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Saw someone talking about posting an AI Joel Miller x reader fic and I'm so fucking upset.

AI is killing creative spaces. It's killing creativity in general. It rips off others work and markets it as it's own. It's stealing. You posting it is like spitting in the faces of the fanfic authors that spend days, months, weeks, years, etc on writing this FOR FREE for their audience.

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The Canary Project — Chapter 2: Declassified

Bucky Barnes x Female OC (Spencer Fey)

Summary: When Spencer Fey joins SHIELD’s recruit program, she expects early mornings, bruised egos, and maybe a few sore muscles.

What she doesn’t expect is Bucky Barnes.

Gruff, guarded, and clearly pissed to be there, he’s everything she’s not — and the more she smiles, the more he seems to resent her. But beneath the barbed wire and sarcasm, something starts to shift.

Until it all unravels.

Strange memories. Unanswered questions. A past she can’t remember and a truth that doesn’t want to stay buried.

This isn’t just about becoming an agent anymore.

It’s about surviving what comes after.

Content warnings: memory manipulation, brainwashing/mind control, trauma recovery, dissociation, identity crisis, psychological manipulation, canon-typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, HYDRA experimentation, control triggers, angst, slow burn, emotional breakdowns, explicit content in later chapters (clearly marked)

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

It started with water.

Cold.

Seeping past her lips. Sliding into her lungs.

Her body bucked — or tried to — but nothing moved. Her arms were heavy. Pressure crushed her chest. She was sinking, but not drowning. Not yet.

Somewhere above her, behind glass, a voice crackled through static. “Subject Twelve. Commence sequence.”

A light flared white-hot overhead.

She tried to scream. No sound came out. She tried to fight. No motion. Even her heartbeat felt like it wasn’t hers.

Then: a needle. Sliding into her arm. Clean. Precise. Practiced.

She didn’t see the face. Just gloves. Cold fingers on her skin.

Flash.

A hallway — walls the color of bone, no windows, just a red light blinking at the far end. Sirens muted. Footsteps loud. She couldn’t discern whose it was, hers maybe?

Flash.

Metal restraints. Straps across her wrists. A chair bolted to the floor. “Protocol reset. Subject unresponsive.”

Flash.

Hands shoving her forward. She hit the ground hard. Knees, palms, then pain. She looked up and saw a file marked with a black number. Twelve.

She tried to read more — the words blurred, scrambled, folding in on themselves like they didn’t want her to see them.

Her chest started to burn again. The water was back.

She was back in the tank.

No air.

No time.

No name.

Pain bloomed behind her eyes — not sharp, not sudden. Just wrong. Like something inside her was being rearranged.

Then came the sound — a hollow thud, like a heartbeat against metal. And then, silence.

She jerked awake.

Sheets twisted tight around her ankle. Sweat at the base of her spine. Breath ragged like it had to fight its way out.

Cass was snoring softly.

Nadia was already up, sitting cross-legged on her bunk, lacing her boots with the kind of quiet precision that said this wasn’t her first early morning — or her first shared room. She moved like someone who was always waiting for orders.

Spencer wiped a hand across her face and sat up slowly.

The dream was already fading, the details smudging around the edges like water on ink — but the feeling lingered. That wrongness. Like something had scraped along the inside of her skull and left a mark.

She didn’t know what it meant. She just knew it wasn’t the first time.

A pause.

Then Nadia’s voice, low and even. “You always wake up like that?”

Spencer glanced up. Nadia wasn’t looking at her — just finishing her laces, her face unreadable. She hesitated. “Like what?”

“You came out of that like you were expecting to be somewhere else.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even nosy. Just... accurate.

Spencer forced a shrug. “Bad dream.”

Nadia hummed, like she didn’t believe her but didn’t care enough to press.

Before Spencer could say anything else, the lights snapped on overhead. She winced.

Cass woke up with a groan, dragging her blanket over her face. “Why does it feel like we’re being punished for crimes we haven’t committed yet?”

Spencer didn’t answer. She was still blinking against the overhead lights, trying to slow her breathing.

Cass peeked out from under the blanket. “Is this what military people call character-building? Because I’m ready to defect.”

Nadia stood and adjusted the cuff of her uniform. “It’s supposed to increase... something.”

Cass blinked at her. “Discipline?”

“Sure. That.” Nadia pulled her boot on tighter. “Or maybe it’s just tradition. Make you miserable so you bond over it later.”

Spencer glanced at her. It was the closest thing to a joke Nadia had made since they met.

Cass flopped back dramatically. “Ugh, no thank you. If I wanted to suffer in the cold before sunrise, I’d just go camping."

That pulled the faintest smirk from Spencer.

Nadia raised a brow but didn’t comment further, already heading for the door.

Cass rolled onto her side, mumbling into her pillow. “Remind me again why we signed up for this?”

Spencer pushed herself to her feet, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Optimism. Delusion. Some combination of the two.”

Cass pointed weakly from the bed. “That’s it. Put it on a T-shirt.”

Spencer grabbed her water bottle and gave the mattress a light tap on her way past. “Come on, sunshine. Time to get up.”

Cass let out a dramatic groan. “You sound like my mother.”

“You should call her,” Spencer deadpanned. “Tell her SHIELD broke you. She’ll understand.”

That earned a laugh. Muffled, sleepy and genuine.

Nadia didn’t say anything, but Spencer caught the tiniest upward quirk at the corner of her mouth before she turned toward the door

Cass made a noise that might’ve been a curse or a plea for mercy. Spencer took it as progress.

✦ ✦ ✦

The hallway outside was already humming. Recruits filed out of rooms like soldiers in training montages — bleary-eyed, stiff, barely caffeinated. Somewhere ahead, someone sneezed. Behind them, someone tripped over their own bootlaces.

“God, these things are basically socially acceptable compression socks,” Cass muttered, tugging at the hem of her top as they walked. “I was not built for tactical wear. I was built for sweatpants and emotionally supportive cardigans.”

Spencer arched a brow. Their uniforms were matte-black and close-fitting, made from a compression fabric that flexed with every movement — tight enough to support, but structured enough not to cling. Reinforced stitching traced along key joints, with light padding at the knees and elbows for impact. On the left side of the chest, each recruit’s last name was printed in small, block lettering. The only other mark was a subdued SHIELD emblem on the shoulder. No ranks. No flash. Just function.

Cass glanced down at hers and snorted. “Nothing like being reminded you’re just a surname in spandex.”

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Spencer said.

Nadia didn’t weigh in. She moved ahead of them, like she already knew what the rest of the day would require and had made peace with it.

The closer they got to the training room, the quieter everything became — like the building itself knew what was coming.

By the time they stepped inside, Bucky Barnes was already standing near the mats, arms crossed, jaw set, and gaze locked.

On her.

Spencer blinked. Then blinked again. Nope. Still staring.

She kept her expression neutral and moved to stretch beside Cass like she hadn’t noticed.

“Why do I feel like we’re about to get emotionally waterboarded?” Cass whispered.

“Because we are,” Spencer whispered back.

Bucky’s voice cut through the air before anyone else could speak.

“Form up.”

The recruits scrambled into a line, some sharper than others. Nadia landed near the front without even trying. Spencer ended up beside Cass, shoulder to shoulder with another guy who looked like he was trying not to puke.

Bucky paced in front of them slowly, like a wolf walking the perimeter of a cage. Silent at first.

“Some of you think yesterday was a test. It wasn’t.” He spoke eventually

His eyes landed briefly on Spencer. Just long enough for her to feel it.

“That was an introduction. A soft one.”

A few people shifted. Cass muttered, “Define soft.”

“Today,” Bucky continued, ignoring her, “you’re going to learn what your limits are. The rest of the week? You’ll learn how to break them.”

Spencer exhaled through her nose, rolling out her shoulders.

The buzz under her skin hadn’t left. That itch. That flicker. Like her body was waiting for something her brain still didn’t have a name for.

Bucky stopped pacing. “Monroe. Fey. You’re first.”

Cass let out a noise somewhere between panic and protest. “Both of us?”

“You’re partners,” Bucky said flatly. “You move together, or you fall apart.”

Spencer stood, already tightening her gloves. “No pressure.”

Bucky didn’t waste time. He gestured toward a square of padded flooring surrounded by orange hazard tape. Cones, foam barriers, and low trip-lines had been laid out in a winding path that zigzagged to a blinking red light at the far end.

A black visor hung from a hook beside the mat.

Cass blinked. “That’s... a blindfold.”

“Welcome to the comms drill,” Bucky said. “One of you sees. One of you moves.”

Spencer stepped forward. “We switching halfway?”

“You’ve got three flags before it’s a fail,” Bucky replied. “One at the beacon. You’ll switch there. Time’s being tracked."

He pointed toward the nearest tripwire. “Every hit’s a flag. Cones, wires, stepping off the path — any contact triggers a penalty.”

Cass raised a hand slightly. “What if you fall but don’t hit anything?”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Slipping’s fine. Hitting something isn’t.”

Cass eyed the maze of obstacles. “Cool. Cool.”

Spencer gave her a half-smile and reached for the visor. “I’ll go first.”

“You sure?”

“Not really. But someone has to.”

She slipped the visor on. Instantly, her posture shifted. Not rigid or robotic — just precise. Settled. Like she was tuning out the rest of the room.

Cass moved to the edge of the mat, still half-awake and already overthinking.

“Okay,” she said, lifting a hand like it helped. “Take two steps forward. Easy pace.”

Spencer moved. The first step landed clean. The second skidded. Her boot slid out from under her, and she hit the mat with a sharp exhale. There was a ripple of stifled laughter behind them. She hated that sound of laughter. "It's fine. It's not a penalty." She spoke as she slowly stood up, being careful not to move much. "What now?" She asked, ignoring the pounding in her chest.

“Little to your right,” Cass said. “There’s a short cone in front of you. Step wide.”

Spencer did — but clipped the edge of it with her boot. A soft ping rang out.

Cass winced. “Crap. Sorry. That one was on me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Spencer said. Calm. Not dismissive, just laser-focused.

“Okay. One step forward. Stop. Drop low — there’s a wire at knee height. Go slow.”

This time, Spencer adjusted. Her movements smooth, low to the ground, fingertips brushing the mat like a dancer finding her mark. No ping.

Slowly, the rhythm settled, awkward at first, then smoother. Spencer’s body adjusted before Cass could finish giving commands. Turned early. Dropped low. Reached out at the exact moment a barrier approached, like some part of her could read the room.

There was a grace to it, even when she slipped — the way she placed her feet with careful precision, the way her balance shifted like she understood weight and flow. Her toes pointed just slightly when she stepped over obstacles. Her arms moved like they belonged to someone trained in control, not chaos.

Not military.

Something else.

Across the room, Bucky watched her like he was watching a glitch in a program — something not quite breaking the rules, but bending them.

Sam stepped up beside him, cradling his SHIELD mug before taking a sip of the bitter coffee

“You know, there’s a whole team out there. Not just one recruit.” He spoke eventually.

Bucky didn’t answer.

His eyes stayed fixed on Spencer — the way she moved and recovered from little mistakes without getting flustered or overwhelmed.

Sam followed his line of sight, watched for a moment. Then his gaze shifted slightly.

“Monroe’s good too,” he said, more thoughtful now. “Bit of a wildcard. Quick on her feet, talks a lot to keep herself calm. California kid, I’m guessing. She has that kind of bounce in her step."

Bucky didn’t respond.

Then Spencer reached the halfway beacon. A soft ping echoed. One penalty.

Not perfect, but close.

Cass gave a weak cheer. “Hell yes. Okay. My turn to trip over everything.”

Spencer lifted the visor, blinking slowly. “You got this." She reassured her, handing her the visor with a lopsided smile.

Cass traded places with her, still muttering about impending doom.

Spencer moved to the edge of the mat and crouched slightly, hands braced on her knees.

“You ready?” she asked.

Cass gave her a shaky thumbs up. “If I faceplant, please pretend it was part of the strategy.”

Spencer grinned faintly. “Obviously.”

Behind them, Bucky didn’t say a word but his arms stayed crossed. Sam still stood next to him, watching with intrigue.

Cass stepped onto the mat cautiously, like it might explode under her feet.

Spencer stayed crouched at the edge, eyes sharp now, tracking every shift in her partner’s body.

“Alright,” she said, voice low but steady. “One step forward. Stay center. There’s a cone on your left, ignore it — it’s a fake-out.”

Cass moved. Her foot caught the edge of the mat, but she steadied herself.

“Good,” Spencer said. “Two more. You’ll feel the padding shift. That’s normal."

“Your definition of normal worries me,” Cass muttered, but she kept going.

"Don't fall like I did." She joked, easing the tension in Cass just a little bit as she kept moving.

Spencer kept her tone even, clipped, confident. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t hesitate.

“Stop. Drop low — there’s a horizontal beam coming up. Crawl under it. Right knee first.”

Cass did as she was told.

Spencer smiled a little. “You’re good.”

“You say that now,” Cass grumbled. “Just wait until I do something stupid.”

“Then we adapt.”

It wasn’t said to comfort her. It was just matter-of-fact. Simple. Certain.

Cass didn’t reply but her shoulders unhitched slightly.

They kept moving. Spencer adjusted her calls for Cass’s height and stride without asking. She pre-empted Cass’s hesitation. Shortened instructions when she needed to. Stepped in verbally when Cass’s confidence wobbled.

Cass almost triggered a tripwire near the midpoint — but stopped an inch short on Spencer’s warning alone.

A soft ping. That made one penalty.

Cass huffed. “That one’s on me.”

“It’s one,” Spencer said. “We’re still good.”

Cass pressed forward.

And when she finally reached the halfway beacon — the red strobe light flickering against the mat — she nearly knocked it over by accident.

Spencer grinned. “Graceful.”

Cass pulled off the visor and pushed her hair back, flushed and breathless.

“I didn’t fall,” she said proudly.

“You didn’t,” Spencer agreed. “Big win.”

Behind them, Bucky finally glanced down at his tablet. Two penalties total. One each.

He made no comment. But Sam, still nursing his coffee nearby, smirked.

“Looks like they’re not the disaster team.”

Bucky didn’t answer, his eyes still trained on her.

Spencer grinned and high-fived Cass, their fingers catching for a second before they turned, breathless and hopeful, toward Bucky for whatever came next.

Bucky stared at them for a moment. Long enough for Cass’s grin to twitch into a questioning look.

Then, flatly: “Not terrible.”

That was it.

He turned away like the drill hadn’t just impressed him. Like it hadn’t even happened.

Cass blinked. “Wow. Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Sam, still leaning against the wall with his coffee, snorted.

“That’s Barnes for ‘great work.’ Gold star, minimal trauma.”

Spencer smirked, but didn’t say anything. Her breathing was still coming down. The burn in her arms was real, but it felt good. Earned.

Cass exhaled hard, already rubbing her shoulder. “Please tell me that was the hard part.”

Sam raised a brow. “That was the warm-up.”

Cass whimpered and Spencer laughed, patting her friend on the shoulder as they stepped off the mat together.

Somewhere behind them, Bucky spoke again, cutting clean across the room.

“Next team. Let’s see if anyone else came here to work.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Cass flopped onto the nearest bench like gravity had finally won.

“I don’t even remember how to sit down like a normal person,” she groaned, pulling off her gloves and flexing her fingers like they’d betrayed her.

Spencer handed her a water bottle and sat beside her, quieter but no less winded.

Cass glanced sideways. “So… we didn’t totally suck.”

Spencer took a long sip of water before answering. “We weren’t the worst.”

Cass grinned. “I’ll take it. That’s basically an award around here.”

Nadia walked past them, silent as ever, but her gaze flicked briefly toward the pair. She gave the smallest nod — acknowledgment, maybe even approval — before falling back into line.

Cass arched a brow. “Did… did Nadia just respect us?”

“She’s still deciding,” Spencer said, wiping sweat from her brow.

Cass leaned her head back against the wall. “She can take her time. I’m gonna die in round two anyway.”

Spencer capped her bottle and stood. “You’ll be fine. Probably.”

Cass gave her a look. “Wow. So comforting.”

Spencer offered a crooked grin. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Cass groaned again but stood anyway, dragging herself upright like the floor was trying to keep her. “I knew I should’ve taken up something mellow. Like gardening.”

Spencer cracked a smile, but her gaze drifted past Cass to the other recruits still grinding through the comms task. They were strong. Focused. No one looked like they were planning to coast.

She rolled out her shoulder slowly, the ache settling in deeper than before.

“They’re good,” she said quietly. “Really good.”

Cass followed her line of sight. “You mean terrifyingly competent? Yeah. I noticed.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. She watched one of the recruits miss a call, stumble, and recover without missing a beat. The others didn't even flinch. The standard was high. Higher than she expected. She couldn’t help but wonder how far some of them were willing to go to stay here.

Her gaze lingered on the course, but eventually shifted toward the edge of the room.

Barnes stood there.

He wasn’t watching the drill. He was watching her.

Not openly. Not obviously. Just enough to make her stomach flicker like a coin tossed in the air. She didn’t look away. Not immediately.

For a moment, the noise of the room dulled. It was like being caught in a still frame. Then he turned his head and looked somewhere else, like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

But Spencer knew what she saw.

And she had the strange feeling that he did too.

✦ ✦ ✦

Across the room, another whistle blew. Sharp and fast, it cut through the last remnants of quiet like a knife across fabric.

Bucky’s voice followed close behind, rough and gravelly, like it had been dragged through dirt and used to bark orders for years. “Next round. Endurance gauntlet. Line up.”

Spencer reached down and offered her hand to Cass, who looked like she was rethinking every decision that had led her here. Cass sighed and took it, letting Spencer help pull her to her feet.

“Ready?” Spencer asked.

“Not even remotely,” Cass muttered, brushing hair from her face.

Bucky didn’t wait for stragglers. He jerked his chin toward the double doors across the room. It was all the command they were going to get.

“Outside.”

Cass groaned as she started walking. “Of course we’re going outside. Why wouldn’t we be?”

Spencer wiped her forehead with the back of her arm, her breath still just a little too shallow from the earlier drill. “It’s not training until you hate everything.”

The cold met them like a slap when they stepped out into the yard. It snuck under the hem of their shirts and down their sleeves, biting at any skin that wasn’t covered. The air reeked of wet concrete and rust, like rain had fallen earlier but never quite washed anything clean.

The sun was trying to push through the clouds overhead but was failing miserably. The entire field looked like it had been designed to break people.

The gauntlet wasn’t a single course. It was four back-to-back trials laid out with cruel precision.

The first was a sprint. Twenty meters down and twenty back, no warmup, no pacing, just speed through loose gravel.

Then came the crawl. Frost-damp dirt and wire strung too low to be reasonable. The stakes holding it in place were crooked and rusted. No way around it. Only under.

After that, the weighted carries. Ten-pound plates in each hand, dragged over uneven terrain — cracked earth, old tire treads, and puddles that hadn’t drained. Twice. There was no clean path. Just whatever you could push through.

And last, the worst of it: a series of narrow balance beams, wobbling and slick with morning moisture, leading to a wall that looked more like a punishment than a finish line. It was patchy with frost from the early morning, marked by scuffed boot prints and the ghosts of failed attempts. No ropes. No footholds. Just you, your body, and how much you had left in the tank.

Cass stared at the setup like she was reading her own obituary written in metal and concrete.

Spencer exhaled, slow and steady, and rolled out her shoulders. Her muscles ached, but it was familiar now. It was something she could work with. Her body felt like it was waiting, like it had been wound too tight and this was the only way to let it unwind.

Bucky walked along the line of recruits with a clipboard in one hand, scanning the roster as if checking who was most likely to pass out mid-run. “Two at a time. You’ll be staggered. Clock’s running.”

The first pair went when he called. A girl and a tall guy, both from the quieter end of the group. Within moments, the guy was already wheezing, arms dragging, while the girl pulled ahead without looking back.

Spencer tracked them with her eyes, cataloguing every movement. She wasn’t watching for mistakes. She was watching the rhythm. The beat of it. How it could be mastered if you saw it clearly enough.

Then Bucky called. “Monroe. Fey. Go.”

They ran.

“He hates us,” Spencer muttered between breaths, her boots hitting the gravel in rapid strides.

Cass wasn’t far behind, falling into step with surprising ease. She wasn’t as fast, but she was steady. “He hates everyone,” she said. “It’s kind of reassuring.”

Spencer moved like someone who had been training her whole life to hide how hard she was trying. Her arms swung clean and sharp, her legs stretched into long, smooth strides. Every movement looked deliberate. Controlled. Her boots skimmed just above the ground, never stomping, never dragging.

She didn’t run ahead. Even though they were marked separately, she matched Cass’s pace without comment.

When they hit the crawl section, Cass dropped instantly, teeth gritted as she braced for the cold. Spencer followed, slipping low into the dirt, her elbows carving a path forward through the damp earth.

Somewhere in the middle, Cass hissed, “Elbow—damn, that hurt.”

Spencer didn’t stop. “Left side’s lower. Angle right. You’ve got more space.”

Cass didn’t question her. She moved and cleared the next length with better ease.

The weighted carries came next. Cass was already slowing, her breath coming out in shorter bursts. Spencer flexed her hands once and picked up her plates without flinching. Her fingers locked tight, her body adjusting to the new weight.

Halfway through the first lap, her grip faltered. One of the plates tilted, the edge biting into her thigh as she caught it with a sharp breath and adjusted. Her knuckles whitened around the handles, shoulders rolling forward.

Cass noticed but didn’t comment. Just kept moving beside her, steady and silent.

“You okay?” she asked eventually, not looking over.

Spencer nodded once. “Yeah.”

She didn’t sound convincing. But she didn’t stop either.

By the second run, Cass’s arms were visibly shaking. Spencer wasn’t far behind, sweat clinging to the back of her neck, her breath short. Still, she moved.

The balance beams were uneven and cruel. Cass stepped onto the first one and nearly lost her footing.

Spencer’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist and steadying her. “Reset your stance. Narrow your step. Less bounce.”

Cass nodded once, her mouth a grim line. Together, they moved again. Carefully. Slowly.

At the final wall, the two of them stared up at it in disbelief.

"Did it get bigger? I feel like it got bigger," Spencer spoke breathlessly.

“Definitely got bigger,” Cass agreed, wiping the sweat from her brow.

Spencer took two steps back, ran, and launched. Her hands found the top edge, but not clean. Her fingers slipped for half a second, skin tearing against the frost-rough concrete. She hissed through her teeth, pain needling through her palm, but her elbows locked. With a grunt, she hauled herself up, knee swinging over, breath sharp through grit.

At the top, she turned and reached down.

Cass jumped. Her fingers touched the ledge but slipped.

She jumped again. Caught it. Her grip faltered and she dropped slightly, a sharp curse escaping.

Spencer didn’t wait. She dropped low, caught her by the wrist, and pulled.

Cass scrambled over the top, landing in a heap beside her. They dropped to the other side together, the gravel biting into their backs and cold air sticking to their sweat.

“I blacked out somewhere between the plates and the beams,” Cass muttered, eyes on the sky.

Spencer stared up beside her, chest rising and falling. “Still not dead,” she said.

✦ ✦ ✦

Boots had shuffled out of the training hall, laughter fading. The clang of lockers and the low murmur of post-drill complaints echoed faintly from down the hall. But Spencer stayed where she was. The others had peeled off one by one, Cass throwing her a weak salute as she limped toward the exit, muttering something about a heroic nap. Spencer barely heard her.

The mats were silent now. The air still carried the bite of cold from outside, mingled with the sweat-slick warmth of effort and old vinyl. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. She stood in the center of it, facing the heavy bag.

She started slow. No warmup. No hesitation.

One punch. Then another. Controlled. Efficient. Her stance locked into place without thinking, feet light, pivot just right. Jab, cross. Hook. A pause. She adjusted her footing and started again. There was no aggression in it, no frustration. Just precision — like something in her needed the repetition. Needed to know it still made sense.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

“You drop your shoulder,” Bucky said.

She froze mid-strike, her balance shifting subtly, weight pulling toward her back foot. One hand lowered. The other hovered in the air like it hadn’t gotten the memo. Her chest rose. Held.

Then she exhaled. Slow. Controlled. Not shaky, but close.

She didn’t turn right away. Just let the silence stretch a little longer before glancing at him over her shoulder.

He was already walking toward her, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He stepped in close. Not close enough to crowd, but close enough that the temperature shifted. The room felt smaller.

Without a word, he reached for her wrist. Adjusted the angle with quiet, steady hands. His thumb paused when it brushed the inside of her palm.

There was blood. A thin scrape just below her fingers, skin raw from the wall. It hadn’t clotted yet. Still stung.

He didn’t mention it. Just held her wrist a beat longer, then tapped her elbow into place, his fingers warm against the skin just above the joint.

"Keep it tighter," he said. "Don’t throw it from your chest."

She nodded once, eyes forward again.

She threw the hook.

It landed cleaner. Sharper. The bag rocked with a satisfying thud that felt like it came from somewhere deeper in her ribs.

He stepped back again, the shift in air almost more noticeable than his presence had been.

She let a few seconds pass before saying, “You always come back to check on people?”

He looked at her, just for a second. Then toward the door.

“No.”

Then he left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Spencer let her hands fall and blinked once, then turned back to the bag.

[cl0-ve]

The Canary Project — Chapter 1: Terms of Service

Bucky Barnes x Female OC (Spencer Fey)

Summary: When Spencer Fey joins SHIELD’s recruit program, she expects early mornings, bruised egos, and maybe a few sore muscles.

What she doesn’t expect is Bucky Barnes.

Gruff, guarded, and clearly pissed to be there, he’s everything she’s not — and the more she smiles, the more he seems to resent her. But beneath the barbed wire and sarcasm, something starts to shift.

Until it all unravels.

Strange memories. Unanswered questions. A past she can’t remember and a truth that doesn’t want to stay buried.

This isn’t just about becoming an agent anymore.

It’s about surviving what comes after.

Content warnings: memory manipulation, brainwashing/mind control, trauma recovery, dissociation, identity crisis, psychological manipulation, canon-typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, HYDRA experimentation, control triggers, angst, slow burn, emotional breakdowns, explicit content in later chapters (clearly marked)

series masterlist | next chapter

The training room was too quiet when Spencer Fey stepped inside — not silent, just heavy, like the air hadn’t decided what kind of day it was going to be yet. Recruits milled across the mat, stretching, testing the tension in their joints, trading nervous glances like they were all waiting for something to explode.

She’d been up since five. Drank a terrible cup of vending machine coffee. Almost wore mismatched socks and decided not to care. And now? She was here. SHIELD. Or whatever SHIELD was calling itself these days. Rebuilt, rebranded, supposedly less corrupt. Day one. It didn’t get more official than this.

Her hoodie was zipped halfway down over a snug black tank, sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her ponytail was already loosening, strands of dark hair falling around her face as she bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, taking in the room like it was an old friend.

She found the girl who looked the least likely to bite her head off and headed over. If she was going to get yelled at today, she figured it might be nice to do it with a friend. "So, how much do you think this is going to suck?" Spencer spoke with a small smile as she looked up at the girl. "Well, based on who's at the front of the room. I'm guessing a lot," the girl responded with a grin. "I'm Cassandra, by the way. Or Cass. Some people call me Cass." The girl seemed nervous. “Spencer,” she returned, glancing toward the front. “Nice to meet you, Cass. May we survive the next eight weeks.”

Cass gave a soft huff of a laugh. “With those two? That’s optimistic.”

And then her eyes caught on them — the two men at the front.

That was the first time she saw James Buchanan Barnes.

He looked… annoyed. Tense. Like someone had dragged him here against his will and he was ready to throw hands over it. Arms crossed, scowl set. Real do-not-disturb energy. The other man was more relaxed, watching everything with a subtle grin, like he already knew how the day would go and was waiting for someone else to catch up.

She didn’t know who they were yet, but she was smart enough to clock authority when she saw it.

The grumpy one muttered something under his breath. The smiling one elbowed him lightly.

She didn’t catch what was said — she was already stretching — but if she had looked closer, she might’ve noticed the way Barnes was looking at her. Like she was a puzzle dumped out on the floor with half the pieces missing.

Spencer stretched deep into her hips, shaking out her limbs. Sometimes her muscles felt like they knew something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet. It didn’t bother her. Much.

Then: Heels. Black suit. A woman walked in like she owned the air in the room.

Spencer straightened.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” the woman said. “Reformed. Revamped. Still dangerous.”

Every recruit fell still.

“Now,” she said, voice carrying easily through the room. “Each of you is here because you have something SHIELD needs. Potential, skill, instinct, or maybe just blind luck. Doesn’t really matter which.”

She paused, her eyes scanning the room like she was memorizing faces, deciding which ones wouldn’t make it past week one.

“You’re not agents. Not yet. Some of you won’t ever be. We don’t hand out badges to people who can’t follow orders or take a hit.”

A few recruits shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re here to be tested. To be pushed. And if you’re lucky, shaped into someone who might survive long enough to make a difference.”

Her gaze shifted slightly, sharp and deliberate.

“And someone," she nodded toward the two men beside her, her tone turning almost amused, “is going to be responsible for making sure you don’t die trying.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Not it,” they said in perfect sync.

There was a pause.

The woman blinked, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

Sam was already grinning. “Alright, then. Bet time. Who eats the mat first?”

Grumpy — Barnes — barely gave the group a second glance before his eyes landed on the bright-eyed girl with the ridiculous smile, standing just a little too confidently on the mat.

He pointed. “That one. Too eager.”

Spencer blinked.

Challenge accepted.

Spencer didn’t flinch under the weight of Barnes’s judgment. She didn’t shrink, didn’t roll her eyes. She just stretched a little deeper, smiled a little wider, and said nothing.

So of course, when Hill started calling names from her clipboard, hers was first.

“Fey, you're up. You’ll spar against Krell.”

Spencer stood, rolled out her shoulders, and stepped up like she wasn’t even remotely surprised.

Across from her stood a guy built like a linebacker — buzzcut, brimming with confidence, already rolling out his neck like he was auditioning for a fight scene.

She looked up at him, took a breath, and steadied herself. No nerves. Just a quiet hum under her skin — something between focus and adrenaline.

“Non-lethal,” Sam called, already leaning on the wall like this was his morning entertainment. “No broken bones on day one, please.”

Barnes didn’t speak. Just watched, jaw tight.

“You’ll be scored based on time,” the woman said, gesturing to the timer mounted high on the wall. “The longer you stay standing — or the quicker you win — the better. Lowest scores at the end of each week gets cut.”

No pressure, Spencer thought dryly.

The whistle blew.

Krell came at her with all the grace of a battering ram — strong, fast, but predictable. Too eager.

She stepped aside, pivoted, and let muscle memory do the rest. Her body moved before she had time to think. Duck. Counter. Hit. Move.

It wasn’t elegant — not at first — but it was effective.

A clean strike to his ribs made him stumble. He recovered quickly, charging back harder.

She didn’t panic. She blocked. Her hands moved like they’d done this before, even if she couldn’t remember when. Her heart was calm. Her mind was blank.

Then came the finishing move: sweep, twist, shift.

Krell hit the mat with a heavy thud that echoed through the room.

Silence.

Spencer stayed poised, her breath steady, knuckles tingling.

She glanced up as she heard a whistle blow.

Barnes’s arms were still crossed, but his eyes had narrowed slightly. Something like suspicion — or maybe recognition — flickered across his face.

Cass stared from the sidelines, mouth slightly open.

Spencer stepped back and offered him a hand.

“Good match,” she said lightly.

He didn’t take it. Just got to his feet, brushed himself off, and gave her a look — not angry, but cold. Like she wasn’t what he expected, and that unsettled him.

“Spencer, by the way,” she added, smile still on her face as she lowered her hand.

He didn’t respond. Just walked off toward a huddle of recruits who gave her sideways glances as he rejoined them.

“Cool,” Spencer muttered under her breath. “Definitely making friends.”

She walked back toward Cass and dropped down beside her.

Cass handed her a water bottle. “Okay. Seriously. What the hell was that?”

“Lucky shot,” Spencer replied. Too fast. Too smooth. It didn’t feel like luck. But she wasn’t ready to unpack that.

Cass gave her a squint. “Fine. Keep your secrets."

Spencer cracked the bottle open and took a long drink, the cold water doing little to calm the heat under her skin.

✦ ✦ ✦

“You owe me twenty,” Sam said as they walked out of the room. “And more importantly, you get to train them. Congrats, Sergeant Babysitter.”

“I never agreed to that,” Bucky grumbled.

“You pointed at her,” Sam shrugged. “You chose wrong. That’s how bets work.”

A voice behind them interrupted — calm and dry.

“He’s got the recruits,” the woman said, tablet in hand. “Wilson, you’re observing only. Try not to encourage them.”

Sam gave a mock salute. “No promises.”

“Quarters are assigned. North wing, second floor. Three per room. You two have your own.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Just glanced back at the group as they filtered out.

One of them — her — was still smiling.

He hated that.

Not because it was annoying. Because it didn’t match what she could do.

✦ ✦ ✦

“Recruits!” Bucky barked. His voice snapped through the air.

They stopped instantly. Every one of them.

“Follow me.”

They moved in a group down the corridor, the floor gleaming under harsh fluorescent light. Spencer fell in step next to Cass, still sipping her water and pretending her pulse wasn’t pounding.

Behind them, she could hear Sam and Barnes — one silent, one muttering about bets.

Bucky led them to a stop and turned.

“I didn’t volunteer to train you,” he said plainly. “But I’m here now. So here’s the deal.”

His eyes scanned the group like he was cataloguing weaknesses.

“You give me your best, or you don’t last,” Bucky said flatly. “If you screw around, mouth off, or waste my time — I’ll personally make sure you’re back in whatever small town you crawled out of, folding laundry and telling your neighbors how close you almost got.”

He let it hang in the air for a beat. No one dared speak.

Sam raised a brow. “You done?”

“Nope.”

“Barnes is fine. ‘Sergeant’ if you want to piss me off.”

They moved on. At the end of the hall, tablet-woman glanced up.

“Fey, Monroe, Razi — Room 214,” Maria called. "Monroe. That's me," Cass spoke with a smile.

Spencer glanced toward her. “Guess you’re stuck with me after all.”

A third girl, tall with close-cropped hair and a sharp stare, stepped forward at the sound of her name.

“That’s me,” she said flatly. “Razi. Nadia Razi.”

Cass raised a brow. “Cool. We’re already a sitcom.”

✦ ✦ ✦

Room 214 was nothing special.

Two bunks, one trundle. A narrow desk, a closet meant to test their ability to share. Stark white walls that practically dared you to make them interesting.

Cass claimed the bottom bunk before Spencer could blink. “Back problems,” she said cheerfully, tossing her duffel up top for good measure. “That’s my excuse.”

Spencer shrugged and grabbed the trundle. She liked the floor. It felt grounded.

Nadia didn’t speak. Just started unpacking with the mechanical efficiency of someone who didn’t plan to stay long.

Spencer glanced at her once, curious — the girl moved like she was always waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

“Fun group,” Spencer murmured as she dropped her bag.

Nadia didn’t look up. “We’ll see.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it. She’d learned to spot a wall when she saw one — and more importantly, when not to waste her breath trying to climb it.

Cass, meanwhile, had already kicked off her boots and was lying across the bottom bunk like she owned it. “So,” she said, propping herself up on her elbows, “what’s your story, Fey?”

Spencer blinked, mid-unzipping her duffel. “You want my tragic backstory already? We just met.”

��Obviously,” Cass replied, grinning. “This place is basically a superhero summer camp. We’ve all got baggage. I’m just making conversation.”

Nadia let out a quiet snort, the first sign of amusement she’d shown since they walked in.

Spencer smirked. “Alright. Fine. My story? Raised by wolves. Or nuns. Honestly, jury’s still out.”

Cass nodded seriously. “Mystery. I respect that.”

“What about you?” Spencer shot back, flopping onto the edge of the trundle. “What’s your baggage?”

“Oh, mine’s cute,” Cass said. “EMT turned SHIELD hopeful. You know. Classic overachiever spiral.”

“Respectable spiral.”

Nadia was silent again, folding a neatly pressed black shirt before sliding it into the drawer under her bed.

Cass glanced at her, hesitant. “What about you?”

Nadia didn’t answer right away. She kept her eyes on the drawer before shrugging. “Nothing worth telling.”

Something about the way she said it, clipped and final, made Spencer’s stomach pull tight.

Cass gave an awkward laugh. “Right. Yeah. Cool. No problem.”

The silence stretched too long after that.

Spencer leaned back on her elbows and stared at the ceiling. “So... bets on who gets kicked out first?”

Cass perked up. “Krell.”

“Definitely Krell.”

“Guy’s got glass ego and two brain cells.”

Spencer smiled. “Poor guy.”

Nadia didn’t chime in. But Spencer caught it — the faint flicker in her eyes. Not disinterest. Not quite agreement. Just watchfulness.

Later that night, the room settled into a kind of uneasy stillness.

Cass was already half-buried in her blanket, scrolling through something on her phone until the lights dimmed, signalling that it was time for them to sleep. Nadia lay on her back, eyes open, like sleep was something she hadn’t earned yet. Spencer, meanwhile, lay curled on the trundle, arm over her eyes, letting her thoughts drift.

Cass broke the silence first.

“You think Barnes is always like that? Or did we just catch him on a bad decade?”

Spencer let out a snort. “Sergeant Grumpy? I’m pretty sure that’s just his default setting.”

Cass laughed, loud enough to earn a glare from Nadia. “God, yes. That whole ‘Barnes is fine. Sergeant, if you wanna piss me off’ thing?” She dropped into a mock-gruff voice. “Real welcoming.”

Spencer smirked. “Tell me you wouldn’t say it on purpose.”

“Only once,” Cass said. “And then I’d probably be mopping up my own teeth.” She giggled, muffling it into her pillow. "I kept waiting for his face to crack or something. Like maybe he’d smile once and we’d all get vaporized.” “I think that was his version of smiling,” Spencer laughed, trying to stifle the sound with her arm.

From the top bunk, Cass whispered dramatically, “Do you think he sleeps upside-down like a bat?”

Spencer chuckled under her breath. “Only if he’s not too busy brooding in doorways and judging my every life choice.”

That earned another laugh. Even Nadia, still facing the ceiling, said quietly, “You did beat his golden boy.”

Spencer blinked. “Krell?”

Nadia nodded once. “Pretty sure he was supposed to be the one to prove a point. You kinda wrecked the narrative.”

“Huh.” Spencer didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “Guess no one told me I was supposed to lose.”

Silence again. Not cold this time — just thoughtful.

After a moment, Cass mumbled, “Well, for the record… I’m glad you didn’t.”

Spencer smiled in the dark.

“Me too.”

A sharp bang rattled the door.

They all jumped.

“Lights out means shut up.” Barnes’s voice came through the wall like a gunshot — low, rough, unmistakably pissed. “Go to sleep.”

Silence fell like a dropped curtain.

Cass whispered, “How the hell did he hear us?”

Spencer didn’t answer. Just rolled onto her side, grinning into her pillow.

✦ ✦ ✦

The security room was dim, cast in the low blue light of monitors and the occasional flicker of motion across camera feeds. Most of HQ was asleep. But not them.

Sam trudged in behind Bucky, hoodie half-zipped, coffee clutched in both hands like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He squinted at the clock on the wall.

“Buck, it’s barely four,” Sam huffed.

“Just watch,” Bucky cut in.

He was already standing stiff in front of the monitor bank, remote in hand, rewinding the feed with surgical precision. Training Room 3. Timestamp: 18:04.

Sam sighed and leaned on the console beside him. “This better be good.”

The footage played. Spencer stepped into frame.

No fanfare. No nerves. Just calm, focused movement as she walked to the mat. Krell was already waiting — shoulders hunched, neck rolling like he thought he was about to make a highlight reel.

The whistle blew.

“So we’re rewatching the moment you lost the bet?” he asked, grinning — but Bucky just rolled his eyes in response.

Duck. Counter. Hit. Move.

Sam straightened slightly. “She’s quick.”

“Watch her feet,” Bucky said.

They did. Spencer didn’t just dodge — she predicted. She wasn’t reacting so much as flowing around him. Her stance shifted just before Krell committed to each move, like she knew where he was going before he did.

Bucky rewound and slowed the footage.

“There. She steps right before he swings. Not even a flinch.”

Sam frowned. “Could be instinct. Or experience.”

“She’s... normal. No combat record. No previous training. She didn’t even trigger a flag on the CAB scans,” Bucky muttered.

Sam turned toward him. “So, what — you think she’s lying?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. She doesn’t even look surprised at herself. Like her body’s working faster than her brain. Like it’s... automatic.”

He let that hang.

Sam watched her sweep Krell’s leg clean and pivot like she’d done it a hundred times. Maybe more.

“Alright,” he said slowly. “That is weird.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just stared at the screen.

Sam took a sip of coffee, then added, “Or maybe you’re just mad you lost the bet.”

Bucky side-eyed him.

Sam smirked. “Come on. Don’t tell me it doesn’t sting. Picked the one girl who made your guy look like a crash test dummy.”

“She shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Bucky muttered.

“But she did.”

They let the footage run once more. Spencer, breath steady. Krell flat on the mat. The end of the clip cut to her offering him a hand — not smug, just composed. Controlled.

Almost too controlled.

Sam lowered his coffee. “You gonna tell Hill?”

Bucky didn’t respond right away. His jaw worked slightly as he stared at the paused frame.

“No.”

Sam raised a brow. “You always tell Hill.”

“She’s already stretched thin. Last thing she needs is us throwing around suspicions based on instinct.”

Sam studied him for a moment, expression cooling. “But you are suspicious.”

Bucky said nothing.

Sam leaned back with a sigh. “So we watch her.”

Bucky nodded once.

“And if something’s off...?”

“Then we find out what.”

Sam lifted his cup again. “Alright. But if it turns out she’s just a badass and you dragged me out of bed at four a.m. for no reason, you owe me breakfast. And an apology. Mostly breakfast.”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Deal.”

[cl0-ve]

The Canary Project — Meet the cast

Troian Bellisario as Spencer Fey

Sebastian Stan as James "Bucky" Barnes

Haley Lu Richardson as Cassandra "Cass" Monroe

Tati Gabrielle as Nadia Razi

Anthony Mackie as Sam Wilson

[cl0-ve]

The Canary Project — Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x Female OC (Spencer Fey)

Summary: When Spencer Fey joins SHIELD’s recruit program, she expects early mornings, bruised egos, and maybe a few sore muscles.

What she doesn’t expect is Bucky Barnes.

Gruff, guarded, and clearly pissed to be there, he’s everything she’s not — and the more she smiles, the more he seems to resent her. But beneath the barbed wire and sarcasm, something starts to shift.

Until it all unravels.

Strange memories. Unanswered questions. A past she can’t remember and a truth that doesn’t want to stay buried.

This isn’t just about becoming an agent anymore.

It’s about surviving what comes after.

Content warnings: memory manipulation, brainwashing/mind control, trauma recovery, dissociation, identity crisis, psychological manipulation, canon-typical violence, emotional hurt/comfort, HYDRA experimentation, control triggers, angst, slow burn, emotional breakdowns, explicit content in later chapters (clearly marked) Meet the cast

Chapter list:

(To be updated)

➤ Chapter 1: Terms of Service ➤ Chapter 2: Declassified

[cl0-ve]

secret moments - part one

grumpy!joel miller x singer fem!reader

summary: joel never cared for pop concerts, but for sarah, he endured the noise. he didn’t expect stolen glances, quiet conversations, or a connection that lingered like a song stuck in his head.

content: 18+ MDNI, slight reader description, slight age gap (Joel is 32, reader is younger), exploration of trust issues, subtle past trauma, protective Joel, a mix of angst and fluff, smut specified within the chapters.

series masterlist

Joel Miller had done a lot for his daughter over the years. Late-night school projects, soccer tournaments in the rain, driving across Texas for some rare vinyl drop.

This kind of thing? This was supposed to be her mother’s job. The screaming concerts, the outfit meltdowns, the hours spent memorizing lyrics to songs he didn’t care about. But she wasn’t here— hadn’t been for a long time.

So, it fell on him.

Hundreds of dollars. That’s what he’d forked over for this so-called “once-in-a-lifetime” VIP concert experience. Front-row seats, exclusive merchandise, the works. And now, here he was — arms crossed, ears ringing, surrounded by screaming teenagers while Sarah practically vibrated beside him.

“Dad, oh my God,” she gushed, clutching his sleeve. “We’re so close. What if she makes eye contact with me?”

Joel exhaled, glancing at the stage. “Yeah, real life-changing moment right there,” he deadpanned, but Sarah just elbowed him, unfazed.

“You don’t get it,” she whined. “She’s my hero.”

Oh, he got it, all right. He got it every time she played songs on repeat, every time she forced him to watch interviews, even tonight, when she changed outfits three times to look perfect. Joel didn’t think he’d ever spent this much money just to watch his daughter cry over some singer, but if she was happy, it was worth it.

Then the lights dimmed, and the shrill screams of teenagers echoed throughout the arena.

“It’s starting, it’s starting,” Sarah whispered as she shook his arm enthusiastically, but Joel didn’t share that same feeling. He was just wishing it would be over soon.

-

You had mastered showing only the sides of yourself that you wanted people to see, keeping everything else hidden. The only insight the public had into your life was your songs, and you were more than okay with that.

The media, of course, were bold. They camped outside your apartment, followed you to restaurants downtown, and always speculated which famous celebrity you were dating next. But it came with the territory, and you had come to terms with that, even if you did hate it.

As you adjusted your in-ear monitor, you heard the sounds of the audience screaming in excitement as your band began to play the introductory notes. You took a breath, held your microphone tight, and crouched on a platform underneath the stage, waiting.

The platform raised, and your heart pounded with that familiar rush of adrenaline that you had grown to love. This was what you lived for.

Sarah’s eyes widened as she watched you in awe. Your deep purple sequin bodysuit shone under the bright stage lights, and she had never seen anything quite like it.

Joel turned to her, his expression grim as the upbeat track assaulted his ears. He would never understand how she could listen to this. He was hoping it would be something she’d grow out of as she got older, like Barbies and cartoons.

As the music continued to play, and you moved around the stage like it was second nature, Joel couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow.

He glanced over at her, watching her scream along to the words like it was a religious experience.

He looked around at the sea of sequins, glitter, and bedazzled jeans. It was like a fashion nightmare and a teenager’s fever dream had a baby.

Sarah grinned, clearly proud to be one of those people decked out head-to-toe. Her own outfit, a copycat of something you had worn on a previous tour, was a testament to her dedication.

As you waved at the crowd, she swore she felt her heart flip. She clutched his arm, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Dad, she’s waving! Wave back, wave back!” she urged, clearly relishing every moment.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, his eyes tracking your every move. “Sure, wave to the millionaire singing about being heartbroken. That'll really impact her life,” he grumbled but reluctantly waved back to appease his daughter.

As song after song played, he shook his head and prepared himself for a long night.

-

Backstage was a blur. The second you stepped offstage, you wiped the sweat from your brow with a towel, your sequin bodysuit clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Catching your breath, you moved toward the mirror, pushing damp strands of hair out of your face.

You were about to get out of the outfit when the door creaked open behind you.

Expecting your team, you turned—only to be met with big brown eyes staring up at you in awe.

A young girl.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Hello,” you greeted gently, offering a small smile as you crouched down to meet her gaze. A glance behind her showed no sign of an adult.

“H-hi,” she stammered, looking like she’d just been dropped into a dream.

“Are you lost?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

She shook her head.

“Do you… belong to the crew?” you tried again, but she just stared at you, starstruck.

You let out a soft chuckle, deciding to try something simpler. “Okay… do you have a name?”

“Sarah,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Pretty name.” You smiled, trying to ease her nerves. “Where are your parents?” You held out your hand, and she took it without hesitation.

Leading her through the backstage corridors, you glanced down each hallway, searching for someone who might be looking for her. The venue was a maze of dressing rooms and security checkpoints, but then—

"Sarah!"

A gruff, frantic voice cut through the space.

Sarah stiffened beside you.

Following the sound, you turned a corner and spotted a man—broad-shouldered, tense, yanking open doors and peering inside each room. His movements were sharp, purposeful.

"Excuse me. I think I—" you started, but the man’s head snapped toward you.

His eyes landed on Sarah, and something in him seemed to release all at once. His shoulders dropped, his breath hitched — relief first, then frustration.

"Jesus Christ, kiddo," Joel exhaled, striding toward her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, scanning her up and down like he was making sure she was still in one piece. "You can't just wander off like that!"

Sarah shrank under his gaze. "Sorry, I just—"

Joel ran a hand down his face, his breath still uneven. "You scared the hell outta me," he muttered, then pulled her into a tight hug. His arms stayed locked around her, holding on just a little longer than usual.

Sarah mumbled something against his chest, and when he finally pulled back, his hands lingered on her arms, as if double-checking she was real.

As Joel held Sarah close, his grip firm but careful, you watched his eyes close briefly—just for a second—like he needed the moment to steady himself. Then, as quickly as it had happened, he pulled back, resting his hands on her shoulders and looking her over.

"You can't just wander off like that, babygirl," he repeated, his voice rough but lacking true anger. More exasperated than anything.

Sarah looked up at him sheepishly, shifting on her feet. "I—I wasn’t trying to! I just—" She hesitated, sneaking a glance at you before lowering her voice. "I just wanted to see her up close."

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head before finally acknowledging you properly. His gaze flicked over you, taking in the sequins, the makeup, and the undeniable presence of someone used to being looked at. "Thank you." His voice was gruff but not ungrateful.

"It's fine," you said with a smile. "She found me first, actually. Seemed pretty determined."

Joel huffed out something that could’ve been a laugh, though it barely made it past his exhaustion. "Yeah, she’s got a habit of that." He looked at Sarah again, softer this time. "C’mon, let’s get outta here before security thinks you're some kinda mastermind sneaking backstage."

Sarah’s eyes widened. "Wait! Can I—?" She turned to you in a rush. "Could I maybe get a picture? Please? I swear I won’t take long!"

You exchanged a quick glance with Joel, who looked like he was two seconds away from saying no on instinct. But something in the way Sarah was looking at you, practically vibrating with hope, made you nod before he could.

"Yeah, of course," you said, reaching for her phone as she beamed.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright, make it quick," he muttered, though even he couldn’t hide the faintest twitch of a smile as he watched Sarah light up.

After taking the photo, Sarah practically glowed, her excitement bubbling over as she checked the picture.

"Thank you so much," she breathed, holding her phone as it suddenly became her most prized possession.

You chuckled. "You're welcome. It was nice meeting you, Sarah."

Joel gave a small nod, still looking like he was processing the whole ordeal. His eyes flickered to you again, this time with something less guarded.

You met his gaze, offering a small, knowing smile. "You don't look like you're much of a fan."

His lips twitched. "That obvious?"

"Painfully," you teased, and to your surprise, he let out a quiet huff of amusement.

"Well," Joel said, resting a protective hand on Sarah's shoulder, "thanks for not makin' a big deal out of all this."

You shrugged, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips. "Comes with the territory."

But there was something in the way he said it, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

For a second, you wondered if you’d see them again.

Then Sarah tugged at his sleeve, already rambling about how she’d remember this night forever, and just like that, they were gone, swallowed back into the sea of fans heading for the exits.

You stood there for a moment longer than necessary, then shook your head, smiling to yourself before turning toward your dressing room.

As you stood backstage, watching the crowd swarm and Sarah pull away with her father, your mind drifted back to your own childhood.

Family wasn’t a concept you had much faith in. Sure, there were good times — birthdays and holidays — but the rest of it? It felt like everyone was just playing a part, putting on smiles for the world. You knew how to hide your own disappointments, to pretend things were fine, but sometimes, you could feel it in the silence, the things that went unsaid. The little moments where trust slipped away, unnoticed, until everything was too far gone to fix.

When you watched Sarah hug Joel, though, something in you tightened. There was something real there, something different than the performances you’d gotten used to. The way Joel held her, the way she held onto him, with complete trust — it made you pause for a moment.

You wondered what it felt like to have that kind of connection, to have someone who knew you fully and still stayed. Who loved you for who you were, flaws and all.

It was something you hadn’t known in a long time. And watching them, it stirred something deep inside you. Something you hadn’t realized you were missing.

[cl0-ve]

secret moments | masterlist

grumpy!joel miller x singer fem!reader

summary: joel wasn’t a fan of pop music, but for sarah, he endured the noise. He didn’t expect stolen glances, quiet conversations, or a connection that lingered like a song stuck in his head.

content: 18+ MDNI, slight reader description, slight age gap (Joel is 32, reader is younger), exploration of trust issues, subtle past trauma, protective Joel, a mix of angst and fluff, smut specified within the chapter.

chapter list:

part one

part two - WIP