells when he was nervous or in pain, or on the verge of an anxiety attack. This was the ladder, and you were fighting the urge to run to him and explain yourself, but there was no time. There was no point now. 

You bite back the words; I love you, James. I'm so sorry. But you never say it. 

You fire a single round next to where Steve was, making him flinch. Warning him to stop inching closer when he thought you were distracted. Tony looks up to Steve, and they both look at each other like they were asking the other what to do. But Bucky, his gaze never falters from yours. He watches you like he knew this would be the last time, and you swore you could hear his heart breaking. You lower your gaze from his. 

"Both of you need to leave," taking cautious steps away from them and pointing the gun back at Tony. 

"Like hell we are," Steve says as Buckys voice fails to find him. 

Tony looks up at them, "Yeah, guys, listen to the lady. Save yourselves and leave. This is my fight. I made my bed, didn't I, sweetheart?" 

"Shut up, Stark, we aren't leaving." Steve stands, and this time you let him. He says your name like he's reprimanding you, "You need to think about what you're doing, think about the team."

You say nothing, and Steve's eyes catch Buckys briefly. The frustration inside you boils over when Steve speaks again, "Think of how you're hurting Bucky." 

"This isn't about him or us." The sharpness is heavily evident in your tone. 

Bucky's voice seems to find him as your gaze meets accidentally his, his eyes glazed over like he was on the verge of tears, "Isn't it always about us?" 

You don't respond, you can't. 

His big, beautiful, blue eyes were blown out despite how little you seemed to care in this moment for his feelings, or how little you chose to show.

He sees your internal turmoil and inches closer, "Please, I love you. Don't do this."

You bite your lip to stop it from quivering. He hadn't ever admitted his feelings so raw to you, just shown it in a lack of the words he couldn't find just yet. You ignore the loud pattering of your heart as you press the barrel of the gun to his chest, and he just lets you, leaning into it and wrapping his hand around yours— not believing that you'd really shoot him. 

You knew that after this, after killing Tony, Bucky would be far from loving you for what you had done. You weren't sure if you could even blame him for it. If you were in his shoes, you'd assume the same, that you had used him; his time, empathy, and courage to love again. If you were him, you'd hate yourself for making him love like this, and for what? Revenge? Peace of mind? 

You made him feel utterly used all over again, even after he had exposed all his scars to you and told you about his past. You listened with open arms and welcomed him into your embrace, kissing his hands, both metal and flesh, and whispering to him that he was worthy. Breaking his walls down just to make him build them up even higher. 

This is why you weren't supposed to let yourself get too close and too attached to the life you could've had with him and not the one for your own preservation. Vengeance had consumed you whole since the night your parents had died from a senseless attack carrying weapons etched with an Stark Industries on the barrel. How easily accessible these weapons became for people in your neighbourhood to find and purchase, and for worse individuals to buy in mass. All because the Stark family name had to be the top weapons manufacturer, no matter the cost and no matter the lives lost. 

You thought of the bloodshed, of the killings and the destruction that they caused and your blood boiled again. All because Stark Industries didn't do background checks on who they sold their weapons to. Bloomed bright with intentful retribution, you had convinced yourself; this was the only way. 

You let him lean in close, one last time. The familiar scent of him filled your lungs as he gazed into your eyes as though he were begging for you to snap out of it. But you were more yourself now than you had ever been, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat, inching a little closer to him.

"Then you're an idiot for loving me." You pulled your head back just enough to slam into his forehead and send him staggering a few feet backward, and he let your hand go. Before you knew it, he was focused on you again, whispering your name like a call to prayer.

Your hand moved too quickly for him to catch you, and you shot at Tony, striking him between the shoulder blades. Before Tony even falls over and grunts in pain, and Bucky grabs you. He knocks the gun from your hand and topples you over to the ground. 

"Get off of me!" you thrash but he doesn't relent.

He hovers over you, his legs on either side of your body. He thinks he's successfully disarmed you, leaning over and giving you an emphatic look despite how harsh your words and tone was. Despite how you had just shot Tony right in front of him, proving your lack of loyalty to the team.

Desperately clinging onto the hope that you still love him, or that the love was ever real. You buck your hips up high, trying to get him off of you, but he was far heavier than you. You're thrashing beneath him, and he holds your left arm with his flesh one, the metal one caressing your face—an action you helped him learn to do to prove every part of him was worthy to you. 

Steve was holding Tony's wound tight to keep him from bleeding out, but the crimson was spreading fast. The blood is pooling and reaching where you and Bucky were.

Bucky's eyes were glazed over and teary, threatening to fall down his face. The same face that you had become so enamoured with. 

"Please, baby, I don't wanna hurt you," he pleads. 

But you do the one thing you knew would hurt him most. You reach up with your free hand, grazing over his metal arm like you used to, soft and tender with your gaze still on his, a reminder of your intimacy before ruining the trust between you. 

"But I have to hurt you, James," you admit before a mechanical click shifts from beneath your fingertips and his arm dismounts his body, clattering to the floor. 

He leans back off of you, his gaze falling to the vibranium arm before up to your face. Shocked and pained. His expression was beyond broken now, and you wanted so badly to take it back just as you did it, but this was how you made him hate you. A tear slips from his face and lands on your cheek as he stares down at you, never blinking, just staring in utter disbelief. 

Your heart aches and hate yourself for what you were doing, but you seize the opportunity while he is distracted. Shoving Bucky off of you fully, and he doesn't do anything to stop you, his eyes remaining on where you were just lying beneath him. The warmth of your cheek lingering under his phantom arm as he looks to it. 

You don't look back, you don't grab your gun off the ground, and you don't wish to meet anyone's gaze—especially not Buckys. 

You ignore whatever Steve was shouting to Bucky and stride your legs forward. Panting hard, you push yourself toward the glass windows, throwing a chair and causing it to shatter. You were prepared to jump when a bullet flies and grazes you in the side, coaxing a pained shriek from you as your legs work mindlessly, pumping and continuing to push you forward. Adrenaline fuels you as you glance briefly over your shoulder, just in time to see Bucky, with your gun in his hand and his expression utterly shattered like you'd never seen. 

This couldn't be love, because love shouldn't hurt like this. Love shouldn't bleed like this. 

He has to hate you now.

You turn back and leap through the broken glass, Buckys face the last thing on your mind as you descend from the tower. When Bucky ran to look over the edge of the shattered window, looking to where you had landed, you were already gone. The only thing you left behind was the pool of blood Tony was rasping in and a trail of yours, from the wound Bucky had given you.

New York quickly became the place you hated most, so you left the busy streets behind. 

The following weeks left you on a manhunt, from the Avengers, law enforcement, and Bucky Barnes. 

For the next several months, you avoided all places they frequented. After betraying all your friends, you didn't feel the most enthusiastic to return to any place they might be or risk incarceration. Especially not after attempting to kill Tony and finding out through news channels that he had died in a way that you hated— because it was honourable. He did the one thing you never thought he could, and was a hero in the very end. 

This sent you into a spiral that felt endless, and you became a mess of yourself. You started to get sloppy and started seeking old comforts. Natasha's voice would play in your head, nagging you to watch your six and mind the corners of buildings when you crossed the street. She would be the voice of reason in your head when you reached for the phone with no SIM card in your bedroom drawer and contemplated using it to call Bucky. 

She would play in your mind when you went to the deli with the sandwiches Bucky loved and bought his order just to imagine how it would feel to be him. How would it feel to be defiled by the woman you loved? To relearn love just to be used to get to someone else?

You would ruin your own appetite often, and you weren't sure if it was cause of your spiralling thoughts or the fact that you were hallucinating the voice of your dead best friend. 

One winter night, you wore an old jacket that still smelled faintly like Bucky, missing his touch more than usual. Your hands shoved into your pockets, and the jacket zipped up high, covering your nose. You felt the cold metal of something in your pocket. With peaked interest, you pulled your hand out and stared at the key in your hand, the one to the apartment Bucky had. The one he hardly went to. In your mind, it felt like a sign to go there, to feel the air that you both once breathed together in and memorize the smells. You couldn't help it; your legs carried you there without considering the consequences. 

Carefully, you unlocked the door with a swallow creak that echoed in the dark and nearly empty space. Bucky was never one for much decoration, so the apartment only had the necessary furniture and appliances and throw pillows you lent him that never went back home with you. Kicking your shoes off, you walked over to the kitchen, drawn by the hum of the refrigerator. Once you walked close enough, you froze. The fridge was open, the light still on.

Fuck, someone was here. 

Your name is said so softly, so gently, spoken as though afraid it might scare you away. Like he wasn't sure if it was you or a dream. You already knew who it was without even seeing his face.

You turn slowly to meet his eyes—evaluating. 

"James," you breathe, hands clenched inside your jacket pockets. 

The look on his face made you feel all the more worse. His eyes were sunken in like he hadn't slept, red and rimmed. In his hand was a case file with your name on it. 

"I thought you were really gone," the file drops to the floor as he reaches for your face, "I thought you were dead." 

Not expecting him to touch you, you take his hand off of you, "I shouldn't have come here," you sputtered, moving out of the kitchen. 

Bucky followed you out of the room, hot on your tail. You could feel the sharp daggers of his gaze prickling at your back.

He calls out after you, "Hey," you keep walking, ignoring him. he says your name, footsteps heavy after you, "I am talking to you, dammit!" 

Still, you pretended not to feel his presence behind you, walking fast through the hallway. But he wouldn't let you get away from this conversation, not again, and he grabs you by your arm, pulling roughly. "Stop ignoring me," he spat out, glaring at you, "quit shutting me out, you left for months,"

"I can't do this right now, Bucky." you hiss

He flinches at that use of his name, grip tightening, "You can't do this right now, huh? You came here to what, then? Torment me further? Kill me like you tried with Stark? You leave me in the dark for seven months, and you're the one who can't do this right now?" 

You pretend like his tone wasn't puncturing your heart and pull your arm, but he doesn't relent.

His eyes were piercing with intensity and frustration, "Do you have any idea what it's been like, wondering why you pretended to love me? Wondering why you left me like that when I would've given anything you wanted?" his voice rose quickly. 

You try to interrupt him, "You don't understand—"

"You're damn right, I don't understand! Fuck, why did you even come back here if you want to leave so badly? You wanted to disappear, so why come back?" His emotions rose in his tone.

You try again, mumbling his name, but he stops you, yanking you closer, "Shut up and fucking listen! For once in your life, listen to me!" his chest rises and falls, "You could've talked to me and told me what was going on, but instead you just ran!"

"You shot at me!" you counter. 

"You took my arm off of me!" he practically screams your name at you, "If I wanted to fucking shoot you, we both know I wouldn’t have missed.”

You gulp at the realization; he presses closer.

“You used me to get to him, and you knew," his voice breaks, "you knew what that was going to do to me, and you did it anyway."

Everything in his face looked sunken in, like he wasn't taking care of himself since you disappeared. Suddenly, your surroundings overwhelmed you like skeletons in the closet. Dozens of empty cans of beer and bottles of whiskey. Even though he couldn't get drunk, it looked like he had desperately tried. Packages next to the front door, labelled in Sam's handwriting, urging him to eat something inside them. Cardboard boxes full of cases, papers etched over the ground from when he had been frantically rummaging through for any kind of clue.

You hadn't gotten to see just how affected he was until now, and it was eating you alive more than you had already been doing to yourself. 

"You've ruined me. I'm ruined and you're here just to leave me, again." His thumb stroked your cheek lovingly and tenderly, while his words came out broken.

"The worst part is I would let you use me so long as you came back. Why wouldn't you come back for me?" his words sounding utterly broken and more of a statement than a question.

"I should have, James. I didn't mean for it to happen like that—" 

He pushes you against the door to the bedroom, your back hitting it with a thud. Arms on either side as his hips press against yours, pinning you there.

"Don't. Just don't lie to me anymore," he rasps, "you did what you had to, right? You had to use me like a pawn, and I just rolled over for you."

You can't help how your words get lost on you, and you drown in the intensity of his sharp gaze. The tenderness in those blue eyes that you grew to love was gone, but still you desired him more than anything else, and you couldn't help how your eyes flickered over his perfect, plump lips. Even in this moment, you burned for him and only him. His gaze turns into something deeper, something between hurt and lust that you barely recognized. Everything about his body language screamed that he was restraining himself from you. 

He catches your gaze, and his hand mindlessly lifts, caressing the side of your face. 

"God, if you wanted to hurt me, shooting me in the head would have hurt less." chest heaving against yours. 

Tears prickled at your eyes, "I am so sorry, Bucky, I really am."

He shakes his head slowly, "You don't get to apologize, not when you still have me undone for you." His eyes are boring into yours, but his words contrast with his actions: "I fucking hate you, and I want you just as broken by this as I am."

You gulp, "I am broken by this," his hand finds the doorknob and pushes it open, pulling you inside with him. 

"No, you wanted to use me," he walks you backwards and shoves you onto the mattress, and you let him. "I'll show you what it's like to be used."

"James—" you try as he flips you over onto your stomach.

"You want me to stop? You tell me now. Otherwise, I don't wanna hear anymore lies from you."

But you can't tell him to stop. You want him, you'll always want him.

When you turn your head to look at him and nod, he pulls at your hips and keeps you on the edge of the bed as he practically rips your pants off you. Gasping as his metal knuckles grazed up your spine, pulling the fabric up with it and sending shivers like he knew it would.

The way he feels makes your core ache for him despite it all. You missed this— you missed all of him like an addict to his touch. Arching as he presses into you from behind, fisting your hair as he ruts himself against you, reminding you of what could have been.

Bucky was more than just a means to an end, and you wanted him to know that, but how could you? That you are capable of using him despite knowing his past? How do you convince him that you loved him when you'd shown him that you didn't want him? That he shouldn't want you?You've already shown your care to him, and he's well aware of how you'd used him, so maybe hating you was the only answer. Love might not be in your cards, but in this moment, your resilience was pouring through the cracks. If he hated you, then he would be okay, and the damaged parts of you couldn't reach him anymore. 

He leans over your back and shifts his hand from your hair to your throat; tight enough to threaten.

"You wanted this all along, didn't you?" breaths hot against your ear as his belt clinks open, "I've just been a bit of fun for you? An easy, broken man you could use over and over? A quick fuck?" 

Your lip quivers, "You were always more than that."

He releases your throat. Reaching over and down your chest to rip your shirt open easily. The fabric is thin—the buttons pop open and scatter across the room. With one quick, practiced move, he unhooks your bra without even looking at it. You gasp despite yourself and let him pull you up, bare back flush against his.

Your heart crumbles for him, and the damage you'd done that seems to follow you everywhere you go. In his mind, he already had his answer as to why you wouldn't come back, but he still didn't want to believe it. He still wanted you, even if it really were one last time before you left him again. 

Warm, soft tears roll down your cheek and onto his fingers, "James, I really am sorry, you didn't deserve this." 

His heavy length is pressed against your back as he grips your hair roughly, just enough to see your face. Bucky's gaze softens despite how tense he was, but you could still see the uncertainty in his eyes. 

"I told you, I don't want your apologies," tears threaten to spill from his eyes. He runs his fingers up your core, testing the wetness pooling there before he pulls your panties off, "I just want this."

You swallow your tears and the urge to try convincing him again. You nod—needing him just as badly, "Okay." 

The feeling of him alone makes you throb for him, aching for him like you have been for months.

Running his thick and angry red tip through your folds once, he collects the slick and watches your face contort in pleasure. He’s watching as you shut your eyes—savouring the feeling like you were deprived and storing the image in the back of his mind. He aligns himself and pushes the tip inside, making you writhe into the pillow.

But he doesn't coo at you like he normally would, he doesn't praise you the way he knows you like, and he doesn't try to make it slow and passionate. 

This was pure take and desire that consumed you both.

The stretch of him was as glorious as always, but fuck, you wanted to see him. He doesn't give a warning before thrusting in to the hilt, bottoming out and coaxing a sharp gasp from you. His lips close the distance to your neck, leaving wet, sloppy kisses that quickly become rougher as he sucked purple marks—marking you in a physical manifestation of what you'd done to him.

Leaving something behind for you to be reminded of in the morning. 

Gripping your hips tight enough that it would leave bruises, and you didn't care. His hips sank hard, movements meant to reach a peak that could prove something to him or to you somehow. Punishing in his thrusts, rocking the headboard against the wall in every movement.

The soft exterior of the man you loved so badly was gone. He was taking you apart in every way he knew how, because Bucky knew how to make you sing for him and had your body memorized like the back of his hand. 

The sounds he made were between a whimper and a groan, as though everything about this was ripping him apart. You knew him so well, studied him like a roadmap you could never forget. You knew his body like it was tattooed inside your eyelids, never escaping the softness. 

Being rough wasn't something Bucky liked to do with you, unless you asked for it. So this? This was tearing him to shreds. After months without feeling the sweet plush of your skin, Bucky so desperately wanted to take his time, but he couldn't trust himself with being able to leave you alone afterwards.

If he took any more time, he knew he wouldn't be able to let you go. 

You whined his name, wanting to touch him. Reaching back for him, grazing your fingernails over his forearms, and he takes your hands, kissing them like he was sorry. You cry out for him again, but he shoves your face into the pillow, shutting you up and muffling your helpless moans. Putting down his full weight and your hands over your head, whispering breathlessly into your ear. 

"You wanted to use me, so take it. Take all of it." 

Puncuating his words by snapping his hips even deeper into yours and reaching the spongy spot that made you see stars. You push back into him to meet his thrusts, he moans so beautifully for you—and he hated it.

He hated how you had him undone for him and could hurt him so deeply.

Holding both of your hands with his flesh arm so you couldn’t touch him, the metal one comes between you and circles over the sensitive bud, making you jolt. But he won't let you escape the way he made you feel, so he plants a knee on either side of you to cage you under him. He urges you on while keeping his punishing thrusts, snapping even harder, faster. 

Overstimulating all at once; the rigorous pace brings you there faster than you began, and you scream his name as you fall apart. He groans like it hurts as your walls flutter around him and the slickness urges him on. He doesn't relent, pushing deeper into you again and again, chasing his high as you writhe beneath him, cooing at him that it was too much to no avail. He grunts in your ear, and you swear you could've came again just at the rasp of his voice. 

“James please,” you whimper.

Suddenly, he hooks an arm under your knee and flips you onto your back. When you meet his gaze, you see the tears in his eyes just before he crashes his quivering lips into yours. His tongue swipes over your lip before he tangles the muscle with yours, sweeping every crevice of your mouth in a desperately possessive manner. He swallows your whimpered moans and ruts himself in short, deep movements, reaching into you like he could understand you like this. Like he could finally reach your mind and unravel you in this bed.

In his bed. 

The taste of salty tears touches your tongue as he devours your lips. His pace becomes uneven and sloppy as you feel yourself reaching that peak again. He pulls back just to attach his lips to your neck, sucking and biting to leave his mark purposefully. His teeth sink in, and you moan his name loudly as you came again, grabbing at him now that you could. Hissing at your nails against his back, his moans are broken and he twitches and sputters your name quietly, spilling hot inside.

Still thrusting slow and deep like he just couldn’t help himself, he keeps his spend inside, not letting a drop escape as he remains sheathed in between your slick walls. He looks back down, taking in the deep marks he left there, a hint of apology in his eyes. He seems like he wants to say something, but he stops himself, leaning down and kissing you again—softer this time.

He swipes his tongue along your lips to coax you into opening your mouth for him again. He pulls back just enough to spit into your mouth. You swallow it for him, digging your fingers into the nape of his neck and pulling him back down like you couldn't let him go.

This time, Bucky whimpers at the contact you make, biting your bottom lip enough to coax another gasp and then pulling away entirely. He gets off of you, running his hand through his hair and dragging it over his face. He stands up fast and pulls his jeans back on.

"Where are you going?" you ask, but he doesn't look at you. 

"This doesn't change anything," he adjusts his belt through the loops, the sound clinking through the quiet air, besides the sound of both of your heavy breathing. 

You sit up, the evidence of the sanguine and desolate encounter dripping onto his sheets, "James, please, if you would just let me explain." 

He turns quickly, eyes red as he says your name like it physically pains him, "I told you, I fucking despise you. Loathe isn't strong enough to describe how I feel about you." 

You stop breathing for a moment, stuck in place. 

He continues, watching the pained expression on your face grow, "You're like a fucking plague on my mind, and I can't stand you anymore."

He takes backwards steps to the door, turning away from you, "I don't ever want to see you again, so you better be long gone by the time I come back here." 

You can't help the soft scoff that escapes you, gripping the sheet tighter, "and if I don't go?" 

He looks at you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your face and studying each feature. After a beat, he looks back into your eyes. The look he gives you is colder than anything you'd ever seen before from him. 

"Then I will kill you myself." 

He slams the door shut behind him, the sound deafening—making you flinch as you close your eyes. 

You were right before; this wasn't love. Love doesn't hurt like this.

Tony Stark became a name that would send a shiver down your spine, but your fists didn't clench like before. 

You refused to acknowledge it with the same fierceness you had before, since your oversight had blinded you. Now, you could see how partial you were and how you'd let anger cloud your judgment and nearly kill a man for the crimes of people before he was born. You still had hate in your heart for him— how could you forget it? But at least now, that sharp pain shifted to an ache dulled that you only felt in your bones when it was cold and you thought of Manhattan.

Nearly half a decade after you last saw Bucky, your life is much different now. Half the Avengers are either dead or retired. Somehow, you still felt some responsibility for what you'd done back then, and how you could never explain yourself, but you were convinced that you were worthy of it anymore. Apologizing to anyone would be selfish because you knew it was for yourself. 

The apartment you lived in—if you could even call it that—was cluttered with clothes and takeout from weeks prior. You hardly left your place now, even after Tony Stark sacrificed his life for the world and died.

An honourable death, for someone you thought to be the opposite of it entirely.

You didn't know how to deal with that or how to take back the things you'd done on your vengeful path. So instead, you stayed home and watched bad television. You were on your couch, licking ice cream off your spoon, when you saw the face that could've killed you on sight.

The bewitching face of the man you dreamt of more often than you'd ever admit, the piercing blue eyes of his unmistakable face above his scruffy appearance, and neatly tucked hair. He wore a crisp suit that you'd never seen him in before, besides a borrowed one from Steve at the many Galas you'd attended. He walked across wearing his stoic expression, the hint of sadness only you'd recognize behind his brief smile, before he spoke to an audience about a bill you didn't know anything about. 

James Buchanan Barnes was now a Congressman. 

You couldn't help the laugh that rippled through you at the thought that your James, your grumpy and impatient James, was now working a job that required him to not only talk to people often but also attend meetings regularly. The livestream of the video captured him shaking hands with people as he walked down the hall with other politicians, and then stopped. There you saw a short-haired woman, hair cut at her shoulders and a polished smile as Bucky bent down for her to whisper in his ear.

You felt an unfamiliar jealousy bubble in your stomach as you put the pint of ice cream on the table, spoon clattering on the coffee table, muttering to yourself from weeks of having no social interaction. Crossing your arms over your chest just as Bucky leaves the frame, and the woman does too. You throw your remote at the screen in an annoyed groan, hurling it harder than you intended. Wincing as you hear a soft crack and realize you've broken your television. 

When you got restless, you went on runs—always alone. 

That was how Yelena found you, cornering you at an intersection and somehow knowing who you were beneath the layers you wore to conceal your identity. She ran next to you, matching your speed, and you didn't have to turn your head to know it was her. 

"Yelena, long time no see, Sestra," peering over at her as you pull your headphones off.

Yelena smiles at you, "You remembered."

You don't smile back, but give her something in between, "Of course I do."

Yelena was an old friend, a person you knew through her sister Natasha and kept in touch with just barely. After Natasha died, you spoke to Yelena only once, to check on her and for your own peace of mind. You sought her out and cried with her for your fallen friend. You never got to explain yourself to Natasha, but Yelena still trusted you. You pulled her out of a low she didn't know how to navigate while you were going through one of your own. Yelena was the only person you told about what you had done to Tony. She listened carefully when you explained your true intentions for joining the Avengers, to see if she was truly empathizing with you. If anyone knew what it was like to face-to-face with someone who was the reason for your solace, it was her.

Clint was her Tony, and Tony was your Clint.

Though at least Yelena got to talk to him about it and found comfort and closure through it, you didn't even get to say goodbye.

She didn't judge you, not even when you brushed off more personal questions, mentioning the rest of the team, and purposefully glossing over Buckys' part in your story. She knew there was more missing, but she didn't push. You gave her general answers, and you told her of your vengeance and reasoning for doing what you did. You told her she wouldn't be hearing from you, and she did not protest.

But she told you she would come looking for you one day and apparently, today, was that day. 

She says your name, guiding you towards an alleyway. You oblige because you knew that Yelena wouldn't ask for anything from you if it wasn't serious. Yelena and you didn't have to see each other often for the two of you to converse like normal all over again, and you appreciated her for it.

"Are you alright?" you ask her, shoving your phone into your pocket.

"Oh, me? Fine, great. Working with idiots, but I dealt with worse before," she points at your pocket, "give me that."

"What? My phone?" but she's already reaching in your pocket, wiggling her fingers and pulling it out, "oh pfft, sure, yeah, go ahead." 

She types in the password without you having to tell her, saying your name when you're about to protest again, "Oh, shush, I have seen you naked. And you are too sloppy, too predictable," shaking your phone in your face, "you have not changed your password in 5 years."

You pout slightly.

Okay, maybe you have been getting sloppy.

She returns to going through your phone and reading over something aloud to herself before staring up at you. Shaking her head, she continues, swiping and swiping. 

"You have not texted or called anyone in, what the fuck, 6 months?" She pulls the phone case off and takes one of her earrings out, "What happened to having a life?" 

Popping out the SIM card and dropping to the floor before smashing it beneath her boot.

You exclaim, "Yelena!"

"What? You didn't have much on it anyway. Although I guess that means breaking it was useless," she tosses your phone into the bin as well. "I need your help, and we cannot be followed." 

You look entirely annoyed and wide-eyed at her, "You basically just called me a loser and broke my phone. You are going to be followed, whether you like it or not, Lena." 

She smiles then, putting her earring back into her earlobe. "Great, follow me then." 

Grumpily, you take one last look at your poor phone, cracked and at the bottom of the grimy garbage bin, before following after her. Taking a heavy footstep after the other as you follow behind her, just before she turns the corner out of the alleyway and onto the streets again. The familiar presence of her allowed you to roll your tensed shoulders back just a bit, still holding up some of the walls you'd built up high and mighty. You stared down at her shoes as she walked and noted how polished her clothes were, her suit brand new and tailored perfectly to fit her like she was ready for a fight right now. 

She walks across the street, and you suddenly realize where she was taking you, "Why are we going to my place?" 

"You have to change. I cannot take you looking like a teenage boy to meet Valentina," her eyes trailing over your outfit and then back to your face. 

You squint at her as you enter the courtyard—her movements too aware of an apartment building you’d never taken her too. She walks with too familiar a practice and holds the door open for you with a knowing smile, but you don't question it. Not yet at least.

Yelena plops on your couch and picks up a sock from the corner, staring at it, then you. "You live like this? Like slob?" 

You roll your eyes, walking over to her and taking the sock from her hand, tossing it into the laundry basket that you said you were gonna put away two weeks ago,

"I live alone, so who gives a shit." 

She hums at you like she knows something you don't, putting her hand under her chin and watching you, "You used to care how you lived. I don't get how nearly killing Stark made you this depressed."

You say nothing, pulling your hair back from your face and padding back toward the hallway, stripping off your hoodie. You make your way to your room to change, and Yelena stood and followed after you, replacing the couch with your bed. You try changing the subject,

"So, Valentina, huh? You still work for her?" you say as you rummage through your closet, struggling to find something that wasn't a hoodie or a shirt younger than ten years.

"She is the lady who's been giving me jobs, she’s reliable that much and she knows you’re still alive.” twirling her thumbs on the edge of your bed.

You stop moving and turn to face her. "Yelena, I don't do that shit anymore,"

Yelena sits up, "You don't just give that life up, don't kid yourself."

Rubbing the bridge of your nose, "Last time we worked together, neither of us had eyebrows."

She shrugs, "Eh, they came back." When you sigh, exasperated, she continues, "Come on, just this once. Come with me. I just do my job, clock in and clock out. Anyway, you are clearly not busy, so don't tell me you are because I know when you are lying." 

You mentally noted the exhaustion on her face and the bags forming under her smudged eyeliner. Yelena always got through her shit through humour, but something told you to go through with her ask and go anyway. 

Plus, you were bored out of your mind in your apartment.

You nod, "Yeah, sure, will you just come tell me what to wear then? I'm at a loss here."

Yelena stands and stretches her arms, making her way over to you. When she looks into your closet, she snort, "Your closet looks like mine. Lack of fulfillment and desperation."

Yelena purposefully ignores the men’s jacket sitting there, several sizes too big for you. She pulls out an old mission suit from the back of your closet, hidden behind a pile of boxes.

When she turns to hand it to you and sees the look on your face, she rolls her eyes, "I said my closet looks like this too. Jeez, you really don't get out much, can't even take jokes now." 

As you approached the bunker with Yelena, she began briefing you on her target. She explained, very poorly, who the Ghost was and how Valentina had sent you both to take her down by any means necessary. 

Yelena spoke just as you approached the hall. 

"She's stealing the files that Ghost lady. I need you to find them while I take her down, or you take her down, whatever floats your boat or whatever."

With quiet footsteps, the two of you crept into the bunker. The room was filled with boxes you assumed had documents and gadgets you hardly understood. Filing in after Yelena, you followed her to a packet of documents on top of a box, frowning at the symbols etched on the paper. Multiple designs for a suit and the letter S in different fonts stared back at you as you turned your head to her in bewilderment. Just as you looked at her, you caught a glimpse of a gun pointed at her by a tall man in a suit in dirty tones of blue and red. 

"Lena!" You shouted before grabbing her by her shoulders and rolling just in time for the bullets to fly past you.

Both of you huff as you land behind a box, still over Yelena. Getting off of her, you peer over the box, and the man shoots again, making you duck.

Still, you recognize him— John Walker.

While you don't know Walker personally, you know of his history and how he didn't even make it a month as Captain America before killing someone and having his shield revoked. Mentally, you noted how his replica shield wasn't made of vibranium, the same indestructible metal of Buckys arm. 

He says your name as though he knew you, and you snap your eyes up to his. You don't miss the frown on his face as he says your name again. 

"You were in the Avengers. I thought you were dead," clipping his gun into his holster, "Everyone does." 

Yelena peeks out, "You know him?"

You shake your head and step out, also leaving yourself exposed for Walker to establish some kind of connection. Yelena stands behind you when you hear a shadow. She yelps as someone new joins the three of you, flipping her over on her ass. Ghost, you recognized her from Yelenas brief description when another person emerges from the shadows, flipping a gun in their hand. When you turn, the Ghost is gone, and Walker is in your face. 

"Why the hell are you here? All official records say you're dead." His hand was on his holster, close to drawing it out again. 

Stepping backward, you scoff softly, "As you can see, I am very much alive, Walker." 

His eyes widen slightly at your use of his name, partly impressed that you even knew him and half-wary of you. The two of you remain staring at each other as Yelena dusts herself off and starts towards you, pointing at the Ghost who was fighting another person out of your line of sight. Walker draws his gun quickly to point at Yelena. 

"An ex-Avengers death isn't on my conscience," tilting his head at Yelena, and she looks unfazed, "but I am here for you," he says just as a sudden, deafening gunshot snaps the attention of all three of you.

Instinctively, you also draw your weapon, keeping the pistol pointed at Ghost. The three of you focused on the gunshot behind you and the hard thud hitting the ground.

Then you gasp when you see it.

The Taskmaster, someone you did know before and worked with after leaving the Avengers, is dead. Blood pooled over her mask and began spilling on the floor.

In your line of work, this was a common occurrence, bound to happen. But it has been a while since you’d seen a body of someone you knew, even vaguely. Your eyes shift up to the Ghosts as her mask cyphers off. 

"Well, my job is complete," she announces, stepping over the body.

John scoffs, disregarding the body like he were used to the sight, gun still in his hand, "mine isn't. Valentina was clear about needing you gone, Yelena." 

Just then, the sound of retching and dry heaving catches everyone's attention. You'll turn in unison, guns drawn and pointed at the new found voice when you see a man in blue scrubs, hair dishevelled and looking utterly afraid.

He keeps his hands up, a dry nervous laughter leaving him before he speaks, "um, is she, are they really dead?"

John ignores his question and walks towards him, boots heavy with practiced military precision in each step, "Just who in the fuck are you, guy?" 

"Bob, I'm Bob," he gulps as John waves his gun to urge him to continue explaining himself, "I just woke up in here. One minute I was doing a medical study, the next I'm here.”

You all exchanged glances, uncertain and confused.

Bob stammers as he racks his brain, trying to convince the menacing group in front of him of his innocence, “Please, you gotta believe me." 

You look over to the capsule behind him, the mould of a body in a high-tech casing that makes your thoughts race. If he were telling the truth, then he was a definitive experiment for Valentina just as you suspected John Walker to be. His enhanced strength only something you’d seen from your former Avengers—Steve Rogers and Bucky.

You thought back to when Bucky told you about the super soldier serum and how people continued to test in cruel ways to see just how far they could push the human body and create the perfect human.

The perfect experiment and weapon.

Your brows knit together, and you met Yelenas gaze. She's frowning like the gears of her mind have clicked into place and made the same realization as you. Of course, Valentina was playing you, she was always playing both of you. 

Valentina was killing people she had working for her previously—this was cleanup and you were doing the fucking dirty work for her.

"Okay," Yelena says finally, her gun going into her waistband and her other hand reaching to yours, lowering the weapon, "it's clear we have all been played here and all worked for Valentina in some capacity."

John grumbles, lowering his gun too, "What are you saying?" 

The Ghost rolls her eyes, "Are you a dense, dime-store Captain America? Valentina clearly sent us here to die," gesturing around the room. 

John stares at her, evaluating and intense, "I didn't know that Ghosts could speak." 

She smiles, a small hum of a laugh that was entirely humourless, "It's Ava, actually."

John scoffs again just as alarms blare and the bunker goes into lockdown. Bob scurries closer, and no one stops him. 

Yelena breathes out heavily, "We don't have time for this, you guys," staring at the elevator shaft, then at Ava, "We have to get out of here." 

Then they're all moving.

Without really telling anyone what to do, they were working in unison, as though this was what they were meant to be doing. John breaks open the power source, Ava unlocks the door, and Bob has the bright idea to get out of the Bunker by climbing. After listening to them bickering and scraping your knees against the elevator shaft a couple of times, you eventually do get out. 

In the car, Yelena shot an apologetic look at you from the front seat.

You gave her a tight, slightly annoyed smile back. You were sitting next to John Walker and the Ghost lady you now identified as Ava, and the loud man driving the car kept nudging Yelena and asking her questions, whispering about her having found her calling. You smirk to yourself a little when you see Yelenas' look of annoyance, not missing the silent acceptance there that she had found something worth fighting for. Ava adjusts something on her suit, while you stare out the window over John's head to watch the landscape. But he catches your eye, staring at you.

You frown, "What?" 

"You're Bucky Barnes's ex," he announces, and the pair in the front stop talking. 

"What does he say? Winter Soldier has a girlfriend?" Alexei catches your eye in the rear-view mirror, "You are Winter Soldier's girlfriend?"

You stammer, "No, I'm not."

"She is right technically, she's not his girlfriend." John says again, never shifting his gaze from you, "She's the one who backstabbed the Avengers." 

You wince, and Alexei gasps. Yelena doesn't even move because she already knew about this, even without you telling her about the part about Bucky. Ava doesn't budge either, unfazed by the declaration of your disloyalty as though she had anticipated it or had known somehow. 

Alexei suddenly laughs, "You are badass, like Lena, like Tasha!" he looks to Yelena, then you in the mirror again, "No mercy like the Soviet Union!" 

Yelena cuts him off, "Okay, Dad, please just stop. Let's just get out of here and go home." 

"Go home?" Alexei says, looking personally offended by her declaration, "No, no, no, this is a beautiful group, a new friendship and family to have and cherish. You cannot go home and forget all about this, Lena." 

"There is no point, they took Bob already," she says, looking out the side mirrors. 

"This is a glorious team! Just like when Natasha was Avenger!" Alexei gleams. Yelena shakes her head and groans at him. 

John snorts from next to you, "Yeah, go Thunderbolts." 

Alexei gasps dramatically, "You tell them of your little league team? Oh my, you already bonded." he snaps his head to look at you all, making the car jerk, "You know, one time someone pooped in the middle of the game, right there, on the field. It was so funny, they were so bad." Yelena grabs the steering wheel, steadying them. 

Ava suddenly announces that; "someone is following us."

Without waiting for anyone to say anything, she puts her mask back on and geo-leaps to the trunk of the car, facing the vehicle chasing you. 

Everyone quiets to look.

Yelena glances out her window, spotting three bulletproof vehicles roaring behind Alexlei's shitty taxi car. Despite his claim that it was bulletproof earlier, the shells whizzing past you now and shattering the windows proved otherwise.

A deafening screeching sound is played over the speakers of the truck behind you, and Ava nearly falls out of the car when you and John yank her back in through the broken window. She's disoriented over your lap as the shooting ensues.

In a swift move, Yelena peels out of the car, shooting out one of the tires and sending the vehicle crashing. Amongst the fiery crash, the other two roar closer to Alexei's terribly slow car.

Yelena sits back inside, fiddling with her gun, "That was my only bullet." 

John reaches for his gun, the magazine missing, "shit, I'm out too."

He glances back through the broken window, a roaring motorcycle appearing from the smoke of the crash, chasing behind the last of the three.

The name he utters makes the colour drain from your face, "Bucky?" 

You turn with him, and there he was. You feel your body run cold again, blood freezing in your veins. Bucky suddenly stops his motorcycle, grabbing the hitch of the other vehicle and pulling it to a taut. Anyone else would’ve been ripped in half but the sheer strength of him, Bucky yanked the enormous tank backward, punch the chain hard into the concrete below him. The car is then flying away from you and rolling into another fiery crash before you knew it.

John and Alexei laugh in relief as Bucky launches something beneath the other car, causing it to explode. Alexei hits the steering wheel, hollering something about ‘the Winter Soldier never retiring.’

The cheering dies down as Bucky turns his focus on Alexeis' car, pointing his weapon at it. 

But it felt like he was pointing right at you.

Suddenly, something is launched beneath Alexei's car and John curses. The explosion booms white as the car is airborne. Then you're sliding from the backseat, gasping as the car begins to flip. Ava and John hold onto the grab handles of the car, but you don't grab anything in time. 

You groan awake, wanting to rub your head.

Cuffs digging into your wrists as your eyelids flutter open.

Chatter makes your ears perk up, recalling what had happened, turning your disoriented head around and taking in the faces around you. You glance to your left, looking at John as he notices you lucid again, shooting you a reassuring smile— something you weren't sure about just yet. He mouths, asking if you were alright, and you nod, giving him a tight smile before turning your attention to a loud Yelena and Ava. 

"Yes, Bob!" Yelena exclaims as Ava continues for her, "We have been trying to tell you that!" 

But you feel eyes on you, piercing and intense. The hairs on your neck stick up. Looking into his eyes, you felt like all of your old emotions were back in full force, like they had never even left. His hands were on his hips, listening but not really hearing them as he watched you. Looking past all the other obstacles and through you like he knew what you were thinking. Probably because he knew you better than anyone else—and it felt like you were alone in the room when you looked up into his eyes. 

Shamefully, you looked back down, not wanting to meet his gaze. It was too hard, and you didn't know if you could take it. The last time you'd seen him, he said he never wanted to see you again. Said that if he saw you ever again, he would kill you. You betrayed him, broke his heart and made him feel like he was when controlled by Hydra; used and weaponized.

After a beat, he speaks, interrupting the rest of the group's bickering, “we have to move then.”

To your surprise, he walks over and uncuffs Yelena, breaking off the cuffs swiftly then Ava’s. "Valentina won't expect us to go together, let alone work together." 

Ava narrows her eyes, "You're letting us go?"

He moves to uncuff Alexei and Walker. 

"No, not exactly. But I'm trusting you guys won't betray me," he says, and you bite back a wince at his words.

Still, you avoid looking at him, staring down at your shoes as though it could get you out of this situation. John leads them outside as they’re too focused on their own quiet discussion to notice the tension between you and Bucky. 

Finally, Bucky stops behind you as everyone else regroups. He bends close to your ear, hands undoing your wrists, taking more time than you knew he needed.

He says your name, "So, will you?" 

"W—what?" you rasp, rubbing your unbound wrists together and trying not to look into his piercing blue eyes.

Watching you intently, he tilts his head ever so slightly, as though he were studying you. Looking over just enough to catch your eyes.

"Betray me again. Can I trust that you won't do that?"

You couldn't stop staring at the facial hair on his face and how his scruff had grown fuller. You wanted to badly to lean into him again, feel the touch of the one you'd been aching for and finally force him to listen to you, even if you knew it was self-serving to do it now that he'd clearly gotten over you.

You nod your head at him, biting the inside of your cheek. The sound of Yelena calling you guys to hurry up and come out from outside doesn't make him flinch, and he leans in a little closer.

The familiar scent of him—cedarwood and rich suede—engulfs your senses. 

An unexpected tug at the corners of his lips makes your skin bloom bright as he eyes the features of your face, stopping over the curve of your lips. He steps away enough to give you space to move. Reluctantly, you stand and walk over to the door, needing a breath of fresh air from his sudden proximity—when you catch something he says something just before you walk outside. A foot out the door and you still hear him with the smirk in his voice evident.

"You're so beautiful, even when you lie to me."

A familiar sense of bitterness filled your mouth when you entered the Watchtower. 

You probably should've been more specific about when asking Yelena about where she was leading you up to, because she failed to mention that the Watchtower was just the Avengers tower—renamed.

As you got out of the elevator, you couldn't help but notice the same features in the building you once resided in. Your eyes trailed over to the kitchen, where you'd cook with Natasha and Steve. Where you'd walk in at an ungodly hour for a snack, and Bucky would find you. The place Bucky cooked the meal for your first not-date, setting out wine, pasta and salad— before Sam and Steve had crashed it and ate more than either of you. It was once domestic and safe, but you could never fully let yourself simmer in it. Nagging in the back of your head like a virus that had no cure, you would never relax entirely. 

Distant discussion grabs your attention as you emerge from the elevator. 

"We are taking you in Val," John crosses his arms, staring over at Valentina, who had shifted her attention to you as you walked in with Yelena.

"Hmm, I don't think so, Junior varsity, Captain America." She smiled wickedly as John angrily pulled his gun out of his holster. 

A familiar velvety smooth voice called out to John to stop—Buckys.

"Walker," Bucky warned, and John let his gun fall back into his side. 

Valentina giggled, swirling her drink in her hand and looked to Ava, "Ah, Ava, it's nice to see you again," she shifted her focus over to Yelena, "Yelena, you look awful."

Before turning back to you and saying your name slowly, "I knew you wouldn't stay dead."

You give her a tight, unamused smile, "Still a cunt then, Valentina?" 

She smiles right back, turning to Bucky, "One betrayal wasn't enough, Congressmen? You want her to actually kill someone from your adorable little team this time?" and his jaw tightens uncomfortably. She continues, looking back to Yelena, "And you, are you sure you're still ready for that public-facing role?"

Yelena steps forward, "Hmm, eat shit, Valentina. Where is Bob?"

"You mean Sentry?" She tilts her head, and you turn to Yelena again, the documents you saw at the bunker filling in the blanks, "come on out." 

You all turn to see Bob walking down the stairs, clad in bright yellow and gold attire, looking entirely imperfect. His hair is now blonde and slicked back neatly. Yelena breathes out his name, but he avoids her gaze. His smile was uncertain and nervous as he stood next to Valentina. 

"Sentry is my protection plan, and my reason to sway the committee. I will be unimpeachable," she smugly glances around for your reactions. 

Bucky scoffs, "That is never going to happen."

"Enough talk, nobody messes with the West Chesapeake Valley," Alexei charges forward, towards Bob, "Thunderbolts!" 

Without breaking a sweat, Bob punches Alexei once, sending him flying backward into the wall.

Everyone is suddenly on edge as Bob becomes a bigger threat than anyone had expected. Your fists clench as you feel the tension rise above anything you could ever contain, snapping as the unsheathing of weapons filled the air around you.

Bucky points his gun, Ava geo-leaps and reappears behind him before he sends her staggering back again. John launches his shield, and Bob easily sends it back to him like a Frisbee. Yelena begs them to stop, both of you running towards him when Bob sends a current of energy, sending all four of you flying backwards again.

You groan as you hit the hard wall next to Alexei, distant thoughts of CTE rummaged as you daze at the concrete. Alexei is up before you and warily he helps you stand again. 

Bucky looks back towards you, sending you an evaluative look that borders on concern, before turning his attention to Bob and firing straight at him. You gasp when Bob stops the bullets midair and pushes them full force back towards Bucky, moving too fast for him to dodge them. Pushing yourself forward, his name name slips from between your lips. Everything swirls, it happens so fast, but John is there faster, blocking the bullets with his shield and staggering backwards. Ava and Alexei get there in time again for Bob to disarm them both effortlessly and throw them to the corner of the room. 

Yelena pleads again, jumping onto Bob's back, electricity flowing from her gloves to his neck, "Bob, you don't have to do this, you have a choice."

You feel your face heat; the situation Bob was in was all too familiar to your own, and Buckys ' gaze prickled at your back. You knew it was useless, but you grabbed Buckys disgraced gun off the floor and pointed it up at Bob since Yelena clearly didn't believe that he would disarm her like the rest of them. Suddenly, the metal of the gun is burning your skin and slipping through your fingers. You yelp at the seering sensation, dropping it to the ground, watching as the gun melts into a mush.

John reapproaches him as Bob throws Yelena over to the elevator and grabs John's shield, bending it in half. John eyes widen in shock as Bob grabs you both by your necks. You’re thrashing, clawing with the remains of metal flicking off your gloves as you try to get him off before he’s flinging you over to where the rest of the team was lying. 

Then Bucky flips his knife in his hand, launching it before John pulls him forward with just his mind. The knife uselessly clattering next to Bob. He holds him in the air for a moment before letting him crash to the ground again. But Bucky was headstrong, and you knew he wouldn't give up so easily.

He strips off his jacket, horrifically seductive in a time like this, and strides back for Bob, punching at him hard with his vibranium arm. But Bob was too strong, beyond anything any of you had ever seen and he catches Buckys hand, gripping tight. Bucky groans, trying to free himself when Bob yanks his arm out from his body, and you gasp sharply. Swaying a little, Bob hits Bucky hard over the head with his arm and knocks him out as he's sent back over to the five of you. 

You crawl over to his unconscious form and cradle his head in your lap, frantic.

"James, hey, wake up," lightly grazing his cheek as you shook him slightly.

The rest of the team is up quickly, Ava grabbing Bucky's arm off the ground and Alexei and John moving towards Bucky. You let them hold him up and drag him out of the room, into the elevator. Bob lets you all leave, the look of regret evident on his face, which made your heart pang for him, because you knew that look.

You’d basked in that feeling for too long, the emptiness and the loneliness that devoured you whole; you could see it all on his face even as the elevator doors closed. 

Staring at the Buckys' arm in Ava's hand, you couldn't help but think about when you had done the same to him. You gulp as you step away from him, hand clutched over your mouth with effort, just as the doors opened and Bucky began to stir awake.

Stomach twisting in knots as his detached arm brings you back. You look to Yelena, stepping out of the elevator before anyone else,

"I shouldn't be here when he's awake again." 

She briefly met your eyes, her own teetering on the edge of disdain for herself and for Valentina for turning Bob into this. But she knew what you meant and gave you a tight nod. 

You brush past the rest of them, walking fast and panting harder, memories flooding back in full force. Unable to stop yourself from dry heaving into your palm, anxiety peaked and caused you to breathe harder. Once you were far enough, you turned into an alleyway and threw up, clutching the brick wall for something, anything to ground you. Hacking up the shame and the guilt, despite not knowing when you had last eaten.

Bucky slips out of John's grip and mutters a quiet thanks as his eyes immediately begin scanning around— for you. 

He walks over to Ava, taking his arm from her and clicking it back into place, swinging his arm and recalibrating it. He says your name, "Where did she go?"

Ava shrugged, "Not sure, but she seemed kind of out of it before she walked off." Bucky frowns, and she continues, "She said something to Yelena before leaving, maybe ask her?" 

"Right, thanks," but Ava stops him from leaving too quickly.

"You two used to date, right?" she asks softly, like she wanted to coax the answer from him. But Bucky didn't need any coaxing. 

He nods and smiles fondly, "Yeah, we used to be together. Why do you ask?" 

She smiles at his admission, as though she knew something he didn't, "Oh, no reason." Bucky narrows his eyes but drops it, giving her another thanks before starting after Yelena and Alexei. 

He jogs into the street, finding civilians running around aimlessly. He ushers some of them quickly, yelling to get inside. He moves further into the crowds to find you and Yelena, helping a family up and inside another building. Multiple crashes shift his focus again. A helicopter strikes a nearby apartment building and sends debris flying towards a young girl. Alexei runs fast, getting to her and shielding her with his body. Alexei crouched over, standing once the debris broke over his broad shoulders. Alexei helps the girl up just as a dark shadow looms over the streets of New York and people begin disappearing. The little girl next to Alexei also disappears. The thought of you also getting engulfed in the darkness suddenly sends him into a panic, and he runs toward you and Yelena, yelling your names. 

"We need to get inside, come on," he rasps, urging you both. You nod at him, pulling Yelenas arm along, but she stays standing there, staring up at Bob. 

Your eyes shift to Alexei, dangerously close to being in the darkness as well, "Okay, look, you get him, Bucky, I will bring her," letting out a shaky breath, he doesn't move yet, so you try again, "I will be right behind you." 

He hesitates and then reluctantly nods because you were right and you were more than capable, he knew that. He starts towards Alexei and from the corner of his eye, Ava hauls John up onto his feet, and sprints towards the nearest building where the darkness hadn't reached quite yet.

In seconds, Bucky is pulling Alexei up, who was still trying to wrap his head around the little girl flickering out as well. They reach the arch of the building, panting and overexerted. Ava and John are already there, hands holding the wall as they try to catch their breath.

Bucky glances around, turning over, scanning and searching for you.

But you still weren't there yet. 

Alexei pipes up from next to him, glancing over to John, then to Bucky, "Where is Yelena?"

Ava points toward the dark shadows looming beneath the Void—Bob.

There was Yelena, walking closer and closer to it, and you, inches behind her. It looks like you’re saying something to her, but she doesn’t run. You keep following. Moments later, Yelena disappears, shifting from physical form into a shadow. Milliseconds later, you follow her, drowned out and turned into a shadow of yourself.

Alexei screams, moving out of the arch to get to her, but John holds him back tightly, not letting him go.

And Bucky nearly folds in on himself, breathlessly leaning forwards like the sight of you disappearing had punched him in the gut. He had just gotten you back, even if it was glimpses. He was breathing the same air as you just like before, and he refused to lose it again. You didn’t have enough time yet—he had to right his wrongs this time.

Bucky's body moves before his mind does, starting after you when John calls his name, "Bucky, you can't!" 

His chest heaves, "Why the hell not?" 

"It makes you relive things,” giving Bucky a solemn, knowing look, “it’s like a shame room that loops your worst mistakes. It's gonna make you— wait!, Bucky, hold on!” 

Bucky knew you must've been eating yourself alive for what happened back then. He knew you already had demons before he even met you, that kept you from being entirely honest with him, and that was enough for him. He doesn’t wait for another reason, running into the shadows of his past life and aching for his future to emerge—you.

Bucky crashes through mirrors and drowns in baths of blood in his shame rooms. He relives the worst things he'd ever done and has to feel the weight of the lives he'd taken as the Winter Soldier. Memories of the training he had done in the Red Room, where he had trained countless Widows and ultimately led them to their demise. 

He gets out of it, out of all of it, because he had made his peace and found the closure he needed years ago, because of you. 

While it hurt and he hated himself for those things he had done, he shook the you had already helped him through all of this and brought him to the conclusion that it was not his fault. This was forced onto him, and he was weaponized for this. 

That's what gets him through his shame rooms. 

In a blink, Bucky finds himself in the old Avengers tower in an all too familiar room — your old bedroom. Under the morning light, shining and glittering against your soft, bare skin, there you were, smiling at a past version of him. The two of you were lying under the sheets, naked and tangled together. He was asleep there, which was rare for him until he had met you. He watched as your eyes scanned over his sleeping form, running your fingers softly through his dishevelled hair and grazing his scalp, pulling a soft hum from him. he didn't understand why this was part of your shame room. He didn't understand why this moment could have been so shameful for you if this was all it was, since it felt domestic. 

That was until you kissed his cheek lightly, like waking him was a sin. Your expression shifted to a pained one as you scanned over his sleeping face, burning it into your memory. You spoke softly, careful not to startle him awake,

"I love you, James," tears prickling your pretty eyes as you lay your head on his chest, "I am so sorry that I love you because this is gonna hurt so much more. And it's my fault." Wet droplets touch his sleeping form as he stirs and grips you tighter amid his dreams. 

He furrows his brows at the scene before him. The thought that you loved him enough to be ashamed of it, confusing him all over again. His stomach backflips when he recounts your words. It dawns on him that you really did care for him and didn't mean to fall in love with him. At least it was real to both of you. He steps closer to the bed to watch you there, resting on his chest, eyes closed and eyelashes wet, when the memory reloops itself. 

You weren't in this memory, so that meant you got out of it.

This wasn't your worst. 

He leaves the bedroom and that memory behind, starting down the hallway of the tower. The sound of distant yelling pulls him in that direction, and he jogs faster, reaching the lab and pushing the door open. There you were, the past version of you that he had been pained over for so long that it started to numb itself. You were beneath the past version of him, wide-eyed as Steve held Tony's gunshot wound to keep him from bleeding out. 

You writhe from under his weight, bucking your hips up to get him off of you. He watched you closer, not missing the desperation in your attempts and the pain in your eyes this time. He watches as a single tear slips down your face, as though in preparation for what you had to do, while the past Bucky adjusted himself over you, gripping one of your hands tight to stop your pounding at his chest.

"Please, baby, I don't wanna hurt you," he pleads. 

He watches as regret begins to flood your face and you reach up his arm, grazing up it like practiced movements. because you had done it dozens of times before, showing him that you loved him despite all of the odds and all of the things he had been forced to do. Showing him that you loved him, despite his past. He knows what's going to come next, and he hears your voice crack like it wounded you to say it this time around.

"But I need to hurt you, James," you admit before a mechanical click shifts from beneath your fingertips and his arm dismounts his body, clattering to the floor. 

The past version of him backs off from you and stares at the metal, hitting the ground, not taking in the look on your face. The past version of him didn't see the immediate regret plastered on your expression and the way you shut your eyes before moving and getting up. 

Then the memory loops. 

The pieces he had missed years ago were falling into place, and he was understanding you better now. With a heavier heart, Bucky looks around the room, looking for the next memory you might be stuck in. He stops at a reflective surface beneath a computer when he sees a glimpse of you—the real you.

The room was dark and only illuminated by the dark street lights. But there you were, sitting on the twin-sized bed, hunched over and looking towards another person. A younger girl with the same colour of hair and skin sat by the window, still, looking outside. The girl was maybe ten or eleven years old, and her back was facing him. Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her. He calls your name, and nothing happens. He tries again, and the lab darkens, mimicking the memory you were stuck in. He turns around to find you closer and himself in the room with you. He hesitates to reach out and touch you when a distant gunshot rips through the air, and he sees you flinch, retracting his hands. Deciding to watch and try to understand what you could never tell him, he sits next to you quietly, your eyes still trained on the younger version of you.

He watches the scene before him just as the memory reloops itself. 

A ten-year-old version of you sat by your window, reading from a book: The Giver. The spine was cracked, and you had a finger in your mouth, biting your nail like the story was keeping you on the edge of your seat. Before his brows could furrow, the doorbell rang, and you perked up. You called out your parents' names—no response. Placing your book carefully upside down to keep your page open, you stood up and walked out of your room and past your father's study. He was on the phone, looking angry and completely busy, your mother asleep in her bedroom after a long day at work. You thought you were being helpful. 

The young you rubbed at her eyes and walked to the front door, undoing the latch and unlocking it. When you opened the door, a tall man wearing a suit and tie peered down at the young you, grinning wickedly. 

"Are your parents home, sweetheart?" the man asked, taking his hands out of his pockets. 

"Yeah, who are you?" you asked. 

He said your father's full name and his workplace, easing the tension on your face. You thought you could trust him.

"I have a meeting with him, hmm? Would you let me inside to see him?" his eyes were dark with malicious intentions that a child would never understand.

You nodded and let him inside, pointing him toward his study. You were so young, so naive. You thought you were doing them a favour by allowing him inside the house. You thought that this was your father's friend, or his business partner or something. A horrible gut feeling pulled at Bucky as he was forced to watch what he already felt was coming. 

"Dad?" you called out, pushing your father's study open, the man inches behind you. 

Your father looked up at you, his expression quickly falling at the man standing there, holding a gun just low enough that you couldn't even see, but your father could.

"Be a dear, go get your mother too," the man said. 

You turned to ask him why when you saw it, the weapon in his hands. The white gun aimed towards you, bearing the symbol of the enormous building situated in New York.

The unmistakable name etched on the barrel of the gun—Stark Industries. 

You stared at it a moment too long, focused on the name and sealing it in your core memories. Encoding the name and wondering where you recognized it from, when the man nudged you.

"Get your mother. Now." 

Panic set in, and you turned to your father, a similar look painted over his. He nodded for you to listen and gave you a smile that was meant to soothe you. Even the young version of you understood, something was wrong.

You left the room, walking as quickly as your little legs could take you to the master bedroom and pushing the door open. 

She sat up, calling your name and asking if everything was alright. You told her everything, stuttering at parts because it was happening so fast. She calmed you down, sat you in her lap. She asked you to describe the man, and when you did, you saw the colour drain from her face. Now you knew you really had messed up, and you started to cry. She sat you on the bed alone, moving to her closet to the safe you were never allowed to touch and unlocked it. 

When she came back to you, she pressed a heavy gun to your hand and whispered your name, hurried in her actions. 

"I want you to lock the door after we leave. When you do that, go to your room and stay there. Do not open the door for anyone," you were crying as you listened to her. You protested, trying to put the gun down, but she held it in your hands, "If someone comes upstairs, you use this." 

You were shaking with fear and guilt for letting the man into the house, crying for your mother not to leave when she stood up. She kissed and hugged you tightly, and you knew what it meant. She left the room and walked towards your father's study. After a minute, you heard arguing about money, about a debt. The man laughed while you heard your mother cry. Suddenly, the study door opened, and hurried footsteps went through the front door. You ran after them, doing as your mother said and closing the door, locking both bolts. 

You sprinted back up to your room, sitting by the window still and knocking the book you had been reading earlier to the ground, letting it shut. Distant pleading bled through the glass of your bedroom window as the man dragged them out back, exactly where your room was facing. He lined them up, facing towards the house, on their knees. The man held the gun to the back of your father's head first, before turning it on your mother's. The gunshot rang through the air and through Bucky's ears, and instinctively, his eyes shut. The man in the suit left them there, bloodied and horrific, just below where you were, and purposefully met your eyes. The bastard knew you were watching, giving you the same wicked smile as before as he waved his gun at you and walked away. 

The young you watched the whole scene, hand pressed over your mouth to muffle your cries, as the real you remained slumped next to him, letting the scene replay all over again. Bucky didn't even realize his face was wet with tears until he looked back at you, watching your expression. He says your name softly, touching your shoulder. 

A shudder leaves you at the contact, finally looking up into his eyes, 

"I killed them, Bucky. Not Tony, not his fucking father. It was me."

He shook his head, turning you to look at him, "No, you didn't kill them. That man did. He pulled the damn trigger." When you shook your head and tears rolled faster, he cupped your cheek, concern etched over his face, "You can't blame yourself for this, sweetheart."

The distant chatter of the younger you leading the man up the stairs, letting him go to your dad's study, it was all too much. You had been in this room for so long, you couldn't recall when you weren't anymore. You gasped for air through your tears, trying to inflate your lungs fully but you couldn't do it. 

The air felt thicker—it felt wrong. 

It felt like the air that was filling your lungs was solidifying as it sat there, weighing you down. Bucky saw it; he always caught it. He says your name again, but it dilutes itself between your ears, echoing off the thumping of your heart. The sound is an echo in the cave between your chest cavity. 

You rasped through your tears, "Their blood is on me, James. I let him inside," pulse pounding through your ears. You're ripping at your chest as breaths come too short and words too fast, "It was me all along and I blamed Tony, and now he's dead and I can't take it back—"

Bucky recognizes the signs of a panic attack, having had many himself. 

His face shifts and his eyes grow warmer, "Hey, don't do that," pulling your hand off your chest and taking it in his, "You gotta breathe for me." 

He takes deep breaths, encouraging you to copy him. You do, but are continually unable to calm yourself down. He kneels on the ground, his hands still holding yours as he situates himself between your knees. For a few minutes, he just stays there, breathing with you. The warmth of his hands grounded you amidst the cold storm that threatened to pull you under again. Wiping the tears as they flowed down your face. You couldn't help but lean into his familiar touch, seeking his reassurance.

He spoke softly, squeezing your hand gently, "You were a child then, sweetheart. You couldn't have known." You couldn't tell where reality began and the past ended, but his voice, his grip, grounded you. You began breathing more evenly. He waited for you to calm down enough to squeeze his hands back before pulling them to his lips and kissing them softly, "It's not your fault, you hear me? You did what you thought you had to."

Your breath still stuttered, but your stomach twists, "Why are you in here, Buck?" 

Bucky doesn't look at you for a moment, and he doesn't answer right away. Then he looks up with his gaze of something too raw to name, "you. I came for you." 

You feel your throat tighten at his confession; you want to say something, but you're at a loss. The gunshot echoes through the air again, and you squeezed your eyes shut before the memory started to loop once again. 

He stands, pulling you up with him and steadying you next to him with a hand around your waist, "We gotta go, okay?" 

You nod. He lets you stay silent, giving you time to gather it all and find your peace in the quiet. Without disturbing your sobered tranquillity, he leads the way out. 

Back at the Watchtower, you were bundled up in an old blanket you found in the closet. Thickly knit and cozy, it faintly smelled of antiseptics. You knew it must have been one of Bruce's he'd kept in the lab for when he would work too late in the evening and sleep there. Vaguely, you wondered if Bruce came by this tower anymore or if he and Clint even spoke. 

The television was on and snapped your attention just as it showed a rerun of an important announcement. Valentina had announced the New Avengers, featuring you, Yelena, Alexei, Ava, John, and Bucky. The crowd oohs and ahs as the group of you steps forward. You watch as Yelena leans forward to whisper in Valentina's ear, and her face pales. 

Bucky walks in, holding a stack of paper in his hands and reading it like he had a personal vendetta. He was focused muttering to himself about his distaste for the people he works with. You sit up straighter, pulling the blanket off you slightly,

"Hey."

His eyes meet yours and he gives a slow, warm smile, "Hey."

You catch his eyes scanning over you, fondly like he remembered something.

Bucky crosses the room, setting his paperwork down on the table. He glances over at the television, "You were there, remember? What are you watching this for?" 

Glad that he didn't start with unpacking the heaviness in the room, you shrug, "I just turned it on, and I don't mind watching Valentina realize she's fucked herself over with us."

Bucky snorts, scooching himself closer to you. You're not sure how well you hid your surprise when he lifted the blanket and situated himself underneath with you, the domestication of the action making your heart skip. The warmth of his skin radiated off the shell of his thin shirt, even though he isn't touching you, just hovering close enough. You sigh softly, shifting your back against the couch to create some distance. 

"Thank you," and his eyes snap to yours, expression turning more serious. 

"Don't thank me," shifting in his seat and tugging the blanket, "I did what I had to." 

You frown a little, brows knitting as you turn your head back at the television. He was being serious, or he was just flat out lying to you now, right? 

You murmur your words, "You didn't have to come in after me. Especially not after everything I put you through." 

From the corner of your eye, you see his lips curl into a smile. 

"I think if you did try to kill me, I might thank you at this point," he turns to face you fully, tulting his head so he could see your whole face, "I mean, as long as you don't leave again. Or try to kill someone on the team. Actually, forget that last part, I can excuse it.”

You shake your head in disbelief, "You don't mean that." 

Squinting at you, he takes your hands off your lap and leans over, closing the distance between you, dropping his head in your lap. You freeze with your hands lingering just over his head as he situates himself, ocean eyes staring up at you like you'd hung the stars. The feelings, the memories, the love, all of it came flooding back like a dam that had been straining against itself, the current overwhelming. 

"You need to stop telling me what I do and don't mean." his hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear, "This would've all been solved a lot quicker if you would quit doing that, sweetheart." 

His fingers linger a moment longer than necessary over your ear, moving over to cup your cheek. Alleviated from his touch alone—you don't know how to trust it or yourself not to ruin things again. His eyes shone as they looked into yours and through you, as though he alone could grasp your thoughts. 

"If you told me you wanted Stark dead, I would've listened to you." Bucky quietly admits, his head still in your lap. 

"W—what?" You look down at him, not sure you heard him right. 

"I would've followed you anywhere, I would've loved you even after you did all of that." he slowly sits up, "You and Steve were the only ones who saw me beyond the things I’ve done. I know it’s wrong and I know it wasn’t his fault but for you…” he trails off before finding other words, “you just had to say the word.”

The sincerity in his tone felt like it had seized time, and you swore you could hear a pin drop.

How do you even respond to that?

Here you were thinking he hated you for all of this, and he's telling you he just wanted the truth from you. Mindlessly, your hands ran through his hair, calming your nerves and earning a soft hum from him.

With Bucky, you had been the one who first uncovered the mush of a man he always was behind that hardened armor—but he did the same to you.

Your guard was always down at his touch. He says your name like honey on his tongue, the sound familiar to your starved ears.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, but you can't tear your gaze from wanting to smooth the lines around his eyes when he’s deep in thought or touching the stubble he’d grown in your absence. 

"I'm thinking of how to apologize," your voice soft, hands even softer as you massaged his scalp for what felt the first time in an eternity, "and I don't know where to begin with it, and you're being too nice about it, like I didn't treat you badly." 

He laughs, hands dropping in surrender, "Being nice is a problem now?" 

"It is when you've fucked up and hurt the people you care about as many times as I have, James," and he laughs again but you can’t help but crack a smile back, "what the hell is so funny?" 

"I just realized you only call me James when you get worked up about something," you sigh, and he continues, "and you know I am not exactly the most innocent person in the world. I have definitely fucked up plenty more than you, and I will continue to fuck up cause that's just life." 

"You make it sound so simple," 

"And you make it harder than it needs to be. Redemption isn't erasing the blood that's been spilt to stop the bleeding; that's just counterintuitive. You're the one who helped me come to terms with that.” He touches your hand, “Let me help you do the same, hmm?"

You ponder it, not sure what to say. With a heavy sigh, you let it soak in the self-doubt and confusion that deluded you. When the weight feels like it has condensed, he sits up next to you. 

"When did you get so wise, Mr. Barnes?" 

"Oof," clutching his chest dramatically, "I was born in the 40's, pretty girl. I know a thing or two about life and having regrets.”

You laugh a little and he smiles at the victory, "But really, I am sorry for, you know, taking your arm and not telling you what I was really feeling."

He coos, "Yeah, that was a low blow, babe, hitting a man while he's already broken-hearted by taking his metal arm? You're a menace.”

His expression shifts into something more serious as he is more intentional with his words. Running a hand through his hair he sighs,

“Truthfully, you have haunted me for years. And that version of myself. What I said to you…” he trails off.

You let the air fill with uncertainty and unease as he tries to find the words; you didn’t have anything to say and ease the quiet with. When he sighs deeply, your eyes briefly meet his and his brows lift as the words finally find him.

“—When I told you to leave that day, I didn’t mean it. I wanted you to stay, and I have nightmares of the last time we spoke often. Every waking moment we have been apart has felt like I couldn't breathe freely."

"James," you breathe like the rug might get pulled from under you. You don’t miss the quiver of his lips as his gaze falters.

"—I thought you might've been the bane of my existence, but after I saw you again, that weight was lifted and I could breathe. I can't sleep without you near me. No, I haven't slept without you. I went to morgues, I called hospitals, I became a fucking Congressman to get access to more government documents, just in case you were mentioned in something, anything—"

The gasp that left you was soft and surprised. You couldn't help how your hands trailed up his arms while he continued pouring his heart out as though he just couldn't stop. 

"—I knew I’d fucked up as soon as I closed that door behind me. I should've let you explain, and I shouldn't have told you to go," but you're moving over him, starting to straddle him as he spirals in his own doubt, "I wanted you to stay so badly but you seemed so hellbent on leaving, I thought saying that might've made you stay, or helped me cope with it—" 

"James, I love you too," snapping his attention to you, holding his face in your palms.

He lets out a shaky breath, hands resting on your thighs in uncertainty and barely concealed restraint, “you do?”

You nod as his hands wrap around your torso, finally. Holding you tightly like he needed you to ground him in this moment to believe it. The feeling familiar but something still felt far away. You sigh deeply, trying to revel in the feelings of him, trying to hide the exasperation in your tone.

"You don't have to say it back, but you said it in the lab, and I should've said it back then." 

He shakes his head quickly, "but I do. Fuck, I do. I love you, I—I, God, I have always loved you, and it has been consuming me." 

You pull back just to look at him, and he immediately closes the distance, crushing his lips into yours. It was hurried, exhausted and hungry all at once. it was the kind of kiss you’d wanted from him for so long, the press of his soft lips threatened inhibitions. The taste of him could get you addicted all over, like a drug you’d long forgotten. You craved him and he was already here. You couldn’t have enough of him and you just got it back.

This feeling could drowned you with ecstasy but it be worth every second, as long as you felt it this vividly. The promise of his permanence could make you a religious person. The threat of not touching him like this again, it could end your sanity.

He breathes you in as you scrape your nails up into the nape of his neck, laughing into his mouth as he moans into yours. 

"You have no idea how long I have been dreaming of this," pressing quick, wet kisses, “of you.”

His hands tangling softly through your hair as though he couldn't possibly let go. Pecking sweet kisses as if he couldn't believe this were real and he needed to touch you just to know it was really happening.

He drops his hands to trail down your sides and graze the curves he had memorized so fondly. Trailing to your hips and gripping them tight, he bucks his instinctively up into yours, coaxing a moan to let his tongue slide inside. He sucks on your tongue, persuading another gasp and making you say his name. you try to pull away for some semblance but he follows your candied lips, entirely feral. 

“Down boy,” You say as you try to pull away again, putting a hand on his chest in between you. But he won’t let you, chest pressed flush against yours like he couldn’t bear being further.

"I'm not letting you go again," your back arches as you lean backward, laughing as you try to create space.

Bucky has that same charm, smiling against your lips to make all reason disappear as you kiss him with the same reverence. You whimper into him as he drags your hips back and forth, just the way he knows you always liked.

He moans as you give in, almost whining when you follow his hips, "missed you baby. I’m never leaving you alone now yeah? Better get used to this sweetheart." 

You’re about to say something when a voice from the doorway startles both of you, "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to this, ugh."

You nearly jump out of his lap as you turn to face John, looking at you in disgust. Ava, Yelena, and Bob snickering next to him, Alexei striding in past them, headed straight for the fridge. Yelena walks past the couch to get to the kitchen, Bob and Ava following behind her and shooting you smiles like they knew this was coming. You mutter quiet apologies as Bucky rolls his eyes, not sorry at all.

They stop at the kitchen island just as Bucky reluctantly lets you hop off of his lap to sit next to him, adjusting your top and dishevelled hair. You reach over to fix Buckys, and he smiles at you almost drunkenly, his lips swollen from ferociously attacking yours. 

You don't have to look at Bob to hear the smile in his voice, "I think you guys are perfect for each other." 

Yelena snorts, "Yes, both are broody and try to kill people, so perfect."

"That is what all good relationships have, Lena, passion! That means they love each other, eh?" Alexei winks at you. 

Heat prickles at your cheeks as you look over to Bucky, who's already staring at you, smiling sheepishly when you catch him. He can't help the need to be closer to you, and he tugs you closer to his chest. You let him, humming in content as he pulls the blanket over both of you once again.

Everyone else is already lost in their own conversations, the sounds of utensils and pans clanking—you're distracted by the sounds that prove Bucky is alive.

Drowning out everything that isn't the sound of his heart thumping under your ear and the rumble in his voice when he talks. You're shutting your eyes and smiling when he catches you basking in the feeling of him. He kisses the top of your head as he changes the news channel to something else that you couldn’t care less about.

The weight of the world rolled off your shoulders like raindrops and everything that had been done felt fleeting and utterly unimportant. You drift asleep for the first time in a long time and, with photo evidence that Yelena showed you the next day, so does he.

In his strong arms, forgiveness came easy and adoration could’ve consumed you whole. You were smitten but he was infatuated.

Unconditionally, undeniably, and terribly in love.

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A letter from Iroh lies abandoned on your nightstand. It arrived today. It was delivered by a falcon adorned with royal insignia. You have no idea how Iroh's falcons managed to track you down, and the soldiers Zuko sent you after have only run into you maybe three times in six years. You find it quite amusing.

Although perhaps you've become too practised at avoiding them.

Or maybe Zuko had finally given in. Part of you would have been relieved, but there was still this stubborn other one that wouldn't let you just move on from him as you should. And that little, treacherous piece of you only grew more hopeful with each letter Zuko's uncle wrote.

You wonder if Zuko wrote to you too. If he spent steady, sleepless midnights lying in his royal four-poster bed, thinking of you, cursing you on scraps of paper that will never reach you. You swallow the lump in your throat at the thought and ignore the sting in your eyes as you open Iroh's letter.

Dear Y/N, Six years without a word is a bit too dramatic, even for an old man like me, let alone Zuko. But I must admit he's handling it better than I ever could. I hope you're safe. You could at least write this down since we both know you're reading these letters. (My wise birds would sooner peck at anyone else who tried to take them away. And considering how perfectly they're returned to me, I'm convinced they're in your hands.) So, since my letters aren't working on you, I have to bring out the big guns. Happy reading, Iroh

You frown, sitting cross-legged on the bed and leaning against the headboard, rummaging through the envelope. Three sheets of paper fall out. You open the one that's more chipped and crumbled than the others.

You freeze, recognising Zuko's handwriting. You drop the paper onto the bed as if it were made of living fire and practically jump out of it, your bare feet hitting the squeaky wooden motel floor.

The old bastard sent you some of Zuko's letters that might have been for you.

They really shouldn't have had THAT much of an effect on you. You blame your reaction mainly on the fact that for six years you'd been so fervently avoiding any contact with him that now even something like the stupid, probably old letters Iroh easily took from whatever hideout Zuko kept them in made your heart race, your breath hitch, and you could hear the rush of your own blood.

Only when you feel the cold on your feet do you realise that your panic has gotten the better of you and has begun to freeze the floor beneath you.

"Fuck," you curse, trying to clear your mind and focus on melting the ice from the frosted floor.

The only thing missing from your misfortunes for today would be someone suddenly entering your room and discovering that you're not a non-bender examining the condition of the local lakes.

You don't even want to guess how quickly you'd find yourself in the nearest military base, waiting for transport to the palace. And straight to him. Just because you saw the letters he wrote.

"Is everything alright there, honey?" You're pulled out of your dark thoughts by a knock and voices coming from behind the door. "I heard some cracking."

After making sure there is no more ice in the room, you put on your robe and open the door slightly.

"It's okay, Mrs Birohna. I... I just thought I saw a spider and got scared. " You laugh awkwardly, hoping the old woman will buy your lie and leave you alone. So you can read the letters. Or burn them. You don't know yet which will be better for your sanity.

"I don't rent rooms with spiders…"

"Of course. I just imagined it. A strange refraction of light. Sorry for the noise."

The woman eyes you suspiciously but eventually nods, too tired to snoop further.

"If you can't sleep, make yourself some tea instead of waking up other people," she mutters angryly before you close the door behind her. A very polite woman. Now you know why the prices here were so low compared to other motels. And why you were the only one renting a room here.

You promise yourself this is the last time you'll stop here and return to bed with a small candle, which you place on the nightstand. You stare at the three new letters, trying to gather your courage. Which is idiotic, to say the least.

Because what could happen if you read them? Nothing. Just words on paper. Probably telling you how Zuko despises you and wishes he'd never met you. After all, you could stand it… right? At least that was what you deserved.

"Fuck it," you mutter, shaking your head and sitting on the bed. You were on Team Avatar when it was you against the world. Three stupid letters from your ex can't affect you like that.

With trembling hands, you reach for the first letter. Probably the oldest. The ink is already a little faded, and the paper is starting to crumble slightly at the corners, either from age or from constant rubbing—a nervous tic you'd seen Zuko exhibit several times before you left.

You hold your breath slightly when you see the date in the top corner.

A week after you left.

Y/N, Where the hell are you? I wrote to Aang, he said he hadn't received a letter from you in months. Not to mention that meeting, which clearly isn't happening. (Thanks for the extra ride, because of course I followed you like a fool the morning you left, only to be surprised that no one showed up.) Did you lie to me? Really? Is this how it's supposed to be now? One argument and you run away? This is so irresponsible and stupid, I never would have expected it from you. But maybe it's just one of your Water Tribe customs. Soak into the earth and evaporate. I won't argue with you over letters. I don't want to argue with you at all, but how the hell could you just… disappear? You're scaring me us all. Come home, Zuko

You snort, mad, as if he had no right to be so furious with your behaviour. No one has ever been able to piss you off like he does. And in a letter from six years ago. A week after you ran away... well, maybe he had a point after all.

You tossed the letters aside, your mood completely ruined. You'd expected at least one angry letter from Zuko-he wasn't exactly a calm man, after all-but it still stung.

So you decide to be absolutely childish and ignore the remaining two letters. There was no point in reading them. They were outdated; whatever Zuko had written in them, he certainly didn't think so anymore. He might not have been courting anyone yet, but he was definitely over you by now. It made sense not to dwell on the past.

However, your hand has a brain of its own and reaches for another one.

You shake your head, close your eyes, and rest your forehead against your treacherous hand, trying to talk yourself out of this idea.

And you really do put those letters aside. You're ready to throw the rest into the blazing fire in the morning. Because what would they change? Nothing. Absolutely. Six years have passed. Nothing could ever be between you again.

So you throw everything on the nightstand and stubbornly lie in bed with your back to them. And so you lie. The first hour passes. The second. Before you know it, it's 3 a.m., and you still can't sleep.

Finally, you roll over. Your gaze involuntarily drifts to the stack of papers on the nightstand beside you. And in the moonlight, Zuko's signature is visible, as if to spite you. Your heart beats slightly faster, and you're suddenly acutely aware of the water droplets beginning to form on your palms.

"Damn Iroh." You mutter, sitting down and picking up another piece of paper.

This one is different. Maybe a little... fresher than the first, but it's more wrinkled. Zuko's handwriting is uneven here, as if he wrote in a hurry. Your fingertips involuntarily trace the swirls of ink that form his name. You shake your head. Time to rip off this band-aid and read how he became hateful to you.

Y/N, This has really gone too far. You don't answer my letters, some of them just bounce back. Do you know how bloody scared I am for you? Six months of silence is probably punishment enough for whatever I've done. And help me, souls of all the Fire Lords, I don't even know what for you can be so angry with me. Where the fuck does it end? Do I really have to search the world for you like I did for Aang? If I go on an expedition looking for you, will you finally come home? Will you at least send me a fucking piece of paper telling me you're okay? Because I can do it. You know it perfectly well. You know me perfectly well. Just as I know you. So, don't make me chase you around the world, because sooner or later I'll find you and drag you back home. With or without your consent. And maybe I'm turning into my damn father, but what else am I supposed to do when the love of my life suddenly left without a word? No one has heard from you, no one. Not Katara, not Sokka, not Aang, not Toph, although she's a great liar and even if she knew anything, she wouldn't tell me. Let's end this cat-and-mouse game. For our mutual peace of mind. Mostly mine. Write and tell me where to come pick you up, Zuko

You look at the date again. Ironically, you were the closest you'd ever dared to venture to his palace. As if you'd somehow sensed it. You sigh, rereading his words. You'd break. You know you would. If that letter had fallen into your hands, you'd have returned to him. To that palace. You don't even know if it was the right thing to do. You're no longer sure of anything. And it's all thanks to Iroh.

You sigh as you begin another letter, convinced that nothing he writes could destroy you more than your own thoughts about yourself. And oh, how wrong you are.

Y/N, Do you know it's been four years already? It's pathetic that I know the more exact date with hours, minutes and probably seconds, right? Four years without seeing your smile, your eyes. Four years without hearing your voice. Four years living with only the memories of your scent, the taste of your lips, and the feel of your skin under my fingertips. Four years of dreams, haunted by visions of our future that we could have had, the past, and terrible visions that I am afraid to say out loud for fear of tempting fate by making them come true. Four years and I still can't find you or forget you. Sometimes I think I see you. In the palace, in the market, at those rare Gaang gatherings. (You worry us all, by the way.) But then those people who look so much like you turn, showing me their empty faces that couldn't even be compared to yours, and my heart returns to that strange state. Not quite alive, not quite dead. As if it still hoped you'd come back and we'd fix everything. I miss you so much it's pathetic. Every night, full of pride and honour, I sit at my desk and start writing you the desperate letters of a longing, abandoned lover. But I can't stop. Even if I wanted to. Because none of this matters when you're not here. It's disgusting, the power you have over me, and you don't even know it, you don't want to know it, because you run from me as if I could ever hurt you, and yet you're the one who ripped my heart out and took it with you, never even looking back. And the worst thing is that I don't even know why. You have no idea how many sleepless nights I've spent, and still do, wondering what I did to make you leave without a word. First, I thought someone had kidnapped you, that something had happened to you. I sent my soldiers out like a madmaniac searching for you. And do you know how my heart shattered when one of them told me they'd found you, but you were running from them? As if my father had sent his men after you? Then, I thought that maybe you'd found someone else, and Y/N, honey, the thought alone makes me want to set this whole palace on fire. I wanted to burn everything that reminded me of you, but still, after all these years, your room stands untouched, and I'm stuck with these damn little things of yours, celebrating them like some kind of relic, because what else do I have left of you? You don't even know (or maybe you know this feeling better than me) how hard it is when suddenly all you have left of your loved one who was with you every day are just some miserable little things that have already lost the scent of them? It's like you're dead. But you're not. And that's the only thing that comforts me and keeps me truly sane, with any shred of sanity that allows me to function normally and move on with my duties. And maybe that was the reason you left? My anger and control issues, but Iroh reminded me that I've changed, that I'm not like that anymore. And perhaps the greatest proof of his words is that even if I didn't want to, I still love you as much as the day you left. Maybe even more. And you don't know how much I wanted to hate you, to move on, but how could I hate someone who first gave me a chance? Who saw in me something more than an angry prince chasing a false sense of honour and pride. But I don't have any of them anymore. No honour, no pride. Nothing. The only thing left for me on this great golden throne, surrounded by people who treat me with respect and sometimes those who are our friends, is helplessness. Because that's exactly what I am. Helpless. Without you. My greatest love and loss of my life. So please come back. I'm begging you. I'll come to you on my knees and crawl like a worm if you want. Just come back and argue with me, yell at me, or stay silent from a distance where I can at least look at you. Just come home. So I can love you. Make me stop screaming your name on these rainy nights like some lost, stupid blind man, hoping to find his way back home. Yours. Even if you never read this, Zuko

You don't even pretend not to care anymore. Tears flow freely from your eyes, and you let out a single, pathetic, shuddering breath. Because you were truly convinced he couldn't love you anymore. Maybe he didn't? After all, it was a letter from two years ago... or at least that's how you try to soothe your tormenting conscience and heart.

Because maybe if he was as miserable without you as you were without him, on those nights when he was all you could think about... then maybe you made the wrong decision after all? Maybe six years of looking over your shoulder, travelling from country to country, running from your past and loved ones, were... senseless?

You flinch when you suddenly hear the cry of a falcon.

You bite your lip until it bleeds. You hiss, pressing your hand to your lips. You manipulate the red liquid, wrapping it around your fingertips and stopping the slight bleeding.

Falcon squeals once again.

"Stupid bird." You whisper, listening and wondering if the old housekeeper will suddenly burst into your room.

The falcon flies up to you and lands on your lap, pecking you punishingly on the thigh - not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a nice bruise.

"Ouch! Okay, okay. You don't have to torment me like that," you tell him, and you arch out of bed, looking into your duffel bag for some dried meat to give him and something to write with.

You weren't going to change your mind. You couldn't come back.

You're absolutely convinced of it. But Iroh seeps into your head through Zuko's letters, enough that with a trembling hand you reach for a scrap of parchment and a quill. You were about to do what Iroh asked of you. A small olive branch for all these years.

I'm safe and sound. I also hope your next tea is cold, overly sweet, and preferably tastes like that particularly disgusting dried herb from Ba Sing Se. Sincerely, You know who

What you didn't know was that this very short letter would be the turning point in your escape from the past.

"You could at least knock," Zuko mutters, looking over the parchment—a plan of new laws he wanted to introduce, which his advisors might not necessarily like.

“To my own nephew’s chambers?” Iroh teases him, entering with a tray of tea. "You didn't sleep, as usual?"

Zuko sighs, rubbing his eyes with his hand, and glances at the time candle on his desk. It was almost 5 a.m.

"A good ruler doesn't sleep," he replies, reaching for the teapot to pour them tea. His gaze lingers on the envelope on the tray. The envelope with his uncle's name written in your handwriting. "Shit," he mutters, pouring the tea and scalding himself with it.

He sets the teapot down on the table with a thud. Iroh gives him a disapproving look, wiping up the mess Zuko has made and watching him closely as he picks up the unsealed envelope.

"What is it?" He swallows hard, trying to control his emotions. The candle flame flickers gently from side to side, sensing his turbulent emotions and yielding to the bending he unconsciously does.

"Something I thought you'd want to read."Iroh shrugs and takes his mug, sipping his jasmine tea. "My falcon brought this an hour ago. The ink is fresh. It gives us... a narrower field of potential searches."

"I won't pursue her against her will," he mutters, tossing the envelope onto the table. He crosses his arms, making sure his willpower doesn't break, and he reaches for the letter like a pathetic desperado. "It's been six years."

"It's true. Just like you can't sleep at night, refuse to even talk to potential suitors, and spill your tea when you see an envelope with her handwriting."

Zuko blushes slightly with embarrassment. He should finally learn that lying to Iroh isn't worth it. Or he should do much better if he has already tried.

"I'm… simply tired of being Fire Lord. Stress, lack of sleep, and all that." He lists, avoiding looking at both his uncle's eyes and the letter from you which was still lying on the table.

He grabs the cup to avoid nervously fidgeting with his fingers or accidentally setting anything on fire. Six years without a word, and suddenly, a letter from you to his uncle lay before him.

"Mhm... well, then it's a good thing you're going on vacation with Aang and the others to Ember Island soon, right?" Iroh replies, not at all convinced by the overly casual attitude Zuko was trying to maintain.

Zuko just nods. His bun tilts slightly, and the metal flame ornament almost falls into his tea cup. Iroh tries very hard not to laugh at his nephew's nervousness.

"Get some sleep," Iroh says, standing up. "I'll make sure they write to Aang with a reminder. The boy may be the Avatar and protector of the world, but he can also be... forgetful."

"And the letter?" Zuko asks, turning towards the door - moving for the first time since he saw your handwriting.

"I've already read it." Iroh tosses casually over his shoulder, not even pausing, and leaves his chambers.

Zuko is left alone. With your letter on the table.

He loosens the collar of his robes, suddenly feeling stifled in his chambers. He glances at the map of his country, analysing every village within an hour of the falcon's flight...

He shakes his head. He had far more important things to do. Treaties and agreements to review, a meeting with the generals about future armaments... and yet he reaches for the abandoned letter.

And there are three things that Zuko knows for sure. The first one is that you're safe. The second: Iroh's next tea was exactly opposite from what you wished for his uncle to be. And the third one – most terrifying for him to realise – was that you still had so much power over him. And the proof for that was not only his earlier, awkward teenage behaviour but also his heartbeat accelerating with every word he read and the fact that he was able to read that letter in his head with your exact tone of voice.

Still, after six years, he was haunted by you. Zuko sighs, waving his hand to extinguish any fire in his room and plunging into a momentary darkness that breaks with the rising sun.

Thank you so much for reading this!!! If you want to, let me know what you think in comments! 🥰🖤🖤

Part 2 is comming soon, maybe even a little more if you want?

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen curtains, casting golden stripes across the countertop where you were attempting to make pancakes. Attempting being the key word, because your daughter had very specific opinions about the shape they should be.

"Mama, that one looks like a blob," your daughter, Lily, announced from her perch on the kitchen stool, her dark hair (which she got from her father) still mussed from sleep.

"A blob can be a shape," you defended, flipping the admittedly misshapen pancake.

"Not a good one."

You were about to respond when a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and lips pressed against your neck. "I think your blobs are perfect," Dick murmured against your skin, his voice still rough with sleep.

"You're biased," you teased, but you were already melting back against his chest, the familiar warmth of him seeping through your thin sleep shirt.

"Oh definitely," he agreed, spinning you around with the easy grace that never quite left him, even in domestic moments like these. Even after seven years of marriage, three years of parenthood, and countless mornings exactly like this one, your breath still caught when those blue eyes focused on you like you were the only person in the world. "Biased toward my beautiful wife who's making breakfast for our family. Sue me."

"Daddy, you're being gross," Lily groaned at him, though she was grinning.

"Gross?" Dick gasped in mock offense, releasing you to scoop Lily up in one fluid motion, flipping her upside down as she shrieked with laughter. "I'll show you gross, little miss."

You watched them with a smile, turning back to rescue the pancakes before they burned. This was your favorite version of Dick Grayson — not Nightwing, not even the charming socialite he could be when the situation called for it, but this one. The one barefoot in pajama pants and an old Gotham Knights t-shirt, hair sticking up in every direction, making your daughter giggle so hard she could barely breathe.

"Dick, the baby," you warned, and he immediately righted Lily, settling her back on her stool with an apologetic kiss to her forehead.

"Sorry, Mama's right. Gotta be careful with the little guy." His hand found your hip, thumb stroking absently over the small bump barely visible beneath your shirt. Four months along, and he still looked at you like you'd hung the moon.

"Or girl," you reminded him, plating the pancakes.

"Or girl," he agreed, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate. You swatted his hand, but he caught your wrist, bringing it to his lips. "Have I mentioned you're gorgeous this morning?"

"You mentioned I make good blobs."

"The best blobs." He grinned, that devastating smile that had made you fall in love with him in the first place. "But seriously, you're glowing."

"That's sweat from standing over a hot stove, babe."

"Nope, definitely glowing." He released your wrist to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"You said that last night." You shook your head a bit sheepishly and nudged his arm

"I'll say it tonight too." He leaned in, and you met him halfway, the kiss soft and sweet and tasting like stolen bacon.

"Still gross!" Lily announced, but she was smiling around a mouthful of pancake.

The morning continued in comfortable chaos. Dick helping Lily get dressed while you cleaned up breakfast, the three of you negotiating what constituted appropriate clothing for a trip to the park. (Lily wanted to wear her tutu. Dick supported this decision. You were outnumbered, and you didn't mind because she looked so damn cute.)

By the time you made it to the park, the sun was high and warm, and Lily was racing toward the playground with the boundless energy of childhood. Dick's hand found yours automatically, fingers lacing together as you walked.

"Think we'll be able to keep up with two of them?" you asked, watching Lily scale the climbing structure with an ease that spoke to her genetics.

"Are you kidding? We're going to be outnumbered and exhausted." Dick brought your joined hands to his lips, the biggest grin on those lips of his. "I can't wait."

You laughed, leaning into his side. "You're insane."

"About you? Absolutely." He tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Have been since the day we met."

"That's not what you said when we met. I believe your exact words were 'nice to meet you' and then you spilled coffee on my shoes."

"I was distracted by your smile," he defended. "And I bought you new shoes."

"You bought me very expensive new shoes and then asked me to dinner."

"Best investment I ever made." His arm slipped around your waist, hand splaying possessively over your hip. "Look at me now. Beautiful wife, amazing daughter, another baby on the way, and I still get to come home to you every night."

You tilted your head up to look at him, finding his expression soft and open in the way it only was with you and Lily. "You're really happy?"

"Happy?" He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. Both hands came up to frame your face, and the intensity in his eyes made your heart skip. "I'm so far beyond happy I don't think there's a word for it. You're everything, you know that? You and Lily are my whole world."

"Dick," you breathed, and he kissed you again, deeper this time, pouring years and years of love and devotion into it until you were dizzy.

"Mama! Daddy! Watch me!" Lily's voice broke through, and you pulled apart, both turning to watch her hang upside down from the monkey bars.

"Very impressive, baby!" you called, and Dick whistled his approval.

"She gets that from me," he said proudly.

"The showing off or the acrobatics?" Your eyebrows raised, accompanied by a wink and a smile.

"Both." He grinned proudly at that. "Come on, I'll push her on the swings. You can sit and look beautiful."

"I can push my own daughter on the swings."

"I know you can. You can do anything." His hand squeezed yours. "But you're growing a whole human, so let me take care of you both. Please?"

The please got you, the way it always did. You let him lead you to the bench near the swings, settling down with a sigh you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Pregnancy was easier the second time in some ways, harder in others, but having Dick by your side made everything better.

You watched him push Lily, his laughter mixing with hers as she demanded "higher, Daddy, higher!" He obliged, of course, because Dick Grayson had never been able to deny his girls anything. The sun caught in his dark hair that was greying at the roots, and his smile was bright and unguarded, and your chest ached with how much you loved him.

Later, after the park, after lunch, after Lily had been coaxed into a nap with promises of ice cream later, you found yourself in Dick's arms on the couch. His hand was tracing lazy patterns on your stomach, and you were playing with his hair, and everything was perfect and quiet and right.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, voice soft.

"For what?"

"This. All of this." He shifted to look at you, and there was something vulnerable in his expression. "I know I'm not always here," he continued. "I know some nights I come home late, or bruised, or..."

You pressed your fingers to his lips, stopping him. "You're here now. You're here every morning and every moment you can be. You're an amazing husband and an incredible father. I knew who I was marrying, and I love every part of you." You smiled at him, your head tilted to rest on your arm. You meant every word, truly, and you knew he did too.

"Plus, it's not like you're out late doing bullshit, you're out late being a literal superhero, vigilantes.. whatever you wanna call it." You couldn't help the teasing smile that came to your lips with that.

His eyes shimmered, and he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I ask myself the same thing." You smiled, cupping his cheek. "Though I think it might have something to do with you being charming and handsome and making me laugh even when I want to strangle you."

"I am pretty charming," he agreed, and you laughed, the sound making him grin. "And handsome. Don't forget handsome."

"Impossible to forget." You kissed him, slow and sweet. "You're also so humble."

"My best quality." He pulled you closer, until you were practically in his lap, his arms wrapped securely around you. "I love you. So much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips.

← MLIST. ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2025.

His heart was hammering in his chest. His palms were sweaty, his knees were weak, and his arms felt heavy. He was about five seconds from either proposing or projectile vomiting.

Feeling his intense stare on the side of your face, you glanced over. "You okay?"

"Yes!" he replied, far too quickly to be casual. "Totally fine. Why do you ask?" His attempts to play it off only make him seem infinitely more suspicious.

Sure, Jan. "You’re staring at me like I’m about to explode." You deadpanned, finally putting your phone down and granting him your full attention.

"No! No, I just…" He smiles, his grin love-struck. "You’re so cute."

You squinted. "Did you eat something weird? Oh my god, are you sick?" You reach out, placing the back of your palm on his forehead, only to recoil in disgust at how sweaty he is, wiping your hand on his shirt.

All the words he’d practised vanished like smoke, and his perfectly planned romantic dinner was thrown out the window when he suddenly blurted it out inelegantly. "Will you marry me?"

The question came out like a verbal car crash. No buildup to soften the blow. No prep. Nothing. Just four damning words that he couldn't take back.

"What?" You squeak, mouth opening and closing like a stunned fish as you struggle to articulate a response.

Dick stared back, wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe what he'd just said either. The two of you gaping at each other, stuttering and continuously motioning for the other to go first.

"I… I had a whole speech planned and a romantic dinner with candles and flowers and fairy lights and Alfred was going to help me cook all your favourite things!" he admitted, voice cracking just slightly. "But I’m nervous and you look so gorgeous and I panicked and I love you so much and I wanna marry you more than anything in the world and now it’s out there and—yeah". He verbally spews.

You blinked again, attempting to take it all in before you burst into a hysterical mixture of giggles and tears. "Oh my god," you exclaimed, "You are such a disaster."

"I know," he groaned, covering his face in mortification. "I wanted it to be perfect."

"It is perfect," you said softly, tugging his hands away to give him a gentle kiss. "It's perfect because it’s you. And yes," you took a calming breath, trying in vain to prevent the tears from sliding down your cheeks, "I’ll marry you."

"Wait... seriously?" His voice cracks.

"Seriously," you beamed, face stuck in a massive smile. "Even if you did propose to me like a malfunctioning robot."

He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob and tackled you into a hug, laughing and holding you like he never wanted to let go.

"I’m never going to live this down, am I?"

"Not a chance." You paused, before joking. "Do I at least get a ring?"

"The ring!" He squawked, diving for the bedside table, only to get tangled between your legs and the blanket and face-plant on the floor.

"Dick!" You gasped.

"'m'okay." He groaned, blindly opening a drawer and thrusting the little black box up in the air. "Got it!"

"Get back up here you fucking dork."

"You're the one marrying the dork." He wiggles his brows.

"Don't make me take it back." You're given approximately three seconds before you're tackled by a whining mass of muscles.

"You wouldn't!"

"No, I wouldn't." You murmured, admiring your hand as Dick slipped the ring on, "You're stuck with me forever."