locke-writes - Tumblr blog

locke-writes · 3 days ago

Text

Ok so this is cute as fuck

Richard Jerimovich X F!Reader: Plus one

a/n: you go to the weeding with Richie instead of Syd, that's basically it

Warnings: none this is just fluff, might contain the bear season 4 spoilers but nothing mega, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.6K

Richie has been in a funk lately. You could tell right away—something about the way he was behaving felt off. You hadn’t known him for long, but you could already tell when he was getting in his head. His speeches before service had become more and more chaotic, and he seemed to be beating himself up about things a lot more than usual.

You’d been working at Ever when he staged there, and after the restaurant closed, he brought you to work at the Bear. It was okay—you were managing to get the hang of it, and things seemed to be going well. But you could tell Richie had something on his chest. You could tell he needed to talk to someone about it, but either no one had listened, or he hadn’t reached out.

So you made it your mission to get him to talk.

Then one night, after close, you found him still sitting at one of the tables in the dining room. The lights were half down, the room quiet in that way it only got when everyone else had finally cleared out. He was staring at nothing, an open book laying on the table collecting dust.

You walked over, stood across from him for a second without saying anything. Then you sat down.

“You okay?”

He blinked, like he hadn’t even realized you were there. Looked at you, then away again.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

You didn’t respond right away.

He sighed. “I mean, yeah, I’m just—” He waved a hand in the air, like that would explain it. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

“My ex is getting married in a couple weeks. And she wants me to go to the wedding and I just… I don't know.”

You leaned back a little, watching him closely. “You don’t want to go?”

“No, but also, yeah—I feel like I should be there, you know? He’s not a bad guy, and me and my ex were on good terms, but I guess I just feel—”

“Weird?”

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s expected, considering the situation.”

Richie sighed.

“We’re the only family she’s got. Things aren’t good with her folks, and everyone else is gonna—” You placed a hand on his.

“Richie. Breathe.”

He stared at you, then did as you asked, taking a deep breath in.

“Good. Now tell me what you really feel.”

You could always read him like an open book. It was kind of scary, really.

Richie sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to massage away the knot of tension tangled there.

“It’s just… I keep thinking about what people will say, or how it’ll look. Like, am I the pathetic guy who showed up to his ex’s wedding alone, looking like he lost a fight with the world?”

You smiled softly, trying to ease the heaviness in the room.

“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just the guy who’s brave enough to show up despite all that. It’s not about what people think—it’s about what you want.”

He gave you a small nod, as if he knew your words were true.

“And you don’t have to go alone.”

Richie’s eyes widened at that.

“I could come with you, if you wanted me to.”

“You’d do that?”

You gave him a smile, the one that always managed to knock the breath from his chest.

“If you think it would help, of course I would.”

Richie grabbed your hand, wrapping his own around it.

“You’re an angel you know that?”

You looked down at the table, trying to hide what his words did to you. You lifted your eyes back to his, letting the quiet between you stretch for a moment.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Maybe having you there would make it less hard.”

You smiled again, a little brighter this time. “Then it’s a plan. We’ll go together. And hey, if it gets too much, we’ll bail and get pizza somewhere.”

Richie laughed quietly, the first real sound of lightness you’d heard from him in days.

You squeezed his hand once more. “We’ll figure it out, Richie. One step at a time.”

Richard Jerimovich was having a panic attack in an alleyway. That was happening. He would have never expected it, but it was happening all the same.

“Fuck!”

The yell made you jump in your spot. You were wearing your best dress and heels, patiently waiting for Richie to get everything out of his system. He’d been pacing for a while now. You were starting to get worried. It was only when you noticed he was having a hard time breathing that you intervened.

“Richie, hey, look at me,” you said gently, stepping closer. “Breathe with me, okay? In… and out.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting around the narrow alley, chest rising and falling unevenly. You pressed a hand to his chest causing his attention to snap to your face. You released a breath through your mouth and he copied the action.

“Focus on my voice. You’re not alone,” you whispered.

“Shit,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I didn’t think— I mean, this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes it just hits when you least expect it,” you said softly. “Do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

He hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“It’s the wedding. I’m scared of showing up and feeling… invisible. Like I don’t belong anywhere.”

You squeezed his arm. “You do belong. And you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. Keep breathing with me.”

And so he did. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel your hand on his chest and arm. To feel your breath against his face as you exhaled. He let himself breathe in the scent of your perfume and listened to the birds singing above. After a while, his breathing calmed, and he opened his eyes. His gaze found yours immediately. He just stared for a moment, taking in the color of your eyes.

“Think you’re ready to go in now?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

You looped your arm through his as the two of you made your way inside.

Richie had warned you that things might get a bit… odd. That was just the way his family worked, and he didn’t want it to startle you.

You had merely looked at him and laughed.

“Richie, I work at the restaurant. I know what it’s like. I’ll be okay. Do what you have to do.”

He still felt bad about leaving you alone, but there had been a crisis he needed to resolve. Once he’d taken care of it, he seemed to stand taller—like ten pounds had fallen off his shoulders. He felt like he belonged. Like he could do anything.

So when he found you sitting with Syd, chatting comfortably, he didn’t hesitate.

“Excuse me, ragazzi, sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not, Richie,” Syd said with a sly smile, looking over at you. “Actually, we were just talking about you.”

You shot her a glare, but she just sipped her drink innocently.

“Is that so?” Richie raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s convenient, because I actually came over here to see if you’d want to dance.”

He extended his hand. You stared at it for a second before looking up at his face. He was grinning—wide, warm, unguarded—and it tugged something loose in your chest.

“I’d love to,” you said softly, placing your hand in his.

He led you out onto the floor, fingers laced with yours, the two of you swaying awkwardly for a moment before falling into a comfortable rhythm.

“You clean up nice,” he said, eyes flicking over your dress.

You laughed. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“Nah. Just impressed.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy with something else. Something growing.

“Thanks for being here,” he added quietly.

“I have to admit I did have ulterior motives.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

You smiled, moving to cup his face with one hand.

“Spending a whole day with you, outside of the restaurant? What girl would give up a chance like that up?”

Richie thought his heart had actually stopped in his chest. It wasn’t just the words. It was your hand on his cheek. It was his arms around your waist. It was the wedding ambiance, the low hum of music in the background, and the way the light caught in your hair and made you look like an angel.

It was you. Just… you. Existing. And letting him exist right there with you.

He whispered your name, barely audible.

“Yeah, Richie?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

You gave him the biggest grin he’d ever seen.

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

He didn’t wait another second. His hand slid gently to the side of your neck, the other still resting at your waist, and he leaned in. The kiss was soft—tentative at first—like he was still making sure this was real. But when you leaned into it, kissed him back with the same quiet certainty, everything else fell away.

The noise, the lights, the crowd—it all blurred.

All he could feel was you.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

“Well,” you said softly, “I think that just confirmed this was the best wedding date I’ve ever had.”

Richie laughed, a little breathless. “I’m not even gonna try to act cool about this.”

“You don’t have to.” You smiled again, thumb brushing his jaw. “I like you exactly as you are.”

And God, if he hadn’t already fallen for you, that would’ve been the moment.

#fic rec

156 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 3 days ago

Photo

Taste and smell are the oldest senses and the closest to the center of the mind.

Hannibal + scenting

2K notes · View notes

locke-writes · 3 days ago

Note

This is so sweet and I love it, they’re so cute together

Hi !!! Can you do Eddie Diaz with this please thank you and i love your stories

"if we were dating i'd take you to all the best places.." "what's stopping you?" "excuse me."

Thank you for participating in my celebration, I really appreciate it!

Chantelle's Birthday Bash

The passenger door of Eddie's truck slams shut with a bit more force than you intended, the sound echoing down the quiet street. Your face burns, not from exertion but frustration, as you grapple with your crutches, the metal cold and unyielding against your grasp.

"Another one?" Eddie's voice is already laced with sympathy as he rounds the front of the truck, his steps quick and sure. He reaches out, steady and strong, to take the crutches from you.

"Another one," you confirm with a sigh that does little to ease the tightness in your chest. You let him guide you, supporting your weight as you shift from the seat to standing. "He couldn't decide whether to pity me or ignore me. And then he said he was 'proud' of me for going out in public. Like... what the hell."

Eddie's lips press into a thin line, the only outward sign of the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. His hands tighten around the crutches just a fraction, enough to make the metal creak under his grip.

"Proud," he echoes, the word flat and bitter on his tongue.

"Maybe I should start a collection—worst date stories. Could probably write a book at this point." You don't mean to sound so bitter, but the night has been long and your patience thin. It's tiring, feeling like you're just a task on someone's to-do list, not a person.

He waits until you're settled before closing the door behind you. When Eddie climbs back into the driver's seat, he doesn't start the car right away. Instead, he turns toward you, his eyes soft even in the low light.

"You know," he begins, his voice thoughtful, "if we were dating, I'd take you to all the best places."

You let out a dry chuckle, staring out of the window. "Yeah?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, rough with fatigue and an emotion you dare not name. "Then what's stopping you?"

The question hangs in the air, heavier than you intended. You hadn't meant to ask it, not really, and you certainly didn't expect the way Eddie stiffens beside you.

"Excuse me?"

The thud of your heart is almost audible. "You heard me," you say, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, searching the depths of those earnest eyes. "What's stopping you?"

Silence stretches between you, a tangible thread connecting two souls on the precipice of something momentous. Eddie exhales slowly, as though the weight of his next words could shatter the fragile peace surrounding you.

"You," he says quietly, "you've been through so much already. The last thing I wanted was to be another man who lets you down. You deserve someone who doesn't make you feel like you're constantly battling for visibility."

Your vision blurs as unshed tears threaten to fall. "But you do see me," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

Eddie's hand reaches across the distance, finding yours clenched in your lap. His thumb traces over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm that anchors you to this moment, to him, before taking your hand in his.

"I do," he agrees, his voice low and reverent. "Better than anyone else ever has."

The silence is palpable, a living thing that breathes between you. Yet it doesn't feel oppressive; instead, it's a testament to the intensity of this moment—two souls connecting in an unlikely setting.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, matching the rhythm of Eddie's pulse where your fingers are entwined. You squeeze his hand, not out of fear but to anchor yourself in this sea of uncertainty.

"So," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, "take me out."

His brow furrows, and for a moment, you think he might pull away. But then his grip tightens, a silent reassurance that he's still there, still willing to guide you through the darkness.

"Really?"

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. "But maybe start with breakfast tomorrow? I've had enough of lousy dinners for now."

A slow smile spreads across Eddie's face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leans in, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, and his forehead comes to rest against yours, a gesture so intimate it sends shivers down your spine.

"Breakfast," he murmurs, the word hanging in the air like a promise. "It's a date."

#fic rec

49 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Ahhh this was so good. I loved the angst, the parental Hydra trauma bonding, Steve getting a chance to tell stories about all the stupid shit Bucky used to do. I fucking love this

Headcanons for being Bucky Barnes’ child

Bucky Barnes x child!reader

warnings: SA IMPLICATIONS. guns violence death etc

a/n: this fic is slow to start bc of backstory/worldbuilding. bc it starts when bucky is in hydra theres not a ton of complex dialogue opportunities until the programming is broken. i tried to skip as much fluff (the unnecessary story, not fluff like cutesy stuff) as i could bc we’ve all watched the captain america movies at this point right? (i only changed a few main details too like zemo waiting for steve and tony instead of hiding and bucky not going into cryo when he goes to wakanda)

prompt: takes place from like pre-CACW to post endgame

ever since bucky had been captured by HYDRA, made into the winter soldier, he was no longer had autonomy

for anything

years of experimenting, testing, training, cryosleep, they all took a toll on him

and as HYDRA evolved new ways to exert their control and influence, they found new ways to torture bucky

now they were taking his DNA to create a new, better soldier—one who knew no old life

the child they’d genetically modified was implanted in another test subject with bucky’s dna

it was no use fighting it, bucky had to comply

you were born 9 months later, and as you grew you were subjected to more tests with hormones and serums that would make you as strong as the super soldier serum

bucky protested the moment he laid eyes on what would be his child

“that is me. that child is apart of me. you can’t expect me to stand by and let you torture them” -bucky

“you are in no position to make demands, or else you will face the consequences” -hydra

they were generous enough to let him name you

“y/n…” -bucky

“good, good. now y/n will be a good soldier for us, you will make sure of that” -hydra

“what? no—i can’t” -bucky

“stop it! you will do as i say or i will say the words to make you” -hydra

you were held over his head every time he strayed until he was a shell of himself

he trained you, but was not allowed to do anything more. he wanted to badly to be a father to you and take you away from this, but he’d disconnect the moment his trigger words were spoken

he was desperate to break free and take you with him

he coped in his dreams. in his dreams he was your dad and you were his child.

and even after mind wipes, he felt that connection to you

to you, that was the winter soldier. the man that trained you until he was put back on ice

you and him operated on opposite stints for a few years when you were skilled enough, around your mid teens

your first mind wipe came when you were sent to retrieve stolen information from a rogue hydra agent—that’s when you learned the truth and failed your first mission

“wait! please! i can tell you everything you didn’t know. you are the winter soldier’s child! i have the proof in that briefcase you’re holding. don’t kill me, please!” -defector

for the first time, you hesitated and decided to listen. your gun was still pointed at the man, you flipped through the files, you found your profile. and bucky’s.

“see?! i told you. they genetically engineered you to be their perfect soldier with his DNA! he was a prisoner of world war two, his real name is james barnes. you are y/n barnes. i watched them wipe his memory when he started to fight my superiors on how they treated you. he doesn’t remember.” -defector

you spared the man and took the files

and confronted your keepers at HYDRA

“the winter soldier is my father?! the man who trained me my whole life—and you removed that memory from him?” -you, slamming the files down on alexander pierce’s desk

“i am very disappointed in you…you’ve never failed a mission before. maybe it’s time for your attitude correction” -pierce

you were strapped down and mind-wiped but after the third time finding out and going ballistic you were still pretty lucid.

minds are harder to be broken when they come that way.

“you are my enemy. you hold me captive to do your bidding. you kidnapped my father and turned him into a weapon. you created me to be a weapon. and now, i’m going to kill you” -you

they quickly activated the winter soldier to subdue you, but you managed to drop a few bodies before you were taken down

they decided to put you on ice. permanently.

it was the mid-90s by now and with the loss of you as an asset, HYDRA decided to find new operatives

trained soliders were administered the serum and trained by the winter soldier to be better than him, but the project failed after they all turned on HYDRA

they were then put on ice like you, and stored with you in a HYDRA base in siberia

years went by and bucky was all alone, but when he saw steve again and broke from his trance, his mind started to uncloud

bucky fled to romania feeling something was missing. someone

but no matter what he did, he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. who he missed.

it kept him tossing and turning at night

and one day he risked trying to access the HYDRA files the black widow had leaked

he found his own file, and that led him to you

your picture. his kid. y/n barnes. born in 1960. put into cryostasis intermittently for testing and permanently in 1990. residing at the sibera base of operations.

he started to remember you. training you, caring for you, missing you.

fortunately or unfortunately, bucky was framed for a terrorist attack and steve tracked him down to clear him

and once it was safe to talk (after bucky was arrested and zemo activated the winter soldier and steve and sam got bucky to a safe location) bucky told steve everything

“steve. i have a kid. they need me.” -bucky

“are they like you?” -steve

“yes. they were an experiment, i trained them. HYDRA put them on ice after they broke from their programming. i found the files your friend leaked, i know where they’re keeping y/n” -bucky

“y/n? you always liked that name.” -steve

“they let me name y/n” -bucky, chuckling “i was never allowed to be a father, though. i want to be. now that im free”

“we can help with that. what can we do?” -sam

“i know where they’re keeping them. but there are more” -bucky

“more kids? jesus, man” -sam

“no, no. no more kids. other soldiers” -bucky

“super soldiers?” -steve

“after y/n failed as a winter soldier, they started a new program with an elite death squad. it didn’t work out, so they got put on ice with y/n” -bucky

and that sparked the effort to fix bucky’s image and get you back, all the while avoiding tony’s resistance

when bucky and steve finally broke through tony’s defenses, bucky felt so much relief that he’d soon see you again—regardless of the dire circumstances

he expected to fight the other winter soldiers as he arrived—and shocked to find each of them dead and zemo standing in front of you, still asleep, pointing a gun at your head through the glass

“don’t do this, zemo. what do you want?” -steve

“i want my wife and child back. you avengers are responsible for their deaths. sokovia, just a year ago. the avengers don’t care for collateral damage, why should i?” -zemo

“i want my kid back, too. that’s why im here” -bucky, looking at you

“why do you think you deserve them, winter soldier? you have caused nothing but pain and suffering to everyone you have come into contact with for decades, you are dangerous and so is this one” -zemo

tony charged him to save you

the gun went off and broke the glass of your pod, just missing you

but it ended your cryostasis and you slowly began to wake in an emergency protocol

while this happened, zemo activated the tape to distract tony—the tape of bucky killing tony’s parents

“you knew?” -tony

“i didn’t know it was him” -steve

by the time their battle concluded, you stumbled from your pod. you saw the dead soldiers stored beside you. you investigated your surroundings and there you saw it. the man with the metal arm

“dad?” -you, for the first time

“y/n…” -bucky, running to hug you

you’d never gotten a hug before. never been shown affection. barely been called by your name. you had no idea where you were or how you’d been woken up, but your dad’s arms were wrapped around you and the world stood still a moment

“i thought i’d never see you again” -bucky

“how is this possible? wait, what year is it?” -you

“2016” -steve

“i’ve been frozen 26 years?!” -you “hang on. is that captain america?”

“that’s my best friend, steve rogers” -bucky

“nice to meet you, y/n” -steve “buck, we gotta get out of here, its not safe”

t’challa, the prince of wakanda, granted you both sanctuary as bucky and you needed help acclimating to the world and undoing all that programming

you were a lot better off than him. you didn’t have trigger words because you’d been conditioned since birth—it didn’t seem necessary at the time. training in espionage helped you to act more like a normal person and not a russian super soldier. but your real issue was bonding, human connection, emotion. things that had been suppressed your whole life

you always felt connected to bucky though

bucky started from scratch with you. he told you about his childhood and his friendship with steve. his parents. trips to the fair. enlisting in the army. bad dates. good dates. what he wanted in life. his plans for you even though you didn’t come into his life the way he planned it

you were physically in your late teens at this point but chronologically you were in your late fifties. there were a lot of jokes made about it.

you definitely could make light of your situation, even if you missed out on pretty much every single normal thing imaginable

t’challa gifted a stuffed animal “from your home” to give to you

“it says ‘i heart new york,’ i thought it would be a nice gesture” -t’challa

“thank you, t’challa. i really hope y/n likes it” -bucky

“for someone with a background like that, they seem to be very well adjusted. i know it’s new being a father, but you are doing great” -t’challa

“that…means a lot. i really thought i was doing something wrong” -bucky

“do not doubt yourself, my friend. now go, you’re depriving your child of a teddy bear” -t’challa

bucky was beaming when he found you to give you this stuffed bear. and for the first time since you two finally became a family, you cried.

“thank you. it’s…it’s really cute. i love it” -you, beginning to sob like a switch inside you just flipped

“hey, hey, what’s wrong? why are you crying” -bucky

“i don’t know” -you

“it’s okay. i get it. it’s weird being a person again—your own person” -bucky

“i was never my own person though. i was always HYDRA’s” -you

“you’re right. i’m sorry. they never let you be a kid” -bucky

“i’m sorry for stabbing you when i was a kid” -you “i wouldn’t have done that if i knew you were my dad”

“it’s okay, i cherished the scar. it was sort of like a gift?” -bucky, chuckling

“don’t be weird. i stabbed you” -you

“and i trained you to stab me. that means you were doing well” -bucky

“you were holding back. now i know why” -you, staring at the teddy bear “are you sure you want to be a father to me? i’m sure i’m not ideal”

“of course i do. i don’t care how it happened. you are mine and i will always be here for you.” -bucky

“promise?” -you

“i promise, y/n. from the moment they let me hold you, i knew i would do whatever it took to keep you safe. and fifty years later, we’re finally free” -bucky

wakanda was nice. quiet where you guys settled. they did their work to help bucky, and shuri actually made an effort to help you feel “normal” and “modern”

“i picked some clothes out for you. they’re very american, but i tried to pick a style i think would suit you. none of that leather shit you wore when you were on missions. this is much more comfortable” -shuri “i also picked out some movies i think you and your father would like. well, some i wouldn’t watch with my dad, i put them in a separate pile”

that’s how movie nights started

“you know, when i was a kid we could only watch movies in theaters. and all the movies were in black and white. some were even silent” -bucky

“i get it, dad. you’re ancient” -you, exaggeratingly rolling your eyes

“hey, you’re even rolling your eyes like a normal kid. that’s what i call progress” -bucky

shuri snuck “the wizard of oz” into the stack, which got bucky super excited

“oh! this is the last movie i saw before i went overseas. we need to watch this one” -bucky

he hummed to the music and you couldn’t help but smile. especially when he started to mumble the words to “somewhere over the rainbow”

it made you jealous of the fact you were never a kid with a dad tucking you in at night and singing you to sleep

but you just smiled and kept your mouth shut, letting bucky enjoy his old memories and make new ones with you

shuri knew what she was doing with these movies for sure.

she gave you some music to listen to and shows to watch and taught you how to use social media to catch up on the times. basically anything to keep you busy while they worked on bucky.

and one day they said his trigger words and he was perfectly fine. no more winter soldier.

you cried with him

this was it. nothing more hanging over your heads. this was freedom in its purest form.

“we can finally build a life, y/n. what would you want to do first?” -bucky

“i honestly wouldn’t know where to start” -you

as badly as you were ready to have your dad for good, start a normal life in new york like he wanted, things weren’t so simple. he was a wanted fugitive and you were a ghost.

and then thanos happened

you protected wakanda as best as you could, but you failed

“dad? no! dad, i can’t lose you again!” -you as bucky dusted away

you were alone again

separated. torn apart. ruined. agonized. bucky was gone and you were alive and after all that work you were alone again.

steve sought to it that you were taken care of

and steve you knew. you knew him from stories. bucky was friends with him since they were kids. they fought in the war together. steve saved bucky and saved you.

“y/n. come to new york with me. i want to be there for you” -steve

you agreed, and for a short period of time you thought you could bring him back

but by the time you found thanos you knew it was over

steve tried to get you to stay with him, but you needed more than that

so he gave his blessing to nat to make you an avenger. train you to use what you were made for to be good and fight to keep the world safe.

“i’m doing this on the condition that you balance your life out. now that you live in new york, i’m here for you. i grew up with your dad, i know what he always wanted for his kid and i want to give that to you since he can’t” -steve

“you want to replace him?” -you

“absolutely not, y/n. i want to fulfill his wishes. i loved bucky, he was the only family i had growing up. now i want to be yours” -steve

you accepted steve’s effort, you accepted him as family. you listened to him, went to him for advice, made a name for yourself as an avenger, made memories with your chosen family

steve took you to dinner once a week to catch up, even if you guys weren’t feeling up to it he kept you in a routine

“what kind of food do you want to try tonight?” -steve

“i haven’t tried chinese food yet” -you

“oh, my god. why did i wait so long to get you chinese food. there’s so many things to choose from, you’ll love it” -steve “i remember when i was introduced to chinese food. best day ever.”

he always tried to make you feel better when you were down

“you know your dad shot me once when he was the winter soldier?” -nat, showing you her scar

“you know i stabbed him during training when i was a kid?” -you

steve told you the story about bucky blowing $50 trying to win a prize at a fair for a girl he just met

“he had the name ‘y/n’ picked since we were young, you know?” -steve

it was incredible that there was still someone alive from his past. what were the odds?

steve made you feel closer to him

as the world slowly healed, so did you

you trained with nat a lot and she always noticed which moves you taught yourself and which ones bucky taught you

and now she was teaching you black widow moves!

you slept with the bear bucky gave you in wakanda every night

you aimed to make him proud of you every waking moment

“i miss him” -you “why doesn’t anything ever work out?”

“i wish i had an answer for you, kiddo” -steve

you hadn’t seen tony stark since thanos died. and he wasn’t your biggest fan having been the son of a couple your father happened to murder.

but when scott lang, someone believed to have been a victim of thanos, appeared at the avengers compound, you didn’t have much a choice

tony gave you a weird look when you got to his house. you understood. but after shutting down nat, steve, and scott, he gave you a hug?

“i don’t hate you. i know that’s what you’re thinking. you’re a good kid and i’m glad you found your place in the world. i’m sorry for the hand you were dealt” -tony

you were stunned.

“before you ask me why i’m saying all of this—being a father changes you. weird, huh? i remember the day we found you in that pod. and i almost killed your dad for killing mine. but water under the bridge. i’m glad you guys got the chance to be a family, even if it was only brief” -tony

nat pulled you back to the car while you were tearing up. you got your hopes up. tony’s heart to heart made you even more emotional. and hey, nat had been teaching you to feel your emotions the way she was taught to when she was freed from the red room—now they were your biggest weakness

“tony meant well, y/n. he didn’t mean to upset you” -steve

“no, i know. i just wasn’t expecting him to be nice is all. it meant a lot. and i’m a little disappointed he didn’t help, but i get it. it was a big ask” -you

the way cassie reunited with scott when he came back, that’s what scott was thinking about. he wished you could have that with your dad. its a dad thing. scott was crying too. you were a bit confused by that.

“sorry. i just—im a little sensitive. please just ignore me” -scott

“i’m trying but you are ugly crying” -you

scott gave you a very tight hug. very fatherly.

“remember i’m a trained assassin” -you

“trained assassins still need hugs” -scott

“he’s right” -nat

all hope seemed lost

but a curious tony brainstormed a bit and ended up discovering the key to time travel and…the mission was a-go

you went to new york 2012 to get the infinity stones back. stuck with steve. you’d heard stories of this battle from steve and nat, it was entirely different to see it in person.

you didn’t have much to say here. the mission didn’t go as planned and you weren’t so connected to this event that it’d be significant. you panicked as everything went to shit.

“we have one more shot. but y/n, you can’t come with us” -tony

“what?! why not. we’re in this together!” -you

“he’s right, y/n. it wouldn’t be right” -steve

“where the hell are you going? why is this such a big deal?” -you

“SHIELD. 1970. they didn’t know HYDRA had infiltrated them and we cant risk you changing history” -tony

“you’re barring me from the most important mission of my life because you think im going to mess up the timeline?!” -you

“yep!” -tony, hitting the button on your arm to send you back to the present “what? it was good timing. wasn’t like y/n was gonna do it themself”

“it was a little harsh” -steve

“hey, i’m raising a kid of my own now. sometimes you gotta be stern” -tony

“yeah, it’s different when they’re in their 20’s and had no autonomy for fifty years” -steve

“what a dilemma…they’ll get over it” -tony

you spawned back at the avengers compound present day with the rest of them

“dick move, tony!” -you, lunging forward

“hey, hey, it’s over now, we did what we needed, everything is fine. take a breath” -steve, intercepting

then clint dropped to his knees

“where’s nat?”

your stomach dropped. she’s gone. another person lost to you.

you could have given up right there, you’d lost that last bit of willpower

but steve wouldn’t let you

scott was actually the one to try to comfort you while the rest of the crew mourned. you felt bad, you didn’t know her as long as everyone else

“hey, i know i haven’t known you that long, but i know you’ve known natasha for the past five years. just because you don’t go all the way back to 2012 with these people doesn’t mean you cant have feelings about it. she was your family too” -scott

“you know, your daughter is lucky to have a dad like you” -you

“i’ll have you know, i was a real idiot for a really long time. i got arrested when she was a kid, didnt see her for years, fought to get custody, saved her from an evil guy in a yellowjacket suit, went to germany to go fight with cap and your dad, went on the run, got arrested again, went under house arrest, and then got stuck in the quantum realm for five years. sometimes you just have to roll with the punches, okay? progress isn’t linear and life is rarely fair” -scott

“how’s your daughter?” -you

“really good. older. that part sucks. and when your dad sees you again—and he will—yours gonna be older too and he’s gonna look at you with so much pride, im sure of it. wanna know why? because you saved the day” -scott

steve finally found you and apologized for not comforting you sooner

“it’s okay, scott kept me company” -you

“uncle scott” -scott

“don’t push it” -you

“we’re ready” -steve

bruce did the honors and snapped the population back. and then past thanos showed up.

now it was time to fight

winning came at a cost—another life lost

you saw your dad again. felt whole again.

he grabbed you by the face

“you’re getting old” -bucky

“please, with these genes i’ll look like this forever” -you

you hugged him tight and for a second time in your life, the world stopped spinning

now was time for damage control

you gave steve a big hug and a “good luck”

“love you, kiddo” -steve

“what’s that thing dad says? ‘dont do anything stupid til i get back?’” -you

“you told them that?!” -bucky

“oh, he told me sooo much” -you

“hey, what can i say? i never listen” -steve

and then steve vanished. and panic ensued when he didn’t come back—until they noticed the old man on the bench

“why?” -you

“you guys don’t need me anymore. you have each other” -steve

“i’ll always need you, steve. you’re family” -you

you wanted to stop losing people. but at least this time it felt okay

“what now, dad?” -you, tears in your eyes

“well, what did i miss this time?” -bucky

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 // @lenaelleu //

#fic rec

117 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Such hauntingly beautiful writing, it’s a great read

Dissociation (Bob Reynolds Oneshot)

Character/s: Bob, Thunderbolts team

Word Count: 1,025

A/N: I've been experiencing this feeling for a while without even knowing what it was, but now it's kind of gotten to be a lot, especially lately. Idk. I just feel so out of it and spacey and I thought writing would help. Kinda dumb lol. I'm sorry it's so short 🖤🖤🖤

THUNDERBOLTS REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

You know these faces. Recognize them with a mixture of feelings. Love and admiration, of course. But also annoyance, anger, frustration, All of you trying to get alone, to play nice. It’s complicated, you think, trying to focus on the group before you, the words coming from their mouths. Everything is always so complicated. Their expressions. The easy way their smiles split their face in half. The creases and lines etched into their skin from age, stress, and life. Stubble that’s scratchy and skin dotted with scars and acne and freckles. Turning to each of them, taking note of all the things that make them unique. Stating their names, their histories, what they love and hate, as if doing so will lift this wall between you and them. As if humanizing them will make them feel more real than dummies, mannequins with blank faces and muted sound. It’s Bucky who speaks next. He looks around the group, his voice serious and stern, but you can’t understand him. You’re above yourself, them, floating between here and there. You watch it from the back of your head, behind yourself. John says something angry, though on second thought it isn’t towards him, but your handler. Your boss. The woman who tried to kill you all. Burn you alive in a homemade furnace. Stop, you think, before you spiral. Before you get too lost, too far away, before you can’t find your way back. Recite their names, their pasts, how they take their coffee.

You ball your hands into fists. They’re shaking, but the movement feels so foreign, so alien, it doesn’t feel like they’re attached to you. You know these hands, these fingers. They’re scared, the nails painted. Chipping. Find something to do. Something to focus on. Tenderly, you take the hem of your shirt between your fingers and twist. Knot it tightly around yourself, only to let go. Rinse and repeat. Whatever Yelelna says doesn’t register. Her voice is so small, so quiet, and you’re too busy. Too distracted. Like she’s under water. Like she’s talking through jello. The thought makes you smile. Beside you, Ava speaks up, and suddenly you’re back in the room. Debriefing. Your mission went wrong. Like children, you sit and come up with a story to tell Valentina, something that wouldn’t get you into too much trouble, but what’s the point? She scheduled a meeting in an hour and, as far as you could tell, no one could agree on what happened. Pointing fingers, taking blame, it wouldn’t spare any of you. It wasn’t much of a concern, though, not for you. Because you were still far away.

You never liked those kinds of missions. Across the world, in a room with someone you only knew by reputation. Cornered. You fought, you did, but it was too late. By the time everyone got there, by the time they were done with their own piece of the puzzle, you were already gone. Silent, out of your body, reciting who they were. Names and nicknames. Birthdays. Things that took less brain power, less thought: colors, shapes, lists and lists of everything you had ever learned. Getting undressed, unable to look at yourself. A club, you think, but it was more sinister than that. Something else was going on. Why else would you be there? You looked back and the building was on fire, burning. Someone had gotten everyone out in time, but Valentina won’t care. That wasn’t the goal, the point, though you’re not sure anymore what it really was. Alexei is loud and booming, a bomb-like voice that cuts through. Slices. It hurts, but so does everything in this state. You want to press your hands to your ears, block out what little you can take in. That would draw attention, you think, the last thing you want to happen.

Someone notices, though.

Gently, he takes your hand into his, squeezing lightly. You don’t pull away. His movements are so slow, so thoughtful, it doesn’t hurt. You take your eyes from your lap to him. He smiles at you, his eyes soft. He doesn’t make a show out of it. There is no performance with velvet curtains and flowers thrown on stage. He just sits next to you, your hands under the table. Every so often he checks on you. You know him. You love him. Disconnected, you know this. Bob chimes in. He is not angry. He does not raise his voice. He is calm, looking at you when he speaks before turning to the group. What is he saying? Something about you or to you? You can’t open your mouth. Your jaw is too heavy to move, to work with, your teeth stuck together. He notices this. He senses the panic. He leans to you, whispers something, before turning his attention back to the group. All you can do is nod. Time is funny. It slips past you quickly. You try to hold on, to make it stop. You want to ask what he said. You want to know if you’re in trouble, if they decided it was your fault. Something about him, his mannerisms, tell you you’re wrong. He would never do that.

Another squeeze, this time for longer, harder, and you find it in yourself to press back. A sign of life. Telling him you’re still there, somewhere. It takes everything out of you. You let go, giving in, knowing he’s there. You’re safe. You slip further away, floating through the floors of the tower until you’ve reached the roof. Take in the city you call home, the city you love. Watch the traffic, the skyscrapers, the faceless ants from down below. The sun will set soon and the sky will bleed. Stars puncturing through. You can still feel his hand around yours. Faintly, the discussion hums in the background. It’s better up here. Nicer. No yelling, no arguing. Just the sky. The civilians below. The warm air wraps around your body like a blanket. You hear him again, Bob’s voice, soothing and low, telling you you’re okay, you’re safe now. You are. Up here, detached, you always are.

#fic rec

78 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Such good song choices here, like holy shit this is so fitting

Cato

Barbarism Begins at Home - The Smiths

Life Sentence - Dead Kennedys

Dirty Harry - Gorillaz, Bootie Brown

Come Out and Play - The Offspring

Dead Moon - Brick + Mortar

Juicebox - The Strokes

Siren 042 - Lala Lala, WHY?

Young And Menace - Fall Out Boy

Broken Bones - CRX

The Race - Glitterer

[spotify]

taglist: @summersimmerus // @sweetjedi //

#fic rec #playlist rec

6 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

This is fucking great, I love this so much

Preferences for being a spa esthetician for the Thunderbolts

Thunderbolts x reader

warnings:

a/n: random idea i got lol.

prompt: side note, esthetician is the umbrella term im using for all the salon/spa/makeup artist/etc stuff im referencing. ok im headcanoning that val contractually obligates them to keep up appearances and go to salons/spas to do so LMAO

Alexei wants the full work up—I’m talking full body massage, facial, mani-pedi, shampoo and conditioner for his beard, and whatever else you can throw in. This guy was in prison for years and still had a superiority complex, you think he doesn’t want to be pampered? He makes loud moaning sounds during every part of the service—NOT to make you uncomfortable, he’s just sensitive and…encouraging? He means no harm. At the end he always gives you a “Russian goodbye” with a big hug and a kiss on each cheek. “You never fail to make my day, y/n! I will be seeing you again soon.”

Ava’s pretty limited in treatment options, so she just opts for a facial. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she likes to be pampered and you always compliment how nice her skin is which makes her love you. Every once in a while she’ll even open up a bit—she told you about her accident and her molecular condition and would sometimes ramble about how nice it was to feel comfort in being close to people again. She makes you swear not to repeat what she shares and you always cross your heart and promise.

Bob didn’t really want to do any of the services, most of them felt weird to him. He’d usually just opt for a manicure, but when you first began to service him you noticed he chewed on his nails. You took great care getting his nails to look nice and healthy again and put on some clear polish to top it off. “Don’t go biting those nails again, friend. You’ll mess up my hard work.” You winked at him and gave him a reason not to fixate on them anymore. And next time he came in, they were pristine. Occasionally he’d ask for colored polish when he was in an especially good mood.

Bucky hated the idea of going to a spa. He’d basically just sulk in the sauna for an hour and call it a day. After a handful of visits, you convinced him he could use a massage to relax—something not many soldiers in the Army or HYDRA would typically indulge in. He was an old man at heart, still breaking from that 1940’s mindset from time to time. You were extremely sensitive of his condition and made sure he wasn’t uncomfortable when you got near the shoulder where his metal arm connected—this small gesture made him trust you immensely. From there on out, you were his go-to. Gentle and courteous, while still doing a “damn good job,” or so he says.

John was partial to a deep tissue massage and a light trim of his hair and beard. He seemed a little high maintenance at first, but after his first appointment with you, he realized you “actually knew what you were doing” and let you do your job without any nitpicky comments. Only time he talked about your work was to compliment it and the only other time he talked was to ramble about old missions from the “glory days.” Every once in a while he’d mention his friend Lamar and you’d frown—you saw the news of his passing the day it happened a couple years ago, along with John’s…retaliation. You kept that to yourself and enjoyed the mostly polite customer. Hey, every once in a while he’d even make the effort to ask you about you!

Yelena always walks out with another bottle of product—the most expensive bottle—and charges it to Val’s account. Her appointments are pretty brief. You touch up her cuts and bruises with some makeup and trim her hair and send her on her way with minimal conversation. She always leaves a really generous tip in cash and gives you a five-star review.

#fic rec

57 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Yes, gotta love some good angst

warnings:

a/n: just how bad is peetas mom cuz i made her suck here. this ones kind of eh i just made a bunch of these headers at once

not requested

“Turn that off.” Your mother scoffed at the screen your eyes were glued to—the 74th Hunger Games—and you might have entertained the request if you weren’t intent on watching the progress your brother, Peeta, was making in the Games.

“No,” you told her as she walked by, “I want to make sure Peeta is okay.” At this point, he’d allied with the careers. He was fine, for now, but it was only a matter of time before they betrayed him.

“I said turn it off.” She returned back to the television and snatched the remote from your hand. “I don’t want to watch your brother die!” The screen subsided and you ran to take the remote back.

“You don’t know that!” You fought her for it and pushed her back.

“I do know that, now give that back!” A screaming match ensued, but she ultimately gave up while you desperately rooted for Peeta. Maybe she was right, maybe this was just a form of torture you were subjecting yourself to. Peeta had been injured some hours later and struggled to come back from it, the other girl from 12 was taking care of him. Maybe she’d end it kindly for him.

taglist: @summersimmerus // @sweetjedi //

#fic rec

32 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Middle Image is so fucking perfect. I love them all, this goes hard, like fucking genius

Gotham is BLUE

#fic rec #aesthetic rec

25 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 4 days ago

Text

Intense and angsty and so so good!

Lay Me Down - Cassian Andor

You're less than pleased when Luthen assigns you and Cassian on another mission together. All of your past work with Cassian has ended with the two of you at each other's throats, but maybe this time will be different.

masterlist

You’re bleeding again.

It’s an old wound on a new wound on an existing scar. It’s an injury that reopens every few days because you don’t have the time to sit around and heal when you’re in a new gunfight on a new planet with every passing moment. Luthen has assignments and you take them. That’s how it works. You knew the rules when you pledged your life to the promise of the Rebellion, to the dream of a life you’ll probably never see. Maybe you’ll die before this wound ever closes, or maybe you’ve got years more. You suppose you’ll never find out until the war ends, for you or the galaxy.

At least the injury isn’t infected. You can’t keep anything long enough to last through a whole course of antibiotics. You can keep slapping temporary bacta patches on the thing, but that doesn't help when it reopens the next time you get shot at, which happens with increasing frequency. This is one thing in your favor, if nothing else: your flesh is not yet rotting away. It might not all be intact, but at least this one part of your life isn’t corrupted.

You wrap a fresh bandage around it, wincing slightly. You don’t have the time to go slowly; you’re due for a new assignment already. This one must be important, because Luthen was even more tight-lipped than usual when assigning you to the task. You know your location: Vina II, one of the smaller planets in the Tau system, so far away from anything important that even nav systems have trouble recognizing it. Vina II is primarily used for manufacturing, stuffed to the core with factories churning out anything from guns to clothes to satellites. In a few decades, the air will become so toxic from constant pollution that the planet surface will be entirely uninhabitable, and then the factories will either become entirely droid-operated or the companies will pack up and move to the next available planet and repeat the process again.

This isn’t unusual. Manufacturing corps are frustrating people all across the galaxy. What is unsettling is the sudden uptick in Imperial presence on what should be a useless rock. Luthen is starting to connect dots between Imperial seizure of raw materials and the production of weaponry, and he thinks Vina II is a key player in the game of making ways to kill the Rebellion. So, you’ll be sent to investigate along with another spy. You’ll find the evidence you need, and then you’ll bomb a specific building containing the blueprints for making a certain kind of weapon. It’ll not only leave their armies lacking but distract them from Luthen’s next plans.

You still don’t know who you’re working with, though. Luthen loves secrecy more than anything, of course, so he won’t tell you the name of the person you’ll be risking your life with until you see them face to face in a matter of minutes. You’ve had the opportunity to fight alongside several of his network, and have mentally established who you’d like to see and who you’d rather avoid on this mission. In the end, the final call, as always, is up to Luthen, and regardless of which strings he chooses to pull, you know he’ll pick whoever he trusts to get the job done.

You finish bandaging your wound and pull your sleeve back down again, throwing the old dressings into the incinerator and returning your focus to the door. You wonder how much of your life will be spent like this, silently bleeding out in a dark room and waiting for something to descend upon you– Imperials, death, life, or an unexpected ally. It doesn’t really matter in the end. It all feels the same when you can feel the next mission drawing you close.

A bell sounds at the door, startling you out of your thoughts. This must be your accomplice for the mission, you’re in a safehouse and no one else could possibly know you were here. You’ve only been in the apartment for less than an hour yourself; Luthen doesn’t like it when you linger.

You walk soundlessly to the door, then attempt to peer through the keyhole. Whoever’s waiting for you is used to hiding; they’ve managed to turn themselves just so that you can’t see their face in the gloom of the hallway outside.

“Who is it?” You ask through the sealed door.

You don’t get a name, only a phrase: “I have friends everywhere.”

The coded words flash through you like a heartbeat, and you open the door on instinct. A figure wrapped in a dark coat strides briskly into the safehouse, doing a cursory sweep of the interior to make sure you haven’t set up a trap and only turning back to face you when you lock the door behind them. A deep hood covers all details of their face, but your mission partner reveals himself soon enough, reaching up to pull the fabric back down to reveal their countenance.

You know this face. You’ve seen it glaring at you in the din of a firefight, or starting arguments over decisions that you don’t have time to challenge.

In spite of yourself, you sigh. “Cassian Andor.”

Cassian looks even more annoyed than usual. “Y/N L/N. I thought I told Luthen never to assign you with me again.”

“I’m pretty sure I told him the same thing after the incident on Federian,” you hiss.

“The incident?” Cassian asks, eyebrows raised. “The only incident I remember is you nearly getting us both killed because you wouldn’t do what I told you.”

“You told me to take a stupid risk that would actually get us both killed. I remember saving both our lives from your awful plan and then you getting mad at me for it.” You snip back.

Cassian looks like he wants to argue further, but he takes a deep breath and turns away from you. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for a reassignment, so you’ll have to get used to working with me. I’m not risking this mission for your pride.”

You scoff. “My pride is not the issue here. I’d die for this cause. Luthen knows that, which is why he trusted me to do this. If you don’t believe in me, believe in him. Our ship is parked around the back and we should leave as soon as possible. Of course, if you’re still worried about me, feel free to stay behind, but I intend on completing this mission.”

You move towards the door and Cassian swiftly blocks you. “I need your word that you won’t let our personal differences get in the way of this job. There will be enough sentries and guards on that planet to get us shot to pieces if we keep trying to prove our point.”

You stare at him uncomprehendingly. “I’ve been in this fight for years, Andor. I can handle myself.”

He refuses to budge. “Swear it right now. I’m not getting on a ship with you unless I know you’ll stick to the plan.”

He meets your gaze unyieldingly, and at last you sigh again. “Fine. I won’t cause problems. Will you?”

“No,” Cassian bites out, and at last allows you to leave.

You stride briskly down the hall, and he has to hurry to catch up to you. The mood between the two of you is tense as you exit the building, as you find the ship, as you punch in the coordinates and let the jump to hyperspace shoot you on the way to your mission.

Stars, this is not what you needed. It’s bad enough that you’re shipping out so soon after the last close brush with Imperial capture, but on top of the risks you’ll take on Vina II, you’ll be doing so with the only other Rebel who’s as headstrong as you are.

Cassian Andor had to have been the one person you’d been hoping to see the least when you opened that door. Three times you’ve worked together now, each time fraught not only with Imperial peril but countless arguments between the two of you. You can’t agree on who should take first watch at night, who should gather intelligence on the movement of guard patrols, who should shoot first, who should watch the ship, and who should make the inevitable stupid sacrifice move to save the mission. The last time you’d complained to Luthen, he’d laughed outright and said that if the two of you couldn’t see how obviously similar you were to Cassian, you had no chance of mastering the intricacies of espionage.

Still, you hadn’t thought Luthen would go so far as to assign you with Cassian again, especially not when your last job together was so recent. Obviously, the two of you are both smarting from the latest round of arguments, and you silently grit yourself against the inevitable disagreements yet to come. Cassian may have made you swear to put the mission first, but that has yet to stop either of you from clashing.

As the lights of hyperspace stream past the windscreen, you silently excuse yourself. Your injury is starting to bleed through the bandage again, you can feel the hot press of blood against cloth, and you don’t much enjoy the idea of letting Cassian spot one of your weaknesses when you’ve barely begun the mission. There’s much more time ahead of you for that.

You touch down on Vina II some time later, when enough time has passed that you’re more than happy to step foot on dangerous ground if it means getting out of the tin can trapping you with Cassian. The two of you simmer with barely contained irritation, snipping at each other through a film of polite disdain, but manage to stow the ship somewhere it won’t be found by patrols and continue into the streets of the primary city.

Once night falls, the two of you slip into the shadows, using the cover of a rusting packaging plant to spy on the operations building you’ll be bombing. You stare at the metal monolith, so tall it seems to pierce the clouds of smog far above your head and continue on into the heavens. Most workers have retreated back to their homes for the evening, coughing their lungs out into respirators and shaking the perpetual grime of manufacturing from their boots, but a few lights remain on well into the night. Those would be the security details, plus the late workers who know their jobs and lives depend on not falling behind on Imperial quotas.

Cassian glances up from the schematic he’s been studying, pointing out a particular cluster of brightly lit windows. “There, the tenth floor. That’s where the schematics are stored, plus all the supercomputers in charge of making new ones. That’s our target.”

You peer closely at the rooms through your binoculars. “You’re sure blowing up those rooms will disable all blueprints? It seems too easy. Won’t more of the manufacturing plants have backup copies?”

Cassian chuckles darkly. “Blame Imperial paranoia. They’re so terrified about rivals stealing their precious designs that they’d rather shoot themselves in the foot and keep everything in one place.”

You shake your head. “Their loss. Besides, I bet anyone who complained about that particular idiocy would have been sent to labor in a mining colony for daring to insult the finest of Imperial design.”

Cassian snorts. “They’re about to learn why that’s a bad idea. We’ll keep a low profile tomorrow, then strike late in the night when everyone has gone home.”

He moves to draw back, but you pull him back down again. “You want to set the bombs tomorrow? That’s far too soon. We still don’t know enough about their troop movements, we need more time.”

Cassian stares at you uncomprehendingly. “Would you like to take a week to learn more? A month? Time is the last thing we have. With every day that passes, millions of guns and bombs and ships are sent out into the galaxy to kill us. The sooner we strike, the better.”

Your jaw clenches. “Save the lecture for someone who needs it. I’m aware of what it costs us to wait, but failing this mission because we assumed too much won’t save anyone, either. I’m not asking for an extra week, even one more day will be enough, but we cannot afford to be hasty.”

“Hasty?” Cassian bites out. “We are anything but hasty. Luthen has been sitting on this information for months. If we were hasty, we would have attacked tonight. Hell, we would have attacked in broad daylight. Bombing this place tomorrow night guarantees us safety and takes them out before they have the time to discover our ship or us. With every hour that passes, we risk Imperial discovery. The sooner we’re out, the better. Besides, Luthen gave us all the information on troops and patrols that we need.”

You arch a brow. “How certain are you that Luthen’s information is accurate? Or current? Like you said, he’s been plotting this move for months. All it takes is one troop reassignment and we’re walking into a squadron of stormtroopers. It won’t hurt anyone to make sure what he gave us is true.”

Cassian gives you a dark look. “If you don’t trust Luthen, what are you doing on this mission?”

You meet his gaze coolly. “Making sure no one else dies because they blindly trusted that puppeteer.”

Cassian tears his eyes away. “Fine. You wait as long as you like. I know where I’ll be tomorrow.”

He stands up abruptly, stalking away from your hiding place. You whisper a curse about obstinate spies under your breath and tear after him, hurrying not to lose him in the darkened city. Cassian’s walking fast, anger hastening his footsteps, and he doesn’t notice the two soldiers out on patrol until he’s halfway around the corner.

Immediately, he whips back around, but the damage is done. You can hear one of the officers asking who’s there, then drawing their guns and coming after you. You act on instinct, grabbing Cassian’s arm and pulling him down a narrow alleyway between shops. The space between the walls is littered with high piles of empty canisters and discarded metal signs, just enough to screen you from view. Your back slams against the wall as you force Cassian next to you, trying to take up as little space as possible, trying hardly even to breathe lest the sound of your exhalations alert the guards.

You hear them draw by, peering into the alley before carrying on down the street. Only when you’re certain they’re gone do you release your grip on Cassian’s arm and grimly meet his eyes.

“Like I said,” you mutter, straightening the lapel of your jacket, “Troop movements. They’re nice to know.”

Cassian just grits his teeth and stays silent. He moves more slowly on the walk back to the ship, checking each street twice before daring to turn a corner. By the time you’re up the exit ramp and within the safety of your ship once again, you’re more than ready to get some rest and let down your guard. You wince as you take off your coat, and realize that in your haste to hide from the patrols, you’ve torn open that damn wound again.

You’d meant to be discreet, but Cassian catches the change in your expression. “What happened?” He asks warily.

You shake your head a little too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Like hell,” he says under his breath, then catches sight of your arm and his brow furrows. “You’re bleeding!”

You check the injury and silently bite back curses. Scarlet has seeped through the bandage, staining the sleeve of your shirt enough for Cassian to see. So much for keeping the wound safe long enough to heal.

“It’s fine,” you say, attempting to wave him away, “Old wound.”

You move towards the storage compartments so you can grab a medkit, but for some reason, Cassian follows you. He plucks the medkit out of your hand, jerking his chin towards a nearby chair. “Sit. I want to see how bad this is.”

You regard him exasperatedly. “I can bandage myself.”

Cassian refuses to back down, gesturing again to the chair. “I know you can. Sit.”

When it becomes evident that he won’t leave you alone, you give in, sliding into the chair and regarding him warily. Cassian sets the medkit down, pulling out some medicine to treat the wound and a canister of bandages. You roll up your sleeve, wincing at the drag of cloth over the wound.

For someone who can’t seem to stop fighting with you, Cassian’s touch is quite gentle as he carefully unwraps the old bandage from your arm. He sucks in a concerned breath when he sees the wound. “What happened here?”

You lift your shoulders in a loose shrug. “Blaster wound. Then I got some shrapnel in it, then another blaster shot. Can’t stay out of trouble long enough for it to heal.”

“You’re not the only one,” Cassian mumbles, and you wonder how many injuries he’s hiding under recesses of fabric, how many cuts won’t stitch shut and bones can’t mend for lack of rest. Your whole Rebellion must be like this, you realize, a bunch of shattered pieces sorely wishing for the glue to put yourselves back together. Either you’ll die or you’ll win the war, but only one outcome will guarantee you a relief from the pain, and both seem much too far away to be of any use to you.

Cassian dabs some disinfecting water onto a piece of cloth and gently cleans your wound. You hiss at the touch, but force yourself to relax. You can’t help but watch how he does it, fingers moving smoothly with experience yet delicate enough to keep you from pain as best he can.

“Thank you,” you whisper, words oddly loud in the stillness of the ship.

Cassian nods, putting down the now bloodied cloth in exchange for a fresh bandage. “It was the least I could do. Maybe I want to prove to you that not all of our conversations have to end in a fight.”

You laugh quietly at that. “It’s a good surprise, then. Luthen would be happy.”

Cassian starts wrapping the bandage around your arm. “Luthen. He’s so convinced he knows us better than ourselves. I still don’t know why he keeps insisting on assigning us together.”

Something aches inside your chest, the weight of the truth pressing against your tired ribs. “Yes, you do.”

Cassian glances up at you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Of course you know why we’re together again,” you say softly. When he still looks perplexed, you elaborate. “Luthen assigns us both on missions because he trusts us not to get along. He doesn’t want there to be– emotional complications, I guess you can say.”

“I don’t follow,” Cassian says. “He doesn’t want his spies to be friends?”

“More than that,” you say. “He wants to know that his mission is secure, that you won’t let your personal feelings for me get in the way of anything. He knows you hate me, so he’s safe. He knows that if anything were to happen, you could kill me without a second glance to protect our secrets, and I would do the same for you. It’s his way of cleaning up loose ends.”

Cassian draws back, startled. “That’s not true.”

You laugh bitterly. “Yes, it is, and you know it, too. Luthen can’t risk one of us getting captured, we know too much. Our mutual animosity won’t stop us from completing the mission, but it will be enough to know you’ll be fine with killing me cleanly before they can torture Rebel secrets out of me. It’s simple, and it’s the right thing to do. None of us can afford to get taken by the Imperials.”

Cassian shakes his head sharply. “No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t kill you, Y/N.”

Your smile is cold, he can’t seem to look at it. “Yes, you would. To protect the Rebellion, you would. That’s the whole point. That’s the whole reason any of us are here.”

Cassian jerks his gaze back towards your arm, where he studiously finished tying off your bandage. “You don’t know enough about me to say that.”

For some reason, you feel like sobbing, although you can’t decide why. “We’re spies, Cassian. That’s all I have to know.”

Lost without something to do, some way to keep taking care of you, Cassian stands up, practically leaning away in a hurry to get away from this conversation. “Take care of that arm,” he says, voice oddly foreign.

You nod and he leaves, medkit forgotten on the table. You pick up the leftover bandages, turning them idly in your hands before mechanically putting everything back in their compartments. Cassian’s reaction has left you stunned; you thought he would be delighted to have this leverage over you, given how little you’ve been getting along recently, or at least be neutral, but instead, he seems deeply haunted, like he’s grieving the death you haven’t yet had.

The topic of your mutual deaths is clearly not something that should be brought up again, so you don’t, and let the odd silence exist between you until the status of the mission is enough to interrupt it. Cassian and you strike a compromise where you both risk coming out from the safety of your ship during the day in order to verify that Luthen’s information on Imperial patrols in the target building are accurate. In exchange, you’ll agree to place the bombs that night, but only if you’re certain that there won’t be any surprises with the schedule of the guards.

Ultimately, you do notice a few slight deviations with the patrols, but not enough to postpone the mission. Thus, you spend the next couple of hours in tense silence, waiting for the hour to strike. Once dark slips over the city once more, you leave the relative safety of your ship to stalk through the inky streets again.

You and Cassian move in sync, hardly having to whisper a word for you to know what comes next. You feel as if you’re part of a matched pair, a set of spies working with one mind, one purpose. After so much time wasted fighting him, this breakthrough feels like a miracle. You only wish it could have come sooner.

The Imperial office is quiet, the workers mostly departed for the night. You and Cassian find the side entrance you’d marked the previous night, and, after correctly entering the door code, slip inside. You’re careful to keep your faces hidden, and avoid rounds of stormtroopers on patrol as best as possible.

When you get to the tenth floor, you split up to cover more ground. “Be safe,” Cassian whispers before you part. You nod, face grim, and try not to feel like you’re losing a limb when you turn the corner and leave him. This isn’t a trap. You’ll see him again. You just have to get the job done first.

You reach into the bag at your side and grab the first bomb, placing it on the side of a computer terminal and twisting a disc at the top to activate it before moving on. You repeat the process of placing and activating the small detonation devices, covering the entrances and key structural components of the floor before heading towards the central communications room where the blueprints are kept.

You’re the first one inside, and you make sure to carefully sweep the room for any late-night employees before you continue your work. Cassian is somewhere on the other side of the building, doing the same thing. You’ll meet here before you leave, then detonate the explosives once you’re both safely out of the building.

Still, as you place more bombs with no sight of Cassian, you can’t help but feel nerves start to swarm inside of you. He should have appeared by now. By the time you start to hear the sounds of shouting voices and running footsteps, you’re almost relieved. If the Imperials are giving chase, that at least means he’s still alive, and hasn’t been shot outright.

The door to the control room bursts open behind you a few moments later, but the face greeting you is not Cassian’s but that of an Imperial officer. He barks orders to a unit of stormtroopers, who flood into the room, all aiming their blasters at you. You raise your arms, breath ragged in your chest. So this is how it ends, then. This is how you die.

The Imperial officer crosses the room in a few brisk strides, jabbing his blaster in your face. “You were with a man. Where is he?”

You silently thank the stars. If they’re asking you where Cassian is, they still haven’t found him. Maybe there’s still a chance for him to get away, or even complete the mission. The bombs are still set. Both of you have a detonator switch, only one of you has to press the trigger. If you get shot before you can finish this, at least Cassian can get the job done.

The only thing you can do for him now is to buy him time. You stare into the eyes of the officer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here alone.”

The officer raises his arm, striking you across the face with the butt of his gun. Pain lances across you, and you stumble back in agony, one hand dropping to cradle your injured face.

“I know he’s here. Lying gets you nothing. Cooperate and maybe you won’t be executed immediately.” The officer hisses.

The threat of execution doesn’t faze you. The worse option is capture and torture. Everyone pretends that they’d be able to withstand torture, but the Imperials are swimming in time and patience that you hungry, desperate Rebels lack. It doesn’t matter if it takes hours, or days, or even months before you crack, the simple fact is that you will give in at some point, and with all that you know, the Rebellion could be crushed for good.

Your only hope now is to die quickly before you give up anything. You look through the glass windows of the control room, searching for any sign that Cassian had gotten out of the building. Instead, you see him rounding a corner, then quickly ducking back to the protective cover of a nearby hallway when he spots all of the stormtroopers clustered around you.

Immediately, you start screaming at the top of your lungs, all hope for your life forgotten. “Do it, do it now! Finish it!”

The officer cuffs you again, but you hardly feel it, shouting again to Cassian. This is the one job of all Rebels, whether they like it or not. He has to know this is the point when he lets you go. He has to know that the mission comes first, always.

He has to know, but not for the first time in his life, Cassian Andor refuses to play by the rules. He surges forward again, opening fire on the stormtroopers, who rear around in surprise, reaching for their guns even as they start to fall to the hail of blaster fire. You take advantage of their distraction to grab your fallen blaster, shooting the Imperial officer before he can turn back to face you and taking out the surrounding stormtroopers.

Under the cover of Cassian’s protective fire, you sprint for the door, joining your mission partner in the haze of smoke and laser bolts outside. The two of you find a way to the turbolift, blaster bolts still skidding inside until the very last moment before the doors shut.

The next several minutes feel like a blur. You’re lost to the space between blaster shots, the moments in between sprints from turbolift to hallway to door to the streets surrounding you. Once you’re clear of the building, you grab the detonator from where it’s clipped onto your belt and press the trigger. For a few moments, there’s unearthly silence, and then the entire world erupts as the bombs explode throughout the tenth floor. The building crashes to the ground below, sending a wave of force rippling across the streets.

You and Cassian are flung to the ground, rolling a short distance before you recover from the impact and manage to start moving again. Cassian is already standing, pulling you up and along after him. Klaxons ring out across the night, and you swear you can hear the rhythmic crashing of Imperial squadrons already out to hunt you down.

You’re not planning on sticking around any longer, though, and you’ve hardly cleared the exit ramp of your ship before Cassian is sprinting to the cockpit. He starts up departure sequences before he’s even sitting down, every fibre of his being focused on the sole task of getting the two of you out of here. You follow him, watching through the transparisteel as the city you’ve ruined disappears to nothing but sparks and dust below you as your ship pierces through the sky.

Only once the deep indigo of night is replaced by the coursing lights of hyperspace do either of you finally start to let go of the fear compelling you forward. You watch Cassian’s shoulders drop, the inescapable tension of panic cutting his strings at last and leaving him slumped and exhausted in his chair. His fingers dig around the arm rest, clutching at it for support as he forces himself up again.

You’re at his side in an instant. “Sit,” you urge him. “You need to rest.”

Like always, Cassian doesn’t listen, and he stands on overburdened legs, pulling you into the glare of an overhead light. His hand rises to your face, gently turning your head to the side and then back so he can spot any injuries.

“Are you badly hurt?” He asks, voice a desperate whisper in the hum of your ship. “I saw them hit you– I thought you were dead–”

“You were supposed to leave me behind,” you chastise him. “We talked about this, remember? The mission comes first. You should have detonated the bombs, not thrown yourself headfirst at a dozen troopers.”

Cassian’s fingers stall on your cheek. “I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to leave you to die, and I meant it, Y/N. I’d rather die myself.”

“We would have died if there had been any more of them,” you respond. “Tell me that you’ll prioritize the mission next time. Tell me that you’ll focus on what matters.”

“You matter,” Cassian corrects. He lets out a quiet laugh. “For all the times you’ve gotten under my skin or gone against my plans, I can’t find a way to make you matter any less to me. I can’t stop saving you. I can’t stop making you my purpose.”

You inhale sharply in surprise. “I thought you hated me.”

“So did I,” Cassian murmurs. “And then I thought about having to be the one to kill you, and I realized I never could. I’ll die with you, Y/N. I’ll die for you. But I’ll never kill you.”

Your whole body feels electrified. You’ve thought about Cassian a hundred different ways, but not like this, never like this. Yet everything he says feels so right, so much like how you feel about him, that you can scarcely believe you’ve never given this side of him a chance.

Your own hands reach up, tangling themselves in the front of his jacket. “You terrified me, running after those troopers. I thought you were going to get yourself killed, and then it would be my fault.”

Cassian stumbles ever closer to you. “I was terrified to see you with them. I didn’t mind getting killed if it meant I got to save you.”

“Selfish,” you tease, but there’s an undercurrent of fear in it still, as you remember that awful moment, a dozen bolts shooting towards him in the corridor.

“Yes,” Cassian says, and kisses you. “Always,” he says, and kisses you again.

For once in your life, you’re more than flesh and bone. You feel limitless, everlasting, more than a soldier and more than a fighter. You are someone who could be loved, not for a gun in your hand but for the heart beating in your ribs. You have a life worth living, and one worth living with Cassian at your side. It’s a terrible world out there for all of you in the shadow of the Empire, but you have one light still burning bright between you. You have no intention to let it blow out.

star wars tag list: @blondsauduun, @caswinchester2000, @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife, @supervoldejaygent

#fic rec

61 notes · View notes

locke-writes · 5 days ago

Note

I can’t, this is just so damn cute

Okay but what about Sleeping under the stars with Poe from the summer prompts? 🥺

Hello my lovely beautiful friend! As always, thank you for trusting me with a request. I hope you like the sweetest most teeth rotting fluff that has ever existed.

Underneath the stars

Pairing: Poe Dameron x reader

Word count: 1.1k

CW: This is literally just fluff. Brush your teeth after reading. Also, Poe kisses, those always deserve a warning. Mentions of death, angst if you squint (literally just like one paragraph)

The warm summer breeze greeted your skin as you walked down the ramp of the ship. There was no sound beyond the insects and wind, the faraway planet you had reached being more welcoming than you expected. Your mission of finding Poe was too easy, as you followed the sounds of BB’s whirring, spotting Poe’s silhouette against the moonlight. He had announced he was going outside to check your surroundings a while ago, as you filed reports and sent out your status.

All good, we’ll be back tomorrow.

Considering his calm posture, sitting on the grass atop the hill, you could assume everything was clear. Tomorrow seemed to be too soon as you let the quiet of this orbit mute all the noise you were used to, the noise still buzzing in your head, so you let it numb you, let it make you feel at ease even for a night.

“Hey,” You whispered as you reached him, setting down the blankets and pillows you had carried with you in case the night got cold while you were here.

“Hi,” Poe looked up with shiny eyes that followed your movements as you sat down, stretching out his arm so you could lean against his shoulder on your usual spot beneath his strong arms.

You understood why he had been here all this time; the stars had hypnotized your eyes immediately as they blinked, as if someone were playing with the lights somewhere, turning them on and off with different colors and sizes.

“I’m glad you are here,” Poe murmured against the side of your forehead, kissing there softly.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” You smiled up at him, both your eyes crinkling at the corners. It wasn’t usual to be sent to missions together, hadn’t been for a while, with you usually in recon and him fighting. Seeing Poe as your assigned pilot for this one together felt too good to be true, like a mistake someone had made. You didn’t speak up. “If I had been sent here with Snap, this would’ve been much more boring.”

He laughed at your joke, softly, carelessly, as if he was also taking the calm atmosphere in his advantage. If you could, you would give him every slow night you could get just to see him like that - even if just for a night.

“I can’t believe the sky is so clear,” You spoke into the night, barely a murmur as you got lost in the stars again. “Either that, or I hadn’t looked at the stars in a while.”

“Both,” Poe confirmed, as if he had already thought of that too. He held you tighter, closer to his body. “Do you think they’re watching? Everyone we have lost?” Your arm wrapped around his middle when he asked, understanding now why he was so quiet, so lost in his own thoughts.

“I like to think so. I think they’re there, somehow. Lingering...” But it wasn’t a sad question, you realized, and neither was your answer. It was just a fact - just a way to make sense of it all. “Shimmering.” You concluded as the stars, for some reason, began to shine brighter.

A small sound of agreement left his throat. And then, he asked. “if you could chose to be a star, a nebula, or a comet, what would you be?”

“What the hell, Poe?” You snorted, completely caught off guard by his question, pushing at his shoulder as you looked at him. “What kind of philosophical dilemma are you going through right now?”

“Come on, what would you be?” He matched your laughter, trapping your hand and lifting it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“Would you still love me in any of those forms?”

“Oh, absolutely,” He shook his head. His love for you, you had learned, knew no boundaries.

You gave it a thought, analyzing all your options, until you settled for one. “A comet.” You said, sure of your answer. “They’re good luck.”

“What?” Poe asked in between a laugh. “What do you mean, good luck?”

“When one appears, and you see it shooting across the sky, you make a wish and it will come true.” When you looked up at him, he was looking at you with questioning eyes. “It’s true!”

As if on cue, a bright light crossed the dark sky, making you gasp and point at it, hitting his leg softly in excitement.

“You have to make a wish, now.”

“Okay,” he thought for a couple of seconds, closing his eyes. “I wish that-”

“Shh, no,” your fingers delicately stopped his mouth, pressing against his lips. “If you say it, it won’t come true.”

Poe squinted his eyes at you. “You’re full of little quirks, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Even if teasing, you could hear the softness in his voice.

He didn’t let you answer as he dipped down to kiss you, as if that were the only thing that would keep him from talking. His kiss wasn’t urgent, not looking for anything else, only wanting to feel you close, to taste your smile and take his time to do it. As if this had been his wish all along.

And you let him, of course, feeling his arms wrap around your body as he kissed you senslessly, stars and comets and wishes forgotten, because all that mattered was being kissed by him like that, like you had all the time in the galaxy. You could stay under his loving touch for hours, let him take his time to kiss you for however long he wanted.

Poe’s lips, slow and tender, never left yours as he carefully pushed you both back, backs colliding with grass, your head strategically placed under his arm. You didn’t know when your hand had reached his curls, grasping them softly, feeling the hairs slip in between your fingers. They stayed there when you parted, doing soft motions on the back of his head, his disheveled hair mixing with the night sky above him.

“I think you would be a galaxy,”

His cheeks reddened a little at the thought, and at the way you said it, with so much love and pureness in your words that he couldn’t look away from your piercing eyes. “Would you love me, then?”

You smiled. “Well, I love you now, don’t I?”

Poe kissed you again before he lay down beside you, shifting so you both were comfortable. Even the grass felt warm, plush, and much better than any Resistance-issued mattress. You began to drift off before you could even notice, only reaching for the blanket you had brought with you, covering you both with it before you let sleep carry you away.

“Are we really going to sleep here?” You asked then, noticing his breath was also beginning to even out. You reached for the pillows then, putting them under his head.

“It’s a beautiful night, let’s take advantage of that.” His neck crooked to kiss the top of your head. “If it gets too cold, we’ll go back.”

You didn’t feel any cold, not even for a minute, and you slept like you hadn’t in a long time, holding each other under the twinkling sky.

✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀✨🚀

Thanks for reading! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed it.

#fic rec

39 notes · View notes