#off the record

"it started when i was 12 and i gotta tell you, it feels so amazing that 400 million people got to watch me go through puberty. what a dream. somebody on reddit actually figured out the exact moment it happened and i think we have a clip," the screen cut to a season 1 scene of stranger things of younger finn and millie, back when the idea of mike and sloane hadn't existed yet. in the middle of finn's lines, an edited voice came over him that was suddenly much deeper and much more "manly." you, gaten, and caleb all shared a laugh backstage. 

"yup. my voice changed on camera. my first kiss was on camera..and i can't actually believe i'm admitting this, but the first time i learned what a woman looks like down there was on camera as well, so we have another clip i think." you giggled. the screen cut again and it was a different scene from season 2 of mike looking longingly that suddenly cut to a demogorgon roaring and opening it's mouth flaps. 

that bit also took you, gaten, and caleb down as you silently laughed with one another. finn smirked a little at the well-received joke and then prepared himself for the big reveal you two decided to do on live tv. "yup. and look, look, look, i know a lot of people still see me as "the kid from stranger things" right? but i'm 23 now. and i'm proud to officially announce that i am..a man," the lights dimmed down and some slower jazz music began playing. gaten and caleb nudged your arm as you also nervously prepared yourself knowing you and finn were about to explode the entire room probably. 

he still had his left hand hidden in his pocket. "oh, yeah. that's right. things are..different now. for example, i have facial hair. can we zoom in on it?" the cameras zoomed and everyone was now looking at a close up of finn's very minimal facial hair. "there she is. hey. might only be one hair, but party starts when the first guest arrives."

"you're probably thinking, finn, facial hair isn't the only thing that signifies you as a man. you're right. it's not. i do, however, have this ring on my finger..i just got it, but i think with it being on my actual ring finger you'll agree with me that this means something, right?" 

finn finally revealed his left hand that he'd been hiding and the silver band that was wrapped around his ring finger lit a fire to the entire room. there were gasps. there were screams. there were whistles. there were cheers. there were applause. your entire face felt hot as you watched from the monitor and your fiancé's smug expression. the crew accounted for probably the huge reaction so finn stood there with a proud and wide smile on his lips as he got a standing ovation for revealing his engagement. 

"so, i know you all agree with me that this ring signifies me being a man, but let me ask someone else just to double confirm. you know, i always have to get confirmation and reassurance on everything. hey baby, wanna come out here?" that was your cue. you stepped onto the main stage where finn held his arm out for you and the studio went even crazier. 

almost everyone in the room was on their feet cheering the two of you on. your own ring finger shined with your engagement ring and the pretty diamond sitting in the middle of it. a soft smile spread across your lips as you also took the scene in and then you looked at finn who tightened his hold on your waist. 

the applause lasted for another minute before finally dying down so finn could continue his monologue. "so..this ring here. you think it makes me..a man? more mature?" he held his hand out to you. you nodded. "oh, yeah. i mean, i have one too," you held your hand up with his. 

"oh no way. where did you get yours?" 

"i got it from this guy..he was kind of tall. lanky. took me up to these mountains and then just..got down on one knee. i didn't even know what to say," you exclaimed which earned some more cheers at the little details you were revealing about the engagement. 

"huh. that's so interesting because i was just at the mountains over the holidays proposing to this girl..i'm getting off track. so, i'm a man. we're adults now. i think this calls for some kind of celebration right? maybe some drinks? i mean, i can drink alcohol now because i'm a man and i wanna try it. can we get some alcohol in a cup please?" 

marcello came out with three drinks for you guys. "yeah, yeah, i got you guys," marcello smiled. 

"thank you. thanks, man. i loved your stand up special by the way," finn patted his back. 

"oh, wow. me too. thanks. cheers, buddy. cheers to the new mr. and mrs." marcello nodded at you and finn as the three of you knocked your cups together to take a sip. like planned, finn immediately spit it back out into marcello's face. it was so hard to hold in your laughter, but the crowd laughed. "no, no. too spicy. we can't have that at our wedding," finn shook his head and looked at you. 

"i like that you did that to me just like that in front of all these people, i appreciate that, thank you man," marcello mumbled before walking off the stage and taking your cups with him. 

"so yeah. meet the new me. the man me. i have a fiancée now," finn looked at you, wiggling his eyebrows which got the crowd going again. "isn't she pretty?" he whispered. "stranger things is over and i'm not a kid anymore." 

caleb and gaten came onto the stage as well. "and neither are we!" caleb smiled while you and finn brought them into your embrace. the crowd erupted into more cheers seeing the four of you up there together. you smiled warmly in their direction while they also took in the big stage and impressive crowd. 

finn relaxed a bit more having you all on stage with him now as he neared the end of his monologue. "we're not child stars. we're former child stars," caleb grinned. 

"and anytime you read former child star in a headline it can only mean good things," gaten grinned too. 

"that's true. so thanks everyone for watching us grow up on the show," finn glanced at the three of you. "and then went online and commented about our changing faces and bodies!" caleb added. 

"and also went poking way too deep into our personal lives," you winked. 

"well, i just wanted to say, even though we're all adults now, being adults will never stray us too far from each other. you're both top of the list for groomsmen too," finn patted gaten and caleb's shoulders. the four of you crowded into each other for a little side hug and the audience "awwed" and the sweet moment. "let's toast to that. we have to celebrate all of these new accomplishments," gaten grinned and you were all handed another cup of drinks. 

"to the mr. and mrs," caleb raised his glance. 

"to you hosting snl." you added. 

"yes and to us, child stars who are now ready to do adult films. hey, we got a great show for you tonight! a$ap rocky is here. stick around!" finn concluded and you all toasted before taking another sip of your drinks. 

the audience cheered for all of you while you acted like the alcohol still didn't taste good. the four of you left the stage while they broke for commercial and so finn could get ready for the next segment. before he did though, he wrapped you into a tight hug while you quickly congratulated him on the great opening and the success of revealing your engagement. 

"holy shit, i can't believe we did that," he muttered. 

"guys, that was insane. the crowd loved that. i'm sure you're blowing up on twitter already," gaten exclaimed while finn quickly hugged him and caleb as well. 

"okay, i gotta go get ready, but i will see you in the skits later and then see you both on the screen for the stranger things segment," finn looked quickly kissed you before running to get changed. 

it was such a whirlwind, but a good whirlwind. you were also taken back into the dressing rooms to get yourself ready for the two other guest appearances you would be making. 

BOY'S DAY: Featuring Y/n L/n

"dude, i love boy's day, you know what i mean? just kick back. watch the game. talk about boy stuff," marcello began the skit and the crowd laughed along with his energy. you stood on the other side of the stage away waiting for your cue. 

"yeah. so uh, what's new in 2026 fellas?" jeremy rubbed his hands together and looked at across the room. 

"well, i bought some sweatpants that you can wear to weddings," ben smiled in satisfaction which earned praise from the other guys. "oh! nice dude! so you can be cozy and respectful. i like that!" marcello exclaimed and him and ben dapped each other up for that one. 

the audience was already loving it so far. "alright, guys. i know this isn't the usual vibe, but i invited my girlfriend. i hope that's cool," finn cut in. 

the other three guys went silent. they quickly looked at finn and a mixture of shock, surprise, and betrayal morphed into their expressions. "wait, huh? you have a girlfriend?" ben raised his eyebrow. the audience chuckled knowing this was a dig to you and finn announcing your long term relationship not even a year ago. 

"uh, yeah? you didn't know?" finn said in a duh tone. 

"uh, no? when the hell did you get a girlfriend?" marcello mumbled. 

they took personal offense to never hearing about this news. "i've had a girlfriend for like 6 years now," finn said. 

"what?!" the other three jumped on and that had the audience cracking up. "6 years? you're joking. what the—" you rang the doorbell on your cue. "oh! must be her now," finn smiled and jumped up to get the door. 

he opened the set door to you standing on the other side. you smiled while the crowd clapped. "oh! hey guys! guess what? boobs are here! oh! oh! put that junk away! put that junk away! i don't wanna see that! i don't wanna see that! ha, imagine!" you played into your character really well. it was described to you and rehearsed as a very tomboy with 12-year-old boy humor girlfriend. you sat down on the couch, "ah, okay. what's up. i'm michelle. aye," you held your hand out for jeremy to shake. 

finn laughed along with you. "i told you guys." you opened your one arm for him to lean into it which made the audience laugh while the rest of the guys awkwardly accepted your presence. "alright. she's got jokes.." jeremy muttered. 

"uh, yeah. well, welcome to boy's day. help yourself to some snacks if you want," marcello said unenthusiastically. 

you leaned forward excitedly, "well, well, well, what do we got here? pizza. wings. ipa's. or as i like to call it, the three food groups. skadoot," you held your fist out for a fist bump. finn bursted out into more laughter while jeremy bumped your fist. "leggo," you laughed too as you leaned back to put your arm around finn again. 

"she's so twisted!" he grinned and leaned back into you. 

"y-yeah. nice to meet you, michelle. i'm santi," ben introduced his character to you. 

"oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. i've heard about you. certified lover boy, certified pedophile. wawawawawa," you pretended to sing the song. the crowd laughed some more. you were so unused to doing characters and acting like this, but you were also loving it. 

"sorry, did you hear that i'm a pedophile?" ben made a face. 

"dude, dude. she's jackin' your chain. i'm telling you. she's like one of the guys," finn laughed while you grinned. 

"o-okay. yeah. whatever. let's just watch football. hope the texans win because i got a lot of money on this game," ben moved on and smirked. 

"oh, wow! your girl is letting you bet again. i thought she shut that down, dude," jeremy cut in. 

"uh, actually..i've been meaning to tell you guys..sarah and i recently called off our engagement," ben frowned while marcello and jeremy sat up more. "oh no, dude what happened?" marcello wondered. 

"i don't know. i guess..we just realized we wanted different things and.." you were getting up and grabbing a beer can. you walked up next to ben, "sounds like a bitch!" you stabbed the can with a pen and basically shotgunned it into your mouth even though it also went everywhere on you too. "i love beer!" you exclaimed. 

"hey, hey, maybe like don't spill it on my floor?" marcello grunted. 

"oh yes, your precious floor. of course your majesty. oh yes, yes, yes. this guy's obsessed with his floor ha, ha, ha. he marries it. he wants to have sex with it," you laughed to yourself. 

"he-he wants to have sex with his floor? what are you talking about? this was supposed to be a normal boy's day where normal things happen," ben clearly disapproved of you and finn for even bringing you here without asking first or even telling them that you existed. 

you, on the other hand, weren't listening. you went back over to finn where you shoved your shirt over his face, basically suffocating him, "guys, look! look! i'm pregnant. oh!" you pulled your shirt off finn's face. "i'm a sexy guy? what?" you continued.

"wa, wa, baby want milky," finn played into your joke.

"oh, yes baby. does baby want zack or cody?" you squeezed both of your boobs and the audience bursted into laughter. you playfully shook them around while continuing to make sound effects with your mouth while finn was just smiling in character and also at you because this was the most fun both of you had ever had while acting. he reached up to wrap his arms around you again and you quickly reciprocated. "it really is the suite life," he hummed. 

you patted his chest and the crowd laughed harder at the joke. "jesus, man. i'm gonna throw up," jeremy mumbled and looked at the two of you in disgust. 

"alright, boys. i'm feeling some thunder down under. and uh, i'm gonna go drop a stank in the tank. okay. i'll B.R.B!" you made more fun sound effects as you moved off set for a couple minutes. 

"have fun in there! imagine she falls in and it's like toilet land and becomes friends with some toilet paper. what would that even be? could you imagine?" finn rambled, glancing at jeremy and marcello. 

"chris. we've never seen you act this way in your life, man," marcello huffed. 

"i know right. she makes me so happy," finn hummed. 

"how have you been hiding a six year relationship from us? how did you guys even meet? you're telling me you've been dating her for six years?" ben exasperated. 

"that's actually a funny story. she pants me in a starbucks. um, i guess she liked what she saw and um, yeah? i think she's the one. i'm sorry i didn't tell you guys. we just thought it'd be better if we didn't say anything at first," finn explained. 

"really? cause like..man..she's a lot. i could not put up with that for six years," jeremy shook his head. 

"a lot? she's disgusting," ben laid the final blow while you reappeared into the set. 

"disgusting?" you muttered and the audience immediately and collectively "awwed" seeing you there. "uh..yeah..i'm sorry for being a lot. you know, it's hard being a woman in a room full of men. and you're being judged for everything you do and everything you say, but the truth is, is that i..really like chris. and i just wanted you guys to..to like me too. but uh..i guess you know.." you trailed off for a second and the sad music added to your emotional words. 

they didn't last for long of course, "it's a man's world and this is a man's world..imagine i start singing and it's good," you laughed and the audience cheered as the skit came to an end and the show cut to it's next commercial. 

all of you quickly waved as you ran off stage. marcello, ben, and jeremy gave you quick high-fives. "you were incredible in that. good job!" ben exclaimed and you grinned. 

"that was so fun," you breathed, hugging finn too before he had to rush off again. "you're awesome. i love you," he grinned before hurrying for his next quick change. 

DARK ORBIT

this skit was by far going to be the most fun because you and finn couldn't stop laughing during dress rehearsal earlier that day. you and the cast were dressed as people from some interdimensional space world trying to negotiate a deal. finn sat in a chair with skulls on the armrest while you stood on one side and mikey day stood on the other acting as the servant and you as the wife. 

"emperor zeeb, chancellor snooks from cram 9 requested an audience with his grace," ben began. 

"ah, chancellor. have you come to grovel at your emperor's feet?" finn questioned. "ha! you are no emperor, zeeb," chloe scoffed. 

"yet, here i sit. atop a thrown surrounded by servants. a life. a snack man and servant, sheegan,  who occasionally feeds me the delights my wife bakes." finn glanced at mikey. his white, pointy wig made the audience laugh. 

"yes. very delicious delights. i do so much for you sir and you do so much for me. it is the only way i can repay you. your wife makes truly great delights," mikey popped the sweet candy ball into his mouth. 

"and the beautiful wife, whom i love. she bakes the most delicious delights as sheegan said. she even feeds them to me," finn looked over at you, checking you out while you blushed. you leaned in closer to him, caressing his face. "oh yes, my love. i love you so. it is my honor to make you such delights. please, i have some. these are galactic moon balls. they're just so delicious. don't you agree, sheegan?" you ushered for him to pass the bowl. 

"oh, they are quite lovely," mikey agreed while you took one to feed finn. he happily ate it from your hand while the audience laughed, "yes, delicious isn't it, my love? i make them from my sweat," you hummed. 

"mm, yes. delicious indeed. you have such a talent for this, my love," finn smiled widely at you while he continued chewing the fluffy candy. he continued chewing and smacking his lips, "tell her chancellor," he said to ben and chloe. 

you stroked finn's cheek with your hand again while he tried to talk. "does it..does it pain you—" 

"you must eat another one, my love," you encouraged as you offered finn a second moon ball and cut him off from speaking. he accepted it right from your hand again, "yes. i love watching you enjoy what i make for you. the things i spend all day cooking in our beautiful kitchen you had designed just for me," you gushed. 

"and i love you," finn said with his mouth full. 

the audience was loving it so far and you noticed ben and chloe trying not to break character as they watched you feed finn the food. "i think i'm good on those for now, my love," finn said to you.

"are you sure, baby? are you sure?" you wondered, trying to give him a third, but he gently pushed your hand down. "i'm sure. i need to get back to business, baby," he said and you nodded. 

"state your business, chancellor," your attentions went back to chloe and ben. 

"i have come to persuade you to lift your blockade on my planet's trade roots. without solar seeds, our soil starves and soon, so will my people," chloe spoke firmly. 

"ironic, isn't it? your people waste away while my gullet is stuffed with my wife’s delights," finn grinned and you reappeared with a new food. you smiled wide, "yes, my love. indulge, please. i make these only for you. indulge on this split jelly sphere from dark. big bites, my love," you encouraged as you fed finn the new snack. you weren't even sure what the food was, but it was messy as the green stuff got all over finn's mouth. 

he gently pushed you away, but you just went right back in. "there's more, baby. i want you to enjoy it all. big bites!" you exclaimed while finn took another bite while you sort of forcefully fed him. he ate more of the green jelly stuff, "big bites of the skin too! that's the best part," you hummed and you bit your lip to keep from laughing while finn took a 3rd bite of the skin of the sphere. he held your wrist as the jelly fell into his lap and smeared across his mouth. 

he smiled, the urge to laugh hitting you both. "are you..you don't want more?" you tried getting him to take a fourth bite, but finn pushed you away for good this time. he swallowed the food you made him eat while chloe was laughing and breaking character at the scene unfolding. "that is..very heavy," finn mumbled, the jelly still on his lip.

"they are double buttered," you said and finn gently pushed you away again. "yes, yes, but let's maybe put a pin in those for now," he looked at you.

you frowned. "you do not like?" 

"no, no, i do like. i do. i just...maybe we need something else?" he offered and your eyes lit up. "oh! well, yes. of course.  of course i have something else for you, my love," you grinned and finn leaned forward to kiss your cheek. he smiled in satisfaction while you acted surprised before going to find a new delight. 

"my terms? simple. i will end the blockade if your planet becomes a colony of my empire," finn leaned back in the chair, smirking. 

"my planet will never colonize, zeeb. we are a free people," chloe exclaimed.

"not. for. long." finn leaned forward, but mikey came in with a large cup of something and pointed the straw into finn's mouth. "star milk, sir. from the mrs. she hopes you like it," mikey grinned. 

finn took a sip, but he immediately spit it out into his lap. everyone was struggling to not break character. "oh! no! she'll be so disappointed!" mikey exclaimed. 

"i don't love that, sheegan. please tell her i do not love that one," your fiancé shook his head. "my apologies, sir. i will let her know. she will be hurt to hear that. she may kill herself hearing that!" 

"no! no! please, tell her. i love the delights. i love them. just not that delight," finn assured. 

"yes, sire. he hates that delight! take that delight out of the rotation!" mikey yelled. the audience cracked up at the energy and finn struggled to not break character as he lightly chuckled. 

"i have authority from the senate to negotiate. we offer a quarter share for our exports," chloe continued. 

finn laughed out loud though. "you all hear that?" he looked between you and mikey and the both of you laughed as well. "eat all of this," you brought out a new delight which was this enormous creature's leg. 

"no, no, love. what is that?" finn looked at you. 

"this is the hind leg of a crag-snouter, love. you love these," you said. 

"love, look at how big that thing is. i can't eat this all now. i know i love them, but..this is just too big," he told you. you frowned again. "oh no. i have disappointed you and done you wrong." 

"no, no, no. you have not disappointed me. i promise. i love all of this. really, i do," finn quickly grabbed your arm so your face was merely inches away from his. he caressed your face and then instantly drew your lips to his. you heard the audience erupt into more cheers seeing you and finn share a quite passionate and aggressive kiss for your characters. 

the rest of the cast looked blankly at the two of you as your kissing moment dragging on that awkward beat too long before you finally broke away. finn smiled up at you while you blushed under his stare. some of the audience whistled. 

"ahem," ben brought your attentions back. "holder share. that is all we're willing to see," chloe said. 

"i do not barter. agree to my terms or i declare you an enemy of the empire and begin sulfur strikes at once," finn said firmly. 

"you wouldn't dare!" chloe yelled. 

"i would and i will. a toxic rain will fall over you—"

you came back again, but this time behind the chair and you had a disguised bottle of chocolate syrup in your hand. "time for some booboo fruit, love!" you exclaimed and quickly squirted the chocolate syrup into finn's mouth. 

you basically missed his mouth though and instead got it all over his lower lip and nose. it basically went everywhere on finn and your hand. "open you tongue, love! you'll miss the honey nut taste!" you urged. 

"please! oh i love feeding you, baby," you poured more syrup onto finn and he eventually got you stop. this was the part that had cracked both of you up in dress rehearsal. "okay, stop. stop. stop!" he exclaimed and you did. 

"but the good part!" you huffed. 

finn gently pushed you back with his hands up. "too much. too much..what is that?" he looked down at the bottle. 

"it's melted booboo fruit," you said. 

"too much melted booboo fruit. just a little too much," finn shook his head. 

"but i have forty-nine more flavors awaiting you, baby. i got this especially for you," you said worriedly. "absolutely not. we're suspending the delights, okay? i love my delights, you know i love them because i love you. i'm very pro delight and your creations. we're just..pushing pause for right now." 

you stared at finn, the chocolate running all down his chin. "but how will i show that i love you if i can't make you delights anymore?" 

"i think i can think of a few ways you can show your love to me, baby. do not worry," finn's lines made the audience whistle some more and "ooh." you broke a tiny smile. "well..how? i do not know anything more than..making delights," you said. 

"come here," finn motioned your forward. you leaned in again and he captured your lips in another kiss, chocolate and all. 

the crowd erupted. you got chocolate on your own lips and in your mouth as you kissed finn. when you pulled a part again, you shared the chocolate syrup look. "see? there are so many ways to show your love for me and i will always love you no matter if there are delights or not." 

you finally understood. "yes, i get it now, love. we are pausing. we are holding the delights!" you exclaimed. 

"i ask you one last time, chancellor. will you colonize?" finn looked back at chloe and ben who were smiling. 

"i would rather eat that disgusting beast leg," chloe said and mikey quickly appeared in front of them with the giant leg. 

"yes. indulge in these meated nooks and crannies," mikey grinned. 

"dude! get that out of my face," chloe put her hands up to push mikey back. 

"i'll eat it," ben shrugged casually. 

the skit ended there and the audience quickly got to their feet to cheer you all on. you all did a small bow for them before running off stage to get cleaned up after all the mess. finn was grinning from ear to ear while you finally let all of your laughter out and the other cast members giving you a round of applause who were watching backstage. 

"holy shit!" gaten exclaimed when he caught up with you and finn. 

"dude. you're insane for that," caleb also laughed. 

"first snl appearance in the books!" you exclaimed and high-fived them. 

"hey, i'll see you guys for the closing! i love you," finn said to you, smiling and waving as he ran off to the dressing room to get cleaned up and changed. agreeing to do something like you just did was probably the most insane thing you'd ever done, but also it was the most thrilling thing and you'd do it over a hundred times if you could. 

someone ushered you back to get cleaned up as well and you waved to gaten and caleb for now. 

—

at the end of the broadcast, you and all of the cast joined finn back on stage as he closed the show out. he wrapped his arm around you, smiling. "i wanna say thank you to all of you for joining me on stage tonight. i am officially a man," he looked down at you and you blushed. "i even hope this gets a parody. thank you to my beautiful y/n, gaten matarazzo, caleb mclaughlin, asap rocky, and sabrina carpenter! this week has been one of the craziest, but best weeks of my life, so thank you. have a good night!" finn concluded. 

the audience stood up again, clapping and whistling and you all moved along to the upbeat jazz music. you, finn, gaten, and caleb all hugged one another and celebrated the success of finn's debut snl hosting and the success of the show tonight. 

you made your rounds to the rest of the cast as well that congratulated you for your performances. 

you danced on stage for a bit more before following everyone back through the doors to backstage. you all cheered for each other and finn swept you back into his arms, spinning you around slightly and kissing your head as he chased the high of finishing the show. "holy shit, that was incredible," he gushed. 

"you did so good," you praised. 

"you did so good too. holy shit. they better invite you back as a host too," your fiancé gushed, squeezing you tight. gaten and caleb quickly joined your hug and you stepped back to them them properly hug the taller boy again. 

"we gotta celebrate now!" gaten exclaimed. 

"drinks! we need to get drinks," caleb agreed. 

you just looked at finn with a lot of adoration for him as he went to hug some of the other cast he didn't get to when you were on stage. they praised him for his work and the things he put into tonight. his smile had never been bigger and even you were getting a ton of congrats for your engagement and urges to see the ring. 

twitter, instagram, & tiktok comments + reactions 

user1 HOLY SHITTT wow i have no words i need a second to think about all of this

user2 genuinely we were just spoon fed everything we've been wanting and waiting for that i don't even know WHERE to start. the engagement? the skits? the banter? THE FLIRTING? oh my gawdddd

user3 THEY'RE ENGAGED?! AND THEY ANNOUNCED IT ON LIVE TV OH THAT'S SO ICONIC

user4 ENGAGED IN THE MOUNTAINS?! that's actually my dream and that ring is gorgeous WOW he did such a good job i love

user5 seeing finn visibly relax even more when y/n, gaten, and caleb were on stage with him was so adorable he loves them so so much

user6 THE DIG AT ST ENDING LMAOOOO PLEASE I CAN'T I CAN'T they know what we want 🙏

user7 WDYM THEY'RE ENGAGED NOW?! OH MY GOD WOW 

user8 oh that was such a good reveal holy shit i yearn for that i didn't even suspect ANYTHING even when he came out with his hand in his pocket because that's just what guys do sometimes. when he popped that ring i audibly gasped and then screamed

user9 LMAO i love the jokes about their 6 year long secret private relationship 

user10 damn i need y/n to play more characters like this she did such a good job wow

user11 yeah so finn is EXACTLY where he wants to be i did not miss those smug smiles and smirks he had on his lips 

user12 THE SUITE LIFE JOKE AND HE IS JUST SMILING SO HAPPILY i know they were in character but this kind of stuff for them is so hilarious i need more 🙏

user13 the entire dark orbit bit..i don't even know where to begin with that finn was truly having the time of his life in that 

user14 oh he loveddd y/n feeding him food wow that was so good

user15 they kissed TWICE wow i actually love them so much

user16 soo when it is y/n's turn?? and when is the wedding? are invited? do we get engagement pics? i need more scenes of y/n and finn playing these kinds of characters together.. 

user17 this just made my night wow

user18 HUGE day for people to be y/n and finn fans bc wdym they're engaged and they used snl to announce it and then make jokes about their private relationship 😭

user19 i feel like y/n and finn were not acting for that space emperor skit LMAO

The Pitt was not for the weak. Not many med students, or even residents, survived this place. It was chaos in its purest form. One second you’d be dealing with a simple case of allergies, and the next you were stuck three hours past your shift because of a mass casualty.

Nothing was ever predictable here, and that was one of the many reasons you loved it.

Sure, you were constantly exhausted and had little to no social life outside of your coworkers. And maybe finding the balance between work and academic demands would be what finally killed off whatever you had left of your sanity. But you couldn’t see yourself working anywhere else.

The last thing you needed to add to your growing list of challenges was having a crush on the night shift attending.

You tried to suppress it from the second you laid eyes on Dr. Jack Abbot. He was your boss, and feeling anything other than professional admiration toward him was way out of line. But he had these intense, engulfing eyes, a smirk that could have anyone on their knees in an instant, and a way of capturing everyone’s attention that had you clinging to every word that came out of his mouth.

Once you got used to seeing him for twelve hours straight during your shifts, it became a little easier to pretend your heart didn’t race every time he was near. You learned how to laser-focus on the cases in front of you, how to compartmentalize, how to save the yearning and pining for when you were finally off the clock.

Today, though, something else had you distracted.

The shift had been busy, way busier than the night shift was used to. You’d already had two codes, and even though you managed to stabilize both patients, the adrenaline crash left your mind and body completely wiped. Somewhere in between, you’d also dealt with a kid whose parents were beyond overprotective, asking a million questions about every single step it took to figure out he’d broken his wrist after falling from his skateboard.

The end of this shift couldn’t come soon enough.

The moment you got a free second, you dropped into a chair near the nurse’s station and tried to catch up on charting. Labs needed to be attached to files. Notes needed to be written and signed off. Orders needed to be updated. It was, without question, the most boring and grueling part of the job. 

You’d just started finding your rhythm with the mind-numbing task when your phone dinged in your pocket. You fished it out of your scrubs and glanced at the screen. It was an email notification. 

You didn’t even need to open it. One look at the subject line and the sender was enough to make your heart drop straight into your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath as you stare down at your phone. You slump deeper into the old, uncomfortable office chair, almost like you wish it could swallow you whole so you don’t have to deal with any of this.

“Everything alright?”

A familiar voice pulls you out of the spiral you’d started falling into. You look up from your screen and see Dr. Abbot leaning against the counter, arms crossed over it. His hair is a little messy, unruly from the midnight rush the night shift had just crawled out of.

You struggle to focus on his question, trying to hide your complete awe at how he somehow still looks good after five hours in the ER. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Sorry. I’ll get right back to charting.”

He squints at you, very clearly not buying it. “Are you sure? You can take five if you want. Things have quieted down a little.”

“No, it’s…” you start, but then you catch the look on his face, an expression that clearly reads cut the bullshit.

You exhale. “It’s my lease. My landlord’s cutting it short. Apparently he just got this huge inheritance he’s been waiting on and he’s moving to California. Someone made an offer to buy the building a while ago and I guess he finally accepted it. They’re tearing the whole place down and turning it into some kind of retail center.”

Abbot lets out a low whistle, dropping his head for a second. “That’s rough, kid. I’m sorry.” He pauses. “You got any other apartments lined up? Anywhere you can apply?”

“No, not really.” You shake your head, still trying to process it. “I had, like, ten months left on my lease. I didn’t even think about this. Not with the whole… you know. Third year of residency and all.” You glance down at your phone again. “I just got the email. I think I’m still in shock.”

You’re rambling, a little, but he has that effect on people. He makes you feel comfortable enough to let things spill out. Or maybe it’s just you and the crush you’ve been repressing for way too long.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer now, like he can hear the way your thoughts are starting to race. “Hey. Take a beat.” He holds your gaze. “Like I said, things have slowed down. Why don’t you go eat something? Grab some coffee, take a lap, whatever. Then you can do your rounds and check on your patients with a clearer head.”

“I’m really okay, Dr. Abbot,” you insist, even though you don’t sound convincing. “I have a lot of charting to catch up on—”

He cuts you off again.

“What if I take my break with you?” he says, tone calm, but there’s something in it, almost like he's pleading with you. “C’mon. Let’s go get some air outside and eat something. I’ve been starving for, like, three hours.”

You can never say no to this man. Not when he talks to you like that, as if there’s something more intimate, more personal, in the space between the words.

You give in.

“Alright,” you mutter, pushing back your chair. “Let me go grab my zip-up.”

A few minutes later, you’re walking out of the ER with him, heading toward the park bench right in front of the hospital. The night air is cool and a little windy, the kind that bites just enough to wake you up. You’ve always liked weather like this way better than the humid summer shifts where you spend twelve hours feeling sticky and gross with no chance to freshen up.

You both sit on the bench, a comfortable amount of space between each other. Abbot’s holding a brown paper bag and a coffee cup that says Best Dad Award, even though he doesn’t have kids. He must’ve grabbed it from the shared cabinet in the break room. You can’t help but snort softly.

He notices immediately. “What?”

You nod toward the cup. “Best Dad Award?”

He glances down at it like he forgot what he was holding, then shrugs. “It was the cleanest one.”

“Sure,” you say, amused. 

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile as he opens the bag. “So,” he starts, “how’s this shift treated you? Too chaotic?”

“Not really,” you answer honestly. “I mean, aside from the part where I was just informed I might be homeless in a few weeks. But you know…at least no one has died yet.”

His expression sharpens instantly. “Don’t they have to give you at least a month’s notice?”

“Supposedly, yeah,” you say, already tired just thinking about it. “But there’s a clause in the contract. Something about if the lease needs to be cut short, they have to pay financial compensation. And if the move-out is urgent, the compensation increases by twenty percent.” You let out a humorless laugh. “I was calculating what they’d pay me and it’s literally pennies on the dollar.”

Abbot huffs, jaw tight. “That’s bullshit.”

You sigh and lean back, staring up at the dark blue sky. There are only a couple stars visible, dulled by the city lights.

“Yeah tell me about it,” you mutter. “It sucks even more because I had a hard enough time finding this apartment in the first place. This is not even a very residential area, but med students have inflated the shit out of the rent prices. Landlords ask for an insane amount of requirements and finding a decent roommate is almost as hard as winning the lottery.”

His brows furrow like he’s actually trying to problem-solve with you. “Don’t you have any friends you can crash with until you figure something out?”

“Not really,” you admit. “All my friends are in one-bedrooms with their partners or already have like three roommates.”

His expression softens, and his voice follows. “I’m sorry, kid. That’s a lot to handle on your own.”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, then glance at him with a guilty look. “Sorry for dumping all of this on you. I’m sure you have a lot more to deal with than the struggles of an R3.”

He straightens, turning more toward you so he’s fully facing you now. “Don’t apologize. If venting helps you feel less overwhelmed and gets you through this shift, I don’t mind.”

You swallow, suddenly aware of how close he is. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “I really appreciate it.”

He holds your gaze for a few seconds too long. He looks at you in that intense, unreadable way he does when he’s thinking about ten things at once.

Then something shifts in his expression, you can see that a thought lands.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he blurts.

You blink. “What?”

He clears his throat, like he can’t believe he said it out loud either. “I have a spare bedroom. You could crash at my place for a bit.”

For a second, you just stare at him, completely speechless.

Because your attending—the same man you spent months trying not to blush around every time he praised your work—is offering you his spare bedroom like it’s nothing.

When your brain finally catches up enough to function, you shake your head. “That’s really kind, Dr. Abbot, but I can’t. That’s too much—”

“It’s not too much,” he cuts in immediately. “It’s a room.” He says it like he’s stating a simple fact, like he isn’t massively underselling the situation. “You need a place to stay. And we’re both here all the time anyway.”

You hesitate, staring at him like the words might rearrange themselves into something more reasonable if you look hard enough.

“I’m sure I can find someone online who’ll let me crash for a bit,” you try again, even though you already hate how flimsy that sounds. “I really don’t want to bother you.”

His expression darkens, and his voice drops into that tone he uses when he needs to fully go into senior attending mode.

“You’re not bothering me. It was my idea, and you’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m letting you move in with some stranger from the internet. Even for a day.”

That shuts you up.

You sit there, chewing on the inside of your cheek, staring down at your hands. You should say no. You know you should. It’s the reasonable thing to do, the safe and professional thing. You also know he would drop it if he knew you were serious about rejecting his offer. But you can feel the hesitation on your face and you’re sure he sees it too, the panic you’ve been trying to swallow down all night.

You let out a long breath and finally mutter, “HR isn’t gonna like this.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and warm and unfairly attractive. “HR doesn’t have to know.” He takes a sip of his ridiculous Best Dad Award coffee. “It can be our secret.”

Your stomach flips.

“And besides,” he adds, voice calmer now, “it’s temporary, right? Just until you find another place and get back on your feet.”

“Right,” you say, even though you’re pretty sure you’re agreeing to the hardest possible trial. “Yeah. Temporary.”

You glance at him again, resigned. “Okay. I’ll take you up on your offer. But I promise it’s super temporary. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, Dr. Abbot.”

“Jack,” he says abruptly.

You blink. “Huh?”

He looks at you like it should be obvious. “It’s Jack. If we’re going to be living together, I think we can move to a first-name basis.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately. You pray to every god you don’t believe in that the wind can pass it off as cold.

“Jack,” you repeat, testing it out, trying to get used to the way his name feels on your tongue.

In the distance, your destination – the Capitol dome – looms pale and proud through the white, like it’s particularly proud of how picturesque it looks blanketed in white. You, on the other hand, consider briefly as you lose feeling in your face, whether this is what they mean when they say ‘public service is thankless’.

As you slide into Rayburn, it is offensively quiet. Security waves you through with equal amounts of confusion and pity exclusively reserved for people who have made the bad (but principled!) choice to come to work today.

You shake off snow, breathe in the scent of burnt coffee and bureaucracy, and head toward the committee room. You’re early – ten minutes early – because you are a responsible adult cursed with punctuality, unlike every other member who, evidently, is going to be late.

You check your phone – no alerts, no cancellations, your calendar cheerfully insisting that this is still happening (and that’s exactly why you’re still here). Nevertheless, a sinking feeling begins to grow in your gut as you take your seat and hope that everyone’s just a little held up by the weather.

The door creaks open three minutes later, admitting one Bucky Barnes. He’s dusting snow out of his hair with the calm resignation of someone who has been cold for roughly a century. He’s also wearing a knitted blue sweater and a grey beanie that’s doing nothing – absolutely nothing – to hide the fact that his ears are pink from windburn.

“Hey, you beat me here,” he greets, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

The absurdity hits you belatedly – surviving the three-block walk from your apartment to work should not merit congratulations – but you let it slide.

“Of course,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

He shrugs out of his coat, droplets of melted snow darkening the shoulders. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“You say that every time,” you deadpan. “And yet.”

He gives you that look – half amusement, half something like respect – which is annoying under any circumstances but especially so right now. He takes the seat across from you and sets his folder down with care, like the meeting might still materialize if both of you are polite enough about it.

The silence stretches. You are both stubborn people. The silence is stubborn, too.

“I think Whittaker is usually exactly on time,” you offer generously in to the quiet.

“Usually,” he agrees.

You check the clock. The windows. Then the clock again. Outside, snow presses harder against the windows, thick flakes blurring the city into abstraction. It looks almost peaceful out there.

Another five minutes pass.

Ten.

Somewhere deep in the building, a lonely phone rings. It echoes like it’s trapped in an abandoned mineshaft.

“This feels ominous,” Bucky comments as the phone rings out.

“It’s not ominous,” you insist, “how can a meeting be ominous?”

He lifts a brow in strong disagreement.

Another five minutes. You cross one leg over the other. He adjusts his chair two inches sideways in what might be an attempt at settling in or a low-level fidget. He pushes a bottle of water toward you. You do not open it.

Your mind wanders to procedural questions no one should have to contemplate: How many people does it take for a meeting to officially not exist? Is there a quorum for absence? Is someone supposed to pronounce it dead?

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone, prompting you to glance down so sharply your neck makes a noise.

The notification reads: Committee Meeting – Cancelled

You blink once. You might actually be hallucinating from the cold. Then again. A third time for good measure as your face twists into something decidedly un-Congresswoman-like. There are very many creative and explicit curses to levy at the Chair for deciding to cancel a meeting 15 minutes after it was supposed to begin.

Bucky watches you carefully, alert in that way he gets when there’s unexpected change. “Bad news?” he broaches tentatively.

You hold up your phone between two gloved fingers, Exhibit A in the case of You Have Got to Be Kidding Me.

“Cancelled.”

He nods solemnly. “That’s rude.”

“Very rude,” you echo with a nod of your head.

You take in the empty room again, the tragic optimism of it all. Oh, who were you kidding? It’s the week before Christmas recess. No one wants to work. This meeting was never going to happen. You shouldn’t have come on the off chance that it may have.

“Well then,” you sigh with an air of wounded finality. “At least we tried.”

He stands, gathering his folder with quiet dignity. “At least we tried.”

It feels like the universe should reward you for your effort. Instead, the lights flicker ominously.

(But that’s a problem for two minutes from now.)

The hallway is colder than it should be. Not figuratively – literally, as in the air vents are blowing wind straight from the ninth circle of hell (which, fun fact, is frozen!). You button your coat up higher and tell yourself you are absolutely not shivering. You are composed. You are a grown adult. You have multiple degrees and staff who depend on you. But you are not going to linger here any longer than you have to and you are definitely going home to warm blankets and central heating.

“I’m leaving,” you announce.

Bucky looks at you like you’ve just declared an intention to peel off your skin and walk into the snowstorm wearing only your bones. “You’re what?”

“Going home.” You gesture vaguely toward the exit, where the blizzard is currently horizontal and doing its best impression of a sentient wall. “It’s only fifteen minutes.”

“It’s twenty,” he says.

“It is fifteen if I cut through the park.”

He gives you a stare you have come to associate with phrases like that’s a terrible idea and please stop risking your life before recess week. “You want to cut through the park. In this.”

You lift your chin. “I’m from New York. We walk in weather.”

“I’m also from New York,” he reminds, “and this isn’t weather.”

You start walking anyway. Not because he’s wrong – he’s very right, actually, and that’s annoying – but because you have decided. And once you decide, the earth can shift its axis and you will still follow through out of spite.

He catches up with you, long legs easily striding down the hallway. “Just wait it out,” he bargains in that extremely calm voice that makes you want to argue instead. “Not in here,” he amends quickly when you shoot him a look, “it’s freezing in here.”

You stop walking. “Why my office?”

“Your office has heating.”

“So does yours. And yours is nearer.”

“Mine’s got that weird noise,” he says with a shrug, like that’s supposed to be it. “Micah says it sounds like someone’s living in the vents. You’re welcome to it, if it doesn’t bother you.”

Okay. Fine. He’s right, that would bother you.

“Whatever. You can go to my office. I’m still going home.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“It’s not safe –”

The lights flicker once. You both pause.

Then they flicker again, harder, like the building is gagging.

Then the entire hallway cuts to black with the dramatic flourish of a Victorian heroine fainting into the arms of her lover.

You inhale sharply.

He does not say I told you so. He doesn’t have to. You can feel it radiating off him like smug infrared heat.

“Okay,” you say, voice echoing in the dark. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Is it?” he asks. His voice is annoyingly close. And low. And warm, which is wild because you know he physically runs cold.

“Come on then.” You hold your phone in front of you like a very small, very judgmental torch. “My office is this way.”

The building feels different without light; larger, and somehow more haunted. You try not to think about how cavernous the hallways are or how every footstep echoes like you’re being followed by your own anxiety. You certainly don’t think about how, statistically, someone must have died here in the last 230 years.

Bucky walks just behind you, close enough that you can sense him but far enough not to crowd. It is somehow worse than if he were glued to your side. You are too aware of him – of his calm, of the way he reaches out instinctively when you misjudge a step, his hand ghosting near your elbow but not touching.

You do not hyperfocus on that. You don’t.

“Still want to go home?” he asks.

“I am reconsidering,” you admit stiffly.

“That’s all I ask,” he says, amused.

You mutter “smartass,” under your breath, which he absolutely hears, because you then hear him try not to laugh.

Your office door materializes in your phone’s spotlight. You unlock it with a flourish that says: You see? Competence. Not fear. Definitely not fear.

Inside, it’s warmer. Blessedly. Infuriatingly.

Bucky closes the door behind him, shutting out the wind. Reflexively, your fingers reach out for the wall switches. Unfortunately, the blackout is total.

“Okay,” you say, deflated. “We need candles.”

He turns, somewhat impressed. “You have candles?”

You stare at him. “Of course I have candles. I’m a woman in Congress, not an animal.”

He huffs out a laugh – too genuine, too soft – and you pretend your stomach does not do anything about it.

“Show me,” he says.

And you do.

Because the blizzard is getting worse. Because the power is out. Because this is absolutely not a situation charged with weird, suspended, emergency-adjacent tension.

You tell yourself all of this as you open the drawer where you keep the candles.

You don’t quite believe any of it.

“Stay here,” you tell Bucky as you grab one of the now-lit candles.

He looks up from his task of lighting the rest. “Why?”

“Because I need to go gather supplies.”

“What kind of supplies?”

You raise a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He grabs his own candle and follows anyway.

The light from your twin flames throws long and eerie shadows across once-familiar furniture, and it feels as if you’re touring the ruins of a once-great civilization. Bucky walks behind you with that silent, steady presence that implies he’s ready to intercept danger – even though the biggest threat currently is tripping on haphazardly stacked archive boxes.

Your destination – the intern table – is in sight. “Okay,” you say. “Here we go.”

He blinks. “Here we go what?”

“Resource reacquisition.”

“Resource reacqui- You’re stealing from the interns?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you say, ruthlessly pushing aside keyboards. “This is my office. By extension, these are my things.”

“That’s not how property law works!”

“That is exactly how property law works during a blackout snow-in blizzard.”

You jiggle the bottom cabinet to reveal a treasure trove of snacks tucked behind old files. Bucky looks very distressed in a moral, I’m supposed to be making amends now! way. “We can’t just take their stuff!”

“Once again,” you correct. “We are not taking. We are simply reallocating. Or borrowing, if you prefer that verbiage.”

“You sound like a villain.”

You gently pat his arm. “If I’m a villain, it’s only because I won’t get lunch. Now be useful and hold this.” A half open bag of corn puffs, a sleeve of Oreos, and an unlabelled zip-lock bag of candies land in Bucky’s arms.

You extend your reach for the pile of items Mills keeps on the top shelf – two notebooks, her water bottle covered in stickers about literacy and unions, and –

“Aha!” you cheer triumphantly, fingers closing around a cheap, aggressively floral Target candle. “Backup light source.”

Bucky stares. “Isn’t that Mills’?”

“She’ll live.”

“You’re stealing Mills’ candle.”

“She can have a Diptyque as compensation.”

He recoils. “You’ll buy her a Diptyque candle?”

“Yes. I understand equivalent exchange.”

He mutters, “Debatable,” but he does sound… fond about it.

You load your arms with snacks, the back-up candle, two blankets from the staff couch, and – most crucially – the stack of unsolicited memoirs piled by your office door that you’ve been meaning to recycle for six months.

They are aggressively self-promotional; the top one is titled Staying Afloat in the Rough Seas of Change: One Man’s Journey from Small Town Accountant to Deputy Undersecretary for Fisheries (Acting). It has a clip-art lighthouse on the cover.

“These,” you announce, tossing a few onto the growing mountain in Bucky’s hands, “are our entertainment options.”

He looks down at the memoirs like they have personally insulted his literacy. “Who are these people?”

“I don’t know. They send me advance copies hoping I’ll blurb them.”

He holds up Rough Seas between two fingers as if it’s contagious. “Have you read any of them?”

“We will read them now,” you declare with false enthusiasm.

He blinks. “This feels like punishment.”

“It is,” you agree. “But we’re in this together.”

He huffs a laugh – one of those low ones that sounds like it escapes before he can stop it. “Great.”

“And – oh! Option B.” You lunge for the shelf again, nearly dropping all your supplies. You emerge triumphant with Devon’s battered paperback copy of Dune.

Bucky tilts his head. “Devon reads books?”

“Devon reads anything with sand, war, or questionable political allegory.”

He shifts everything to one hand so he can flip through the book. The spine is cracked. The pages are battered and wavy, like it’s survived water damage and emotional distress. The margins contain commentary in their chaotic scrawl – at one point, you think there’s a doodle of Paul Atreides wearing those futuristic Gentle Monster sunglasses banishing a lightsabre.

Bucky’s mouth twitches. “I don’t think I’ve read this.”

“It’s good,” you say. Certainly better than the memoirs.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Have you read it?”

“Yes,” you lie with the confidence of a woman who has absolutely not read Dune.

“Really?”

“I watched the movie on the plane.”

He judges you. “That doesn’t count.”

“It’s basically the same story,” you argue weakly.

“When have book-to-movie adaptations been better than the originals?”

You gesture at the memoirs. “Okay, well, pick. We can read about the Acting Deputy Undersecretary for Fisheries and his clip-art lighthouse, or there’s spice and sandworms.”

He hesitates, looking between the memoir stack and the battered paperback, and then – inevitably – hands the memoirs back to you. “Dune,” he declares in a tone that suggests that there really wasn’t a choice at all.

“Great,” you say brightly even as your stomach does that swoopy, traitorous thing when your fingertips touch over the cover. “Dune it is.”

The visitor’s couch has been quietly promoted to command central. Blankets have been arranged with all the care of a person who is absolutely not arranging anything (you tossed them around until the couch looked less lumpy), and Mills’s tragic Target candle now flickers on the coffee table (it smells like a floral medley, but also detergent). You settle into your corner with the snacks and Dune, trying for casual ease (you kicked off your boots; that’s as relaxed as you get in a federal building).

Bucky stands very still for a full three seconds, deciding whether he too should sit on the couch, or enlist in the Army again because that would be much less emotionally complicated than whatever this day is turning out to be.

You pat the cushion beside you. “Stop looming and sit.”

He sits, very stiffly at first, then not at all when you generously slide the extra bit of blanket off your knee and onto his. You both do each other the courtesy of pretending that this is what colleagues do.

You clear your throat and crack open the paperback. That’s his invitation to lean in, closer and closer until you have a six-foot super-soldier looming over your shoulder like an overinvested raven and you cannot concentrate on the words on the page.

“Uh,” you say, because his chin is hovering very near your shoulder. “That’s close.”

“I’m reading,” he mumbles, eyes darting across the lines.

“You can read from there, Barnes.”

“I can’t see from there.”

“Don’t you have super eyesight or whatever?”

“Common misconception,” he continues to mumble as he edges closer. Now his shoulder is pressed against yours, warm through the fabric of your sweater, and his breath brushes your temple every few seconds in a way that has to be illegal in all the 50 states and territories.

You clear your throat and try for focus again. Just when you are finally absorbed into the world of Caladan, Bucky makes a displeased noise behind you. “You turned the page.”

“Yeah, because I finished reading.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t even blink.”

“Blinking is not a requirement!”

He grumbles – an actual sound of protest – like he’s the one being wronged here. “You’re not reading. You’re skimming.”

“I’m not skimming,” you insist, genuinely offended. It’s not your fault your brain treats words like a competitive sport.

Bucky makes another low sound – disbelieving, unimpressed – and reaches around you to halt the page with one finger. (Why does it have to be around you? Why does his arm have to be warm?)

“Go back,” he says, tone maddeningly calm.

You sputter, already sitting up straighter, “I’m already –”

“Back, please.”

You stare at him, scandalised. “Am I being shamed for my reading speed? In my own office?”

“I’m asking you not to skip five sentences at a time,” he replies, still maddeningly reasonable, as if he isn’t committing emotional violence by hovering that close and having this argument literally in your ear.

“I didn’t do that!”

“You absolutely did.”

“Prove it!”

He huffs a laugh, low and derisive. “So childish.”

“You’re childish!” you fire back, clutching the paperback like it might defend your honour.

You stare at each other, neither of you blinking. The candle flickers in the background, like it’s enjoying this too much.

Finally you slap the book shut. “Fine, since we’re children here, we’re doing this the primary school way.”

His eyes narrow, suspicious. “What’s the primary school way?”

You reopen the book, clear your throat, and announce with great dignity, “I’ll read aloud.”

He stills completely, as if someone has hit pause on his being. “Oh,” is all he manages.

And there’s something about the way he says oh that threatens to destabilise the entirety of your circulation system.

“Yes,” you insist, ignoring the way your cheeks somehow feel impossibly warm in the frigid air. “We’ll be on the same word, on the same sentence, and on the same page at the same time. Happy?”

He catches your eye for a moment longer than is strictly necessary. Something softens; something warms. “Happy,” he confirms with a nod of his head, hair flopping into his face. “I look forward to the different voices.”

Your brain short-circuits just a little, but you hope that your distress is not visible as you clear your throat again, this time a little more violently. “Right. Sure. Yes. Page one. Again.”

Your voice wobbles on the first sentence.

He hears it – you know he hears it – but he doesn’t say a word. He just scootches a little bit closer and settles deeper into the couch. His shoulders brush yours again, and it’s no accident.

You exhale and try again.

The words come out steadier this time, gathering shape as your voice settles into something resembling confidence. You make speeches for a living – floor remarks, committee statements, those terrible two-minute hits on cable news where you have to pretend you aren’t dying inside – so this should be easy. Routine. Muscle memory. But it isn’t.

Because reading aloud to a rapt audience of exactly one feels… different. It feels dangerously personal, like you’ve wandered into a version of yourself you don’t usually permit in professional spaces. Intimate in a way that makes your pulse catch, unnecessary in a way that should make you stop, and yet you don’t. You read more slowly once you realise he’s actually listening – not politely, not in the way people listen when they’re waiting their turn to speak, but with a stillness that feels attentive in a way that makes your chest tighten if you think about it for too long.

The words settle into the room, carried by your voice and that unreliable flickering light of the candle, and something about the rhythm of it all begins to blur the edges of time.

The storm keeps throwing itself at the windows, insistent and noisy, but in here there’s a growing quiet – one that feels intentional, almost curated. Bucky’s shoulder stays pressed to yours. When he shifts, it’s careful, as if he’s aware of the exact point where your bodies meet and doesn’t want to disturb it. You can feel the warmth of him through the fabric of his sweater, a steady presence anchoring you as the paragraphs pass.

You lose track of time somewhere between chapters.

The sentences start to feel longer. Your voice softens without you noticing, dipping lower, rounding off at the ends. You pause once or twice to find your place again, blinking hard, but you keep going, stubborn as always, convinced that if you just make it through the next page, you’ll be fine.

You don’t.

You reach the middle of a sentence, a thought that might have been about realization, about inevitability – and the words slip out of your grasp.

Sleep takes you without warning, a quiet surrender rather than a fall. Your head tips back first, awkwardly, then drifts sideways until it finds something solid and warm. You sigh, barely audible, already gone.

*

Bucky notices immediately.

At first he waits, barely breathing, holding himself as still as a statue, afraid that the smallest movement might startle you awake. Your weight against him is gentle but unmistakeable, your breathing already deepening, evening out in a way that tells him that you’re truly asleep, not pretending.

Eventually – slowly – he shifts to ease your head into a better position. Not the awkward, neck-craning angle you’d slumped into, but something more natural. Like you meant to lean on him. Like it’s allowed.

You sigh when he moves, a small sound that hitches in his chest. And then you settle again, out cold. He watches your face for a moment – relaxed now, unarmoured, utterly unlike the composed figure he usually sees across committee tables – and feels the strange, grounding weight of responsibility settle in.

He looks down at the book still half-open in your hands, the pages threatening to bend under the weight of your fingers. Gently, he takes it from you. Your hand releases without protest. He doesn’t mark the page. He remembers it.

For a long minute he just sits there. The candle flickers on the desk, casting slow-moving amber across your cheek; your breathing is even and warm against his shoulder; the storm continues its relentless whisper against the glass. It’s a scene he shouldn’t be part of – too soft, too domestic, too much like something that belongs to other people. People with easier histories, cleaner lives. But he stays. He stays because leaving feels impossible, and because some quiet instinct in him recognises the danger of moments like this: they’re fleeting, fragile, the kind that dissolve if you don’t hold still enough to feel them. He knows better than most that nothing is guaranteed – not time, not safety, not second chances – and that makes this small, stolen warmth feel almost sacred.

So he adjusts the blanket over your legs – still careful – and settles deeper into the couch. He opens the book again, finding that half-started line, and begins to read.

He reads slowly, silently, with one thumb pressed to the worn crease of the spine. He’s never read Dune before, and this is not how he imagined starting it, but the strangeness of it fits. The room smells like old paper and coffee and whatever floral detergent the cleaners use on the blankets. Your head stays warm and heavy against him, and somehow, the book feels like a continuation of a conversation he doesn’t want to end just because you’ve fallen asleep.

Bucky doesn’t hear the footsteps at first. He’s too focused – on the book, on your breathing, on the warmth of you against him which is steady now; unguarded, a kind of trust he doesn’t want to examine too closely. The candles have burned low. The storm has long since let up, but you’ve been asleep long enough that your body has moulded into his side like it belongs there, and he is reluctant to shake you awake.

So, when the door creaks open to emit a sliver of hallway light that cuts across the floor, it takes him a second too long to notice.

Then, voices – frozen, chirpy, overlapping.

“Oh my god,” Devon breathes.

Bucky’s head snaps up. The look that he levels at them is so flat, so utterly unblinking that all four of the interns go silent and still at once, almost like prey animals realising a tad too late that they’ve stepped into the wrong clearing. It’s a look that says: You’ve made a mistake. You’ve walked into something you do not understand, and now you’re going to walk right back out.

Devon freezes mid-step, halfway between nosy curiosity and the gates of hell. Jenna’s hand drops from the doorframe like it’s been burned. Mills opens her mouth, then closes it again. Micah takes one involuntary step backward, half-ducking behind Jenna like a woman half his height might shield him from consequences.

Bucky doesn’t say a word. He just lifts one finger, brings it to his lips slow and deliberate. Quiet.

Then, without breaking eye contact, the same finger lowers and angles toward the door. Leave.

For a second, no one moves, still visibly processing the fact that the man who once fumbled a stapler in front of them could turn into that.

Then they retreat in perfect, silent coordination. Micah – the last one – gently eases the door shut behind him with reverent care usually reserved for live explosives or slumbering gods. The latch clicks softly into place.

Silence settles back over the office. You shift against Bucky’s side, a small unconscious protest at the disturbance, and then resettle closer this time, cheek pressing more firmly into his shoulder, a faint sigh of warm contentment escaping before your breathing evens out again.

Bucky holds still until he’s sure you’re fully asleep, then lowers his hand, careful not to jostle you. And then he looks back down at the book and keeps reading, as if nothing has happened at all.

yap! this is 6 months late because when i received the request i thought it'd be nice to release it around winter time... which meant writing it during my summer LMAO the majority of this chapter was written during an actual heatwave (hello 40 degree celcius days) which in hindsight was kinda funny because why didn't past me just...write it and hold it in the drafts?? who knows the answer to those mysteries....

yap pt2! i also think it's hilarious that they're reading dune (cos yk, desert book...) but i think bucky would actually like dune!

DIVIDER: thank u @/saradika-graphics <3

off the record masterpost || AO3 || congressman bucky masterpost