I Want To Go Back To Ohio

You sat on the edge of your bed and scrolled through the texts on your phone. You’d noticed their responses to your texts getting shorter if they weren’t being ignored completely. As you scrolled you realized you were always the one that initiated the conversation, always sent the first message. Maybe you were just annoying them.

All of you had your own rooms, but you were used to them climbing into bed with you or dragging you into their rooms to sleep with them. Jack hadn’t been getting home until midmorning and Robby was closer to midnight some nights. You were already at work in the home office by the time Jack arrived home but he hadn’t popped his head in to say hello once. Hadn’t found you to say goodbye. You’d tried to stay up for Robby one night and woke up on the couch shivering in the chill at the two in the morning, telling you he hadn’t even noticed. A quick glance in his room showed him passed out in his bed. You could have crawled in with him, with either of them, but you weren’t certain they wanted you to anymore.

The last time you’d seen them, Robby had just seemed irritated that you were in his space and Jack hadn’t listened to a word you said before saying “That’s nice, sweetheart. I’m gonna get some sleep.”

So, you decided to stop. Stop messaging them first, stop seeking them out at home, just stop. The days passed and they didn’t seem to notice. You continued taking care of them for a few days, leaving food to make sure they ate, washing their scrubs, etc. You knew these back to back shifts were hard on them but you were hurting mentally and physically and just so, so tired. You knew you should talk to them, make them see you, but you didn’t want to burden them with anything else.

So, you called your best friend and packed your things, biting back your tears as you walked out the door.

Jack was the first to notice that something was wrong.

He came home just after ten from an extended shift. The house was quiet but that wasn’t out of the norm as you shut yourself up in your office to work. He opened the microwave and frowned at finding it empty. You always left them something, worried they wouldn’t eat unless you fed them. He checked the fridge only to find it devoid of a meal as well. Maybe you were annoyed that he hadn’t eaten the meals the last couple of days, grabbing something at work to combat the hollow feeling in his stomach during his long shifts. He grabbed a protein shake, too tired to do anything else.

As he headed for his bedroom, he paused outside your office, hesitating, wanting to see you, wondering if perhaps you hadn’t been up to cooking today. When your condition flared, you didn’t feel like doing much of anything. But if that was the case, you were more likely to be curled up on the couch. He sighed and eventually moved on without knocking. He didn’t want to bother you just to say hello and goodnight. After a shower, he had just enough energy left to collapse into his bed and crash, far too exhausted to realize it was Saturday and you shouldn’t be working at all.

When he woke a few hours later, he went looking for you, wanting to apologize for not eating the meals you’d undoubtedly left him. Besides, he just missed you. These long shifts were killing him. You didn’t answer his gentle knock at your office or bedroom doors. A glance in the garage showed your car was gone. He looked in the kitchen to find no note. He frowned. None of this was like you. He glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t worry about it now. Half an hour later found him standing by the hub talking to Robby.

“I’m telling you man, something’s not right,” Jack said.

Robby huffed. “Why because she didn’t make you breakfast? Maybe she just forgot.”

“Okay, but she didn’t leave a note. She always leaves a note. She knows we worry.”

Dana looked between them as they talked wondering how two incredibly intelligent men could be so fucking stupid. You’d been in her guestroom for two days now and they were just noticing something was up? No wonder you left their asses. Idiots. She made a sound of disgust.

Both men’s heads snapped in her direction. “What?” they asked in unison.

She arched one brow and pursed her lips. “Nothing. Don’t mind me.”

Robby and Jack turned to look at one another and reassess. Dana was your best friend. If she was pissed off at them, that meant you were as well. Shit. “Okay, well what did she say the last time you talked to her?”

“I think she told me to have a good shift,” Jack said with a frown, pulling out his phone. That had been five days ago and he’d responded with a terse thanx. “Uh, Mike, when’s the last time she texted you?”

He pulled out his phone to find much the same scenario as Jack. You usually texted them multiple times a day just to let them know you were thinking of them. “Oh.”

Jack raked his hand through his hair. “Okay, okay. Did anything seem off when you saw her?”

Robby shook his head. “I’ve been too tired when I get home to do anything but shower and crawl in bed. My bed. Figured she’d come to my room if she wanted.”

Jack’s brain short circuited and he froze. “Michael, when is the last time you physically laid eyes on our girlfriend?”

Robby sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know. Earlier this week? I’ve just been so fried I haven’t been seeking her out. What about you? What’s she been like with you?”

“I haven’t seen her either.” His voice was quiet, worried.

Robby’s gaze sharpened. “Like since when?”

Jack bowed his head as he thought. “Jesus. It’s been a week. At least. She sat at the table with me while I ate but I was too tired to even process what she was saying. I didn’t stress about it because I figured she had you.”

“And I was the same way. Fuck.” Robby’s eyes went wide and he pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Fuck!”

Dana hummed in acknowledgment of their idiocy.

Jack turned to her immediately. “She’s obviously said something to you. What did she say? How mad is she?”

She glanced over the top of her glasses, entirely unimpressed. “Since when has that ever worked with me, Jack Abbot? You want to know how mad she is, try talking to her. If she’ll listen. I’m going home. You two better get your shit together.”

Handoff with Lena complete, Dana grabbed her things and headed out the door without looking back, Robby and Jack’s eyes trailing her as she went.

“Oh, our girl must be furious,” Robby muttered.

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Robby left his shift when he was supposed to for the first time in two weeks. This matter with you was more pressing. Your car was still gone. He knocked at your office out of habit as he opened the door. Everything you needed for work was gone. Shit. His footsteps carried him quickly down the hall. He threw open the door to your bedroom to find a neatly made bed. Your suitcase and a large amount of your clothes were missing.

Robby pulled out his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste. He called Jack who answered immediately. “Is she home?”

“She’s gone, Jack.” Robby’s voice broke on the words. “Her office is empty. Half of her clothes are gone.”

“Shit,” Jack said. “Trauma’s coming in. See if you can reach her.”

Robby tried to call first. You sent the call to voicemail three times before he gave up.

Next, he sent you a text. Baby please pick up the phone. I want to talk to you. I need to make sure you’re alright.

I’m fine, came not even a minute later.

He heaved a sigh of relief. At least you responded. I don’t think you are. Please talk to me.

You haven’t cared if you talked to me in weeks. Why should now be any different?

God, you always knew exactly what to say to make your point in the sharpest way possible. Please. He didn’t know what else to say.

I moved out two days ago. You didn’t even notice.

Two days? That can’t be true surely. Jesus. He knew you well enough to know that he and Jack had been horribly wrong. You weren’t pissed. You were hurt. That was so much worse. They’d hurt you. They were going to lose you and they’d deserve it.

I don’t know what I can say to that. There’s no excuse for it. I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much.

Okay. Goodnight Michael.

No, no, no. That couldn’t be your response. This couldn’t be the end of everything. What the fuck had they done?

Baby please. Just meet us at least. Let us sit down and talk about this. Please.

The two of you will never have the time for that. I can say yes but it will never happen so why bother. I’m done talking.

Please talk to me.

Please don’t leave us.

I love you.

Just give us a chance

All four messages were left on read.

Jack tried next.

Robby hadn’t told him how things had gone until handoff, not wanting Jack to dwell on it all night. While part of him understood Robby’s reasoning, the rest of him was pissed off. If he’d known, maybe he could have gotten you to respond. It wasn’t logical, you weren’t any more likely to talk to him than Robby but Jack couldn’t just give up.

He sent the first text as he walked to the truck.

Honey I am so sorry. Please talk to us.

He tossed his phone on the passenger seat. When he pulled in the drive, he was disappointed to find no response.

I love you. I miss you.

He took a shower to scrub the day away. When he got out, he found that you had responded to his texts with a link. He clicked on it and was taken to a local housekeeping service that did cleaning and laundry. His brows snapped together and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

What’s that?

Figured that’s what you were missing. You can probably find someone to make meals for you too. Or doordash.

Jack scowled. What the fuck? I don’t give a shit about any of that. I miss you. I want you. Not some fucking maid service. Why would you think that?

Are you telling me that you didn’t notice stuff wasn’t getting done before you noticed you hadn’t seen me? It’s been days Jack. Days.

Look I know things haven’t been ideal lately. Mike and I have both been working more than we should have. We just have to get through this and then things will go back to normal.

I don’t want normal.

What?

When was the last time either of you texted me first? Took me on a date? It was a long time before the flu.

Jack frantically scrolled through his texts knowing you had to be wrong. The two of you talked all the time. Another message from you came through.

You just got off shift. You should get some sleep. Goodbye Jack.

Jesus fucking Christ. Now he understood what Robby had been talking about. You were talking like this was over. He wasn’t ready for this to be done. Didn’t think he would ever be.

I’m fine Honey. I’m worried about you and hating myself for fucking this up.

I can’t do this anymore Jack. Not right now.

He tried to text you two more times before switching to phone calls. The third time he called he went straight to voicemail. He raked a hand through his hair and tossed his phone on the bed before dropping back to lay flat. He pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes. How the fuck were they going to fix this?

Two days passed of them trying to call or text and getting no further response from you. They’d managed to learn from Dana that you were staying with her and were ‘doing just fine. Now fuck off’. Jack and Robby stood at the hub just before seven going over the schedule, trying to figure out who would be willing to shift around so they could head over to Dana’s together to beg for forgiveness.

Dana hurried through the bay doors and made her way straight to them. Both of them turned at her unusual behavior. “What’s up with you?” Robby asked.

“I need you both to behave like fucking adults or I’ll get Gloria down here,” she snapped.

Jack’s brows shot up. “Who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“Stow it, Abbot.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes scanning the department. “Whitaker, grab a chair. Patient being dropped off in the bay.”

Both men straightened at that. “Dana,” Robby said drawing out the word.

She pursed her lips and sighed. “She’s been in a flare for days. Meds triggered an intractable migraine. Neuro told her to come here.”

“Is she okay?” Robby asked then immediately said, “Don’t answer that. Stupid question.”

“How long?” Jack asked already heading for the doors.

She huffed out a breath knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “Three days.”

Jack stopped and turned back. “Three fucking days? And she’s just now coming in?”

“I can’t imagine why she would be hesitant.” Dana rolled her eyes as she moved past him to meet Whitaker at the door.

“What’s open, Lena?” she called over her shoulder.

“Five is all yours.”

Robby and Jack froze as you were wheeled inside. You had an icepack pressed over your eyes, the elbow of the hand holding it resting on the arm of the chair. You were curled in on yourself and had an empty bucket in your lap. Dana shot them a look as she pushed you past them and into your room.

As much as they wanted to invade the room, to check on you themselves, they waited. Dana emerged nearly twenty minutes later. “I’ve got her in a gown and got an IV started for fluids. She’s checked in and waiting for a doctor. She said you can come in.”

They stepped forward and she held up a hand. “Don’t upset her or I’ll kick your ass.”

Entering the room quietly, their eyes immediately fell on you. You were curled on your side, icepack still laying on your head. They split, each one taking a different side of the bed. Jack sat on a stool and wheeled it to your side, clasping your hand in his. You sucked in a breath at the contact and immediately started to sob.

Robby had pulled a chair up on your other side, placing a heavy hand on your back. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”

Jack touched the icepack to find it warm. He moved it aside so he could see your eyes. He wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Why are you crying, honey?”

“It hurts.” You practically whimpered the words. “It hurts so bad. Nothing is helping.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

Before he could say anything else, Dana came back into the room hands full. She sat the tray full of medication aside and hung a bag of saline to run into your IV. “Doc Reynolds sent in the order for a cocktail.”

“What’s he giving her?” Robby asked as he put on his glasses and headed over to the computer.

Dana ignored him and started filling syringes with meds.

“Well?” Jack asked.

Robby glanced over with a frown. “Toradol, Reglan, Zomig, and Decadron.”

“Jesus.” Jack watched Dana inject the drugs into your IV. “Must be particularly stubborn, huh?”

Another tear ran down your face in answer.

Dana glanced at Robby. “You working or calling someone in?”

Robby ran a hand down his face. “Shit. Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

She nodded and moved to the computer to make her notes.

Robby went back to your side and kissed your temple. “I’ll be back, sweetheart. Just let me get things settled out there.”

“I need to do handoff,” Jack said, looking between you and Robby.

You turned away from him, careful not to tangle your IV. “I’m fine. Just go.”

The pain in your voice pierced through him. “Honey—”

“Go!” you yelled then winced.

Dana’s gaze snapped over to Jack. “You heard her. Out.”

When he hesitated, she said, “Now.”

“We’ll be back,” he said at the door, turning back to look at you. Dana had her hand resting on the side of your face, talking to you in a low tone. He sighed and left the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

“I feel like we just failed a test,” Robby said, voice tired.

“Yeah.”

You didn’t want to be a bitch, to be unreasonable. You knew your temper was shorter because of your migraine, because of the pain that you had been drowning in for days. The truth was you’d been in a flare for two weeks at this point. You’d been careful with your meds but eventually they’d caused the headache you’d had since you left their house. Stress undoubtedly playing a large part in both the flare and the migraine. You’d only admitted to it three days ago. If Dana knew you were going on five days, she’d beat your ass.

But you’d told the neuro the truth. He’d told you if the cocktail didn’t work, they’d have to admit you for stronger meds. You knew that of course, this wasn’t your first trip to the hospital for a stubborn migraine, but you hated it. All you’d wanted from the beginning was to curl up with one of your men and let them take care of you.

You missed them and they always seemed to make everything better. Well, they used to. It’s why you’d told Dana they could come into the room. You’d hoped they’d choose you. Take care of you. Prioritize you. But once again the Pitt won.

It wasn’t rational. They needed to do their jobs. They were attending physicians. Lives literally hung in the balance. But you didn’t want to be rational. You were tired of always being understanding. Of always letting yourself take a back seat. You were tired of always being the second choice.

Your heart ached when you thought about how long it took for them to even notice you were gone. They didn’t need you. Didn’t want you. Not really. You’d been crippled with pain for days and they hadn’t known, hadn’t cared. Had never once asked how you were doing. Dana had told you that you could stay as long as you wanted but you knew you were wearing out your welcome. No one wants a permanent houseguest.

You wondered how much money was in your savings. You didn’t check the balance often as you were afraid you’d spend it, so you left it and just added to it when you could. You’d need enough for a deposit and first and last month’s rent. Jesus, you hated apartment hunting. Hated apartments. You’d gotten used to the quiet neighborhood where you lived now. You didn’t want to think about it right now, it certainly wasn’t helping your headache.

Your head had that floaty feeling that told you the meds were working. Your thoughts were a little slow and time passed in weird increments but you were still aware.

Dana popped back in after almost an hour had passed. “How you doing, doll?”

“It’s definitely better, but it still hurts.”

She pulled you up on the computer. “Instructions here for another round. After that…”

“Yeah, I know.”

She patted your leg. “I’m going to get you some more fluids and something to drink. Need anything else?”

“Another icepack?”

“Sure. I can do that.” Her gaze ran over you as she crossed her arms over her chest. “They’ve stationed themselves in the hallway, you know.”

You frowned at her. You’d assumed they were working. Hell, Jack might have gone home for all you knew. “What?”

“I told them they couldn’t come back in, not after they made you cry.”

“They didn’t. I was crying because it hurt.”

She hummed in agreement. “And then you were crying because they told you they had to go back to work.”

“That’s not their fault.”

“It is. If they didn’t keep picking this place over you, you would be more understanding when they didn’t have a choice. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to be upset. They fucked up.” She sighed. “But they love you. And you miss them. That’s okay too.”

Another tear ran down your cheek.

“Do you want me to send them in?” Her voice had taken on that mom tone of hers that always made you feel comforted.

“Yes, please.”

She nodded once and patted your leg again. She stepped past the curtain and out the door. You heard her say, “I’m getting another bag of fluids. She needs water and an icepack. I’ll let you deliver them. Don’t upset her.” Then she shut the door.

Jack appeared first, cup of water with a straw in hand. “Just chilled. Don’t want to shock your system.”

“Thanks.” You licked your lips before leaning forward to take a sip. You hadn’t realized how dry your mouth was until then.

He sat it on the table when you finished, his hazel eyes running over you. His hands gripped the railing. “How are you feeling? You look better.”

“Still hurts but it’s better. Dana’s bringing me more drugs in a bit.”

Before he could respond, Robby came into the room. “Hey, sweetheart. One icepack as requested.” He snapped it to activate it and kneaded it before handing it over. You pressed it to the back of your neck with a sigh.

“Here,” he said and folded your pillow so it would keep the icepack pressed where you wanted without you having to hold it. Your eyes closed in relief.

“Where are you at on the pain scale?” Robby asked as his fingers found your pulse on your wrist.

You huffed out a breath without opening your eyes. “Already have a doctor, Robinavitch. If you’re going to stay, you can’t doctor me.”

You could feel him wanting to argue without looking at him. Could practically feel it vibrating under his skin.

“Okay,” he said instead, hand shifting to lay on yours instead.

You opened one eye to look at him in disbelief.

A small laugh fell from his lips and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Honey, I would do about anything you asked to keep you talking to me.”

You hummed and closed your eye. They settled to either side of you, each of them holding one of your hands. Jack kissed the back of the one he held, then Robby kissed the inside of your wrist on the other. Your lips twitched in amusement.

“You can talk. I meant it when I said I was feeling better. Another dose should kill it completely.”

“I’m going to lecture about one thing, then I’ll shut up,” Jack said.

You cracked your eyes to look at him.

“I don’t care how upset you are with us, you don’t wait three days to come to the hospital when you’re hurting like this.”

Your nose wrinkled before you could stop it. Damn it.

Robby’s gaze immediately narrowed. “How long?”

“It started before I even left the house.”

“What?” Jack snapped, the sharpness in his tone making you wince. “Sorry, sorry,” he immediately apologized, rubbing your hand with his thumb.

“Your doctor know that?” Robby asked.

“Yes.”

You could tell there was so much he wanted to say but he simply nodded once and said, “Okay.”

“I kinda like the you that’s trying to stay in my good graces,” you said. Guilt flashed through his eyes but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for your words. They’d earned them.

Dana came in and hung another bag of saline. Jack slid out of the way so she could give you the next dose of meds. She looked between the men when neither of them said anything before looking to you in question.

You grinned. “I told them they couldn’t doctor if they wanted to stay.”

She laughed. “Good for you,” she said before putting them out of their misery. “Same meds as last time. If it works, she can go home under supervision. If not, she’s heading upstairs.”

“Thanks, Dana,” Jack said, voice rough with worry.

She gave you a nod and left.

“Don’t you guys need to go back to work?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

“Nope.” Robby leaned back in his chair, hand still on yours. “We put in for some of our PTO.”

“And Gloria’s just going to let you do that?”

“She doesn’t have a choice. Told her to get some temps in if she needed,” Robby said. “Neither one of us uses our time. Plus, we’re way over the hours we were supposed to be working the last two weeks.”

Your eyelids began to feel heavy as the new meds swamped your system.

“Hey, open your eyes, baby,” Jack said.

You blinked at him.

“This round working? Can we take you home?”

“Yeah, Jack. Take me home.”

You weren’t certain how much time passed before you became aware of your surroundings again. As you blinked away the slumber, you realized you were in Robby’s bed. Huh. At least you weren’t in the hospital. Seeing a glass of water waiting for you on the nightstand, you pushed yourself up on your elbow. You were halfway done downing it when the door opened slightly, Robby’s head popping into the gap. His concerned expression melted into a relieved smile. “Hey, you’re awake.”

You didn’t answer as you finished your water. You felt so dehydrated which was stupid considering how much fluid they’d given you at the hospital. Robby stepped into the room tapping on his phone which he slid back into his pocket when he saw you’d finished the water. He took the cup from you and set it aside. His fingers instantly found your wrist but he paused, “Can I doctor you for a second?”

“Sure,” you said, a smile teasing your lips.

He’d just finished checking your pulse when Jack stepped into the room. His gaze ran over you, assessing before giving you a bright smile. “Hey, baby. How you feeling?”

“Better. Much better.”

“Good.” He held a fresh glass of water out to you. “Mike said you were thirsty.”

“Thank you.” You took a drink then set the glass on the table. Your attention shifted to Robby who sat on the edge of the bed, fingers still on your wrist. “Will I live, doc?”

He nodded his head but didn’t look at you.

You tilted your head with a frown. “Michael, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, broken. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your brow furrowed as Jack sighed. “I thought we were going to give her a chance to get her bearings before we got into this.”

Robby sniffed, finally releasing his hold on you only to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Let me go to the bathroom,” you said and Robby hopped up, offering you a hand to help you out. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

You took your time in the other room, taking the chance to wash your face and feel a bit more human. Despite the obvious pain fatigue, you looked better than you had in days. Finally, you took a breath and stepped back into the bedroom. Both men stopped talking as you opened the door and stood from where they’d been sitting on the edge of the bed.

Robby cleared his throat after Jack nudged him. “I’m, uh, sorry about before. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “I’d rather get the conversation out of the way if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Jack said, shoulders dropping as tension flowed from him.

You pressed your lips together to keep from snorting a laugh at the incredulous look Robby gave him. He muttered under his breath while he shook his head. He took your hand and led you over to the chair that sat in the corner of the room. “Sit. We have a couple of questions and then several things to say.”

Your gaze moved between the two of them. “Did you practice this or something?”

“Well, you were asleep for almost twenty-two hours,” Jack said.

You were only slightly surprised by that information. The meds always knocked you out. Usually not quite that long but you’d expected it. Jack sat on the edge of the bed in front of you while Robby stayed standing.

“First, Dana said you were in a flare before the headache. How long?” Jack asked.

You sighed, knowing they weren’t going to like the answer. “A couple of weeks.”

“Jesus, sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” Robby said.

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, I know you’re incredibly busy at the hospital right now and barely have time to sleep but could you take care of me?”

“Yes,” Jack said without hesitation. He slid forward on the bed a bit. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

You rolled your eyes. “Be serious, Jack.”

“I am.”

His tone was so sincere you could do nothing but look at him.

“I don’t know when you started believing that you were less important than us or our jobs, but you are not. And we’re so incredibly sorry for anything we’ve done that made you feel that way,” Robby said.

Hot tears rolled down your face before you could stop them. He swooped in immediately making hushing sounds as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll get another headache.”

You sucked in a breath and tried to regulate your emotions. “I know.”

“Listen,” Jack said. “Mike and I have talked about this. We don’t want to start over. We all have to much history for that. But we do want to prove to you that you’re still our priority if you’ll let us.”

You thought about it for a moment. You loved these men. Yes, they’d hurt you, but there was reason you’d fallen in love with them in the first place. Maybe you all just needed a reminder of what that was. Finally, you nodded. “I’d like that very much.”

And prove themselves they did. They cut their hours, focused on making your relationship a priority. As Robby said, the three of you were hopefully going to be together long after they retired. It wasn’t long before your relationship was stronger than it ever had been. To the point that, though you maintained your own rooms on the off chance you needed the space, you all slept in Robby’s king-sized bed most of the time, whether he was home or not.

And the next time you had a flare that lasted for longer than a couple of days, they took turns taking care of you the way you always did for them. They loved you, and they never let you doubt that again.

You reach up, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “Leave them,” you breathe, because the sound is filthy in its own way, the soft metallic music of him claiming you.

But Bucky’s eyes, stormy blue, pupils blown wide with lust darken further. He leans down, mouth brushing your ear, breath hot. “They’re distracting you from what I want you feeling.”

In one smooth motion, he catches the tags between his teeth. The chain pulls taut against the back of his neck, the metal plates disappearing into his mouth. His jaw flexes, lips parting just enough for you to see the silver edge glinting against his tongue. The sight alone rips a fresh wave of heat through you, Bucky, the Winter Soldier, reduced to biting down on his own history just so he can fuck you without anything getting in the way.

He groans around the tags, the sound muffled and raw. Then he drives into you harder.

No more clinking. Just the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of the bedframe, and the obscene sounds of your body taking him. His metal fingers dig into your hip, cool and unyielding, while his flesh hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing at the corner of your mouth like he wants to feel how wrecked you are.

“Look at me,” he demands around the metal. His voice is distorted, rougher, sex-drenched. Sweat beads at his temple, dark hair falling into his eyes as he fucks you with punishing precision, long strokes that bottom out and grind against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. Every time he bottoms out, his abs flex against your clit, and the tags shift between his teeth with the motion, a constant, visible reminder of how much control he’s exerting just for you.

You moan his name and he bites down harder, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours like he’s memorizing every gasp, every flutter of your cunt around his cock. The chain trembles against his throat with each thrust. You can see the way his tongue moves against the tags inside his mouth, the way his lips are shiny with spit, and it’s so fucking filthy you clench around him involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he growls through clenched teeth, the words barely intelligible but vibrating straight down to your core. “Milk me, doll. Let me feel how much you love this.”

Your hands scramble up his back, nails digging into scarred skin and metal plating alike. He’s relentless, hips snapping faster now, the wet sounds louder, your slick coating his balls as they slap against you. The dog tags stay right where he put them, trapped between those perfect teeth, catching the light every time he pulls back to look at where you’re stretched around him.

You’re close. So fucking close. And Bucky knows it, he always does. He drops his forehead to yours, tags still clenched tight, breath coming in hot pants around the metal. His voice is a broken rasp:

“Come on my cock while I’ve got these between my teeth, baby. Want to feel you fall apart knowing I’d do anything- anything- to keep fucking you right.”

The orgasm slams into you like lightning under your skin, sudden, devastating, unstoppable. Your back arches sharply off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy clamps down hard around his thick cock, fluttering and pulsing in relentless waves. Pleasure rips through every nerve ending, white-hot and overwhelming, leaving you shaking uncontrollably beneath him.

Bucky doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even falter. He keeps fucking you through it with those deep, grinding thrusts, hips rolling relentlessly as he chases his own release, dragging out your climax until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess beneath him.

Only then does he let the tags fall from his mouth, spit-slick and gleaming, dropping heavy and cool against your heaving chest. He buries his face in your neck, groaning your name like a prayer as he spills deep inside you, hips stuttering, metal arm braced beside your head so he doesn’t crush you.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint, final clink of the dog tags settling between your sweat-slick bodies.

Bucky kisses the side of your throat, soft and reverent now, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot where his teeth had been clenched moments before.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “I’m putting them between your teeth. See how quiet you can stay while I ruin you.”

You laugh breathlessly, already aching for it.

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

A/N: so... I won’t lie, I’m a little anxious. this story is extremely self-indulgent and stems from a deeply personal place. I know it might not be many people’s cup of tea but writing this was actually therapeutic after my friend gave me a sort of reality check about my love life lmao. one last thing, the order is not chronological. hope you’ll enjoy! series masterlist

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO WEAR MATCHING CLOTHES Sitting cross-legged on your bed, your laptop is balanced precariously on your thighs. The cursor has been hovering over the same cream-colored sweatshirt for almost twenty minutes now, your eyes flicking uselessly between the product picture and the tiny sizing chart beneath it as if either one could help with the actual problem here.

Because unfortunately the problem is not the hoodie per se, but that Bucky owns the exact same one. Well, almost exact. His is a beautiful shade of forest green, faded slightly at the cuffs from use and permanently smelling like fresh air, and the cedar and rose body wash he keeps in his shower. You saw it weeks ago, the first time he picked you up to drive you to work because you had planned to grab dinner together later. His broad shoulders easily filled the doorway of your house, holding two coffees and wearing that stupid hoodie that somehow made him look even larger. You remember trying to subtly peek at it while he drove, only to end up staring shamelessly at the way the sleeves strained around his forearms every time he turned the steering wheel.

And now here you are, thinking about matching clothes like a sixteen-year-old girl with a Pinterest board titled someday. It’s embarrassing enough that you need to physically close the laptop for a couple of seconds, before opening it again with a sigh.

You don’t even know why this matters so much. You have never done this before—the soft, easy parts of a relationship. You have never had someone long enough to build small habits with, someone steady enough that you could easily picture yourself sharing jokes only the two of you could understand over morning coffee, or reaching for their hand in the grocery store without spending days working up the courage first. You are still learning how to ask for things without feeling guilty afterward. Still learning how to want openly. And Bucky... God, Bucky makes it so much worse by being so impossibly patient about everything. From the very beginning.

Your first date had barely even started before he showed up with flowers hidden awkwardly behind his back, his left hand rubbing at the back of his neck almost sheepishly when he handed them to you.

“Before you say anything, sweetheart, my mama raised me right and she’d come back from the dead to beat my ass if I showed up empty-handed.”

Your laugh was so loud and unexpected that he stared at you for a good moment like he had just been entrusted with a beautiful, precious gem.

Then there was the second date. And the third. And somehow every single time, he never failed to surprise you with his sweet thoughtfulness. Sometimes it was wildflowers from his property he’d personally tie together with twine. Sometimes big yet tasteful bouquets of stargazer lilies that you would immediately put in a vase and proudly display on your dining table. Once, peonies so full and soft they had shed pink petals all over the inside of his truck.

He opened every door without making it feel performative, always guiding you carefully with one warm hand on your lower back as if that had become instinct before he even realized it. And then came the night of your fourth day, when he walked you to your door, lingering awkwardly while you fumbled with your keys.

You remember smiling nervously. “So… what exactly are we doing here?”

Bucky had taken a long moment to look at you, blue eyes softening under the faint light of your doorstep. “I was hoping I could court you properly.”

Court you. Who even says that anymore? Apparently, James Buchanan Barnes.

You stared at him while your heartbeat climbed into your throat. And because silence had stretched a little too long, he had immediately stepped in to reassure you.

“Only if you want me to, sweetheart. No pressure.”

No pressure. As if he had not already made your entire understanding of men shift off its axis.

Sometimes, it frightened you how naturally Bucky fit into your life. It started with warm drinks and pastries between classes because, “my pretty girl shouldn’t have to survive on burnt coffee from that old thing in the staff room”; with calling you every night just to hear your voice before bed, and taking you out on dates every Friday. Yet he could not stand going the rest of the week without seeing you, which was how sunny Sunday walks around his property became routine, along with Wednesday lunches at the little diner where his aunt’s friend, Pat, worked and spent the entirety of your meals watching the two of you with the sort of fondness reserved for people who are obviously in love yet keep shyly tiptoeing around each other.

Bucky loves intensely in all the quietest ways, which somehow makes asking for things complicated. Because what if one day you asked for something silly enough that made him realize how inexperienced you really were at all this?

Your eyes land back on the hoodie again as you chew at the inside of your cheek. Before you can overthink yourself out of it, you click purchase.

The first time you wear it around him is for movie night next Saturday. You have been shaking with excitement for weeks over the special twenty-fifth-anniversary screening of The Lord of the Rings. Bucky had agreed to come with you without even letting you finish explaining why it mattered so much, only to follow it up with an amused, “don’t gotta sell it to me, doll. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”

You almost change three times before he arrives. By the time his truck pulls up in your driveway, your stomach is churning so badly you feel like throwing up. It’s a hoodie that just happens to be like his, so what? People wear hoodies every day, they’re such a common piece of clothing... This is not a confession of undying love.

Still, the moment you pull open your door and find Bucky waiting on the other side like he’s been standing there just long enough to start missing you, you realize the sweater has perhaps not been your most emotionally neutral decision. His eyes find your face immediately, his default frown melting at once. But before he can even say hi, his gaze drops on the cream-colored fabric. You watch with horror the exact moment recognition settles in.

There is a brief, heavy pause, and then that slow, familiar curve of his mouth appears—not teasing in any cruel sense, never that. Just quietly pleased, enough that heat crawls all the way up your neck. And because your brain seems biologically incapable of letting you experience vulnerability like most people, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I thought the color looked nice.” The words tumble over each other so quickly they barely sound coherent by the end of the sentence.

Bucky blinks, clearly caught off guard by your sudden defensiveness, before one dark eyebrow lifts, amusement flickering across his face in the gentlest possible way.

“Nobody said it didn’t, baby.”

You promptly look away as if the floor might offer some kind of mercy, pretending to be preoccupied with the sleeve of your hoodie while internally mourning what little dignity you have left. Bucky doesn’t let you sit in it alone for long, though. Taking a step closer, his warm presence is grounding enough that all the static noise in your brain fades. His hands naturally find your waist like they have always belonged there, before he softly nudges you forward.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Let me say hi properly.” He murmurs, leaning down to press a slow kiss on your lips, grinning at your unguarded, little giggle when his stubble tickles your skin.

The cold evening air makes you shiver, and you instinctively tug your sleeves further over your hands while Bucky leads you to his pickup truck, parked beneath a flickering streetlamp. You can sense his quiet amusement, though he is kind enough not to mention the hoodie outright. Still, every now and then you catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye with that same smitten expression reserved for you only.

Once you reach the passenger side, Bucky opens the door before you can even think about touching the handle yourself, one hand braced against the top of the frame while you climb inside.

“Watch your head.”

You duck obediently beneath his arm, trying very hard not to think about how quickly you have fallen into these tiny routines with him.

As Bucky rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat, your heart finally starts calming down. You might survive the evening with minimal humiliation, after all. But then, he just has to reach across and smoothly pull the seatbelt into place for you—the way his knuckles brush your thigh briefly through the fabric of your jeans still manages to send your thoughts scattering again.

“You’re fidgeting.” He mentions quietly, eyes flicking toward your hands where they are twisting nervously in the sleeves of your hoodie. “What’s going on in that pretty head, hm?”

You shake your head, far too quickly to look convincing.

“Nothing. I’m just a little cold.”

Bucky hums under his breath like he doesn’t believe you for even a second, yet doesn’t comment and instead lets his gaze fall on your sweater one more time before returning to your face. The smile that spreads slowly across his lips is so openly fond that your cheeks start burning.

In a careful movement, he leans over the center console and kisses you, his calloused fingers cupping your jaw with impossible tenderness.

“You look lovely tonight.”

That almost makes your heart explode out of your chest.

The next time he picks you up for lunch on your day off, your breath hitches as you freeze on the threshold. Because Bucky is leaning against the hood of his truck in his dark green sweatshirt, looking so boyishly handsome with his sunglasses pushed up into his long hair.

His expression loosens when he sees your features fall in realization. God, he looks so unfairly gorgeous when he gets that look in his eyes, the same one that suggests every sharp edge exists only for the rest of the world, never for you.

“There’s my pretty girl.”

Your stomach flips violently as he pushes himself off the imposing vehicle to cross the short distance, his hands easily settling at your hips the second he reaches you. He bends to kiss you hello, unhurried despite the cold, and your palms unconsciously come up to touch his chest.

“I missed you so much, baby.”

You are still too busy internally combusting to softly point out that you just saw each other two days ago for bowling night with your friends, Natasha and Darcy. Your fingers curl tighter in the fabric, and Bucky notices instantly.

His thumbs stroke once the curve of your waist. “You okay?”

You nod eagerly.

“You wore it.” The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, gaze still lingering on the hoodie in pure wonder.

Bucky glances down at himself, and then at your own sweater before meeting your eyes, the right corner of his mouth lifting adorably.

“Thought we’d look real cute if we matched.”

You feel dizzy at his effortless answer, devoid of any trace of irony or hesitation. And that’s the thing about Bucky, you realize again as you stand there trying to steady your pulse: he doesn’t treat these moments like anything out of the ordinary. He simply folds them into the shape of his care for you.

Before you can collect yourself enough to answer, he is already guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulders, opening the passenger door ahead of you with that same practiced care. The warmth of the truck hits you almost dazedly after standing still in the cold.

“Heat’s been on for a bit.” He remarks at your blink of surprise as he settles into the driver’s seat, his chin lightly nodding at the backseat, where two of his heavier jackets are folded neatly, placed with deliberate care so they will not shift during the drive. Beside them a fuzzy blanket sits just as methodically arranged.

“I know it’s not the warmest of hoodies.”

When you look back at him, he sends you a small wink. At your stunned silence, his fingers gently move beneath your chin to have your complete attention, your heart already beating too fast for you to pretend otherwise.

“You alright there, doll?” He asks with a small crease between his brows.

You nod too quickly, not entirely sure what words would even hold up under the weight of everything you are feeling right now. Bucky lets out a low sound that might almost be a laugh if it were not so gentle, and then he is leaning in just enough to press a peck to the corner of your mouth.

“Y’know, I think I’m getting attached to this whole matching thing. Sends a pretty clear message.” He murmurs against your skin.

From that point on, it’s an unspoken agreement that has tenderly carved its rightful place between you both. It never turns into a conversation so much as it becomes a habit for the two of you. A jacket chosen to match the tone of your skirt, a top swapped for a darker color, small details that only make sense when you realize he’s genuinely paying attention to you, building your relationship one quiet choice at a time.

And months later, there are mornings when he is sitting at the edge of the bed with coffee in hand, his eyes lazily following you move around his room as you get ready. They eventually land on your shoes.

“You wearing the brown boots today?”

You glance down at your outfit, confirming it with a small nod as you keep applying your mascara. Bucky hums once in acknowledgment, already pushing himself up with a low groan to reach for his own pair in the shoe rack.

“Then I’ll wear mine.” He mumbles casually.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO TAKE PICTURES TOGETHER The local coffee shop is a half-forgotten hole-in-the-wall tucked between a bookstore and a florist, the kind that only feels busy because the tables are close enough that conversations blur into one another in a soft, overlapping hum. Today it’s warmer than usual for the season, sunlight spilling lazily across the pavement outside almost indulgently after days of grey skies and persistent rain. It coaxes people into lingering longer than they probably intend to as though no one is in any particular rush to leave.

You are sitting across from Bucky at a small round table on the patio, your cups half-full and an empty plate sitting between you, remnants of the slice of red velvet cake you shared earlier still scattered across it. He stepped away only a few minutes ago, murmuring something about the restroom and brushing his knuckles briefly against your shoulder as he left.

In an attempt to occupy yourself while you wait, you take out your phone, your thumb moving absentmindedly across the screen as you scroll through whatever comes up. Until a specific post catches your attention so suddenly it stops you entirely.

It’s one of those photos you have seen countless times while looking for outfit inspirations on Pinterest, clearly curated despite its effortless appearance. A girl sits on what you assume must be her boyfriend’s lap while the camera is angled downward just enough to capture their shoes together, his heavy worn boots resting beside her delicate heels. The entire image is framed in warm light that makes it look like wanting something and simply having it without hesitation.

The contrast is cute rather than discordant.

You find yourself stuck on that picture as your chest tightens, because there are still so many small things that you don’t know how to ask for yet, things that feel too silly to voice even though they linger in your mind longer than you would like to admit. A lap. A picture. His boots beside your pretty Mary Jane heels… It feels ridiculous to desire it this badly, yet you keep staring at your phone as if hesitation could soften the sting of being dismissed. Or worse, laughed at.

You don’t notice Bucky returning until the chair across from you shifts under his weight, the scrape of it pulling you sharply into the present as you instinctively place your phone back on the table a tad too quickly for it to look natural. He sits down pretending to not have noticed any of it, reaching for his coffee.

“Alright, lovely?” He asks, voice unbothered.

You open your mouth, then close it again almost immediately, your mind caught between embarrassment and the awareness of how easily he always seems to understand you. Bucky notices your uncertainty, but doesn’t push, instead loosely rests his forearms on the table to lean closer.

“Hey,” his voice lowers just enough to gently pull you out of your thoughts. “What were you saying before I got up? About yesterday’s meeting?”

It’s such a simple question yet it almost disarms you completely. People don’t usually do that—they interrupt you to start new conversations, change direction, lose track halfway through and then forget about it entirely. But Bucky is looking at you like your words were simply waiting there for him to return to them.

So you blink once, a little startled, then slowly exhale as memories come back with a sharp pang. About that stupid staff meeting. About Ms. Cox.

The words come out carefully at first, testing how much space you are allowed to take up, but the more you speak, the clearer Bucky can see frustration still fresh beneath your composure. 

“There is this student, Mark. Ms. Cox keeps insisting that he’s lazy and just—” You exhale tiredly. “She believes he doesn’t care about school.”

His jaw subtly tenses as he nods for you to go on.

“And I tried to explain that it isn’t that simple,” you continue, your fingers fidgeting on your lap. “Because it’s true that he struggles with math, but he works really hard, always does his best. He just needs time. And she… well, she went off on me.”

His brows draw together. “Went off how?”

Your eyes fall on the table before you adjust in your seat, as if moving could shake off the discomfort.

“She accused me of inflating grades to make myself look like a good teacher.” You admit quietly, the accusation leaving behind an ugly taste of shame on your tongue despite your innocence. “Because students do well in English. Including Mark.”

You can practically sense Bucky biting back his irritation, his frown deepening as he watches you shrink just talking about it.

“And the principal just let it slide?” His voice roughens slightly at the edges despite his effort to keep it even.

You huff out a small breath that resembles a laugh, devoid of any humor. “She has been teaching there forever. They just don’t deal with her anymore. Alice described her as—ah, sorry. Alice is the—”

“The art teacher.” 

You finally look at him, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.” 

He gives you a small nod, a brief smile crossing his features.

“I remember.”

“Oh.” You have mentioned your colleagues only once since you started going steady, your meager dating experience having taught you that nobody was really interested in your life—especially your job. They focused more on meaningless, polite conversations punctuated by some generic compliment about your eyes, or your dress, that could guarantee them some sort of reward at the end of the night.

“Um.” You clear your throat, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze. “So, Alice described her as a vindictive woman and since she’s close to retirement, they let her do whatever she wants because it’s easier than arguing with her.”

You hesitate for a second. “Years ago, there was this new physical education teacher...” Your voice lowers a little as if she might appear out of thin air and point her condescending finger at you. “She refused to approve his one-day school trip unless it was on her day off, because she didn’t want her schedule disrupted.”

Your jaw clenches briefly. “He told the principal… and after that she kept filing complaint after complaint about his ‘lack of professionalism’, until the school ended up not renewing his contract the next year.”

“What the fuck?” He mumbles under his breath, his lips pressing together tightly. “Wait—and they just expect you to take it?” His nostrils flare with a slow exhale.

“Pretty much.” You shrug, though it feels heavier than you intend.

For a moment, Bucky just sits there with his jaw tight as he chooses to not push his annoyance outward yet, mainly because he is waiting for you to let it all out. It’s in that pause that your eyes move unconsciously to the side of the table. Your phone is still there, the screen dark now, but not locked properly. You realize it too late, when a notification from that stupid teachers’ group chat—the one filled with nothing but good morning texts, good night wishes, and painfully unfunny memes—briefly wakes it and reveals that picture again, bright and candid.

Bucky’s attention promptly lands on it too. He doesn’t comment, which only makes your stomach tighten further as you hastily reach for your phone, turning it face down with too much force.

“What was that?” He asks casually, quiet curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“Nothing.” You answer too fast and his eyes narrow slightly, more observant than suspicious.

“That didn’t exactly sound like nothing, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, then deflect again, weaker this time. “Just a random picture.” You shrug, hoping to appear disinterested. “I was on Instagram and forgot to close it.”

That earns a pause from him, his head tilting just a fraction as he studies you more carefully.

“A picture you don’t wanna show me?” He asks gently.

You shake your head, eyes shyly falling on his arms. At that, Bucky simply shifts in his seat, his hand crossing the small space between you—not to take your phone, but to find your wrist and gently guide it to his lips. When you peek through your eyelashes, you almost flinch at how close he is now, his thumb reverently stroking your knuckles before his other hand cups your chin deliberately.

“You can tell me anything.” His voice is steady in a way that doesn’t leave room for pressure, only reassurance. “Y’know that, right?”

You shiver at the proximity. You do know, that’s the problem, how could you forget when Bucky stands before you, always so careful and sweet? And still, you are never entirely sure how to stop the words from breaking in your mouth.

“I just… saw something,” you confess weakly. “That I thought would be cute to recreate together.”

Bucky’s expression softens instantly.

“What is it, sweetheart?” 

You swallow thickly, fingers flexing once under his hand. Then, barely above a whisper, you manage it. “I’d like for us to take pictures like… couples do.”

He observes you silently, expression unreadable, until a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, patient and knowing all at once. He nudges his chair back a little farther to make room for you, patting his thigh once.

“C’mere.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods toward his lap.

“C’mere, doll.” He repeats quietly, reaching for your wrist before you can overthink yourself into refusing, to guide you around the table.

The realization of what you are doing hits in one overwhelming wave of self-consciousness the second your weight fully sinks on his lap. Bucky is bigger than you in every conceivable way, broader and heavier with muscle, solid where you are soft. His thick forearm dusted with dark hair keeps you close to the warmth of his chest, and his strong thighs spread comfortably beneath yours. When his palm settles on your knee to keep you balanced, the rough heat of his skin bleeds straight through the thin fabric of your stockings, and a small involuntary shiver runs through you. It’s humiliating how dizzy it makes you feel, because Bucky appears completely at peace behind you. You are trying not to implode from his touch and there he is, sitting back and holding you as if that’s exactly where you are meant to be.

Your unsteady hands finally reach for your phone, trying to angle it properly, breath catching a little when his fingers flex against your waist.

“You’re thinking way too hard.” He murmurs near your ear, his salt-and-pepper stubble faintly scratching your skin.

“I’m not.” You insist weakly.

Bucky hums low in his chest, unconvinced, the sound of it vibrating through his body into yours.

“Baby,” he calls out gently, mirth lying beneath his words. “You’ve taken six pictures of the table.”

Your face burns.

“I’m trying.” You mumble horrified, sighing in relief when you finally manage to frame your shoes correctly while he chuckles behind you.

“I know. You’re doing just fine, sweetheart. Take all the time you need...” He releases a slow exhale, then under his breath, “I’m definitely not complaining right now.”

The faint rasp in his voice and the way his thumb strokes the skin of your knee only make your pulse stumble harder. Finally, after another moment of fumbling and readjusting yourself against him, you manage to take a few proper photos.

The knot in your chest loosens gradually as you look through them. They are good. Not overly posed or awkward as you feared, but cute and intimate in that effortless way you had envied earlier. His scuffed work boots are beside your neat Mary Janes, your knees tucked between his jeans-clad ones, the edge of his large hand visible against your thigh like a quiet reminder that the man holding you is very much real, and that’s him.

A coy smile brightens your features. It’s a small, absent-minded gesture, yet Bucky is completely enraptured.

“There she is.” A comment under his breath, meant for himself.

You feel him lean closer to look over your shoulder, his chin brushing your cheek as his gaze settles on the screen, and the expression that crosses his face afterward is so openly proud that you feel the sudden urge to squirm out of giddiness.

“They came out pretty nice, huh?” 

You nod before turning back to properly look at him, still smiling.

“Thank you, Jamie.”

The words leave your mouth instinctively, sincere. Still, Bucky furrows his brows at you. His hand leaves your knee to curl delicately around your chin, guiding your face until your eyes meet properly.

“You don’t need to thank me.” His voice low but firm—a fact rather than a suggestion. “I love spending time with my girl. Y’hear me, baby?”

Your next breath catches in your throat so fast you almost choke on it. His expression softens further at whatever he sees on your face, his thumb stroking once your bottom lip before he closes the distance between your lips.

“You ask me for something, I’m gonna give it to you if I can.” He adds quietly against your mouth.

You swallow thickly, answering with an imperceptible nod that makes him hum, pleased. For a while, it’s just you and him. Tucked against his chest with the phone still loose in your hand, you sit sideways on his lap, his arm tightening around your waist the more your body grows pliant. The initial embarrassment melts into pure bliss once his forehead comes to rest on yours, his blue eyes fiercely glinting with devotion as they trace your pretty features.

You would probably stay here all afternoon if you could: no talking needed, just the safety of his arms. Eventually, though, duty creeps back in enough that you stiffen slightly, and Bucky loosens his hold at once, watching you get up. The hand on your thigh lingers for one last meaningful squeeze, goosebumps prickling across your covered skin.

The second your feet touch the ground again, you suddenly become aware of your slow breathing; of how his touch made you completely forget that you were sitting in your boyfriend’s lap, making out in the middle of a café situated on the main street, for anyone to see.

“I should probably go.” You mumble, smoothing your flowy dress unnecessarily to avoid his eyes.

A small smirk tugs at his lips at your clumsy attempt to regain composure.

“I’ll walk you to your car.”

By the time you reach the parking lot, your embarrassment has faded into a fuzzy tingle in the back of your head. Bucky opens the driver’s side door for you without breaking stride, one large hand resting automatically against the top of the frame while you climb inside. Your movements are a little languid as you place your palms on his chest for another kiss—quick and sweet and still a little flustered—but before you can pull away fully, his fingers close gently around your wrists.

“Send me those pictures later.”

You almost flinch in surprise. “You want them?”

That earns you a look.

“Sweetheart,” he starts slowly, like the answer should be painfully obvious by now. “Of course I want the pictures we took together.”

You promise you will do that once you get home, and Bucky lets you go only after one last heated kiss that has you sighing dreamily the entire drive back.

Later that night, long after you have changed into pajamas and curled beneath your blankets, your phone lights up with a message from him. It’s a reel of a chubby orange cat dramatically rolling onto its back for belly rubs. The giggle that falls from your lips is immediate, because you know how much Bucky loves these silly videos.

Still smiling, you tap back to reply but your fingers freeze, because his profile picture has changed. And there, framed in a tiny circle at the top of the screen, are your shoes beside his boots.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO WEAR HIS CLOTHES Bucky’s bedroom smells like him. Not cologne, or any sharp, artificial department store fragrance sprayed onto stiff collars and wrists... but a scent warm and lived-in. Cedar and clean detergent tangle together with fresh air drifting in through cracked windows, traces of earth and hay and early morning breeze clinging stubbornly to heavy fabrics, no matter how many times they are washed.

The whole house smells like sun-warmed wood floors and open fields after rain. Like stepping onto his farm and understanding right away why he belongs there.

The shower is running somewhere down the hallway after a long day spent driving deliveries back and forth across town, leaving you curled near the headboard with the remote in your hand, halfheartedly scrolling through movies while waiting for Bucky to come back. Your attention drifts eventually, pulled away from the television by the sight of one of his flannels folded over the chair near the dresser. It’s clean, probably left there after laundry day, thick dark fabric softened with wear. Before you can really stop yourself, your gaze lingers.

There is something strangely intimate about wearing someone else’s clothes. Not just in the obvious sense. It’s like stepping quietly into the shape of their life, wrapping yourself in something that has spent time caressing their skin, that carries their warmth and scent and the evidence of their existence in every seam. And maybe that’s exactly why your heart flutters at the thought. You stare at the flannel for another few seconds before finally setting the remote aside and climbing off the bed, moving almost cautiously toward the chair like it might bite you halfway there.

With a meaningful glance toward the door, you listen to the muted sound of running water, before carefully lifting it from the chair. The moment you pull it closer, his scent fills your lungs completely, clean and grounding and unmistakably Bucky. Without thinking too hard about it, you peel off your own sweater and slip his shirt on instead. The sleeves hang long past your wrists as the heavy fabric settles warmly around your body, and suddenly you are standing in front of the mirror near his dresser, turning slightly from side to side while smoothing your hands absently over the front buttons.

You feel ridiculously happy. Safe, somehow. Because it reminds your body that it never needs to stay on guard if he is there.

For a moment, you simply stand there smiling privately at your reflection. You are so entranced by it that you barely notice the bathroom door opening.

“Hey doll, did I tell you that yesterday those sneaky ducks nearly knocked over—”

Bucky stops mid-sentence. The silence that follows is sharp enough to make your stomach drop.

You glance at him through the mirror with wide eyes and freeze. He is standing just outside the bedroom doorway with his hair still damp from the shower, a grey henley stretched across his chest while he drags a towel over the back of his neck, but all movement stops the second his eyes land on you.

On his flannel wrapped around your body.

His gaze languidly follows your curves like he is trying to commit them to memory, scared you might vanish like some beautiful, cruel dream. Because his girl is standing barefoot in his bedroom wrapped in pieces of his life. And Bucky looks at you like he just forgot how to breathe.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, heat rushing into your face as you turn around. “I’m so sorry, I—I saw it there and—”

The towel drops forgotten onto the end of the bed as he carefully shortens the distance. The closer he gets, the quieter you become, until the only sound left is the faint clucking of the chickens outside.

Up close, you swallow at his gentle eyes, though there is something else lingering beneath them, proud and possessive.

“Are you apologizing for wearing my shirt?” He lifts an eyebrow.

Your lips part unhelpfully, but they close again on a second thought. Bucky’s eyes flick toward the sleeves swallowing your hands before he reaches out, large fingers carefully rolling the cuffs back for you one at a time, movements unhurried and practiced despite the roughness his hands are used to.

“There,” he murmurs. “Better.”

When he finally glances back at your face, there is a spark of amusement dancing in his gaze. “You keeping this one, sweetheart?”

“What?” The question catches you off guard enough that you huff out an embarrassed chuckle.

“The shirt,” he nods at it, still delighted. “Think it’s yours now.”

“Bucky, no. I can’t just steal it.”

“Sure you can.” He shrugs easily.

Your eyes widen. “What—no!”

A real smile finally breaks properly across his face, devastatingly fond.

“Angel,” he murmurs patiently, hands warm against your waist. “You’re standing in my bedroom looking happier than you have all week. Think I’d be pretty stupid to ask for it back.”

You awkwardly tuck your chin down, studying your socks.

“You’re exaggerating.”

A quiet laugh falls from his lips. “You were twirling around in front of the mirror.”

Your head snaps up at that, your jaw dropping indignantly.

“I was not!”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was simply checking how it fit.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Before you can argue back, his hands slide a little more securely around your back to pull you closer, eyes dropping briefly to the flannel.

“Looks better on you anyway.” He murmurs.

“That’s a lie.” You focus on a spot on his neck, too shy to meet his gaze.

“Ain’t.”

“It’s your shirt.” You retort weakly.

“Not anymore.”

The certainty in his tone makes your stomach flip. Bucky watches the reaction happen in real time, something unbearably tender crossing his face at your attempt to further hide from his gaze, before he leans just enough for his forehead to touch yours.

“Y’know,” he starts casually, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your sides through the fabric. “I like seeing you in my clothes a little too much to complain about it.”

Your chest warms at the sincerity in his voice, yet you keep stubbornly staring at his chest, trying and failing to stop the grin tugging at your mouth.

“I think that would get out of hand very fast.” You mumble, finally meeting his eyes.

He smirks down at you. “Would it now?”

“You have a lot of nice flannels.” Your arms wrap around his neck, prompting him to get impossibly closer.

“Mhm.”

“And your hoodies are comfortable.” The tip of your nose brushes his.

“That so?” His brows shoot up playfully.

“And your jackets smell good.” You admit before you can stop yourself.

That finally earns you a proper grin. Far too pleased with himself.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawls. “You’re in real trouble then.”

You groan tiredly, throwing your head back in despair but his arms don’t allow you to stray too far from him.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.” His hands settle more firmly. “Just thinking I oughta start keeping extras around.”

His brows then lift as though he has just reached a very reasonable conclusion.

“Actually,” he corrects himself, voice thoughtful. “Might need to make a rule.”

You squint up at him suspiciously. “A rule?”

“Yeah.” He nods once, completely serious despite the subtle, teasing smile. “Think the second you walk through my front door, you’re legally required to put on one of my flannels.”

“Legally required?” You ask unimpressed.

“Mm-hmm.”

You shake your head pensively. “I really don’t think you can do that, Jamie.”

“Sweetheart, I own the property.” His expression turns impressively solemn, his lips grazing yours as he speaks.

“Means I make the laws around here.”

A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, bright enough that Bucky beams at the unguarded sound.

“No exceptions either, baby. Could be ninety degrees outside, I don’t care. Flannel goes on.” He hugs you tighter, his next words nothing short than a low murmur in your ear.

“Don’t even need to wear anything else underneath.” A squeak unexpectedly falls from your lips as his palms land briefly on your ass, squeezing the soft flesh before sliding back on your waist.

You sigh fondly despite the heat crawling up your neck. “This is the dumbest rule I’ve ever heard.”

“And yet,” his eyes drop briefly to the flannel before returning to your face. “Here you are.”

At some point, Bucky doesn’t announce it anymore. The moment you step inside the farmhouse, he’s already reaching for one of his flannels and holding it out—doesn’t matter if you’re staying for hours or just long enough to share a meal and a quiet evening that doesn’t demand anything from either of you. And then he’s crossing the distance between you in a few unhurried steps to pull you into his chest. He lowers his face into the slope of your neck, and breathes in deeply, again and again, like he needs the second breath more than the first.

Something unmistakably you—familiar, layered with the faintly sweet body cream you always use—mixes with his own scent that lingers in the weave of the flannel, worn-in and musky. His shoulders drop every time unfailingly, the tension he carries out in the world has no choice but to disappear.

His obsession for your scent doesn’t stop there, it only exacerbates when you are finally lying on his sheets, the two halves of the flannel crumpled at your sides as Bucky pants against your chest. He kisses you desperately, clutching your bare thighs until you are left warm and moaning under his roaming hands caressing your body with reverence. His palms map the dip of your waist, stroking along your ribs, until they encompass the swell of your breasts, gently kneading the skin as his lips trace a wet path from your mouth to that sensitive spot behind your ear that makes you whine so sweetly.

Your lips part around a breathy squeak the moment the calloused pads of his thumbs delicately circle your nipples, a low hum vibrates unintentionally in his chest at how fast they harden.

“Wanna hear you, princess.” He murmurs against your collarbones. “Let me hear how good it feels, c’mon.”

Bucky takes his time. You feel as light as cotton candy in his arms, sighing at every brush of his lips against your nipples. His mouth is hot and his tongue eager against the tender surface.

“Jamie!” You gasp as he starts sucking. His hand fondles the other breast, whimpers filling the dark room as his fingers playfully tug and flick your nub until your back arches so beautifully. His other hand grasps your thigh, leaving behind delicious reminders of his lust.

The gentle licks soon turn into harsher suckles, and your hands shoot forward to anchor yourself—one of them twists the sheets until your fingers hurt, the other sinks into his locks. Bucky exhales sharply at the light sting when your fingers pull at his hair, loving how the wet sounds bounce off the walls.

“Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen.” He growls. 

“Jamie, it’s—oh my God.” Your head falls back when his lips take care of your other nipple, the one left behind now damp and tingling.

“Mhm, I know princess, they’re so sensitive. You gonna come in your cute panties?” You nod eagerly. Bucky’s dark eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features like a predator observing his prey, his mouth wicked on your poor abused nubs. Until the pressure in your belly is just too strong, and to your sheer surprise, your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. Your breasts are tingling with sensitivity, your hips frantically humping the air as your pussy throbs painfully at the lack of stimulation, clenching around nothing.

“That’s it, my needy girl. Look at you, coming just from having your tits sucked.” He grits out, giving your breasts one last, little smack a harsh squeeze. 

Your skin is sticky and your lungs burning as Bucky finally moves between your shaky legs, peeling off your ruined panties with a swift, practiced movement. His calloused hands are firm on your thighs as they spread you open, silently watching your pussy as it pulses and drips, the unbearable ache mixing deliciously with the embarrassment of being this exposed for him—not a single ounce of shame in Bucky as he inspects it more thoroughly. 

First, it’s his thumbs gently spreading your folds, his eyes devouring the way it tenses under his intense hunger. A shiver runs down your spine when his index finger slowly traces the tender slit, marveling at the way your slick sticks to his digit.

“Jamie...” You whine, your body—still so sensitive—lurching at his delicate teasing.

“Look at the pretty mess you made.” He whispers amazed, leaving a soothing kiss on your hipbone. You hear a sharp inhale as he buries his face into your core, his eyes rolling back at how strongly your scent hits his lungs. With blissful serenity written all over his face, his tongue starts lapping at your clit with lazy strokes. A strangled gasp falls from your lips at the sensation, your hips moving helplessly under the arm that blankets your stomach as Bucky hums satisfied at the drops of sweet arousal blessing his senses. 

You almost choke on a delirious moan the moment a long finger slips inside, the hand grasping his sheets shooting down to grasp his wrist instead.

“Gonna bury my face here every morning, sweet girl.” He mumbles, a second finger joining the other inside you. “Make you soak my beard so I can smell your pussy all day at work.”

“Shit!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.

Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily nursing on your throbbing clit as his nostrils flare. It’s so messy, with his saliva dripping down his chin and the insatiable need to please you driving his hips wild against the mattress. You can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending biting sparks down your spine. 

When he momentarily pulls away with a wet squelch, he groans in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon princess, time to make a mess on my face.” He rumbles, mouth already latched back onto your clit, sucking with a steady rhythm as his fingers hit your sweet spot at the right speed.

Your body shakes from the unbearable pleasure washing over you, but Bucky refuses to stop, only pressing himself further into your clenching pussy, his tongue insistent as he pumps his fingers quickly.

“‘M gonna—Jamie!” You sob, hips jerking up as he pushes you right over the edge for a third time, this orgasm just as powerful as the others. Thoroughly consumed by him, you tremble and writhe, wailing when you squirt all over his face, soaking the sheets and your inner thighs as well. Bucky is not doing any better, resting his forehead on your mound. He tries to regain his breath after almost coming in his boxers as if touching a pretty, naked woman for the first time.

When he finally has a steadier grip on his self-control, he licks his lips with a low hum, shifting both of you until you are straddling him, your head lying limply on his chest as he plants sweet, little kisses on your forehead.

“Breathe, angel.” He murmurs, voice still rough with arousal. “You did so good for me, lovely.”

You blink, still spent and disoriented, but as his arms gently pull you higher, your sensitive core accidentally brushes against his erection. Bucky is still kissing you, noticing your little shiver but not thinking much about it—he knows you must be sleepy and tired. Yet he couldn’t be far from the truth.

Your hips gently rut against his thigh, squeaking under your breath when it finally touches your naked clit. Bucky’s body goes rigid for a heartbeat, suddenly catching on what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. You keep moving your hips, now thoroughly and shamelessly humping his thigh. His arms squeeze your waist hard, eliciting a surprised gasp out of you.

“What are you doing, doll?” He rasps out, his voice heavy with lust. He planned to take care of himself in the bathroom, maybe paint your tits with his cum if you insisted on helping... But how can he keep his composure with such a beautiful, sweet woman in his arms, so desperate for his touch?

Your head lifts enough for you to meet his gaze. “Please, Jamie.”

“Please what?” One of his hands grasps your jaw. “Use your words.”

You moan shamelessly, the warm tingle in your core impossible to ignore now. “Your cock... please.”

“You’re making a mess.” He mutters absently, his chest heaving at the sweet sight. And suddenly, his tongue is slowly tracing your bottom lip. A whimper escapes you, before his fingers tighten on your jaw as he thrusts his tongue in your mouth, just like he would with your pussy. 

“You need my help, baby?” He reiterates, his gaze marveling at your fucked-out expression. At your eager nod, Bucky swallows thickly, fingers digging into your hips until you are forced to stop the desperate rocking motion of your hips.

It takes a single look at your big, shiny eyes and suddenly you are on your back, his cock so thick you start to tear up. “I know, I know. baby girl. It’s big, hm?” He coos, carefully kissing your cheeks and licking up the little tears like a ravenous beast.

“Eyes on me, princess… There you go, that’s a good girl.” Your mouth falls open into a perfect round shape, squeaking as his hips thrust forward leisurely. Bucky takes in the sight of your pussy stretched nicely around his length with pride burning hot in his chest. He would be lying if he said he isn’t getting impatient himself, unable to ignore anymore the fervent urge to see you unravel on his cock.

“Hold on to me.” You obey, eagerly wrapping your arms around his neck, your breasts pressed against his soft torso dusted in dark hair.

Once his cock slams right back into you, you gasp, nails digging into his back as he sets a brutal pace. The sounds of your skin slapping against his fill the room obscenely along your little whines of Jamie.

It only spurs him on because, “Fucking hell—yes, baby. Your Jamie.” Before searching your lips to pull you into a filthy kiss.

His calloused fingers dig into the plush of your ass, keeping you anchored to him just to see your eyes roll back at the delicious friction between your clit and his pubic hair. 

“She’s so tight.” He grunts. “Keep clenching like that and I’ll make you leak for days.”

Your legs squeeze around his waist, drawing him impossibly deeper. “Please.”

He takes note of the way your eyes start to roll back as your pussy flutters eagerly, even if you do your best to keep them on him just like he told you... His pretty angel is always so good for him.

“Jamie...” You breathe out, body squirming between his sturdy arms built by years of hard work in the fields rather than gym. “’M so close—oh my God, yes right there!”

“I know, princess.” He mumbles, never breaking his rhythm. “Fuck, can feel her squeeze me so good, wanna keep me there forever, huh?” His lips twist smugly. “Don’t worry sweetheart, this cock’s all yours.”

Your breath stumbles in your throat as though there’s not enough air. Bucky is right there with you, brows pulled in concentration when he feels the familiar ache in his belly. His thrusts grow deeper, more purposeful, almost primal in their intensity, and you can tell by the tension in his jaw and the slight tremor in his arms, that he’s fighting for control. Even lost in pleasure, he is always putting you first.

“Tell me when you’re close.” He grits out, leaning down to steal a wet kiss that is more tongue than lips. “So I can fill my pussy up. That’s what you want, right princess? Wanna feel my cum drip out of you while you sit all cute watching me cook, hm?” 

Your words come out in a warped, pathetic moan as he stuffs your mouth with two thick fingers. Your tongue is already playing with them, a sad whine clawing out of your throat when Bucky takes them out. It’s not even seconds later that you are tossing your head back, your words barely coherent as you tell him you are coming, his two wet fingers rubbing your clit at the right speed.

“That’s it.” He drawls through his teeth, his rhythm clumsily faltering at the thought of your pussy completely covered in his white cream. “Just like that, beautiful.”

Your vision blurs at the edges as pleasure consumes every single crevice of your body until your brain only knows how to scream your boyfriend’s name. Until there’s nothing but the delicious shape of his cock. You clench so tight his hips can barely move, pulsing and shaking around him as your hazy eyes cross, before rolling back.

Bucky follows moments later, pressing deep inside you as a full shudder travels down his body. His face is insistently pressed into your neck, trying to muffle the roaring groan that rumbles through his chest. The contact grounds him as his cock twitches and swells inside you, borderline animalistic in the way his fingers clutch your hips when he finally fills you up—the thought of leaving a part of himself inside you only prolonging his orgasm.

“Oh, my pretty princess.” Bucky pulls you tighter against him like he cannot bear the thought of letting go yet, both your hearts still hammering in sync as the aftershock pulses beneath your skin. His warm breath tickles your collarbones, and although his limbs are trembling with exhaustion, his hips still thrust lazily inside you to make sure not a single drop goes to waste.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU START REACHING BACK By the time Bucky introduces you to his friends properly, you have already learned something important: everyone else gets a different version of him than you do.

You begin noticing the pattern before he ever points it out himself. People straighten when he walks into a room, some of his new employees still stumble over their words when he speaks to them, and children stare at him in open fascination because he is broad and carries himself with grounded confidence without appearing arrogant. And honestly, you understand it. Bucky looks like someone built to endure anything. His hands are coarse from years of work, permanently marked with small scars and callouses from repairing machinery, hauling feed, and spending entire days beneath brutal weather conditions without complaint. His voice settles low and gravelly in his chest, and whenever he frowns in concentration—which is often—he appears unapproachable to anyone who doesn’t know him well enough to recognize that his silences are rooted in reflection rather than coldness.

Then there is the version of him that exists around you, so quiet in its devotion that you only begin noticing it gradually, through dozens of tiny moments. He automatically slows his pace to match yours whenever you walk together—just enough that your shorter steps never have to hurry to keep up with him. On the nights you stay over, he reaches past you to test the shower water before you step under it.

And somehow, it extends to even the smallest, most ridiculous things. Like the time you gasp at the sight of a spider near the kitchen sink and instinctively dart behind him before you can stop yourself. Embarrassment burns on your cheeks at your own reaction as you quietly ask him if he can please take it outside instead of killing it. Bucky only glances back at you, visibly amused by the fact that you are clinging to the back of his shirt like the spider personally declared war on your bloodline. Then, he easily cups it beneath a glass, slides paper underneath, and carries it out onto the porch with all the patience in the world. And when he comes back inside, there is a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as you mumble a sheepish thank you from the safety of the hallway.

And maybe, the thing that affects you the most is how instinctive all of it seems for him. His care exists in reflexes. In the quick appearance of his hand over the sharp corner of an open cabinet before you can bump into it while bending down. In the way he reaches for your hand whenever a crowd grows too dense around you, thumb constantly stroking your knuckles in reassurance before you even realize you needed it. In the way he notices your social battery draining only by the slight slump of your shoulders, then gently finding reasons to get you home before exhaustion fully settles into your bones.

It feels less like being looked after and more like being... considered. Constantly. Carefully. Which becomes a problem eventually. Because the safer you feel with him, the more affection you want to give in return. And unfortunately, loving someone openly without constantly doubting yourself is still difficult for you.

Despite how naturally Bucky seems to exist inside your life now, there are moments where you feel painfully aware of your own inexperience. You want to reach for his hand first, sit beside him in diners instead of across from him, kiss his cheek whenever he starts rambling about the farm with that subtle enthusiasm that makes him look so unfairly adorable. You want to curl into his lap during movie night and play with his hair and bury your face into his chest whenever he hugs you.

Every little touch from him feels so dangerously addictive now that you know what it’s like to be handled with genuine tenderness. But every single time you think about doing any of it, your brain betrays you. What if he thinks you are clingy? What if you interrupt him? What if he only tolerates it because he knows you have never done this before?

So instead, you hesitate. But the thing about dating someone who observes the world as methodically as he does is that very little escapes him for long, especially when it concerns you. Therefore, he just starts making things easier. When the two of you sit together somewhere public, his hand begins resting palm-up beside yours on purpose—an open invitation without forcing you before you are ready. He starts pulling you gently against his side halfway through movies, and sometimes, while talking with Steve or Sam out on the porch, he pats his thigh absentmindedly without interrupting the conversation at all, silently inviting you closer. Eventually, sitting on his lap is expected and anticipated. And every single time he notices your hesitation before kissing him first, his head tilts downward before you can even decide whether to ask.

But it’s the first time you meet Steve and Sam properly that you understand how clearly his devotion to you reads to everyone else.

Dinner happens at a small place near the edge of town after one of Bucky’s longer delivery days, rain clouds gathering thick and heavy outside while the restaurant buzzes warmly around you.

You keep squirming nervously beforehand despite Bucky reassuring you the entire drive there.

“Baby, believe me, you’re worrying over nothing. They already like you.” He repeats patiently while turning into the parking lot.

You glance over suspiciously. “They’ve never met me.”

Bucky snorts under his breath, one hand settling on your thigh to give it a comforting squeeze.

“Sam’s heard about you so much he already acts like he knows you.”

“That’s not reassuring.” You mumble, sinking a little lower in the seat.

A beat passes in which the car slows as he searches for a parking spot, and you take the opportunity to dramatically exhale like your entire future depends on this night going well.

“You’re meeting my friends, not attending a parole hearing.”

“They could easily be the same thing.” You insist. “Meeting your partner’s best friends is basically like meeting... I don’t know—their adoptive parents.” Bucky snorts, shaking his head.

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious. There’s judgment involved. Silent scoring. Probably some kind of test I don’t know about yet.” You hastily list with your fingers.

That pulls a chuckle out of him, warm and low in a way that only worsens your dramatic suffering.

“Baby—”

“No, because what if they hate me?” You whine, already spiraling. “What if I say something weird? What if I accidentally make Steve uncomfortable? He looks like the kind of man who says ‘language’ unironically.”

Bucky laughs harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Steve absolutely says language unironically.”

“See? I’m going to swear once and he’s never going to recover from it.”

His grin only grows as the car comes to a stop, but he doesn’t turn it off yet. Instead, Bucky leans back slightly in his seat, head turned to watch you with that infuriatingly entertained expression that makes your anxiety feel personally mocked.

“You’re one to talk anyway.” You quip before he can say anything.

His eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“Because let’s talk about the first time you met Nat and Darcy.” You smile innocently, straightening up. “You kept me on the phone for forty minutes because you didn’t know what to wear.”

There’s a beat of silence, before his entire posture shifts.

“Hey, I wanted to make a good first impression.” He frowns.

“You were debating a tie,” you repeat slowly. “For bowling.”

“It was a new environment.” He shrugs.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “It was bowling!”

He simply shakes his head dismissively. “You don’t understand the social dynamics—”

“You were spiraling,” you cut in, now completely turned in your seat to face him. “I remember it very clearly. You kept throwing clothes on your bed that I’ve never seen you wear to this day.”

“I was being thoughtful.” He answers quickly.

“That’s anxiety.”

“That’s being prepared. And my first impression went fine.”

“Yeah, because I talked you out of the tie.”

You lean back in your seat, absolutely delighted now despite your earlier panic.

“I see how it is. I don’t need to worry about meeting your friends, but you needed a forty-minute emotional support phone call about whether you needed a tie for a bowling alley.”

Bucky exhales through his nose, clearly trying not to laugh at being exposed so thoroughly.

“It was a valid concern, I wanted to be respectful, sweetheart.”

“To who? A bowling ball?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, having run out of arguments to defend himself.

A grin takes over your lips as you nod in victory. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Bucky laughs properly at that, fondly shaking his head at you. The sound makes the knot in your chest loosen despite the anxiety, and when his hand eventually reaches over the console to intertwine your fingers together, you finally feel like you can breathe a little more easily.

“Steve and Sam are gonna like you. That’s not even up for debate.” He says anyway, quieter now.

You purse your lips, the teasing softening just a little.

“And neither is the fact that you’re still nervous about a tie.” You add gently.

His head briefly falls forward as he sighs dejectedly. “It was a good tie.”

And that, somehow, makes you laugh all the way out of the car.

Inside, Steve and Sam hug you instead of shaking your hand, and within less than twenty minutes, both men seem to realize something deeply unsettling about Bucky Barnes.

Namely that he becomes ridiculously, unbearably soft around you. For starters, his hand settles automatically against the back of your chair while you sit down. At some point, he subtly pushes your drink closer because he knows you forget to hydrate when too engrossed in a conversation, his attention entirely shifting on you whenever your lips part, no matter what topic.

And then there is the hand-holding “incident”.

You are talking about your disastrous attempt at baking banana bread last weekend, when your eye briefly catches Bucky’s hand resting near yours on the booth seat.

His large, warm palm tilted upward.

Your gaze keeps drifting toward it despite yourself, because you want to take it so bad. God, you need to feel his skin against yours. But... What if you are misinterpreting it and he is ashamed of being affectionate in front of his friends? What if Steve and Sam think it’s excessive?

Without looking away from Sam, who is now complaining about boat repairs, his hand moves another inch closer until his knuckles brush lightly against yours.

Your heartbeat quickens embarrassingly fast at how obvious he makes it for you.

Hoping nobody is going to notice how you keep squirming in your seat, your hand moves before you can change your mind. Bucky’s fingers close around yours like he had been eagerly waiting for you all night. His thumb strokes once over your knuckles as he replies to his friends, completely unfazed.

Across the table, Sam goes still. Steve, on the other hand, is trying very hard to hide a smile behind his beer. Because the thing is, they have both known Bucky for years. They know him as reserved and controlled and difficult to read most of the time. Yet, what they are witnessing now is essentially an imposing Anatolian Shepherd collapsing happily onto its back because someone finally understood that looking scary doesn’t mean hating cuddles.

Once you are back at the farmhouse, rain is crashing heavily against the roof, therefore Steve and Sam help Bucky move a few things into the barn before the weather worsens further. Afterward, everyone ends up scattered throughout the kitchen while you make lemonade because inside it feels warm from all the damp clothes and humid air.

You are standing near the counter slicing lemons when Bucky walks in, settling beside you after washing his hands.

His gaze automatically drops to the knife, then to you. Then back to the knife.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

Your chin snaps up, eyes blinking at him in confusion.

“What?”

Instead of answering verbally, Bucky steps behind you until the softness of his belly is touching your back. One hand covers yours around the handle while the other steadies the cutting board before showing you a safer angle to hold the knife.

“There,” he murmurs near your shoulder. “Less chance of slipping.”

The entire interaction lasts maybe twenty seconds, yet the butterflies in your stomach go absolutely feral. The worst is that Bucky doesn’t even seem aware of what he does to you half the time. To him, this is simply how he loves, through guidance and care.

A little later, after his friends disappear into the kitchen for more lemonade while loudly arguing over the score of some recent football match, you end up curled beside Bucky on the couch, on the brink of dozing off to the soothing sound of rain tapping against the glass. Your head rests on his chest while he absently rubs slow circles along your arm, and eventually your fingers find his hair without much thought.

You expect tolerance at most. Maybe amusement. Instead, the second your nails lightly scratch his scalp, Bucky goes completely still, before his eyelids flutter shut. A deep, slow breath leaves his nose, his posture slumped as he leans unconsciously into your touch. His expression is so devastatingly content that you feel a mix of pride and joy burn hot in your chest.

From the kitchen doorway, Sam witnesses the scene in horrified fascination.

“Steve!” He whispers sharply.

The other man can’t help but burst into helpless laughter because there, curled around you in complete bliss, sits the same man who once made a grown mechanic squirm just by staring at him too long during an argument over tractor parts. Meanwhile Bucky, fully aware you are being watched, slowly opens one eye to glare at them with pure annoyance.

“What.”

“Man, you know your imaginary tail is wagging so hard I can practically hear it from here?”

Bucky silently stares at Sam for exactly five seconds, and without any shame whatsoever, tightens his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

“Yeah,” he rasps out. “And?”

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU NEED HIM THE MOST Bucky simply moves through your life with the quiet assumption that if something can be made easier for you, then of course he will do it. One freezing morning in late November, you walk outside expecting the usual miserable routine of scraping ice from your windshield before work while trying not to freeze your fingers off in the process, only to stop short at the sight of your car already running softly in the driveway, pale exhaust curling into the cold air while warm light glows through the windshield.

And there he is, leaning casually against his pickup truck with two cups of coffee in his hands. Wrapped in his heavy work jacket, Bucky looks entirely unbothered by the bitter cold biting at his skin this early in the morning. You stare at him with wide eyes before glancing at your car. Then back at him.

“Did you come all the way over here just to start my car?”

His eyebrows pull together, genuine confusion touching his face.

“You hate being cold, sweetheart.”

Bucky never treats care as some grand romantic gesture that deserves applause. To him, love exists in maintenance, in noticing and remembering. It exists in the way he arranges himself around the sharp edges of your life without ever making you feel ashamed of needing help.

By the third month of your relationship, he already knows you forget meals whenever work gets too stressful, so he begins leaving containers of food in your fridge after particularly exhausting weeks, usually with little notes written in neat handwriting.

Eat something besides crackers today.

This one’s got vegetables in it. Don’t roll your eyes.

At first, a mix of embarrassment and old habits makes you protest.

“Jamie,” you sigh one evening while unpacking groceries he absolutely did not need to buy for you. “I can feed myself.”

“I know you can.”

The answer comes calmly, his attention never even leaving the frozen peas he’s putting away in your freezer.

“Then why are you doing all this?”

That finally makes him look at you, blue eyes steady and open.

“Because yesterday you had cereal for dinner and called it a balanced meal.”

Heat floods your face instantly. “It was one time.”

“It happened last Tuesday as well, baby.”

Your eyes squint at him betrayed. “You remember way too much.”

“You tell me things,” he shrugs lightly, shutting the fridge with his hip. “And I pay attention.”

Yes, Bucky pays attention. To everything. He notices the way your head starts to ache more than usual after difficult meetings at work; the moments you shrink because someone talked over you while discussing something important; the days you’ve had too much coffee and not nearly enough water before you’ve even registered it yourself. Once he recognizes a pattern, he simply starts building small routines around it—never demanding, or controlling. But guiding you so tenderly that by the time you notice, he’s already taken the weight you carry and made it easier to bear.

“Three coffees, baby.” He reminds you one afternoon after spotting the suspiciously large iced drink in your hand during lunch.

You promptly clutch the cup closer to your chest.

“This is tea.”

Bucky stares at you for a long moment, before his eyes lower meaningfully to the giant logo on the side of the cup.

“Sweetheart,” he starts patiently. “That thing smells like melted tiramisu.”

Your smile is sheepish. “It’s been a hard week.”

The teasing falls from his face at the exhaustion in your voice, concern replacing it so quickly it makes warmth bloom beautifully behind your ribs. He steps closer without hesitation, one broad palm settling on the back of your neck while his other hand cradles your cheek—a gesture so instinctively soothing that your entire body loosens before you can acknowledge it.

“I know, princess.” He murmurs softly. “Still need water though.”

And somehow—impossibly—you find yourself listening. He never makes care feel humiliating, because every reminder sounds far from correction and more like loving you so much it physically pains him seeing you not taking care of yourself the way you deserve. However, having someone pay attention to you this reverently is still complicated when, for your whole life, you’ve been used to being the responsible one, the accommodating one, the person who notices everybody else’s needs before they can become problems. Teaching only sharpened instincts you already had mastered long before adulthood: constantly anticipating, organizing, soothing, fixing. Somewhere along the way, taking care of yourself became secondary to making sure everyone else was never burdened by you.

Then Bucky arrives and begins undoing those habits piece by piece without ever criticizing you for it.

There is one particular parent-teacher night that leaves you painfully exhausted and miserable, so much that your eyes burn with unshed tears the entire walk to your car. One parent spends twenty minutes speaking over you every time you attempt to explain their child’s struggles in class; another openly questions whether you are “experienced enough” to manage disruptive students, because “you definitely don’t look like you are”. And Ms. Cox still finds enough energy afterward to criticize your “overly emotional teaching style” in front of half the faculty before finally leaving for the night.

By the time you make it home, you feel like an empty shell. You sway on your feet while eating half a granola bar in the dark, then drag yourself into bed wearing one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts—the same ones you shyly asked to have for particularly hard nights where his absence presses heavy on your heart. Yet, you spend nearly two hours staring miserably at your ceiling because exhaustion apparently does not guarantee sleep.

You and Bucky already said goodnight earlier. Normally he insists on calling before bed no matter how busy either of you are, but tonight he could feel how drained you were by text alone. Still, sometime after midnight, loneliness finally outweighs guilt. And even as you beg him to stay in bed and rest, insisting it’s late and he should be sleeping, he still replies with two simple words that make your heart flutter.

Already driving       12:22am

Twenty-five minutes later, headlights sweep across your curtains and you get out of your bed with a pained groan, your legs heavy as you shuffle into the kitchen in fuzzy socks. Bucky is already inside, carrying a paper bag in one hand, concern settling visibly between his brows the second you appear.

“Hey there, princess.” He whispers, leaving everything on the counter so he can pull you against him.

And that’s the moment your body goes frighteningly limp as you realize how badly you needed Bucky to hold you, knowing he would never ask for anything in return.

“I’m okay.” You quickly try to reassure him, but don’t do a very good job when your words come out slurred against his jacket.

His low hum expresses clear disagreement, one hand smoothing slowly over your back before he pulls away enough to cradle your cheeks.

“You ate dinner?”

The hesitation on your face answers for you.

His jaw clenches slightly. “Sweetheart.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” You blurt out, dangerously close to tears.

“I know, angel.” His voice turns to a whisper in front of your distress. “But you had a long day.”

There is no irritation in his voice, only concern wrapped in gentle firmness that somehow makes embarrassment crawl up your throat anyway. But before shame can take you away from him, Bucky leans down to press a long kiss on your forehead.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “I’m not angry.”

Your shoulders visibly lower a little.

“Sit down for me while I make you something warm, okay?”

And there it is again, that tingly sensation spreading low in your belly whenever he speaks like that, calm and assured and already prepared to handle things for you before you can break.

You curl beneath your favorite blanket on the couch while he heats soup and makes some chamomile tea. Watching him in all his composure as he takes care of you, moving around your house, and opening cabinets without needing directions because he already memorized where everything belongs months ago... Well, it nearly undoes you completely.

“You always think about me like that?” You ask feebly once he finally appears with a tray that he momentarily places on the coffee table.

Bucky glances at you from where he’s adjusting the blanket around your legs. “Like what?”

“Like… this.” You swallow, not liking how your throat is starting to tighten. “Taking care of things—of me, before I even notice what’s wrong.”

“‘Course I do, princess.” He answers quietly.

Tears dangerously sting at the back of your eyes, but your teeth promptly sink into your bottom lip before you can succumb to them. There is a brief moment suspended in time in which Bucky’s eyes search your expression, before he moves to kneel on the floor in front of you, palms already reaching for your jaw. 

“You spend so much time looking after everybody else.” He starts under his breath. “I just want... somebody looking after you too.” His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek and that’s when you notice the lonely tear that escaped the last thread of your control.

“I wanna be your safe place. Want you to know you can come to me. Always. You don’t gotta hold it together with me.”

“And when it gets too much out there,” he adds after a beat. “Or here,” his knuckle gently brushes your temple. “I’ll be right beside you. I’ll catch you. Every time.”

You built a relationship based on care and mutual trust, something you never had before but deeply craved. For quite a long time, those sleepless nights spent wondering when it will finally be your turn, soon turned into cruel reminders that maybe, after all, you just were not built for that kind of love. So you kept running yourself into the ground for everyone else without anyone actually noticing how much that cost you. Some people though, Bucky said, weren’t even worthy of those pretty eyes looking their way, let alone your kindness. Still, a small flame of hope kept burning in your heart—the hope that someday, someone would truly see you. Nobody has ever tried to earn your trust enough for you to hand over your vulnerability. But with Bucky, you bloom so easily in the warmth of his love.

Rain has turned part of the farm path into thick mud after a storm, and despite Bucky repeatedly warning you to not wear your pretty shoes near the fields, you ignored him confidently right up until your foot sinks deep enough into the mud to trap you completely. Bucky turns at the sound of your horrified gasp, and immediately starts laughing.

“Bucky!” You whine while trying unsuccessfully to yank your shoe free. “Stop laughing.”

“Sweetheart,” he says through obvious amusement while walking toward you. “Why’re you wearing those heels out here?”

“I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Mhm.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re being mean.”

His grin only grows as he reaches you.

“Far from it, princess. C’mere.”

Before you can ask what he means, both hands settle firmly around your waist and suddenly your feet leave the ground entirely. A startled squeak escapes your throat as your boyfriend lifts you effortlessly out of the mud like one of those bags of fodder he so easily carries around the farm.

“Bucky!”

“You were getting stuck.” He smirks.

“I could’ve figured it out myself.” You mumble shyly.

“I know you could.”

His words are tinged with mirth as he carries you back toward solid ground, one arm secure around your waist while your hands instinctively clutch his shoulders.

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stand there watching you struggle.” Your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with guilt anymore, your hands instinctively curling a little tighter into the collar of his jacket as the real meaning of it sinks deep in your heart.

This becomes another habit somehow. He lifts you onto kitchen counters while cooking because otherwise you “hover too much.” Carries you inside from the truck whenever you fall asleep during long drives home from town. Sometimes, after particularly exhausting school days, he simply hooks an arm beneath your knees and picks you up before you can properly protest.

“Jamie, I can walk.” You mumble sleepily against his collarbone.

“I know you can, baby.”

“Then put me down.”

“No.”

The answer comes calm and completely immovable while he adjusts you more securely against his chest.

He looks down at you. “You’re tired.” As if that is enough of an explanation.

You squint at him, but he raises one eyebrow before your overworked brain can elaborate something witty to retort with.

“You gonna keep arguing or you gonna let me hold my girl?”

Being with him has a way of quieting the constant vigilance in you as your body learns—gradually, unconsciously—that Bucky’s strength never asks you to fear it. All that’s left is a fuzzy, unfocused warmth you can’t quite name. And over time, you begin realizing that what affects you most is not the carrying itself, but what it represents. Around him, you are allowed to take up space without apologizing for it first. You are allowed to keep him company as he works, to cling to him through difficult days and cry without trying to make yourself smaller afterward.

The first time you break down in front of him happens after a bad argument with your mom. You spend nearly ten minutes apologizing between sobs. Bucky listens quietly the entire time before finally reaching up to tenderly wipe your tears with his thumbs, brows drawn together in soft confusion.

“Princess,” he asks gently. “Why’re you apologizing for being upset?”

You open your mouth, but then close it again helplessly. Because once again, you were about to slip back into the bad habits you are carefully working through together. Bucky’s expression morphs instantly in silent understanding.

“C’mere, baby.”

And just like always, you go.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU WANT TO BE PART OF HIS WORLD For a long time, you are convinced that helping Bucky with work will only make things harder for him. Not because he ever said that—quite the opposite, actually. But he moves through the farm with effortless capability, making everything look so easy. He knows where every tool belongs, which fence post is beginning to loosen before anybody else notices, the sound each engine is supposed to make—immediately catching when something is wrong.

Meanwhile, you once managed to stall your own car three times in a row trying to leave the school parking lot because your brain was too tired to function properly. So naturally, the idea of “helping” him feels laughable. Standing in the middle of his world feels strangely similar to trying to communicate in a language you don’t speak fluently yet. Still, that doesn’t stop you from wanting to try. Loving Bucky means wanting to understand the shape of his days and exist inside the life he built long before you arrived in it. You want to know what his mornings look like at sunrise, learn the routines his body slips into automatically after years of repetition, and more than anything, you want to stand there beside him without feeling like a guest.

His blue eyes catch the golden afternoon sunlight so prettily as he glances up from where he’s crouched in front of the fencing, near the south pasture.

“What’s up, lovely?” One corner of his mouth lifts when you linger there without answering right away, your hands fidgeting against the wooden post as if looking for something to ground you.

“What?” He teases lightly. “My girl misses me already?”

You huff a quiet laugh through your nose, eyes dropping briefly to the tools scattered beside him.

“Maybe a little,” you mumble. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.”

His expression softens instantly at that. “C’mere, then.”

You step closer without thinking.

“You wanna help?”

You hesitate under the weight of the question. “Only if I’m not gonna be in the way.”

The offended look Bucky gives you makes you chuckle lightly. He frowns, standing to full height while wiping his hands against his jeans.

“You being here is the opposite of in the way.”

And there it is again—that wonderful ache in your chest. You shift your weight from foot to foot, head ducking a little at the sheer love in his words. His rough fingers slowly hook beneath your chin to tilt your face back toward him.

“You wanna stay with me while I work?” He asks softly.

You nod silently.

“Then stay.”

Simple as that. No sighing. No tolerating your presence to avoid arguments. No making you feel like affection must be earned through usefulness.

After that, he begins finding small ways to pull you into his world. Nothing overwhelming that leaves room for you to panic about messing things up.

“Hold this for me.”

“Pass me that small wrench, pretty girl.”

“Sit over there where I can see you, and watch your step.”

At first, your help is mostly symbolic. You hand him tools, hold flashlights, keep him company while he works beneath trucks or repairs broken equipment in the barn. At some point, Bucky quietly sets up a small table near his workbench for you, sanding the wood smooth and making sure to buy a comfortable pillow for the chair so you can sit there for hours grading assignments and planning lessons while he moves around you.

One afternoon, while you are perched on the workbench as he works beneath the hood of his pickup truck, you accidentally hand him the wrong tool three times in a row. By the third attempt, you groan dramatically. Your face falls into your hands.

“I’m fucking useless.”

Bucky leans back enough to look at you, expression deeply unimpressed.

“Hey.” The single word lands firmly enough that your head snaps up at once. “You ain’t allowed to talk about my girl like that.”

You simply stare at him as he reaches out to squeeze your knee before taking the wrench from your hands.

“Besides,” Bucky adds casually. “You’re real cute when you boss me around with the wrong tools.”

You burst out laughing despite yourself, shyly looking away once you notice he has been busy admiring you with a smitten grin.

Every single time insecurity starts curling around your throat, ugly and uninvited, Bucky is there to loosen it with his careful hands before it can choke you. Dismissing insecurity is far too easy, yet that’s what most people do. It makes them uncomfortable and impatient, so they wave it away with empty reassurance. They joke about it, call it overthinking... They turn vulnerability into a shameful weakness. Because acknowledging it properly would require them to sit inside someone else’s discomfort for a while. But Bucky never treats your vulnerable moments like inconveniences he has to endure. He looks at them directly in the eye until they stop feeling quite so monstrous inside your head.

The way you feel warm all over has nothing to do with the late afternoon sun spilling gold across the land. He had sounded genuinely insulted, because loving you also includes protecting the way you speak about yourself. He cannot stand cruelty directed at you even when it comes from your own mouth.

Your pulse flutters embarrassingly beneath your skin.

His attention returns to the engine eventually, muttering something under his breath as he reaches deeper beneath the hood. Your eyes focus on the rolled sleeves exposing his strong forearms slightly soiled with grease, then slowly travel up the faded flannel stretching across his broad chest, before noticing the crease between his brows. The low hum he gives every now and then when something cooperates correctly makes your pussy throbs, your mind clouded with memories of your thighs around his head.

Your legs swing idly as you sigh, watching him work for another silent moment.

“You know,” you murmur thoughtfully. “For someone who says he likes having me around, you sure are ignoring me right now.”

Bucky snorts softly without looking up.

“I’m working , sweetheart.”

“Mhm.”

He glances at you briefly, one eyebrow lifting. “What?”

You exhale dramatically, leisurely looking around the shed. “I think you’re pretending to fix the truck because you secretly enjoy making me suffer.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of him at that, though he still turns another bolt calmly like you are not trying to derail him on purpose.

“You surviving okay over there, pretty girl?”

“Barely.”

“You’ll make it.”

The problem is that he sounds entirely too entertained by this. Your eyes narrow slightly at his tone. Then, after a moment of consideration, you shift a little closer along the edge and let your thighs part slightly, your hands landing on the wooden surface by your sides to slightly push your chest forward.

Bucky notices immediately from his peripheral vision, but all he gives you is a low, “Careful, doll.” Without any real heat in it.

You stare at the side of his face for another second, then toss your head back enough to deserve an award.

“Mhm...” You hum mournfully. “If my boyfriend really loved me, he would stop fixing stuff and pay attention to me.”

This time Bucky laughs unguarded, the sound rough around the edges as he finally leans back enough to look at you.

“Oh, so that’s what this is?”

You try to appear unbothered. “What?”

“You being a needy girl.”

Heat crawls immediately into your cheeks, still you keep your eyes on his.

“I am not needy.” You insist.

His mouth twitches, incredibly amused. “No?”

“No.”

“Mhm.”

You huff softly, crossing your arms while he turns back toward the engine with entirely too much satisfaction for your liking. And unfortunately—for the both of you—you are an incredibly stubborn woman. Which means your brain immediately decides to make things worse by jumping down the bench and silently approaching the vehicle until you are leaning down the edge of the hood, right beside your boyfriend. 

“Maybe there are more interesting things you could be doing with your hands right now.” You murmur, eyes dragging slowly over the length of his body.

The wrench stops turning at once. For one very dangerous second, the entire world seems to go still with it. Bucky exhales slowly through his nose before straightening to his full height, wiping his palms across his jeans with deliberate calm that somehow feels infinitely more threatening than any other reaction.

“Oh, you’re trouble today.”

You try to hold his gaze without shrinking under it, but that becomes significantly harder once he starts edging closer to you, the stupid tool that confused you completely forgotten. The light teasing in his face has shifted into something heavier, a kind of seriousness that has your panties completely ruined.

“Looking at me like that while I’m trying to behave...”

You swallow. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

His nostrils flare for a brief moment, one large hand sliding around your waist while the other braces on your hip, and before your brain fully catches up, he is backing you a few slow steps toward the side of the shed. The wall presses lightly against your back, Bucky’s frame crowding you back into stillness, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him through every layer between you. His thumbs stroke your sides rhythmically as he studies you with an expression that almost makes you forget how to breathe.

“You’re playing with fire, doll.”

You tilt your chin up despite the way your pulse stumbles. “I just wanted your attention.”

Bucky’s jaw flexes once. “Oh, you got it.”

His mouth claims yours like he is afraid you will disappear if he doesn’t, the hand on the curve of your waist tightening possessively while the other traces the length of your neck, until his fingers dig into your jaw to keep your head tilted exactly how he wants it. A small, unintentional whimper is muffled against his mouth as your fingers curl tight into the front of his shirt, and Bucky exhales softly through his nose like the sound nearly undid him too. It is rough, urgent... Too much and still not enough.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for his forehead to rest briefly against yours. Both of you breathe a little unevenly, his palms still heavy on your skin, as though he has no intention whatsoever of letting you wander too far now that he finally has you pliant and whining for him.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, gaze frantically going back and forth between your hazy eyes and your lips glinting with his spit.

“I need you, Jamie.”

And he is kissing you again, slower this time but no less distracting, and you are just beginning to melt properly into him when his hands slide beneath your sundress, harshly grabbing the back of your thighs.

“Jamie—”

“C’mon, up sweetheart.” He rumbles in your mouth, already pushing you higher against the wall.

Your giggle dissolves into a wanton moan when his tongue slides back between your lips, fervent and eager, your fingers tangling into his hair while his grip tightens instinctively on your ass.

“Fuck.” He pants wrecked, his bulge pressing insistently against your covered core.

“Jamie, please.” You toss your head back as his lips frantically move over your neck and cleavage, more lapping and biting at your skin than actually kissing. 

“So fucking sweet.” He grunts, humping you like an animal right in front of the open door of the shed. 

See, Bucky is… well, particularly insatiable. It’s not enough to spend Sunday mornings slowly grinding into you until you are begging him to make you come, tears staining your cheeks as he coos at you. It’s not enough to bend you over the kitchen counter and thrust his cock into your pussy from behind, his warm and heavy body pressing you down as you hold onto the edge of the wooden surface for dear life. It’s also not enough for his fingers to not-so-subtly slip beneath the hem of the blouse you just spent ten minutes adjusting to your liking, just to squeeze your tits because “They’re missing me, doll”.

And he never seems to care if you are late for something, or how long it takes... or where you are. Like that time he pulled into the deserted parking lot of a random mall on the way back from your cousin’s engagement party because one of her friends had flirted with you a few too many times—even with Bucky standing just a couple of feet away, talking to your aunts while openly glaring at him. He growled an amused, “Try not making a mess on the seats, princess” before you ended up squirming and moaning in the backseat of his pickup truck, still fully clothed as his hand slid down the front of your unbuttoned pants. He was three fingers deep inside your pussy, his other hand gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on his as he whispered how good he was going to fuck you later in his bed, and how good he’d make you cream all over his cock. His dick was straining against the confines of his pants, painful and throbbing because you were so pretty with your lips parted around your little, unrestrained whimpers, your half-lidded eyes staring hazily at him, and then… the bright flash of red and blue lights blinded you both in an instant.

By the time the two police officers knocked on the window car, you were both just about composed—his jacket lay on his lap to hide the impressive bulge while you leaned against his shoulder, carefully performing a convincing enough bout of nausea to explain why you had been parked there so long. They told you that someone had reported a vehicle acting suspiciously nearby and Bucky quickly chimed in, matching their story just enough. However, the car in question disappeared down the road the moment you parked. A brief, measured silence followed, until one of the officers glanced at you. Then at Bucky. Then back at his partner, clearly deciding that whatever they might have walked in on was not worth pursuing further. 

Or that time your first picnic date turned into Bucky keeping a hand on your mouth as he fucked you right in the middle of the blanket you had so carefully arranged, imagining quiet naps beneath the trees and lazy kisses. Instead, you had squirted all over it after Bucky had growled into your neck that you needed to be quiet, or else one of his employees might catch you. Still hard, he hastily lay between your thighs for his earned “dessert”.

You have always managed to get away with it before—never caught, never interrupted, always just out of reach of consequence. Until now.

The wall rattles with a particular hard thrust of his hips, loud enough that the sound travels straight through the large space, followed immediately by a sharp, unceremonious clatter from somewhere above your head. Before either of you has even processed what’s happening, something tumbles from the nearby shelf and lands directly on Bucky’s head with a force that makes you both flinch at the same time.

Your boyfriend jerks back instantly, a harsh curse slipping out under his breath as one hand flies up to the exact point of impact, while his other arm tightens around you, still holding you close out of reflex even as he recoils.

“Oh my God—” You gasp, eyes widening in horror as you register what just happened. “Bucky!”

“’M fine.” He grunts automatically, though the tight set of his jaw and the faint squint in his eye suggest otherwise.

You wriggle out from his hold with anxious urgency until he sets you back on your feet, quickly reaching for his wrists as though you can physically prevent any further damage. He keeps muttering under his breath about “fucking shelves” and “the motherfucker who put that damn thing there.”

“Sweetheart, it was just a flashlight, not a bullet.” He grits out to reassure you.

“Who cares, it hit your head!” You argue frantically. “Move your hand, let me see.”

There is a long, theatrical pause, during which Bucky clearly considers refusing out of principle alone, but eventually he exhales through his nose and lowers his hand with exaggerated reluctance, revealing nothing particularly dramatic beyond a faintly annoyed expression.

“There,” he sighs. “Still alive.”

You stare at him with genuine devastation shining in your eyes.

“Oh, baby.”

And that is the moment everything shifts. Because your tone changes completely, your panic dissolving into something softer and infinitely more dangerous as your hands come up to his face without hesitation, cradling him with careful precision while your thumbs brush lightly over his cheeks. You inspect him with big, worried eyes, pouting at him like he has just survived something far more dramatic than an ambush by a shelf.

Bucky, for his part, goes still in a way that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with your attention. It’s almost humiliating how quickly his entire focus narrows down to you. The way your thumb absently brushes his cheek. The way your voice drops into a gentle, breathy coo every time you ask if he is alright. The way you keep smoothing your thumb over the bruise like it physically pains you to see him like this. And somewhere in the middle of it, a thought forms with unsettling clarity—he really likes this.

“You poor thing,” you murmur mournfully. “Does it hurt?”

Bucky blinks once, twice. “A little...” He admits slowly, though the word feels less like an answer and more like an experiment he is conducting purely for the sake of seeing how you respond.

You frown. “Oh, Jamie.”

He leans into your soft palms without thinking, eyelids lowering in complete bliss.

“Mhm.”

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“... Think I might now that you mentioned it.”

The crease in your brows deepens at once, fingers sliding into his hair as you begin checking for other bumps, your touch careful and thorough in a way that turns his brain into pure mush.

“You need ice.”

“Mhm.”

“And water.”

“Probably.”

“And you should sit down for a minute.”

At that, something entirely too satisfied slips into his expression, subtle but unmistakable. Because you are standing in front of him on the verge of tears, treating this huge, rough man like a wounded woodland creature.

“You’re real sweet when you worry about me.” He murmurs, smitten.

You roll your eyes even as your hands stay on his face. “Someone has to take care of you.”

That’s all it takes. He is not going to discourage this behavior in any way, shape, or form.

Bucky lets you guide him toward the chair beside the workbench without resistance, lowering himself into it with slow obedience. The moment he is seated, you are immediately between his knees, hovering, checking, fussing, entirely focused on him as though nothing else in the world currently matters. Which, unfortunately, becomes the highlight of his entire week.

“There’s a bump.” You murmur to yourself, brows drawn together in concentration.

“Mhm.” He agrees gravely, as if this confirms a deeply unfortunate outcome for his future.

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

And Bucky just watches you, completely lost in the way you move around him with anxious care, your hands never quite leaving him. There is something recklessly addicting about being the center of your attention that settles into him far too easily, like it has always been waiting there for you to unlock it. It goes to his head faster than the flashlight ever could.

“Are you still feeling dizzy?” You fret.

Bucky tilts his head slightly as if genuinely considering it, though the truth is he could not care less about his symptoms.

“…Little bit.” He decides finally.

Your eyes widen. “You do?”

“Might need mouth-to-mouth.” He adds, entirely deadpan.

You stare at him in disbelief. “James.”

“What?” A pause, thoughtful. “I got a concussion, sweetheart. Have some compassion.”

“You don’t have a concussion.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Your voice briefly cracks with amusement.

He sighs as though genuinely disappointed by the medical community. Still, he looks unbearably pleased with himself.

“Stay still,” you mutter pensively, already turning toward the small freezer tucked away nearby. “I’m getting ice.”

Bucky watches you go with an expression bordering on lovesick, his lips twisting into a soft curve. By the time you return, he has already shifted slightly, spreading his knees just enough to make space for you again. His hands find your hips as soon as you’re close enough, steadying you, holding you in place while you press the ice gently against the bump, your face still pinched with concentration.

“Too cold?” You ask softly.

“Nah.” Then, after a beat, entirely too casually, “Still think you should kiss it better, though.”

You roll your eyes, yet your small smile betrays you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can’t believe you’d say that while I’m injured.” He retorts, tone solemn. “I got hit real hard, doll.”

“You said it was a flashlight.” Your eyebrow raises skeptically.

“Still could’ve knocked loose my precious brain cell.”

That finally does it, a laugh slipping out of you despite the anxiety still lingering in your stomach. It’s soft and breathless and completely unrestrained, and Bucky’s hands squeeze your waist, as though he is physically anchoring himself to it.

“What am I going to do with you?” You sigh, fingers threading carefully through his hair. It occurs to you with a fond, helpless kind of clarity that you have accidentally created a monster. One who is absolutely going to treat every minor inconvenience like a life-threatening injury, if it means being doted on by you.

This time, there is no hesitation when he answers, voice quieter but absolutely certain.

“Keep spoiling me like this.”

The words come out lazy and teasing, yet they land heavier than either of you anticipate. Because he means it a little. Maybe a lot. Your expression softens in response, the final threads of panic melting away into something far more vulnerable. Then, much to his delight, you lean down and press a long kiss to the top of his head.

“There,” you murmur. “Better?”

Bucky goes still beneath you, before his arms wrap more firmly around you, pulling you just a fraction closer until his chin can comfortably rest on your torso.

“Yeah,” he whispers, reverent eyes looking up at you. “Way better.”

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU SPEND MORNINGS TOGETHER The two of you are stretched across his bed after a late dinner and a movie downtown, the television flickering low pale light across the room. One of Bucky’s older hoodies hangs from your shoulders, and the comforter pooled around your legs still carries faint traces of that comforting earthy scent that always seems permanently stitched into everything he owns.

You are trying very hard to stay awake. The week has been horrible: your students restless from too many rainy recesses indoors, paperwork piling endlessly across your desk, and parent emails arriving faster than you could answer them. By the time Bucky picked you up earlier that evening, your body had already been aching with fatigue. Still, you are determined not to fall asleep here. Because despite the fact that Bucky has never once made you feel unwelcome in his space, there is still a nervous little part of you convinced that accidentally crossing invisible boundaries will somehow ruin everything. Falling asleep in his bed feels far more intimate than kissing him does, strangely enough, because it means trusting him enough to stop monitoring yourself.

So every time your eyelids begin slipping lower, you stubbornly force them open again. Unfortunately, Bucky notices the way your responses slow down halfway through conversations and the increasingly delayed reaction every time he asks you something about the movie. Your body keeps unconsciously curling closer and closer toward his warmth before you catch yourself and straighten again. At one point, your head dips toward his chest for too long you abruptly jerk yourself upright.

Bucky glances at you, his hand leisurely rubbing along your arm, and one corner of his mouth already threatens to lift.

“You don’t gotta stay awake for me, doll.”

His voice comes low and soothing beside you, yet your eyes widen abruptly.

“I’m awake.”

Bucky hums softly, deeply unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Yep. I was listening.”

“To what?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, your eyes fluttering shut in defeat when you realize you absolutely set yourself up for that.

Bucky’s chest shakes slightly with restrained laughter at your weak glare.

“I’m serious.” You slur, shifting upright again beneath the blankets with all the determination of somebody seconds away from losing consciousness. He hums patiently, still rubbing slow circles against your sleeve.

You try very hard after that. You focus on the movie, ask questions about the actors… You even sit up straighter just to prove you are perfectly fine. Then Bucky’s hand slides absentmindedly beneath his shirt to rub slowly along your bare hip instead.

And honestly, after that, you never really stood a chance. Bucky glances down after a couple of silent minutes and finds your body curled into his side while your breathing evens out gradually beneath the faint sound of the wind outside. And something about the sight hits him so deeply it hurts. Because he knows this is not easy for you yet. That you are still learning how to be yourself around another person without feeling like an inconvenience. 

Your boyfriend slowly adjusts himself against the headboard so you can settle more comfortably on him, one hand pulling the comforter higher around your shoulders before he lowers the volume of the television. You stir faintly at the movement, brows pinching briefly in your sleep, but his hand promptly strokes your back with gentle movements.

“There you go,” he murmurs quietly. “Go back to sleep, pretty girl.” The tension melts from your muscles so quickly beneath his touch that Bucky’s eyes linger on you in silent wonder for a long moment. He presses one long kiss on your forehead, and sometime later, sleep finally finds him too, quiet and unguarded with you tucked safely against his side.

The next morning, you wake feeling unexpectedly well-rested. For several peaceful seconds, your mind drifts lazily through the hazy border between sleep and awareness. It’s only when your body stirs with a slow, languid stretch that you realize you are pressed against something solid.

Solid, pleasantly warm, and… moving?

Memories crash into you all at once—the dinner, the movie... Bucky’s bed.

Your eyes fly open.

Early sunlight catches along the broad expanse of his bare forearm where it rests heavily around your waist, like he fell asleep making sure you were always close throughout the night. Mortification hits you like a punch in the stomach. You can’t believe you were careless enough to fall asleep in his bed without discussing it first, the surprise quickly curdling into guilt as you picture him stuck with you there, too kind to wake you up.

Trying to not be swallowed by panic until you are completely alone, you carefully shift beneath the blankets only for Bucky’s hold to tighten automatically around you. A sleepy hum leaves him, followed by his voice a second later, raspy and deep.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

You turn carefully enough to find him already watching you through heavy-lidded eyes, hair messy from sleep and jaw still shadowed with yesterday’s stubble.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out before you can even think about it.

Bucky blinks slowly, his soft smile falling at once. “For what?”

“For falling asleep here.”

“You were tired.” He frowns.

“I know but… I didn’t mean to bother you.”

The second the words leave your mouth, something in Bucky’s expression morphs into painful understanding. You genuinely believe this inconvenienced him.

“You silly girl,” he murmurs fondly, pulling you closer by your waist. “You fell asleep during a movie. That ain’t exactly a crime, y’know?”

You stare down at the comforter instead, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I just didn’t wanna impose.”

Long fingers are already sliding beneath your chin, guiding your face back toward him with impossible patience.

“You think I’d rather have you driving home exhausted in the rain at midnight? Hm?”

Your lips part slightly. “Well—”

“No, baby.” His thumb delicately brushes your bottom lip. “I’d rather have you here with me.”

It feels hard to breathe properly when faced with the certainty in his voice.

“I liked waking up next to you.”

The confession lands directly beneath your ribs.

“You did?” Your eyes observe him wide with hope.

“‘Course I did.” A sleepy little smile tugs at his mouth. “I...” He huffs out an abashed chuckle, and you recoil a little, completely caught off guard. Because Bucky has never once looked this flushed since your first date.

“I’d really like it if you stayed over more.”

“Really?” It’s nothing short of a whisper.

“Mhm.” His hand drifts slowly along your side as his gaze lingers on your face with devastating devotion.

“Don’t really like the idea of you driving home late all the time anyway, and…” He pauses briefly, almost thoughtful. “I wanna wake up with you in my arms.”

The room suddenly feels far too warm. Bucky shifts slightly closer again, his other arm coming under you to anchor your body to his, his nose teasingly grazing yours.

“Wanna have my mouth on you before either of us even gets outta bed, and be late because we inevitably get carried away with our little kisses.” He whispers lazily against the slope of your neck, pressing a peck on your collarbone that makes you shudder.

“Wanna make breakfast together and watch you steal half the bacon off my plate after you said you weren’t hungry.” His mouth barely brushes your cheek. “Wanna sit at the kitchen table while you talk my ear off about your day before it even starts.”

Nobody has ever spoken about wanting you in their life as a fantasy too fragile to touch. But Bucky has already made space for you in his future without hesitation.

And then he completely ruins you by adding under his breath, “You look good here, sweetheart. With me.”

The same hesitation holding you back melts completely after that.

“I liked waking up next to you too.” You whisper, cheeks warming up at your own brave confession. But the bright smile he gives you is completely worth it. 

Staying over becomes less of an exception and more of a habit neither of you wants to break. Soon enough, pieces of you begin appearing around the farmhouse: a spare toothbrush beside his sink; a brand new box of your favorite strawberry lipgloss that Bucky bought for you to specifically use when you stay over; your favorite cookies tucked into one of the kitchen cabinets—because Bucky noticed you always look for them first in the mornings.

He never rushes you into the day. Even when he has technically been awake for hours already, he moves through the morning with a steady, unhurried ease, as though the world itself knows it can take a break around him.

Sometimes you wake to find him already watching you quietly from the pillow beside yours, one arm still draped across your waist while pale sunrays spill across the sheets between you. Most mornings, you simply cuddle closer for a little while, listening to him breathe, memorizing the warmth of his arms around you, letting yourself exist without urgency for once.

“Morning, baby.”

His voice still sounds rough around the edges from sleep when he leans to meet you halfway, pressing a slow kiss on your mouth that lingers far longer than necessary because neither of you is in any hurry to separate yet.

Downstairs, the kitchen already smells faintly of coffee he started earlier. You are halfway through pouring cream into your mug when dread hits you like a bucket of icy water. Bucky notices immediately from his seat at the kitchen island, where he’s reading the newspaper like every morning.

“What happened?”

You sigh softly, your head falling back with a groan. “I still have to finish prepping activities for today.”

Instead of looking disappointed that your attention has shifted elsewhere, Bucky simply studies you thoughtfully for a moment before setting his mug down.

“Show me.”

You turn in surprise. “What?”

“Show me what you gotta do.”

“You wanna help me lesson plan?” Your eyebrows raise in amusement.

“Correction, I wanna spend my morning with you.”

So eventually you spread everything across the wooden surface: worksheets, glue sticks, colored markers, laminated reading cards, paper cutouts for today’s classroom activity. Bucky watches the process unfold with intense concentration, a deep crease between his eyebrows while he studies your materials.

“This all for one class?”

“Mm-hmm. Reading exercise, drawing activity, vocabulary review…” You point at each group of items.

Bucky gives you a slow nod, despite still looking vaguely overwhelmed by the amount of paper involved. Without thinking much about it, you hand him a stack of cut-out shapes that needs to be organized by color. He takes them at once, no hesitation whatsoever. Several minutes later, you glance up and nearly snort out loud when you realize he’s sorting them not only by color, but by shade. After that, he busies himself with other simple tasks, like passing markers to you in color order because he noticed you unconsciously arrange them that way yourself, and flattening laminated sheets carefully beneath one rough hand while you cut around them.

At one point, Bucky picks up one of the worksheets and studies it with intense concentration, his brows slowly knitting together the more he reads through the page. You barely pay attention at first, too focused on cutting out paper stars for the reading activity, until silence stretches suspiciously long. When you are done, you find Bucky still staring at the paper as if studying a government document.

“These kids gotta circle the adjective?”

You blink once. “Yes?”

He glances down at the paper, then back at you. “They know what an adjective is?”

“Most of them.” You chuckle at his genuine curiosity.

Bucky shakes his head like the information has sincerely overwhelmed him.

“When I was their age, I was eating dirt behind the barn.”

“Bucky.”

“I’m just being honest, sweetheart.” His finger taps the worksheet once. “These little kids are out here identifying pronouns and shit at eight in the morning.”

You are laughing too hard now imagining a smaller, frowning Bucky eating dirt and running around the pasture hugging lambs probably larger than him. Bucky watches you with obvious satisfaction, until his eyes narrow at another page on the table.

“Is that a frog?”

You grin at him. “That’s the reading mascot, Sir Ribbits.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “The frog helps them read?”

“He encourages them.”

Bucky stares at the cartoon amphibian for another long moment before giving it a satisfied nod.

“Good for him.”

After hunching over papers for what feels like hours, you stretch your arms with a tired little moan. Bucky is already rounding the table to rub your stiff shoulders, and instead of flinching, you simply lean back into it.

By the time everything is finally packed away, the kitchen table is covered in marker caps and paper scraps. He gathers the last stack of worksheets into neat piles before you can even reach for them.

“You’re weirdly good at this.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you prop your elbow on the table and rest your chin against your knuckles.

Bucky glances up from the papers. “You let me into your world,” he says simply. “Figured I should learn it too.”

He never expected you to abandon pieces of yourself to fit into his life more easily. Instead, he stepped gently into yours, observing every detail with patience and the kind of love that makes ordinary mornings feel sacred without either of you even realizing it.

A strange heaviness weighs in your body on Thursday morning but Bucky is so warm, and still dozing beside you with one of his large hands resting on your stomach. So you yawn, lazily letting your eyes blink at the window just enough to not abandon that pleasant, fuzzy state of drowsiness. But then they accidentally land on the clock on your nightstand and the realization is like electricity in your veins.

“Oh no.”

The words catch painfully in your throat while you scramble upright so fast the mattress shifts violently beneath you.

“No, no, no, no—”

Bucky wakes with a jolt at the desperation in your voice, his brows pulling together while he pushes himself up on one elbow, still heavy with sleep but already alert.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

You are throwing the blankets aside, heart hammering painfully while you frantically open your closet. “I’m so fucking late.”

He glances once toward the clock and sits up fully.

“Okay.” He says calmly, rubbing one hand briefly over his face before standing. “Hey, sweetheart. You need to breathe.”

But your thoughts pile over each other in a chaotic succession to acknowledge the note of seriousness tinging his voice. Stumbling around your bedroom, you mentally list everything waiting for you at school, and fuck! You still need to print the spelling worksheets—

Suddenly your chest feels too tight for your lungs.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you whine shakily while yanking open dresser drawers with far more force than necessary. “Why didn’t my alarm go off?”

Bucky watches you for approximately three seconds before deciding this has gone on long enough.

“Sweetheart.”

You barely hear him.

“Where are my tights? Fuck—”

The sound of your name in his low voice is like an arm dragging you out of the fog. You look up just in time to see him step directly into your path, his palms settling carefully on your upper arms before your nervous pacing can continue.

“Sit down for me.”

The words are not sharp, but there is enough firmness in his voice that your body pauses anyway.

“I don’t have time to sit down.” You argue weakly, still breathless.

“You got thirty seconds.”

“Bucky—”

“Thirty.” His thumbs stroke once over your arms. “Then you can go back to panicking all you want.”

And somehow, despite yourself, a tiny startled laugh almost escapes your throat. Your spiraling does not scare him, he has already decided he can handle it.

Reluctantly, you fall back on the edge of the bed, your right knee already bouncing anxiously. Meanwhile, your boyfriend moves around the room with military efficiency despite being startled awake not even five minutes ago, opening drawers you left hanging crooked and pulling out clothes with far more success than you had managed one minute earlier.

“This sweater okay?” He asks, holding up the brown-colored knit you wear most often to school.

You nod quickly. “Yeah.”

“What about bottoms?”

“The dark jeans. Not the—no, the other ones.”

A sleepy smile pulls at his mouth. “Doll, you own six pairs of those.”

“They’re different.”

“Mhm. I’m learning.”

He lays the clothes neatly beside you before his eyes meet yours.

“I’ll get the shower running.” You are already half-way up but he stops you promptly with a hand on your shoulder. “You stay put for one minute and focus on your breathing.”

Your body slumps back on the mattress dejected. “I don’t have one minute.”

“You do,” he calls back over the hallway. “You just decided you don’t.”

And annoyingly enough, hearing him say that steadies your heartbeat embarrassingly fast. Bucky never meets your panic with more panic, but with this quiet expectation that life will go on if you slow down to take a breath.

By the time you finally hurry into the kitchen twenty minutes later, still trying to button one sleeve, you stop short at the familiar sizzling of the pan. Bucky is standing near the stove in grey sweatpants and an old dark henley, hair still messy from sleep and posture relaxed while he slides scrambled eggs onto a plate.

“Sit.” He says after spotting you hovering on the threshold.

“Bucky—”

He turns toward you fully then, watching you with that deeply patient expression of his.

“C’mere.”

You comply with a sigh as he slides the plate in front of you alongside a toast, some jam and a travel mug of coffee already prepared exactly the way you like it.

“You need protein.”

You massage your temples to soothe the impending headache. “I’m gonna be late.”

“You’re already late,” he points out calmly, leaning against the counter. “Now, you can either be late and fed or late and miserable.”

You stare at him and he promptly raises one eyebrow. “You done fighting me on this or you got another argument ready?”

That finally pulls a reluctant laugh from you. “You’re bossy in the morning.”

He shrugs easily, now understanding why you arrive home every afternoon looking like somebody has been ruthlessly peeling pieces off you since sunrise.

He then helps without making a performance out of it. Your coat appears folded neatly over a chair, and your keys get placed directly beside your coffee as you try to eat faster. When your lunch bag nearly gets forgotten on the kitchen counter, Bucky simply hooks two fingers through the strap and places it near your coat.

“Every morning you skitter through this part like a startled little thing.” He murmurs eventually.

Your answer is a tired sigh. “Because I’m always running behind.”

“Nah,” he corrects gently, stepping behind your chair to put his hands over your shoulders and press a kiss to your temple. “You just got it in your head that if you ain’t running yourself ragged, you’re not working hard enough.”

The words hit uncomfortably close to home, leaving you staring down at your empty plate in silence. Bucky promptly kneels beside you, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You hear what I’m saying, princess?” He mumbles softly.

“A little.” You nod reluctantly.

“You don’t gotta earn rest by wearing yourself thin.”

Your throat tightens unexpectedly, not used to have your exhaustion treated like something deserving tenderness instead of expectation. Before the moment can settle too heavily inside you though, Bucky glances toward your bag where papers are sticking halfway out.

“You got everything?”

You finally look up, straightening just a little. “I think so.”

“That usually means no.”

You groan softly. “Please don’t start.”

He chuckles under his breath before walking over to the bag for a checkup, clearly having observed this exact routine unravel before. Within seconds, he pulls out your half-empty water bottle.

“You forgot to fill this.”

“Oh.” You frown.

“And your portable charger.”

“Oh.” Your shoulders slump.

“And doll?” His eyes lift to you knowingly while he holds up the folder with all the notes for your lesson currently bent sideways. “This thing’s fighting for its life.”

Exasperated, you hide your face behind your hands while he fixes the folder carefully before zipping everything properly closed. But the bag is too full and when your fingers close around the handle a few minutes later, the zipper gives away anyway, and frustration spikes sharply enough that your eyes sting.

“Why won’t this stupid thing—”

Before you can fight with it further, Bucky steps in and takes the bag from your hands. One smooth motion and the zipper slides perfectly into place.

“There.”

Your entire nervous system settles slightly from that tiny act alone.

You finally make it to the front door—still flustered, still behind schedule, still trying to mentally catch up with the day waiting outside. But you are no longer drowning in it.

You grab your car keys, expecting some hurried goodbye while Bucky cleans the kitchen. Instead, he is standing directly in front of the door, and without a word, his hands reach down and fix your collar where it folded awkwardly.

“Text me when you get there.”

“I will.” His eyes search your face for another moment, cradling it between his warm palms.

“You did good.”

You stare at him incredulously. “I overslept by almost an hour.”

“And you still got up,” Bucky comments simply. “Still got dressed. Still ate breakfast. Still remembered your stuff. That’s what matters, baby.”

He never measures your worth through perfection, only through effort. Through whether or not you are being gentle enough with yourself while surviving difficult days.

He leaves a long kiss on your forehead, completely unbothered by the clock ticking loudly behind you.

“Now go teach your little gremlins.”

“They’re not gremlins.” You roll your eyes fondly.

His left eyebrow raises in skepticism. “One of ’em tried to lick glue yesterday.”

“He said he wanted to know if it tasted like blueberries because the bottle was blue.” You mumble defensively.

“Mhm.” He presses one last kiss to your lips. “Tiny gremlins.”

You shake your head, chuckling as you reach for the door. And while walking to your car, you realize with pleasant surprise that your breathing is a little steadier. Controlled. Because Bucky stood beside your panic and refused to let it carry you away.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN YOU ARGUE FOR THE FIRST TIME Pickup was already chaotic: one of the first graders had burst into tears after losing her glitter-covered pencil somewhere near the cubbies, a little boy had refused to put on his raincoat because he insisted it was “for babies,” and by the time the middle school students started flooding the shared hallway, you already felt like hiding beneath your blanket and sleeping for two days.

That’s when the shouting starts—two eighth graders near the front doors, chest-to-chest, yelling loud enough to make half the younger kids stop in place.

You don’t even think before stepping in.

“Hey!” You call sharply, moving between them before either could swing properly. “That’s enough.”

One of them backs off immediately. The other glares at you. He is taller by several inches, angry in the ugly, reckless way teenagers sometimes become when they realize they can intimidate adults physically now. His face twists the second you tell him to step away from the younger students.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I absolutely can,” you answer promptly, trying to keep your voice collected because several of your students are staring with huge frightened eyes. “Go cool off in one of the classrooms.”

He laughs, a sharp and bitter sound, before stepping closer.

“You think because you teach stupid little kids that you can boss everybody around?”

You ignore that part. “Watch your language.”

That only makes him angrier. “You gonna write me up?” He mocks. “Go teach somebody the alphabet or something.”

He starts talking over you, muttering insults under his breath, waving his hands too close to your face while you try to de-escalate things without frightening your students more than they already are.

And then Bucky walks in. He has come to pick you up because your car is still at the mechanic after the tire issue earlier that week. The second he steps through the school doors and sees some teenage boy towering over you while a crowd of scared children has shrunk back against the wall, something in him visibly sharpens.

Once the boy swings one hand again while barking the umpteenth insult aimed at you, too close to your shoulder this time, Bucky is there in seconds.

“That’s enough.”

His voice cuts through the noise so coldly that even the younger kids go quiet.

The boy freezes. Honestly, anybody would in front of a six-foot-something man wearing rough work clothes still dusted faintly from the farm, and a face that rarely softens around strangers.

“You’re done yelling at her, and you better start showing some respect to your teachers.” He continues evenly. “You understand me?”

The boy mutters something under his breath about you not being his teacher, prompting Bucky to take a step closer. The younger snaps his head up, before taking a step back.

“Try again.”

Silence.

Then finally, begrudgingly, “Yes, sir.”

The principal arrives not even a minute later after hearing the commotion, quickly pulling the boy away while apologizing profusely to you both, and the altercation ends as quickly as it started. At least physically. Emotionally, it’s heavy as a boulder on your shoulders, because the entire drive home, Bucky is quieter than usual, so tense that you feel the need to tentatively reach for the handle at your side and roll down the car window for some fresh air.

His hand still rests on your thigh, he still opens your door, and asks if you have eaten. But there is something bothering him underneath all of it. And eventually, while he is cooking dinner later that evening, it finally surfaces.

“You shouldn’t have stepped between them like that.”

You look up from where you are sitting at the kitchen island grading some assignments. “What?”

Bucky keeps stirring something in the pan, shoulders tight beneath his henley. “He was bigger than you,” he continues carefully. “And he was already angry.”

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s fifteen.”

“He’s still a student.”

His jaw clenches briefly. “And if he had hit you?”

With a slow sigh, you decide to put your pen down—these are all signs that you are not getting out of this conversation anytime soon. 

“He wasn’t going to, I had it under control.” You rebut tiredly.

“Didn’t look like you did.”

The second those words leave his mouth, something ugly inside your chest twists painfully. His voice is controlled, far from cruel, but those words feel like a knife ruthlessly stabbing an old scar that refuses to heal properly. And suddenly, you are twenty-two again, standing in your parents’ kitchen while your mom frowns at your teaching degree paperwork.

Teaching little kids? What are you gonna do with that?

You’re wasting your time, this won’t pay bills.

“Well, I handled it anyway.” You look back at the paper in front of you, quietly.

Bucky exhales through his nose, still focused on the stove. 

“Sweetheart, I know you were trying to help, but—”

“I did help.” You frown at his back.

“You can’t just jump between two angry teenagers.”

“I’m a teacher.”

“And I’m saying you don’t gotta throw yourself in front of people to prove that.”

That one hurts too. It tastes like doubt, criticism... disappointment.

“I know how to do my job.” You croak out.

Bucky finally turns then, brows drawn slightly.

“I didn’t say you don’t.”

But his voice is firmer now, frustration slipping through the cracks of his apparent composure despite himself, and when he gestures with the wooden spoon in his hand, his tone rises just enough to make you flinch before you can stop it. The movement is barely noticeable, more out of surprise than anything. Except Bucky freezes.

You don’t even realize your eyes have dropped somewhere on the counter in front of you until his voice changes completely.

“Sweetheart.” A soft, tentative sound, but you are already shaking your head.

“It’s okay.” Your voice sounds wrong and dismissive even to you and Bucky’s expression shifts into painful realization.

He sets the spoon down without another word, turns off the stove, then gingerly walks toward, still keeping his distance so you won’t feel cornered.

“C’mere a second, baby.”

You hesitate, because your body already knows the shape arguments are supposed to take, even if your mind is trying to remind itself that this is your Bucky. Your Jamie.

Still, somewhere deep inside you, disagreement has tied to punishment long ago, to that awful tightening in the air that used to settle over rooms after somebody got upset. You are used to conversations turning cold the second emotions become inconvenient; to silence stretching for hours or even days because you were the one expected to smooth everything over—apologize first, speak softer, take up less space. Growing up, anger always came with withdrawal attached to it. Simple disagreements morphed into slammed cabinets and heavy sighs and someone suddenly acting as though your mere presence had become irritating. And even though Bucky has never treated you that way, your instincts still brace for him to go quiet in that unbearable way that turns a home into a suffocating prison.

But his hand rests on your back as it gently guides you toward the couch, settling beside you but still leaving enough room to breathe. Bucky does not like the way you move cautiously around him, the way you slowly lower yourself onto the same couch that has held you both through late-night talks that stretched until early morning, and movie nights that ended in soft, unhurried kisses.

“We’re not doing silence, okay?”

Your eyes fall on the floor. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were.” His voice stays gentle. “You started disappearing on me halfway through that conversation.”

“I was listening.” You stare at your fingers fidgeting on your thighs. 

“No, angel.” He shakes his head once, his eyes never once straying away from you. “You got quiet because you thought I was gonna turn into somebody I’m not.”

The stinging pressure behind your eyes becomes unbearable. Bucky braces his forearms on his thighs, leaning forward with a slow exhale instead of pressing closer.

“I’m not mad at you.” He adds in a whisper. “I was worried for you.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I know.”

“Do you?” His tone is impossibly feeble now, because suddenly this is not about the hallway anymore, but a habit that was acquired through mortification and fear. Bucky studies your face for another second before speaking again.

“Ain’t no reason for you to be scared to talk back to me, sweetheart.” His brows pinch faintly. “And if I say something that hurts you, I need you to tell me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your voice coming out weaker than you intend to. “It wasn’t just that.”

Bucky straightens at once at the first crack in your armor, unconsciously getting closer. 

“Then help me understand.”

Eventually, with trembling hands and wet eyes, you open up. About your mom and how every time you came home exhausted during your first teaching year, she would look at you like you were failing at life itself. About how your dad used to scoff whenever you talked about your students, because “Teaching kids how to write their name isn’t a real career”. About how even the tiniest mistake sounded like proof you were incapable.

And the more you speak, the worse Bucky looks. By the time you finish talking, it feels like a weight has finally been removed off your chest, yet he looks genuinely sick with guilt.

“Baby,” he mumbles, reaching for your hand. “I wasn’t doubting you. I would never do that.”

You shrug weakly. “I know you weren’t trying to.”

“But I still made you feel that way.”

That’s what finally breaks you, because he’s not defending himself, nor minimizing it.

Tears spill before you can stop them, and your Bucky is already there with open arms to catch you.

“C’mere, babygirl.”

You climb into his lap without hesitation, burying your face against his neck as his arms wrap around you securely. One large hand slides slowly up and down your back, and you try really hard to swallow down your sobs, but you only end up making a bigger mess of his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, princess.” He whispers against your temple. “And I should never’ve raised my voice at you.”

“You weren’t yelling.” You answer shakily.

“You still flinched.”

The shame in his voice makes your heart ache. His hold tightens around you instinctively at your whimper.

“I wasn’t angry at you.” He mumbles urgently. “I was angry at the whole damn situation. At that kid thinking he could talk to you like that after nearly starting a fight in front of your students.” His jaw tightens briefly before he continues. “Couldn’t stand there listening to some mouthy little bastard trying to scare you in front of those little kids.”

Your eyes close in sorrow as the image of their startled faces comes back cruel and still fresh. 

“They were terrified.” You sniffle and his arms squeeze you just a little tighter. 

“I know why you stepped in.” he sighs. “You love those kids like they’re your own for eight hours every damn day, and you can’t stand the idea of any of ’em feeling helpless in a place that’s supposed to be safe.” His palms cradle your cheeks to slowly coax you out of his chest, the urge to see you so strong it pulls hard at his heart. 

“You walk into that school every morning and spend your whole day teaching them how to read and write and believe in themselves. And you’re so fucking good at that, angel. You teach ’em how to be brave enough to admit when they don’t understand something. How to speak up without being scared of failing. How to be kind with each other when the world already gives them enough reasons not to be.” A faint, helpless sort of admiration softens his face then, like he still can’t believe he gets to love and be loved by someone as precious as you. 

Your lips shake as you give him a pained smile, tears still sliding relentlessly down your cheeks.

“Years from now those kids probably won’t remember every worksheet you gave ’em, but they’ll remember how you were patient with ’em. That you listened.” His teeth clench when his voice wavers a little. 

“So yeah, I know exactly why you did that. But that boy still thought he could stand there and talk to you like you were nothing.” He exhales slowly, forehead leaning against yours. “And baby… I got scared too.”

Your chest heaves, something akin to panic swirling in your stomach, because you have never seen your boyfriend look so devastated.

“You matter to me more than being right in an argument,” the words come out rough, his throat working hard around the tight knot lodged there. “So if I get scared and it comes out wrong sometimes, I need you to remember it’s only because the thought of something happening to you tears me apart.”

You nod slowly before folding yourself back against him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck as you bury your face in the warmth of his chest. And then you simply exist together for a long while, curled into him with your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt while his strong arms hold you safely close to his heart.

The living room has gone quiet around you, the stove forgotten for the moment, as your breathing gradually evens out. He is the one who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat lightly as his lips brush your forehead.

“We’re gonna argue sometimes,” he murmurs carefully, almost reluctantly, like the thought alone upsets him as well. “I can’t promise we’ll never get frustrated with each other.”

Your arms tighten around him at that.

“What I can promise you,” he continues softly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, one hand coming up to cup your jaw with impossible tenderness. “Is that I’m not gonna stop loving you when things get hard.”

A fresh set of tears settles at the corners of your eyes, because that’s the part you never learned growing up—that the love of the people close to you was not supposed to be conditional.

Bucky’s thumb brushes beneath your eye. “And I’m really, really sorry, sweetheart.” His voice full of genuine regret. “I hate that I made you feel small for even a second.”

You shake your head urgently, not liking his expression. “You didn’t mean to, Jamie.”

“Yet I still did it.” He shifts slightly beneath you then, settling you more comfortably against his chest before continuing quietly.

“Next time one of us gets too worked up, we stop.” His tone is thoughtful now, already trying to build something safer for you with his bare hands. “Nobody keeps pushing the conversation just to win it. We sit down, we breathe, maybe hold each other if that’s what you need, and then we talk when it actually feels like us again instead of our anger. How’s that sound?”

You nod eagerly, before letting out the tiniest watery chuckle against his shoulder.

“That sounds very therapist of you.”

Bucky huffs a soft laugh of his own through his nose. “Probably because I’m thinking real hard how I never wanna be the reason my girl cries like this again.”

A sob threatens to spill out at the pain beneath his words, so you press your face against his neck insistently—as if that could physically stop your own anguish. Bucky plants a gentle kiss on your temple.

“And if I ever get loud again,” he continues with quiet embarrassment, brows pinching in guilt. “You tell me straight away, okay? There are no excuses for it. Don’t sit there holding it on your own while I’m thinking everything’s fine.”

You nod slowly. “I can do that.”

“Promise?” He mumbles, teasingly pushing the tip of his nose against yours.

“Promise.” You leave a tiny peck on the corner of his mouth and only then does some of the tension finally leave him.

His hand slides upwards, fingertips scratching lightly at your scalp just how you like, a soft sigh escaping him at the feeling of your body melting against his. 

“You okay now, babygirl?” The whispered question comes out so sweetly, so sincerely worried, that it nearly brings you to tears all over again.

He gets a simple nod as an answer, and that’s enough for him to understand you are still quite overwhelmed to communicate with words. Bucky considers your body for a moment, his eyes moving carefully over you like he needs to be absolutely certain before he believes it. Your shoulders are no longer drawn up near your ears, and your hands have loosened, clutching lightly at his shirt instead of gripping it desperately. Your breathing has finally settled as well, slower and steadier against his chest. Even your eyes have lost their heat, no longer shiny with panic but tired and present in the moment. Only when he seems fully convinced that you are no longer bracing for something awful to happen does his expression finally ease.

“I got you,” he murmurs quietly against your forehead. “Even when we get things wrong, I still got you.”

Later that night, long after your chagrin has faded and dinner has finally been eaten cold straight from reheated plates, you lie on him with your ear resting directly over his heartbeat. Usually Bucky melts into the sheets whenever you cuddle him like this. Tonight, he stays strangely rigid beneath you.

Lifting your head slightly, you look at his handsome features kissed by the dim, warm light coming from the lamp on his nightstand.

“Jamie?” His fingers pause where they have been tracing absently along your spine, eyes fixed emptily on the TV screen.

“Hm?” He blinks once, hastily turning toward you, like your voice had suddenly pulled him out of whatever thought he had disappeared into.

“You alright?”

The silence that stretches afterward allows anxiety to creep onto the edge of your ribs, before he carefully maneuvers the both of you so you are lying on your sides, facing each other.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.” His jaw clenches before he meets your eyes.

“Were you scared of me?”

You almost flinch back. “What?”

“Tonight.” He grunts, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Or before. At any point.”

You stare at him in genuine disbelief. “Bucky—”

“I know I ain’t exactly…” He huffs. “Mr. Friendly with strangers.”

You snort softly because the statement sounds so painfully sincere.

“I’m serious, doll.” His gaze absently lands somewhere on your collarbone. “Most people think I’m angry before I even open my mouth.”

You frown at the tinge of sadness in his voice.

“And then tonight happened,” he continues quietly. “You flinched when I raised my voice and—”

“That wasn’t because of you.” You quickly correct him.

“But I can’t stand that your body reacted like that around me.”

You push yourself upward, cupping his face between your hands until he finally looks at you properly. “James Buchanan Barnes,” you whisper solemnly. “I have never been scared of you. And never will.”

His expression softens at the full name.

“You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe.” His eyes still refuse to meet yours, but from the blush settling high on his cheeks, you reckon it’s out of shyness rather than bitter insecurity.

“You know what I see when I look at you?” He shakes his head once. “I see a good,” you murmur softly. “Gentle, patient man.” Your voice lowers even further at that, warmth blooming through your chest when he finally looks at you. 

“You always reach for my hand before we cross a street without even thinking about it. You remember which side of the bed I sleep better on; you peel oranges for me because you know I hate the smell on my fingers, and you always turn the porch light on before I get to your house so I never have to walk up in the dark alone.” An adoring grin tugs at your mouth then. “You look at me like I’m the prettiest girl in the world. All the time—even when I’m exhausted and cranky and covered in glitter glue from school projects.” 

“So no, Bucky. I don’t think there’s anything about you to be scared of.” You sigh dreamily, lying back down. “You’re my Jamie.”

He swallows hard, jaw tightening for a moment as he fights for control over the tears threatening to spill.

“I love you.” He whispers abruptly, like he can’t hold it back anymore.

Your breath hitches, and then your smile breaks open so wide your cheeks start to ache. “I love you too, Jamie.”

The second the words leave your mouth, Bucky is pulling you over him for a feverish kiss that steals the oxygen from your burning lungs.

That night, he carefully rolls until he’s the one resting on your chest, his arms locked securely around your waist. And for the first time in your life, disagreement ends with someone offering silence as a space to settle instead of weaponizing it.

ᥫ᭡. WHEN HE THINKS ABOUT FOREVER You are sitting with crossed legs on the couch in one of Bucky’s flannels and thick socks, Alpine dramatically sprawled on your lap as one tiny paw stretches lazily beneath your chin. Her purring is loud enough to vibrate through your ribs every time your fingers drag slowly through her white fur. She arrived in the middle of January wrapped inside one of Bucky’s old flannels, small enough that at first you mistook her for some white bundle of fabric against his chest. You still remember the way he had stepped through the front door that evening with rainwater clinging to the shoulders of his jacket and damp locks at the nape of his neck, one large hand carefully cupped beneath the trembling kitten like he was afraid she might dissolve if he held her too tightly.

“Found her near the south fence,” he had explained quietly while you fretted over them, your heart already breaking at the sight of the little thing. “No collar. Could barely stop shivering to eat.”

Alpine had looked miserable then, all wide blue eyes and soaked fur, but the second you reached for her, she had pushed her tiny face straight into your palm with a desperate little squeak that made Bucky huff a soft laugh. And that was it for you.

Months later, Alpine rules the farmhouse like she personally pays the mortgage. She follows Bucky everywhere when he is home, winding around his boots while he cooks or trying to climb directly into his lap whenever he sits down for more than five minutes. But with you she turns even softer, almost spoiled in the way she melts instantly against your affection. The moment you walk through the front door, she is meowing to be picked up, trotting across the hardwood floors before you even have time to take your shoes off. Sometimes she is eagerly waiting on the back of the couch like she somehow heard your car turn into Bucky’s lane.

He pretends to find it deeply offensive.

“Think she likes you more’n me now.” He had grumbled once while watching Alpine stretch shamelessly in your arms instead of his. You laughed, finding him extremely adorable.

“She sees you every day.”

“Exactly,” he had replied, narrowing his eyes at the cat like she had personally betrayed him. “And apparently that means nothing anymore.”

Tonight is no different.

“There’s my pretty girl,” you murmur as your hands delicately cradle her face. “Yes, there she is. Sweet baby.” Alpine answers by shoving her tiny face directly beneath your chin.

“Oh, you want more attention?” You gasp theatrically. “What a shocking development!”

From the doorway, Bucky watches the entire thing unfold in silence with the shadow of a fond smile lingering on his lips, one shoulder leaning against the frame separating the living room from the kitchen and thick arms crossed loosely over his chest. There is dirt still faintly smudged along one forearm from work outside, his flannel pushed up to his elbows, hair still slightly messy from where he dragged his fingers through it earlier. But all of that roughness fades beneath the look in his eyes. Because you are sitting there treating that tiny stray kitten like she hung the moon. Carefully kissing her head. Adjusting the blanket around her. Holding her with such tenderness, like this is the only language your body knows how to speak.

“Needy thing.” You murmur affectionately before pressing another kiss between her ears.

“You say that like you’re any better.”

The sound of Bucky’s teasing voice makes you glance up immediately. Alpine notices him too, her ears perking instantly before she lets out a tiny chirp of recognition. Still, she makes absolutely no attempt to leave your arms. The floor creaks softly beneath his boots as he finally pushes away from the doorway and walks toward the couch. You give him a sweet smile before your attention drops back to the kitten currently trying to chew on the sleeve hanging over your hand.

“Your daughter is biting me again.” Bucky snorts quietly as he lowers himself beside you, one arm immediately stretching around your shoulders.

“My daughter?” He repeats, pulling you closer. “That cat stopped being mine the second you started baby-talking her.”

“Mmh, that’s not true.”

“Princess, you carried her around this house for three hours yesterday because she sneezed once.”

You frown. “She was sick.”

“She had dust on her nose.”

You gasp softly in mock offense while Alpine flips onto her back, completely unconcerned with the argument happening over her custody. Bucky watches you scratch carefully beneath her chin, your entire face softening without restraint every time she purrs louder. Something in his chest pulls so hard it almost feels unfair, because you have no idea how gorgeous you look, and that he could stand there for hours just watching you pour your love out so freely.

Bucky reaches down then, scratching gently beneath Alpine’s chin until the kitten practically melts in your lap. “She sits in front of the door when you leave, y’know.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “She does not.”

“Mhm.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Walks around crying for twenty minutes like her entire life just fell apart.”

“That’s dramatic.” You tell her with an exaggerated pout.

“Says the woman holding her like an actual infant.”

You look down instinctively. She has, in fact, moved to lie against your chest beneath the blanket with only her tiny head visible. “… Okay maybe a little.”

Bucky chuckles softly, the sound settling warm and deep inside your chest. You eventually notice his silence as somewhere deeper in the house the dryer hums low and steady. The air smells faintly like coffee and detergent and the water lily and sheer musk candle you lit earlier before sunset. When Alpine decides it’s time for the second round against the buttons of the flannel, your smile fades gradually as you become aware that Bucky’s still looking at you.

“What?” You ask softly. He blinks once like he has to pull himself back into the room.

“Nothing.” He murmurs automatically, though it’s very clearly not nothing.

Your eyes narrow a little. “James.”

His expression shifts then, softening even further until it almost looks thoughtful, his gaze drifting toward Alpine.

“I keep picturing something,” he breathes out absently. “Not in a big, dramatic way. Just… small things stacked together.”

Your breath catches quietly.

“Waking up,” he continues, almost like he can see it somewhere in front of him. “And not having to rush outta bed right away. Coffee that gets cold because neither of us remembers it’s there. A kitchen that’s too full of noise for how early it is.” His frame moves with the faint breath of amusement that slips through his lips, but it never breaks the softness of the moment.

“And coming home at the end of the day knowing it doesn’t matter how it went out there,” he adds more quietly, finally meeting your eyes. “Because there’s still you here.”

You can barely breathe now, your heart doing a strange little stutter. He says it so easily. Like these thoughts have existed inside him for a long time already. Like he’s visited them before and kept coming back to them over and over again.

Bucky shifts slightly closer on the couch without even seeming aware he is doing it, his free hand settling warm on your knee, his thumb brushing back and forth on your bare skin.

“I don’t know all the details yet,” he whispers, eyes moving from your eyes to your lips. “But I know it keeps coming back to the same thing. You being here. That’s the part my mind doesn’t change.”

Bucky leans closer until his forehead finally rests against yours. “If someday you decide you want kids, I’ll build something bigger for us. A place with too much noise, toys everywhere and muddy boots by the front door.” His smile grows almost boyishly giddy now, soft laughter warming his words. “Maybe a little boy with your eyes... and a little girl with your smile.”

Your chest rises sharply, your love for this sweet man soaring so suddenly in your heart it almost hurts. Tears burn hot behind your eyes before you can stop them.

“And if you don’t want that,” he continues gently, certain that every path still leads to you anyway. “Then we’ll keep the farmhouse just the way it is and spoil every animal we’ve got. Those damn ducks already act like they’re running the place anyway.” A watery laugh escapes you despite the lump in your throat, and Bucky smiles at the sound, his nose brushing lightly against yours.

“You wanna travel? We’ll travel. You wanna stay here forever teaching little ones while I complain about tractors and rain?” His hand squeezes your knee once. “Fine too.” Then the teasing fades from his expression entirely.

“Any future is right if you’re in it.”

Your vision blurs completely to the point a few small tears escape anyway, Bucky reaching up almost instinctively with his rough thumb to carefully brush away the wetness beneath one eye.

“I love you,” he whispers, thick with emotion. “I just need you.”

You stare at him for one helpless second before you finally cup his face.

“I love you too, Jamie.” You manage shakily, chuckling at how wobbly your voice must sound.

And yet, you couldn’t care less, because his lips are on yours—soft, reverent. One hand moves on your waist while the last rays of sunset spill warm gold across the walls around you.

Alpine promptly puts her front paws on your chest halfway through like she refuses to be excluded from this sweet moment. You feel Bucky laugh gently against your mouth at the feeling of fur brushing against his neck, but even then, he stays close enough that your foreheads still touch.

“Everything else,” he murmurs quietly, like a promise made as much to himself as to you. “Can figure itself out around that.”

— ⟢ END NOTES: as I mentioned in another post, nowadays it’s hard to find someone who is willing to put real effort into a relationship, but with this story I wanted to focus on the more positive side of dating—especially how someone like this reader, kinda insecure and with little relationship experience, might navigate certain situations for the first time + the degree of trust it takes to let yourself be vulnerable for the first time with someone. honestly there was so much more that I wanted to write, but because of the 1000 blocks limit, I had to cut out many scenes, shorten the smutty parts and make longer paragraphs (hope it doesn't look bad). I also intend to further explore the non-sexual d/s dynamic in other stories, because this one-shot was just a collection of moments so I thought it'd be better to keep it pretty tame. what was your favorite moment 🥰? thank you so much for reading 💕 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

The Rogers' backyard was, for all intents and purposes, the hottest wedding venue in town. 

At least if anyone asked nine-year-old you and 11-year-old Bucky, as much was true. 

The cracked sidewalk leading to the clothesline was the aisle, peony and dandelion flower beds were the decorations. The old apple tree was the altar at which Steve stood taller on an upside down wooden crate, one of your father's old dress shirts over his shoulders to pretend he was a preist, or a pope, or some sort of higher entity able to witness this whole thing. 

Bucky had one of your dad's suit jackets on, the navy fabric completely swallowing his frame, overlapping at the front and masking the Yankees jersey he had on, and all the dirt and grass stains on it. 

You had a pillowcase that definitely needed to be in the hamper for laundry day pinned to your hair with your favorite hair clips, of a little crystal blue butterfly. 

"Everybody be quiet," Steve announced, nose high up in the air like he was presenting a case to the Supreme Court. "This is serious business."

"It is serious business," you agreed immediately, failing to bite back a grin, missing your top right canine tooth.

One that Bucky held your hand the whole time so you'd let Steve run away with the string and pull it out. 

"We are gathered here today because Bucky and my sister wanted to play wedding instead of baseball."

"You said you'd play too!" you accused. 

Steve ignored and just kept going. "Now, Bucky Barnes." He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice lower. "Do you promise to be nice to her forever, always save her a seat to watch fireworks on my birthday, and never eat the last s'more?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, his dimple coming out as he smiled wth the side of his mouth. "Yeah," he said simply. "I promise."

You raised your brow, mock-scolding him. "You're supposed to say I do."

"Okay, yes," Your heart did an odd flip. "I do."

Steve then turned to you next. "And do you promise to be nice to Bucky forever, not tell Mrs. Barnes when he sneaks cookies before dinner, and always let him have the red Popsicle if there's only one left?"

"But they're the best ones!" You whined. 

Steve sighed, ever the dramatic, looking at Bucky with fake sorrow. "Okay, then I guess you don't love him as much as—"

That set panic in your little heart. "I do! I do!" His face changed immediately, and Bucky smiled at you. 

The kind of smile that always made you feel like maybe the sun shined a little brighter on your side of the street than everybody else's.

Steve smiled, as if everything was back on track. "Now, for the rings."

Bucky dug into his pocket and produced two dandelions he'd twisted into little circles. Your eyes widened. "You made those?"

He nodded, brown hair bouncing up and down his head with the gesture. "Took me forever, but they're your favorites."

He held one carefully between his fingers before sliding it onto yours with all the concentration in the world.

"You made me a flower ring." Your grin stretched so wide your cheeks hurt.

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah."

Steve interrupted your thoughts, "Okay, okay. By the power in this vest… or in me, whatever they say in movies, you are now married." He pointed at Bucky. "No cooties." Then at you. "And don't make him play tea party every day."

Your stomach did that weird fluttery thing it always did around Bucky Barnes. It did the same thing when you rode rollercoasters, felt like it was gonna fly away and take you with it. 

"You may now high-five the bride." Steve announced, stepping down from the crate. 

Bucky extended his pinky towards you, "We'll be best friends forever."

"No take-backs." You smiled, wrapping your pinky around his.

TEN YEARS LATER

As time passed, you grew up. You got new interests, all of you got new friends, and the found family you had just seemed to get bigger. Of course, you weren't as close with Bucky anymore, no college sophomore wants to hang out constantly with his best friend's kid sister.

It's kind of uncool.

The house was loud in that familiar, comfortable way—the kind of loud that doesn’t feel chaotic so much as lived-in. Every sound has a place. Every voice belongs. Bucky, as much as he isn't family by blood, grew up running up and down these stairs the same you and Steve did, as Steve did in his house. 

Both of your moms were best friends since diapers, and it was only fate that Bucky and Steve were too. 

The kitchen doorway had his height and age and name scratched on it just the same as it did yours, he knew that house in the dark just as much as Steve, trying to sneak around to get snacks during late nights playing video games. 

Controller clicks. Steve muttering under his breath. Bucky’s low laugh every time he wins—because of course he’s winning.

“Dude, you’re cheating,” Steve groans, tossing his controller down for a second.

“I’m just better than you,” Bucky shoots back easily, stretched out on the couch like he owns the place, long legs kicked up, completely at home.

He always is.

Him and Steve drove back home from their Sophomore college parties for your graduation weekend, still half-running on energy drinks and bad decisions from the night before, which just happened to fall in the same one as your prom, only separated by three days. 

They could hear your speaker booming in your bathroom while you got ready with your two best friends, Yelena and Kate, and Natasha, Steve's girlfriend, helped you with your makeup. 

It was a mix of Megan Thee Stallion playing and giggles coming from the three of you, your two best friends gushing over their dates.

Makeup scattered across the counter. Curling iron plugged in and dangerously close to knocking something over. Dresses half-hanging, half-draped over the shower rod.

And Natasha’s laugh, warmer, older, threaded through all of it as she tried to keep things somewhat under control.

Kate is perched on the edge of the tub, kicking her heels against the porcelain. Yelena is leaning into the mirror, fixing her lip gloss with unnecessary intensity.

And you—

You’re standing between them, half-finished, dress still unzipped, hair clipped up, trying to decide if you feel as good as you’re supposed to.

“Okay, no—seriously,” Kate says, pointing at you like she’s making a case in court. “John is going to lose his mind.”

Yelena hums in agreement. “He already looks at you like he has no thoughts.”

You laugh, a little breathy. “That’s not even true.”

“It is completely true,” Kate insists.

“You’re just saying that.”

“We are not just saying that,” Yelena shoots back.

Natasha, standing behind you, gently brushes powder along your cheek, more focused than the rest of them—but she’s listening. And she notices there's a sparkle in your eye that's missing when John's the subject. 

He's nice, he's good looking, he's captain of your football team, maybe he has some anger issues with other guys, but all in all he's a solid boyfriend. He's just not—

“Alright,” Natasha says finally, pulling you from your thoughts, lightening her tone again. “Turn around. Let me see the full thing.”

You do as she asks, and she takes in her work of art, your hopeful eyes, and the soft blownout curls of your hair framing your face. 

"Perfect!"

Careful with your steps as she reaches for the zipper, pulling it up your back slowly, sealing you into the dress, into the night, into everything that’s supposed to happen.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door. "You girls alive in there?" Steve calls. "Or did the hairspray fumes get you?"

"We're decent!" Natasha calls back.

Steve pokes his head in for a second. "Oh."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

His expression shifts immediately into something resembling offense. "What happened to my little sister?"

"Oh my God." You snorted. 

Steve's broad frame now came into full view in the tiny bathroom as he stood on the dorway. "Who is this grown woman and where did she put the gremlin that used to steal my fries?"

You rolled you eyes. "I'll still steal your fries."

He shakes his head. "You look beautiful, Bug."

Your expression softens. "Thanks, Stevie."

As Pietro and Bob scrolled their phones impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, making small talk with Steve and Bucky, you were almost wearing a path into the carpeted floor of your bedroom.

Seconds after he was supposed to arrive with the other two, he texted you some shitty excuse as to why he was taking Olivia, his ex, to prom instead. 

“I was gonna explain,” John says finally, like that makes it better.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Explain what? That you’re ditching me the night of prom?”

“I’m not ditching you,” he says quickly, defensive already. “It’s just—Olivia asked me to go with her and it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeat, your grip tightening around your phone. “John, it’s prom. We’ve had this planned for weeks.”

“I know, I know,” he says, exhaling like you’re the one making this difficult. “But she’s going through stuff right now and I don’t wanna make things worse.”

Your chest tightens. “So you thought canceling on me last minute wouldn’t make things worse?”

“That’s not what I said.”

You huffed. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

He goes quiet again for a second, and you can practically hear him thinking—calculating—trying to figure out how to spin it in a way that makes him look less like the bad guy.

“Look,” he says finally, voice shifting into something more controlled, “you’re gonna have fun no matter what. You’ve got your friends, it’s not like you’ll be alone.”

The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.

Because they’re so easy for him. So dismissive.

“So that’s it?” you ask, quieter now, but it wavers anyway. “You just—drop me and go with her, and I’m supposed to be fine with that?”

“I’m not dropping you,” he insists again, frustration creeping in. “It’s one night.”

“It’s prom,” you snap, the word catching in your throat. “It’s not just some random thing, John.”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” he shoots back.

That’s what does it.

Your eyes sting, tears blurring your vision as you shake your head even though he can’t see it. “I’m making it a big deal?” you echo. “You’re the one who decided, what, an hour before we’re supposed to leave, that I don’t matter as much as your ex?”

“It’s not like that,” he says, sharper now. “You’re twisting it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you say, your voice breaking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “You just told me exactly where I stand.”

He exhales, long and annoyed, like he’s already over the conversation. “You’re being dramatic. The words land like a slap. And for a second, you can’t even respond.

“Okay,” you say finally, and your voice is quieter now, but steadier in a way that feels final. “Okay. Go with her.”

“—See? That’s all I’m saying, it’s not that—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head again, even though he still can’t see you. “I get it now.”

There’s a shift on his end, like he didn’t expect that. “Wait—”

“Have fun at prom, John.”

And before he can say anything else, you hang up.

The silence that follows is immediate and heavy, pressing in around you as you stare at your reflection, your chest rising and falling too fast, your phone still clutched in your hand.

For a second, you just stand there. And then your face crumples, and the tears come before you can stop them. 

Great. You think. An hour of Natasha's hard work gone in two seconds. 

You ripped a couple squares of toiled paper off of the roll, trying to dab away the tears when a knock interrupted you. You didn't even have time to tell whoever it was to leave you alone, the door opened anyway. 

And of course it was Bucky. 

"Hey, Walker finally—" Then he saw your face. The red rimmed eyes, the puffy nose and lips, he'd recognize your crying face if he was in a dark room blindfolded and you were three states away. "What happened?"

His voice wasn't panicked our loud, just immediate. 

"Apparently my boyfriend had a better offer." You said with a humorless laugh, fiddling with the corner of the tissue. 

His expression then changed to confusion, then disbelief, then anger. "He did what?"

Your eyes stayed on the paper, humiliated. "He took his ex to prom instead." It sounds ridiculous out loud. Embarrassing. "I know it's stupid—"

He shook his head. "It's not stupid."

You shrugged one shoulder anyway. "It kind of is."

"It kind of isn't." Bucky insisted. 

Your laugh broke apart into another shaky breath. "He said I was being dramatic." Your voice was small, like a small part of you almost believed John. 

"No the fuck he didn't." Bucky's voice, on the contrary, sounded like he was about to make sure John was in three zipcodes at the same time.

You wiped at your face furiously. "Can we not do the whole protective older brother routine thing right now? Steve's probably already planning a felony downstairs."

Bucky nodded, as if agreeing that yes, Steve should be planning felonies. "Good."

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. "Bucky."

"I'm serious." He took the couple steps needed to lean back against the sink, back to the mirror, while you faced it. The familiar weight of him beside you settled something in your chest. "You know what I think?" he asks.

You sniffled. "What?"

"I think he's an idiot."

You snort. "Very eloquent."

"You spent weeks excited about tonight." You shrug. "You talked about your dress for months." A smaller shrug, your head shaking like you agreed with him three weeks was a little excessive. "And some guy decides at the last second that he doesn't feel like showing up?"

His eyes looked for yours, and he continued once you met his gaze. "That's his loss." 

Downstairs someone was shouting something about finding the car keys. "I just feel stupid."

His brows furrowed immediatelly. "Why?"

"Because I was excited." The words came out smaller than you meant them to. "I really thought tonight was gonna be special."

Bucky's expression softens. "It still can be."

You laughed weakly. "My date literally dumped me an hour before prom."

"Okay." He says, like the solutions is obvious. Like a dragon staring you in the face. 

You were confused. "Okay?"

"Okay." He stands up straight. "Counterpoint." You raise an eyebrow. "I've seen enough terrible teen movies to know where this goes." Despite yourself, curiosity wins.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah." He nodded, and started counting on his fingers. "Option one: you go with your friends and have an incredible time."

"Mm." An amused smile played on your lips. 

He continued. "Option two: Steve commits a crime."

You smiled widened. "Likely."

"Or a secret, better option three—"

You quirked a brow. "There are three options?"

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully. "There are always three options." You gestured for him to continue and he grinned. "Option three: some devastatingly handsome college sophomore heroically steps in and saves prom."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Bucky Barnes."

"What?" 

"You are not asking me to prom."

"Why not?"

"Because that's ridiculous." You stammered. "You're a college guy and it's gonna be a bunch of drunk high school seniors and—"

"Seems pretty straightforward to me."

You crossed your arms over your chest, the action making your breasts stand out more, and Bucky had to hold back from looking briefly. "You drove eight hours home from college."

"Correct."

"You haven't slept." Another excuse.

"Also correct."

Truth is… You didn't trust yourself not to ruin your friendship, and Steve's, with Bucky as your date. Yes it was a childhood crush, yes it was stupid, yes he only saw you as a little sister, but for some reason every time you smelled sandalwood and listened to divorced dad rock, your stomach did the same fucking thing it always did.

It flipped. 

"I'm serious." The grin on his face faded into something gentler. "You shouldn't miss your prom because some idiot couldn't see what was standing right in front of him."

Your throat tightens. "I don't want a pity Bucky Barnes date."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Bucky shook his head. "I want to go to a high school prom sleep deprived, listen to bad music, and drink shitty punch."

You pretended to think about it. "I want milkshake and fries from Juniper's after."

Bucky got down on his knees dramatically, clutching his hands together, play-begging. "Please, let me spend my hard earned student loans on a malted brownie shake for you, m'lady."

You signed, as if you weren't blushing seven shades of red at the moment, all hidden by Natasha's foundation. "I suppose."

After Nat talked Steve down from whatever Law Abiding Citizen crap he was gonna pull, Bucky borrowed one of your dad's suits while you touched up your makeup, and off into his jeep you went. 

Bucky lingered back as he watched you walk to the old car excitedly, Natasha stopping right beside him as your friends walked to their cars, watching you get twirled by Kate. 

Bucky noticed Natasha staring at him and raised a brow in question. "What?"

She gave a noncommittal noise. "Nothing."

"Romanoff." Bucky scoffed.

She put her hands up in surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"You've got the face."

Now it was her turn to raise a brow, trying to bite back a grin. "What face?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "The face where you've figured something out before everyone else."

Nat shrugged her shoulders. "I always figure something out before everyone, Bucky." Tapping him on the shoulder and turning arounfd to go inside. 

The prom commitee worked very hard to make sure the night looked exactly like every movie promised it would.

String lights draped from the ceiling of the gymnasium like stars somebody had caught and hung overhead. Balloons clustered in the corners. A photo booth occupied one wall. The basketball hoops had been disguised beneath enough tulle and fairy lights to fool almost everyone.

Turns out, getting ditched by John Walker was the best thing that ever happened to your prom night. You didn't even notice when Olivia was cryingin the bathroom because she caught him making out with someone else. 

No. 

You were too busy slow dancing with Bucky Barnes.

When the first chorus of the song came on, he held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a dork."

"Tick tock, Rogers." He wiggled his fingers impatiently.

You took his hand as if it didn't make your fingers go numb with excitement, and Bucky quickly nestled a hand on your low back, your forehead to the side of his jaw. 

"You know," Bucky said after a minute, "this is definitely better than my prom when I was your age."

"Okay, grandpa." You laughed softly. "What happened at your senior prom?"

"My date spent forty-five minutes crying in the bathroom because her friend wore the same shoes she did."

You clicked your tongue. "That's tragic."

"It was devastating." Bucky agreed, nodding his head, laughing softly. 

You nudged his jaw. "I'll try to hold it together."

"I appreciate that."

A moment passed, then another, and you spoke up. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"Anytime." He let out a soft breath, leaning back the slightest bit so he could look at you. "You do look beautiful, I mean it."

Thank fuck for Natasha's foundation, powder, and concealer for hiding your flush. "Thank you, Bucky." Oh how you wished you hadn't looked into his pretty eyes, reflecting the lights off of the mirrorball back onto the dancefloor. 

The ten seconds seemed to stretch an entire decade. Somehow Bucky's face getting closer and closer to yours, eyes switching from your lips back to your eyes and to your lips again. 

Oh my God, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, he's gonna—

"Hey." The word cut through the moment like broken glass. Fucking John Walker. King of never in the history of the world reading anything. Specialy the fucking room. "Can we talk?"

Bucky's hand tightened around your waist, "What do you want, John? Olivia is probably looking for you."

"C'mon, baby, you're not gonna throw our relationship away over one bad call, are you?" He was seriously trying to play this off. "I made a mistake." His hand reached for you but you stepped away. 

"I'm not your baby."

He scoffed. "Aw, c'mon." And tried again. 

This time, Bucky got between you two. "She's done, Walker. Walk away."

Now John got… Defensive. "This isn't any of your business."

Bucky clicked his tongue. "She kind of is." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The air stood still for a minute before the football bros came to get John, leaving you and Bucky with the weight of unsaid words and unspoken looks. 

Juniper's was closed by the time you finally left prom.

Not closed enough to stop Bucky from leaning halfway out of the driver's side window and convincing one of the employees locking up to sell him two milkshakes and an order of fries out of pure pity.

It wasn't until you were stargazing in his jeep with soft music from his Spotify mixing with the crickets hiding in the grass that your heart settled again. 

You were in the passenger seat, your burger already eaten, just finishing your delicious fries and your milkshake with Bucky in the same predicament in the driver's seat. 

Now the two of you sat on the hood of his Jeep in the empty parking lot overlooking the river, the New York spring air cool enough that your bare shoulders prickled every time the wind picked up.

Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You blushed. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "'M not using it."

"You literally had it on 30 seconds ago." You rolled your eyes. Bucky just muttered details between a mouthful of fries. 

"You know," you said eventually, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured prom going."

Bucky laughed quietly. "No?"

"I don't know. There was significantly less public humiliation in the original draft." You laughed softly. "But I like this version better."

Bucky nodded. "I had fun."

You looked over. "Yeah?" Hopeful little edge in your voice giving you away to anyone that knew you remotely well. 

"Yeah." His expression softened. "Got to dance with a pretty girl."

Heat climbed into your cheeks immediately. "You flirt with everybody." You rolled your eyes. 

Bucky made an offended expression, clutching his chest. "I absolutely do not."

"You absolutely do." You lolled you head to the side, raising a brow to make your point. He laughed.

God, you loved his laugh. Always had. The thought came and went so quickly you almost didn't notice it.

Your eyes drifted back toward the sky. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"Hm?" He lifted his eyes from the milkshake cup he was trying to get every last bit out of. 

"The meteor shower."

Bucky smiled immediately. "Oh man."

You grinned. "You remember?"

"Remember?" Bucky chuckled. "I had baseball tryouts the next day and I was up all night to make sure you didn't miss it."

It stopped you dead in your tracks. He did what? "No, you didn't. Your mom came and woke us up."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, because I woke her up. I was outside waiting for it while you and Steve snoozed it off. Played like shit the next morning." He continued. "You had the date circled on the calendar."

Your brow furrowed. "I did?"

He nodded. "You drew stars around it."

"Oh my God."

Bucky chuckled, his own head lolling to the side on the head rest to look at you. "You made Steve and I promise we wouldn't stay up late the night before because we had to be rested."

You buried your face in your hands. "That sounds insufferable."

"It was kinda cute." He smiled at you like he always did, and your heart promptly forgot how to function. Bucky, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the devastation he'd just caused.

Trying so desperately to change the subject to something that wouldn't make you tear up or your heart jump, you fiddled with your milkshake, taking a sip and making a face. "You know, I think this thing is eighty percent whipped cream."

Bucky grinned. "I can see that, it's all over your face." His left thumb came up to wipe down the leftover shake on the corner of your mouth, and it lingered just a second too long. 

For a second, or three years, the world felt like it stilled. A moment frozen in a snow globe to be forever replayed. 

Neither of you moved, not entirely sure how to. Suddenly Bucky was very close, close enough to see the tiny scar in his eyebrow from falling off his bike when he was fourteen, to count the freckles dusting across his nose, enough that you could feel your heartbeat somewhere in your throat.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up, and your heart and lungs stumbled over themselves. 

His hand lowered slowly, resting on your thigh. The night around you seemed quieter somehow. Smaller, as if the entire world had narrowed down to the space between you.

"Buck..." His name came out softer than you intended.

His expression shifted into something you'd never seen directed at you before. "If you don't want—"

And then your body moved forward on instinct, your brain a mess of fuzzy TV static, and when you came back to your body, your lips were on his.

Not because you were brave or even confident, just mostly because if you let him finish that sentence you thought your heart might actually explode.

For one terrifying second you were convinced you'd made the biggest mistake of your life. Then you felt the warmth of his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips.

The kind of kiss that felt less like fireworks and more like coming home after a very long trip.

One of your hands quickly found the nape of his neck, gently scratching your manicured nails against his scalp. He whined against your lips, hand drifting to your waist, and just as much as he pulled you onto his lap, you climbed over the console to him, food wrappers forgotten on the floor. 

You shrugged the suit jacket off, accidentally honking the horn with your butt in the process, and Bucky's hands rubbed up and down your thighs as you rocked your hips against him, feeling the heat of him against the suit pants. 

Your hands dropped from his shoulders down to his arms, then forearms, directing him to paw at the zipper on the back of your dress.

That made him pull away, looking for your eyes. "Are you—"

You could not have nodded more feverishly if you were a damn bobblehead.

Bucky needed no further incentive, he made quick work of the zipper, excitement bubbling in your stomach like freshly popped champagne while he peppered kisses along your jawline and neck. 

The now bothersome fabric of the dress fell to your waist as you worked on the buttons of his shirt, hands moving to his belt and pants after.

He kissed you again, deeper as his hand snuck under the hem of your dress to find the wet spot on your panties. 

You moaned against his mouth, your own hand finding its way inside of his boxers. You broke the kiss, gasping for air.

"Is this— I mean— okay?" It was hushed and murured against his lips as you stroked his length. "I've never— oh!"

You got rudely interrupted by Bucky's index and middle fingers rubbing your sensitive clit over the blue cotton of your panties.

He nodded against you, "Y-yeah, you're— fuck— you're doing so good."

His hips bucked up against you, and the second he slipped out of his pants with your movements his hand left your core and now were both squeezing your ass.

Bucky brought you flush against him, the angry red tip of him begging for friction found it when you started to dry hump him through your underwear, gasping into his mouth every time it nudged your clit.

"Bucky, please…" He couldn't not give you what you wanted, right? "I can't take it." Not when you begged this pretty.

He nodded against you, "I know, baby." And his right hand went under your dress, behind you, and pulled your panties to the side. "I know."

The second his bare cock made contact with your wet slit, he hissed, and a lightbulb went off in his head.

Condom.

He did not trust himself to pull out. Not of you. "Condom." His voice was almost distant to you, like it hadn't crossed your mind to use protection. Not with Bucky, anyway. He'd never hurt you, he was your—

"I—" You were dazed, lost and drunk in the scent and thought and feel of him. "My purse."

His hands let you go and you leaned over the seat to grab your purse from the backseat, your ass right beside Bucky's head. 

Of course he took advantage of that fully pull your panties down, now that you had the leg space. 

You sat back down on top of him with a little huff, trembling hands fumbling with the wrapper.

Bucky hissed as you rolled it down on him, and one of his hands lined himself up with your entrance.

As you sank down on him, you thought maybe you should've thought twice about it. I mean, you knew he was packing, you walked in on him changing one time a couple years ago, there was no way you could—

"Hey," Bucky's voice brought you back from your spiral. "Look at me." Beautiful cerulean eyes stared up at you like the moonlight was made to bounce off them specifically. "Breathe."

His other hand brushed your hair away from your face, just as the hand that was holding his shaft traveled up, thumb finding your clit rubbing soothing circles on it.

"Just take it slow." Your eyes fluttered closed. 

"How do you not get knocked over hauling this thing around?" That brought a chuckle out of him, landing straight onto the skin of your neck. "Oh, God..."

You rocked yourself back and forth, until he was fully inside of you, your lips touching the light hair at the base. 

Bucky kissed all over your face, his thumb never stopping its work. "You're doing so good, baby."

"Feels full." He laughed softly. squeezing your waist and helping guide you into a rhythm. "Feels good."

"Yeah?" Hushed and right by your ear, you felt like drowning and the happiest person alive at the same time. "You're so tight," He continued. "So warm."

You whined against his lips, the vibration going all the way down to his core.

He moved you up and down his cock, listening to the obscene wet squelch each time you sat up and sank back down on him, and each time it dawned on him what was actually happening, he got louder.

Bolder.

He bounced you on his length, hissing each time, you squeezed around him. "Feel good, Buck. Hah!"

It surprisingly didn't take long for Bucky to have you right at the edge, not as long as people online led you to believe losing your virginity would feel like. "Can feel you fluttering." His thumb worked faster.

"Wanna come, Bucky." You whined, kissing him, and pulling away with his bottom lip between your teeth, "Can I?"

He hissed, the question making it hard for him to not blow his load right then and there. "F'course you can, pretty girl, c'mon."

Your release felt like a million meteors hitting you at once. Like Earth came apart and got put together all in the same breath. 

It felt entirely different, better, than when you tried to do it on your own. And your orgasm triggered Bucky's, waves of pleasure milking rope after rope of cum from him into the unworthy latex of the condom. 

For what it felt like forever for the milionth time that night, neither of you spoke. Your breaths and the crickets were the only sounds. 

It was quiet after. 

Just… quiet.

The kind that only existed when two people had known each other so long that silence wasn't something to fill. Starts lit up the sky that was now your ceiling, and Bucky had taken the condom off and tied it, throwing it inside of the trash with the fry bag and the milkshake cups.

For once in his life, James Buchanan Barnes appeared to be completely out of words.

Which was concerning.

You smiled a little, back in the passenger seat with the suit jacket around your chilly shoulders. "What?"

He glanced over. "Hm?"

"You're thinking too loud." That got a laugh out of him. A quiet one, but still a laugh. "Sorry."

A beat of silence, then another. "I don't want this to ruin anything."

Your smile faltered slightly.

Of course, you thought. Of course he doesn't feel that way about you, why would he—

"Oh, Buck." You faked a smile as his eyes met yours. "We'll be okay."

A sheepish, hopeful look hit his face. "Yeah?"

"Of course." You nodded and reached over and laced your pinky with his. "We're us."

His expression softened when he looked down at your joined fingers. "We're us," he echoed.

You smiled. "We survived Steve's bowl cut phase." You listed off. "The great Thanksgiving mashed potato incident."

"Traumatic." He chuckled.

"The time I accidentally backed your Jeep into Mrs. Russo's mailbox." You continued. 

He scolded you playfully. "You still owe me for emotional damages."

You laughed softly. "We'll be best friends forever."

The words came so naturally, so easily. The same words you'd said years before ona hot day beneath a tree. A pinky promise.

Forever.

Beside you, Bucky went quiet. Of course she wouldn't want anything to do with you, you're her brother's best friend. That shit only works in mov— "Right." His eyes dropped for a moment. "Friends."

Your stomach twisted at the word for the first time in your life. Because why did that sound disappointing?

Why did it sound like something had slipped through your fingers without you realizing you were holding it?

a little bit of fran in your life: okay did we like it??????? it was meant to read like a first chapter but also a standalone in case you wanted to just be done with it. yippieeeeeeee

⤷ masterlist

💌 permanent freaks taglist: @chateaubarnes @houseofhyde @heldbybarnes @iamthatonefangirl @superbassbuck @its-in-the-woods @wildflowersandvibranium @unificsation @flockoff-featherface @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @winterdecember18 @juniebjonesin @barnesonly @bckyslover @buckyfmd @starfire-irl @tw1sters @pinksplace @artficlly @daddysbitchybaby @globetrotter28 @epiphanyrogers @famoushoshi @avgdestitute @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @buckybsdoll @allthingswickedpodcast

When you’d grown tired of just twiddling your thumbs, you finally called Jaxon’s sister, Suze. The phone rang for nearly a full minute before you heard, “...Hello?” She sounded groggy.

“Hey, Suze, just making sure you made it in.”

“Wh—Huh?”

“Jax told me about coming to pick you up, so I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

“He told you what? Sorry, I’m still half asleep—I haven’t seen Jax today.”

You sighed. Honestly, you should’ve known. 

You muttered off apologies to Suze—Sorry, I think I got mixed up, goodnight—before hanging the phone back on the hook so aggressively it rang out in the quiet studio. 

Peeking through the glass into the booth, you watched Eddie, the frontman of the band, pick at his guitar. You couldn’t hear him, but you could tell by the papers crumpled up at his feet and the way he seemed to be singing softly to himself that the new song wasn’t coming along as smoothly as the band had been hoping for.

You heard Gareth and Jeff grumbling about the track as they left earlier. It seemed they were at a stalemate. 

You flopped back onto the sofa, snatching the Rolling Stone magazine from the coffee table. Of course, it was Corroded Coffin’s 1989 issue. You had this exact issue in your apartment, sitting on your coffee table too, actually, but you couldn’t help but drink in the cover like it was the first time you’d seen it.

Eddie stood in the middle, looking down at the camera. His chest was bare, showing the expanse of his pale skin littered with black ink. His guitar rested against his lower half, partially blocking his pants, but the shine of the leather was still noticeable. His fingers, adorned with rings, of course, gripped the neck of the guitar. One eyebrow was quirked slightly beneath his bangs; his lips were parted gently. You could see his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek.

Jax, Jeff, and Gareth were around him, posed similarly, albeit more clothed—almost every rock band of the era was going for this look—but there was something about Eddie that kept drawing your eyes back to him. He oozed charisma and sex appeal, even through the glossy pages. 

You guessed that was why he was the frontman.

You flicked through the magazine, attempting to read the stories but inevitably skimming through them. You’d just read it too many times.

Not long after, the door clicked open and Eddie emerged. 

His hair was sticking up like he’d been running his fingers through it (he probably had been). Despite it being just a studio day with no planned public appearances, he still wore a studded belt and rings on nearly every finger.

He blinked at you, stuttering out your name. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. Jax said you had to go pick up Susan—”

“He,” you corrected, flopping the magazine back atop the table. “He went to get Suze.” You put airquotes around the latter part of your statement. Jax’s behavior wasn’t exactly a secret, so what was the point in even pretending?

Eddie’s forehead wrinkled like he was holding back a wince. “Shit, I’m sorry—and he just what? Left you here?”

“Said he was coming back to get me, but I guess he got too lost in whatever groupie’s pussy—” You sighed, scrubbing your eye with a fist as heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He shot you a small smile. It was laced with something close to pity. “I mean you have every right to be mad, sweetheart; he—” He raised a ringed hand to scratch above his eyebrow. “Honestly, I thought you were done after the Layna incident.”

Layna was a well-known Corroded Coffin groupie. Around a year ago, she’d totally disappeared from the scene, then reappeared three months ago with a baby, claiming Jax was the father. Too bad Jax admitted to fucking her before the paternity test came back negative.

You don’t think you could ever forget the way his face fell when he heard the news—like he’d wanted to be the father. You’d left for around three weeks before coming back that time.

It wasn’t even that you still had feelings for Jax. It’d be impossible for that at this point. It was more so just routine, and sure, maybe it was selfish, but you enjoyed hanging around with the band.

Drinking and hanging out with Jeff’s girlfriend, Livie, at concerts; dinner with Gareth and his wife, Aleah, on Sundays. Sure, you could’ve still hung out with Livie and Aleah without being Jax’s girlfriend, but you wouldn’t have had an excuse to see Eddie anymore. It’d dwindle to only seeing him on paper or grainy television screens.

You couldn’t imagine he’d hang out with his bassist’s ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah. Me too, to be honest.” You sighed. “How’s the song coming? It sounded good earlier.”

Eddie sighed back, moving to plop next to you. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, his eyes closed. “It’s, hah, I dunno.” He turned to look at you. “Missin’ something, I guess.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” You wrung your hands together in your lap, giving him a small smile.

Sitting on the couch like this, your faces were close. You forced yourself to keep your gaze on his nose and above—no glancing down any further. 

But Eddie didn’t abide by this rule. His eyes darted down to your lips. He must’ve not meant to do it because he sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and successfully hiding his face from you. He cleared his throat.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, but before you could answer, he sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions again. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I dunno why I—” He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know why I asked you that. ‘M being unfair.”

“It’s—You’re fine.” You tried to keep your voice steady despite the confusion that was rising within you.

“Can I ask you something?” He was looking at you again.

“Sure.”

“Why are you still with him?”

You blinked. You couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been asking yourself that same question.

“Guess I just got used to it. It’s my routine…” You shook your head. “Honestly, I don’t know. He treats me like shit. Left me to go ‘pick up his sister.’ I called her, and she hadn’t even talked to him. I mean, I already knew he was lying…Well, I figured he was. Still, it–it fucking sucks that he sucks.” You laughed a little, self-pityingly. 

You sighed again. You mumbled, “Dick’s good, I guess.” An afterthought to yourself, really. You weren’t sure why you said it to Eddie Munson of all people. It wasn’t like it made you look any less pathetic—only made it worse, if anything. You dropped your head in shame the moment the words left your mouth. 

Why would you bring up your sex life with your shitty boyfriend to his very attractive bandmate—

“Yeah right.”

Your head snapped up and over to Eddie. For a moment, you thought you might’ve imagined it. “Wh—huh?”

Eddie, who any other time was the opposite of nonchalant, was suddenly cool and composed. He shook his head as one shoulder rose. “Just find that hard to believe, ‘s all.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from retorting,“You some kind of sex expert or something?” Oh God, why did you say that, why did you say that, he’s going to think you’re a total freak—

“Maybe. Never heard that one before, but I haven’t heard any complaints either.” 

Heat rose up your neck. 

Haven’t heard any complaints. 

Suddenly you were plagued with the images of the girls you’d seen leaving Corroded Coffin’s shared apartment. Girls with makeup smeared across their faces, their hair a mess—even then you’d known just sleeping didn’t make you look like that, but you’d forced the thought from your head.

“Know I’m better than your shithead boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

You couldn’t stop your brows from shooting high on your forehead. Eddie was talking about Jax like they weren’t bandmates—weren’t friends. Your thoughts must’ve been clear on your face because Eddie added, huffing out a laugh, “You ever see me get along with him?”

Your gut instinct was to say yes, but the more you mulled it over…had you?

You thought back to last week at the bar. Had you seen Jax and Eddie speak? You could only remember Eddie addressing you. Then, a few weeks earlier, at their apartment for dinner…again, only you. 

Your face flushed. You’d been so caught up in your own interactions with Eddie, you hadn’t even noticed the tension between the two.

“I could be better than him.” Eddie was so close, you could see specks of gold in his eyes. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“What are you saying?” you asked, eyes trailing from the curve of his lips up to where his eyes seemed to be boring into you.

“I think you know what I’m saying.”

“Are you really playing games right—mmph—”

A flash of brown hair was the only warning you received before his lips met your own. Your eyes were wide and you were taken with how soft his lips were. Frozen, you couldn’t get your body to react.

Eddie was kissing you. He was kissing you, and it wasn’t weird. He was kissing you, and he tasted like cherry chapstick and tobacco.

He slowly pulled away, and you realized you hadn’t kissed him back—you’d just sat there, unmoving. His eyes darted away from you. “Oh Christ, I’m sorry I–I don’t know wh—mmph—”

You rushed forward, meeting his lips again. For a moment, like you had been, he was frozen in place, but he quickly relaxed into it. His hand met your hair, and you easily let his tongue into your mouth as his grip tightened on you.

You brought your own hands up to his chest as his hand shifted from your hair to your neck, tugging you closer to him. You moved together, the only sound in the empty room the slick clicks of your mouths.

Eddie pulled back, rubbing his nose against yours. “Can I ask you something?” His thumb was running up and down the side of your throat, and you worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying.

“Ye—” You cleared your throat. “Yeah.”

His eyes left yours. “Feel free to smack the shit out of me if you want—”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He didn’t look convinced, so you added, “I’m not gonna hit you, okay? Just ask.”

“Well,” he started. “I had this idea for the record—”

Okay. Maybe you would smack the shit out of him. “Is now really the time for that?”

“Yeah, actually.” He glanced from you to the recording booth. “The record—What it’s missing—” He sighed before starting again. “I think you can help me.”

You leaned back in his grip to laugh. “Me? I can’t sing, let alone play an instrument. I can’t even play the triangle.” 

“I think you can do the kinda singing I need.” His eyes darted down across your body, and it felt like they’d shot lasers at you.

“Wh—I’m not sure I know what you’re saying.”

“I don’t mean to make assumptions here, sweetheart, but if we, ahem, keep goin’...” He nodded his head as he spoke, clearly choosing his words carefully. “Could we move it to the booth?”

“You mean—” You blinked and gestured a finger at the both of you.

“Yes.” He quickly added, “But only if you want to.”

“But…everybody’ll hear me.”

“Nobody has to know it’s you. I won’t say anything.” A small smile peeked at his lips. “It can be our secret.”

Your secret. Your secret with Eddie. It made you giddy like a schoolgirl to think about. You could be on the song. More specifically, you and Eddie having sex could be on the song. You didn’t want to dwell on why that made your stomach flip and your neck hot. 

Everyone who bought the record would hear you and Eddie. Even before that, the band would hear you and Eddie. The band, including Jaxon, would hear you and Eddie—

“Oh my god Jaxon.” Your stomach flipped again but this time, soured. “I can’t believe I didn’t think about Jaxon—He’ll hear and–and he’ll know—”

“I thought you said you didn’t know why you were still with him?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“This’ll show him he can’t get away with just treating you like this. He’s always blowing you off and treating you like shit. Somebody needs to show him what happens when you take a pretty girl—a good girl—who has always done right by you and you treat her like garbage.” Eddie’s chest was nearly heaving, and he looked down at himself slightly, like he wasn’t sure where all that had come from. “But—I mean—only if you want to. Of course.”

You swallowed. He had a point. I mean, where was Jaxon now? Definitely not with his sister, that was for sure. You thought back to the number of times he’d ditched you and were embarrassed to realize it was easily in the double digits just this month. 

You frowned. When had you decided you were fine with being treated like a doormat? When had you decided that this was what you were worth—

Eddie must’ve interpreted your silence as rejection. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t trying to bash you or–or something. I just—You deserve better.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do this with me. Or–Or you can, but we don’t have to—” He shot a thumb back towards the recording booth. “You can forget I asked. I can figure something out. It’s, uh, not a big deal.”

You wondered what ‘figuring something out’ looked like. Dropping the idea all together and trying something else for the record? Or asking someone else?

Your stomach rolled at the idea of Eddie asking another woman. You knew he wouldn’t have any issues doing so either. Part of you knew it was unfair to be jealous about it, but that didn’t matter. 

You stood from the couch abruptly. You had made your mind up—honestly, you had made your mind up the moment he asked you.

“We can just forget this happened—” he started, but instead of moving towards the exit, you moved towards the door to the booth.

“Are you coming or what?” you asked, narrowly biting back a smirk. 

You’d never seen him move so fast.

You tried to maintain your confidence, but something about Eddie melted it down to mush. “B-But is it—”

“It’s recording, sweetheart; don’t worry.” 

You were both seated on a couch in the recording booth. You hadn’t ever thought of Eddie as muscular per se, but he’d pulled the couch from the studio into the booth effortlessly. 

He cradled your neck as he planted kisses along your throat.

“Oh—Okay.” You were nodding, and you knew you should’ve been embarrassed at how desperate you were from just a few kisses.

Eddie sure didn’t seem to mind. His cool rings pressed against your neck as he pulled you closer to him. You braced yourself with both hands on his shoulders, quickly moving them to caress up and down his shoulders in an attempt to mask the fact you were truly gripping him for dear life.

Getting impatient at the attention your neck was getting, you grabbed his hand from your waist, moving it to your center. You felt his teeth as he smiled against you.

He pulled the button from your pants with one deft hand, and you bit back the jealousy that was stewing. How many women had he practiced on to get that just right? Not that you had any room to talk considering you had a boyfriend, albeit a shitty one, but—

You didn’t have time to overthink when Eddie immediately tucked your panties to the side to run agile fingers up and down your folds. You instantly noticed the calloused pads of his fingertips—that of a guitarist.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned back to rub his nose along your cheekbone. “You get this wet for him, or is this just for me?”

For a moment, a stab of guilt ran up your spine, making you sit up straighter, but it quickly morphed to arousal when you felt the tip of his finger dip into you.

“Eddie, I—mmph—” He trailed his finger back up to dance around your clit, never quite giving you the pressure you needed.

“Yeah? Tell me something, baby.” He was still nosing across your face.

“D-Don’t wanna talk about him.”

“Hm, that’s right. You don’t need him when I’m here, huh?”

You shook your head shamelessly—the wetness between your legs had already given your desperation away.

Eddie smiled. “Sweet girl.”

You leaned into him at the nickname, making him chuckle. 

Suddenly, he took a step back, pulling his hand from your pants, leaving you suddenly cold without the warm touch of his fingers.

Your lower lip jutted out into a pout, and he chuckled at you again. “I know. Here.” He tapped his fingers that had just been at your cunt across your lips. “Get ‘em wet for me, baby.”

You opened your mouth instinctively, wrapping your lips around the digits. Overcome with the desire to be good for him—to even remotely wreck him the way he already had you—you bobbed your head, taking his fingers down to the glittering silver along his knuckles.

He was watching you, his lips slightly parted as you gagged around his fingers. “Knew you’d have a sweet fuckin’ mouth.”

You gagged around him, the sound wet and humiliating, but you couldn’t be embarrassed—not when his mouth lolled open while he watched. You went to bob your head again, but he withdrew his fingers, leaving your mouth empty and waiting.

Without hesitation, he gripped your cheek, four digits on one side, his thumb on the other, as he pulled your mouth to his. He spread your saliva across your cheek with his fingers.

With your chest heaving, you could only peer at him through your lashes.

Eddie paused, drinking in your features. “Is–Is this okay?” He moved like he was going to retract his hand from your face.

You nodded eagerly, grabbing his hand to keep it there. You nuzzled your face towards his hand as best you could with his grip on you. “I—” Your face was warm, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy. “I like it dirty.”

For a split second, you couldn’t read his expression. But then, you noticed the sparkle in his eye. “Yeah? Sweet girl likes it dirty? I should’ve known.” He tilted your chin back. He planted a surprisingly chaste peck on your lips before murmuring, “Open your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, and God, all he could think about was painting your pretty fucking face with his load. Especially when your lips parted so obediently. 

He didn’t hesitate to spit directly into your waiting mouth, not missing the way your thighs pressed together. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed his warm spit, shamelessly removing his wet hand from your face to adjust himself in his jeans.

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” he insisted.

“Yeah.” Your voice came out breathy and high. “Yeah, I like it, Eddie.”

“Fuck,” he practically groaned. “I need to see you.”

You didn’t need to hear anything else, instantly moving to pull your pants down, stumbling about in your attempts to be swift. You felt your face heat, but when you looked over at Eddie, he was too busy pulling his own belt from its loops and shucking his pants down to his ankles, just as desperate.

As if he felt you staring, he suddenly looked up. His hair was unruly against his forehead, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed deeply. His eyes darted from yours, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were dusted pink, but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting.

You lifted your hips to finish pulling your bottoms over the swell of your ass, and Eddie quickly jumped into action. His jeans rustled as he kicked them off his legs. One foot got caught at the bottom, causing him to jump and flail until it flew onto the floor with a thump.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you.

Here was Eddie Munson—rock band frontman, guy you’d seen smash paparazzi cameras for getting too close—dancing around, trying to get his pants down his legs. 

Somehow, he made it not dorky, though. Okay, maybe it was dorky, but he managed to make it charming.

“Whatcha laughing at?” He approached you again.

You would’ve thought Eddie was the type of guy to wear tight black briefs. In your head, he was in a perpetual state of chains and leather. But instead, he wore a pair of loose blue checkered boxers, clearly choosing comfort over his typical garb.

He put his hands against your pants at your knees, looking up at you from beneath his bangs. He raised his eyebrows at you. “Is this okay?” He suddenly sounded worlds smaller.

You nodded incessantly, helping him tug your pants the rest of the way down your calves. He balled them up and threw them in the general direction of where his own pants were. 

You pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, and he quickly got the hint, pulling it over his head. 

You’d seen him shirtless plenty of times. There was the Rolling Stone cover (along with countless other magazines), outdoor Corroded Coffin shows where he’d inevitably end up shirtless, even days when he’d invite the band over to his fancy rooftop apartment to lounge by the pool in the summertime. But you’d never been this close.

Close enough to see the spot on his chest beneath his collarbone where the one of the legs on his spider tattoo was a shade more faded than the rest.

Your gaze shifted down his torso to the dark trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Suddenly struck with the fact you’d been blatantly ogling him for the past few minutes, you looked back up to his face quickly, expecting to find him already staring at you.

He was staring at you, just not at your face like you’d expected.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where his gaze was, but it was without a doubt far below your neck.

You were naked, sure, but something about the way he was so openly peering at you made you feel even a step past naked. It was like he’d stripped a layer of you back, and was looking at you completely. It made your skin prick with something beyond arousal. 

For a moment, you wanted to sink in on yourself—you couldn’t name a time you’d felt more exposed. But the way his boxers were tented replaced any mortification with something hot injected straight into your veins.

He finally looked up at your face, shameless about being caught, and leaned in, closing the gap between you. Your lips met and his moved against yours like second nature.

His tongue licked into your mouth like he was trying to map it. You suckled at the warmth of his tongue as he began to pull at the hem of your shirt. You parted long enough for your shift to join the pile of the rest of your clothes. 

Eddie’s hand met your face and caressed you gently, a stark contrast for the way his tongue was ravaging your mouth. Your chest heaved as you moved impossibly closer to him, centimeters from being entirely in his lap.

“Here,” he mumbled against your lips before softly turning you around until you were over the back of the couch.

Your breasts pressed against the top of the couch, your nipples pebbled on the rough fabric, as your knees sunk into the cushions of the seat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t purposefully push your ass out, presenting yourself to him.

The wet spot in your underwear was growing uncomfortable and you were painfully aware of it as you pressed your thighs together in a lame attempt to ease the incessant throbbing in your core.

You sat up on your elbows to peer over your shoulder. Eddie was running his tongue over his bottom lip, and when you noticed the slight jerk of his arm, your gaze trailed lower to watch him tug on his cock slowly. You couldn’t help the way you arched your back further.

He’d dropped his boxers just enough to free his cock and for a moment, you (embarrassingly) hated you missed the exact moment he’d pulled it out—hated you missed the way it surely had bobbed up towards his stomach from the sheer weight of it once he’d pulled his underwear down.

He paused at the base to squeeze tightly, and God, it gave you the opportunity to truly admire it.

You knew he would be big. I mean, come on. It was clear by the way he acted that he would be packing. But shit, your imagination really had nothing on the real thing.

Thick and long—you were sure your hand wouldn’t be able to fit around its girth. Against his hand it seemed even bigger. A pronounced vein ran up the side to the rosy tip.

Eddie gave it another slow stroke, a smirk on his face. “Big enough for you, sweetheart?”

Your only response was the slight shift of your shoulder and chin. 

He squeezed his cock, mumbling under his breath, “Too fuckin’ sweet.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Eddie was diving down onto his knees, his mouth latching onto your glistening pussy.

“Oh!” You jumped, and Eddie wrapped his arms beneath your thighs to keep your cunt held tightly against his hungry mouth.

He licked a stripe from your clit to the edge of your tightest hole. For a moment you thought his tongue was going to keep going right across, and you weren’t sure if you liked the way the mere idea of it made heat crawl up your neck, but he stopped to pull back.

“Sweet girl, even sweeter cunt.”

Cunt.

“Eddie,” you whined, feeling your heartbeat in your ears.

He sucked two fingers into his mouth before you felt them run along your slit.

“Yeah, baby?” He rested his cheek right below the swell of your ass. “Talk to me.”

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of the recording equipment surrounding you and picking up every word, sound, and rustle. You dropped your face to the top of the couch, rubbing your nose against it.

“Hey,” Eddie mumbled. His hand shifted and ran across the globe of your ass. “I can delete it if you don’t like it.” His other hand came up, then he was caressing the expanse of your ass broad with both his wide palms. “I’m still enjoying myself, okay? I’m not just doing this for the record, I…” You heard him swallow. “I think you’re gorgeous—fuckin’ perfect, really—and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you before…like this.” 

Leave it to Eddie to make you blush when he just had his entire face in your cunt. 

You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at him. “No, no—I, uh. I wanna keep going. And I want you to use it for the record. I just—” You sighed. “I don’t wanna sound stupid.”

He immediately bristled. “You’re not gonna sound stupid.” He brought his hand down a few times on your cheek, not quite a spank. “Here, turn this way.” He helped you maneuver until your back was against the couch cushions. “Help me out, baby.” He pressed your legs up from beneath your knees, and you tucked your arms there, holding yourself open for him.

He made a low sound in his chest, and you realized how exposed you were. You didn’t get bashful though. You managed to keep yourself the way he wanted, even with the way you felt heat rising up beneath your skin.

“Don’t think so hard about it, okay?” Eddie said as he lowered himself back down to you. “It’s just you ‘n me.

And the recording, you thought, but his words eased you nonetheless. 

You were suddenly thankful he had you holding your legs as his nose prodded your hole as he moved to suckle at your clit. 

“Oh, th–that—yeah,” was all you managed to spit out.

“Mhm?” he hummed against you, and you swore you felt it down to your toes.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

A hand reached down to swipe his thumb across your clit as his tongue finally dipped into you.

You whined. “Please.”

“Hm? Talk to me, sweet girl, d’you want it?”

“Mhm, I’wan’it.” Your words all slurred into one another.

When you felt his middle finger prod at your hole, you couldn’t help the desperate sound that left you.

“Yeah? That what you need?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah…c’mon. Tell me.”

“That’s what I need, Eddie,” you quickly breathed out. In that moment, you would’ve done anything he asked you.

“There we go,” he said, more to himself, as he finally sunk a finger into you. 

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore with the sounds that left you. You were so wet, you could hear the slick sucking sound everytime he fucked his finger into you, and he quickly added another. 

“So wet. She’s sucking me in.” He didn’t even look up as he spoke. Your pussy was drooling around his fingers and down his wrist, his rings now coated with milky white. Your clit was puffy and swollen, peeking out with every thrust of his hand.

You raised your hips as he continued, following him as he curled his fingers up into you, hitting that spot. You hadn’t even realized your mouth had been wide open, sounds falling out freely.

“Ed—oh.” You bit your lip harshly. “Your mouth.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, never one stopping his ministrations. “Huh, baby? She want a kiss?”

You nodded eagerly, hands slipping along your thighs that had become balmy with sweat. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

“I’ll give her a kiss, baby.” The last thing you saw before he lowered his head again was the flash of his smile. 

When his lips met you, you gasped. He closed them firmly around your clit and the wet sound was so loud you were certain the microphones were picking it up. You didn’t care anymore—you couldn’t care, not if it felt this good.

His tongue on your swollen bud paired with his fingers inside you—curling so perfectly you swore your vision whited out every time he did it—brought you barreling towards your release. You could barely pant out, “I’m–I’m gonna—” before you were cumming loud and unabashedly. He worked you through it, finally stopping when your whines got especially pitchy. 

The moment he raised up from your core, you dropped your legs, now boneless. Your heartbeat was still a steady pulse in your clit. You caught your breath, swiping the sweat from your face. 

“Good?” Eddie asked, looking a little too smug (though you guessed it was earned).

“Better than good,” you said, your voice already halfway ruined. 

You sat up properly on the couch as Eddie maneuvered back over to his pants, pulling something from his pocket. He turned back around and now had a condom pulled over the length of his dick, making you sit up even straighter. 

Once your legs had stopped feeling like jelly, you had had every intention of returning the favor. You started, “Y’don’t want me to—”

“No, no.” You heard the smack of his hand against his dick. “Fuck. I mean, yeah, sweetheart, ‘course I do, but I need to be inside you, like, now.”

“Next time, then,” you said, narrowly biting back a smirk.

He quirked a brow at you, not bothering to bite back his smirk. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” You spread your legs, making room for him. “If you don’t kill me first.”

He fit perfectly between your legs, crowding you against the couch. His gaze was glued to your slippery cunt as he tapped the spongy tip of his cock against your clit. He raised his eyes long enough to say, “Could say the same for you.”

He slid his length up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices. You tried to be patient, you really did, but when he tapped his head against your clit again with a wet squelch, you couldn’t help the whine that left you.

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. He said it so gently and lovingly, you swore your pussy spit out another half gallon. “I’ll put it in, now you just gotta sing for me. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You were nodding eagerly. “Please, please, please just put it in. I need it. I—oh—” 

He sunk in easily, you more than prepared after your first orgasm, but his size still made your breath catch in your throat. He groaned like he wasn’t doing much better.

“She’s choking me, baby, fuck.” He sounded pained, the veins in his arm flexing where he was holding himself up over you. 

It was a stretch, and you could feel every inch of him in you, yet you still clawed at his arms, wanting—no, needing more.

“More, come on, I need it all—” No quicker than the words left your mouth, Eddie pushed all the way in with a loud groan.

Now, it was you that sounded pained, but you’d never felt better in your life. It felt like he’d sunk completely up through your stomach and into your throat. You could feel him everywhere. Your head flew back against cushions and you gripped his bicep as you looked down where you were taking him.

He had been staring up at the ceiling, his mouth wide open, but when he saw where your gaze was locked, he lowered his own, and you watched as his neck all the way down to his chest grew red. 

“Fuck, I’m, fuck—” He pulled out maybe an inch before sinking back in, like he couldn’t bear to pull out. He couldn’t. “She’s sucking me right in.”

Finally, he began to shallowly thrust into you and the grip you had on his bicep tightened as your mouth fell open. His heavy cock was splitting you right open and felt like it was hitting every spot, if that was even possible.

Eddie raised one hand to cup your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip. “C’mere, baby,” he said lowly.

He lowered his face to yours and spat right into your waiting mouth. As he did, he pulled all the way out, leaving his tip kissing your hole, before plunging back in completely. You didn't recognize the strangled, pornographic sound that left you.

His spit was warm in your mouth and you could feel your slick gushing from between your legs with every thrust of his fat cock. You were easily gripping him for dear life—both with your hands and your cunt. 

He shifted until his dick was kissing that spot that he’d so easily found with his fingers. The sounds—your whining, his moans, the slick sound of your bodies meeting—seemed to bounce off the walls, and the recording equipment couldn’t have been further from your mind. All you could think was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

It seemed to be the same for him, the way your name left his lips in desperate puffs. “Touch yourself, please, I’m so—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but never once stopped his eager pace.

You dropped your hand between your legs immediately, your fingers slippery as they scrubbed across your clit.

“Right—right there.” You had squeezed your eyes shut. You were right at the edge of your release, you just needed— “Right there, right there, right—ohmygod—”

“Yeah? Yeah, baby? I got you, I fuckin’ got you—” 

You clung to him, your vision spotty and your chest heaving, as you came with a loud whine of his name. He buried himself to the hilt with a shout of your name, the hair at the base of him borderline overstimulating your sensitive clit.

He dropped down against you, his cock softening inside you. His arms wrapped around you, and you felt he was trembling. You weren’t in much better shape.

“Are you—” He stopped to inhale shakily. “Jesus, you okay?” 

You hummed. Your bodies were both slimy with sweat and other juices, which sounded more than uncomfortable, but you found the warm weight of him comforting. 

He peered at you, petting your hair away from your face. “You sure?”

“‘M good,” you finally croaked. “You—I—” You paused to laugh, shaking your head. “I think you fucked my brains out."

He laughed, strands of his damp hair shaking with the force of it. 

“Yeah, well, if that’s the case then you sucked out my soul.” He ran a finger along the length of your face. “You know, through your puss—”

“I get it,” you cut in, laughing. You glanced over to the window to the production room. “Think we got anything good?”

Eddie looked at you like you’d grown three heads before his lip curled, a devious smile on his face. “I dunno…might better do it one more time. Just to be safe.”

Six months later.

“Eddie, you gotta tell us, man.” The interviewer leaned over his desk towards him. “Everybody’s dying to know about…that part on the new record.”

“What part, Howard?” Eddie shot a knowing glance at the audience, which got a few cheers. “I know Gareth killed the drums on the bridge.”

The crowd laughed.

“You know the part,” Howard insisted, laughing. “I think everybody knows the part.”

“I think it speaks for itself,” Eddie said. “Don’t really have much to say on that.”

“Well, your fans have had a lot to say about it,” Howard continued. 

“No denyin’ that, that’s for sure.” Eddie tugged at the collar of his shirt, making the crowd laugh.

“I think one of the biggest questions has been…well.” Howard shrugged. “I don’t know how else to ask it—but well, was it real?”

Eddie looked from Howard to the audience. Right before he opened his mouth to speak, the television flickered off.

“Hey!” you called. “I was watching that.”

Eddie sat the remote down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch next to you. “You’ve watched it at least ten times since it aired.” 

“Maybe I was trying to make it eleven.” 

He hummed, his arm coming around your shoulders. You melted into his side easily. 

“How’s the new guy?” you asked, rubbing your cheek against his chest.

“Good. He’s a great fit for the band.” He dropped his cheek and rested it on top of your head. “Jaxon hasn’t tried to reach out anymore. Or showed up at the studio wasted, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried.” It was true—you weren’t. You knew Eddie would handle everything. He always did.

“Good.” He planted a kiss on your head. 

You sat up and grabbed the remote from the table. He groaned as you turned it back on.

“You could probably recite this word-for-word by now.” He shook his head.

You pressed back against him, pushing your tongue to your teeth to prevent a smile. 

“Everyone’s dying to know who it is,” Howard was urging. “At least give us a hint.”

On the screen, Eddie shrugged, clearly trying and failing to seem nonchalant. You couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words along with him as he said, “Well, it’s my girl.”

“From a long time ago,” you replied.

“Leo,” you said softly, brushing a hand over his sleeve to get his attention, “I want you to meet a friend.”

“A friend?” he said, and Johnny almost fainted from how cute his little voice was. “From where?”

Leo squinted at Johnny, the way only a child could, unfiltered, curious to the bone. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he let go of your hand and marched right toward the table. You followed anxiously. And Johnny? Johnny was toast. He forgot how to move. His heart jackhammered as the kid–his kid–stopped in front of him and just stared, unblinking, like he was scanning him for answers.

“You look like me, mommy’s friend.” Leo said matter of factly. “We have the same hair.”

Johnny panicked, and for a terrifying second he thought his legs were going to give out when he stood up from the table. He managed a shaky disbelieving laugh, crouching to meet him at eye level.

“Yeah, buddy,” he exhaled. “I guess we do.”

Leo grinned, quick and bright, satisfied with his own observation. “Cool.” Then, as if that settled everything, he spun around and tugged at your sleeve. “Can we get ice cream now, Mom?”

“Yes, baby. Let’s do that.” You nodded quickly, letting yourself be guided by his little hand to the counter. 

But Johnny was frozen in his crouching position for a few seconds, blinking fast, the word Mom echoing in his head as he stared at Leo who was already more like him than he’d ever dared to imagine. He took a deep breath.

There was no way back from this. Only forward, into the storm.

Once he managed to convince his legs to move and walk to the counter, where that same girl looked at the three of you curiously, Johnny cleared his throat, pulling out his leather wallet. 

“I got the ice creams,” he said, firm enough that you almost argued out of instinct, but before you could, he leaned slightly toward Leo. “So, what’s it gonna be, champ? What flavor?”

“Chocolate!” Leo exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. And my God, Johnny was looking at a mirror that reflected a younger version of him.

“Chocolate,” Johnny repeated, sighing with relief. “Perfect. You picked the best one, buddy.” A laugh escaped him, as he lifted his hand to high five Leo. 

Leo lifted himself on his tiptoes to high five with all his strength, and grinned wider, satisfied with the validation. 

“And for you? Strawberry?” Johnny glanced up at you, offering the same flavor you'd always pick all those years back.

“Strawberry,” you nodded, biting back a smile.

Something flickered in Johnny’s face at that…soft recognition, just like in the coffee shop, the memories he still kept present on his head. He only nodded, turning back to the counter.  “Got you.”

Leo chattered beside you, eyes glued to the toppings bar as he talked about the things he learned at school that day. Johnny listened, his hands busy ordering, but his heart caught on the sound of it…the normalcy, the ease, the way you stood with your son like this was the most natural scene in the world. When he brought the bowls back a few minutes later, balancing them carefully, the thought of setting something down at a table that belonged to the three of you made him feel warm inside. Leo climbed into his chair, elbows on the table, grabbing the pink spoon. But before he even took a bite, he extended his free hand over the table, his eyes darting straight to Johnny.

“I’m Leo Spencer,” he introduced himself, realizing this man had just bought him ice cream and he didn’t even know what he was called. “What’s your name?”

Johnny froze with his own spoon halfway to his mouth, dipping it back in the ice cream to stretch the tiny hand in front of him. “Uh…I’m Johnny.” He said, deciding to leave his last name out for now. After the most serious handshake of his life, Leo let go of Johnny’s hand and propped his chin on it to continue his questioning. 

“Where do you live? Why haven’t I seen you before? Are you from Mom’s work? You don’t look like a professor–”

“Leo…” You drawled, nudging the ice cream closer to him, but he just kept staring at Johnny.

“Wow, slow down, kiddo. You don’t mess around, huh?” Johnny said, wide eyed, grinning nervously.

Leo shrugged. “I’m five and a half. People always think I don’t notice stuff, but I do.” He took a giant bite of chocolate with sprinkles, cheeks puffed out as he chewed. “Where are you from?”

You’d told him Leo was a little wonder, that he asked a lot of questions. Turns out you weren’t exaggerating. Johnny glanced at you, panic flickering his eyes, but you just shook your head slowly ‘not yet’.

So Johnny cleared his throat and smiled. “I’m from…far away.”

Leo narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he didn’t buy it, like he was sure he’d heard that same answer somewhere else. He just decided to save it to the back of his mind, as he dug back into his ice cream, completely unaware of how close his little questions would crack a new entire world open. Johnny shifted in his chair, trying to keep his grin steady, but his collar felt like it was choking him. Heat crawled up his neck, his palms still damp, and not the fire kind, just pure, human nerves. He hadn't felt like that in years, 

Great, he thought, the Human Torch is actually sweating because a five year old has him under a white spotlight. 

Finally, he decided to ditch his jacket and placed it on the empty chair beside him, leaving him only in a white shirt that fit him too tightly, rolling his shoulders like it might cool him down. Your eyes darted all over his torso, catching the way the fabric was practically fighting for its life from all the defined muscle under that shirt. 

Christ, he still dresses so unfairly good, you thought. But before your mind could go somewhere more inappropriate, Leo’s sharp eyes immediately focused on the strange device around Johnny’s wrist.

“Whoa,” he breathed, pointing with his spoon. “What’s that?”

Johnny stilled, and slowly lifted his arm, pointing at the device that you once had to leave behind.   

“Your watch,” Leo pressed, leaning across the table to look at it closer. “It’s not round like normal ones. It looks like a time machine on your wrist! Did you buy it because it looks futuristic? Or, wait–” His face lit up as his brain went faster than his mouth. “Does it have a secret special function?”

“Uh–no, no secret functions.” He said, too quickly. “Definitely not a time machine, either. It’s, uh…” He cleared his throat, fingers tugging nervously at the strap. “It’s kind of for work. Special…equipment. Helps me stay connected, keep track of things.”

“So like a gadget?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, nodding quickly. “Exactly, a gadget. Just work stuff.”

“Does it at least light up?” Leo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“It does!” Johnny exhaled, relieved that he could at least indulge him on one thing, lifting his wrist and tapping the screen until it glowed faintly.

“That’s so cool!” Leo gasped, delighted. “Your job must be really fun.”

“Yeah buddy…it is.”

Johnny couldn’t stop smiling, watching his son bounce in his seat, utterly fascinated with something that had become so ordinary to him. Something that was his everyday. And that made him realize how dangerous his “Fantastic” world would look through those bright eyes, and how much he already wanted to shield him from it. So Johnny just sat there, watching him. He saw what Leo saw, the shine of the watch, the promise of technology, the thrill of secrets. A kid too bright, too curious, too hungry for answers to ever fit inside this little town forever.

But Johnny also saw beyond that.The flashing cameras, the crowds screaming their names, the endless scrutiny. The missions that went wrong, the villains that crawled out of the shadows. Through Leo’s wide eyes, it looked like magic. Through Johnny’s, it looked like the very thing that could swallow a boy whole. His hand curled over the watch instinctively, as though shielding it from view. 

God, he’s already too big for this city, Johnny thought. But my world? Is he ready for that? 

He looked at you then, and for once, he understood. He understood the fear that made you hide him away, the way you’d fought to keep him small, safe, unburned by the fire Johnny carried. And it hit him, how much you’d already given up just to give your son a chance at peace.

Leo was already on to his next fascination, spoon abandoned as he scrambled to kneel on the seat, finger pressed to the glass. “Look! A monarch!” he squealed, his voice bouncing with excitement. “Mom, do you see it? The wings are orange with black edges, but the male has two black spots, so that means it’s a female…”

You leaned to look, smiling. And Johnny just watched him, behind eyes that showed wonder and grief. His son was pure brightness, delighting in a butterfly like it was the greatest treasure in the world. For now, his world was small, golden, safe. When Leo finally peeled his eyes from the butterfly and spun back toward the table, his focus went again to Johnny.  

“So, what should I call you? Mom says it’s not polite to use a first name basis with older people,” Leo said looking at you. You nodded in agreement. 

“Older people? Doesn’t sound like me,” Johnny scoffed playfully, shaking his head like he was offended. “I’m just…Johnny.” 

“Okay…Johnny.” Leo tested, and Johnny almost melted right there. Maybe one day he could call him something different. “If your watch was a time machine, would you use it?”

The question caught him off guard, but he knew the answer. God, if only…if only he could go back in time, he’d undo every mistake, catch you before you slipped through his fingers. 

“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes flicking to you. “I would.”

“To what time?” 

The answer came out before Johnny could stop it. “About six or five years ago. Without a doubt.”

You stared at him, and Johnny didn’t look away, he held your gaze, his blue eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in front of your son. The silence was heavy, tense, until Leo broke it with a shrug.

“Six or five…I would’ve picked something cooler, like dinosaurs...not many relevant things happened five years ago." He said, in all of his innocence. 

A small laugh slipped from your throat, the ache of it all suddenly turning bittersweet. Johnny’s lips twitched, but his eyes never left yours. “Well, something pretty important happened.”

Leo blinked, tilting his head. “What?”

“You were born.” 

Leo’s grin grew instantly, wide and toothy, and still devastatingly innocent. “Oh! That is important.”

Johnny’s words hung in the air, but distracted yourself by wiping a spot of chocolate on Leo’s cheek with a napkin. And the little action allowed Johnny, for one fragile second, to let himself drift. And he could picture it, the three of you sitting there every other day after school. Leo demolishing his ice cream, you wiping chocolate from his cheeks, Johnny learning butterfly facts. A life that wasn’t stolen, that wasn’t scorched. A life where he was there for every silly question, every science fair, every smudge of chocolate. Just for that infinite, delusional minute, he let himself believe that maybe, he still could. 

Leo twirled his spoon in the empty bowl, then looked up at Johnny with that bright, assessing stare he always had when something caught his interest.

“Johnny,” he said casually, “I have a collection of books at home. About space, animals, and inventions. I could…show you one day–if mom says yes.” He blurted the words out quickly, hesitant. 

Your brows lifted slightly. You knew that move. Leo had done it before, using his “book collection” as an excuse to draw certain people in, to test if they were worth his time. His teachers, a neighbor he liked, the old librarian he adored. It was his quiet way of saying, you intrigue me. I want to know more. And he didn’t even know that now he was offering it to his father. Just that he was intrigued by him. Johnny's eyes were wide, stunned by the offer. He looked at you, like he too was asking for permission. 

“Of course, Leo. If you’d like, we can do that.” You finally nodded, smiling at him. 

Leo lit up, like you just told him he could go play with the neighbor, and turned back to Johnny. “Cool! I’ll show you the one about Mars first, it has fold out pages with diagrams…you’ll like it.”

Johnny let out a shaky laugh, his eyes going soft when he looked at you. He didn’t say it aloud, but the gratitude was written all over his face. Thank you for letting me in. 

“I have to catch up with some grading today, though,” you announced, gesturing Leo to get up. “So the books will have to wait for another day.”

Johnny’s heart gave a little jolt. Another day. It shouldn’t sting as much as it did, but it did. He managed a crooked smile. “That’s fair, I can wait.”

The truth was…no, he couldn't. 

Leo stood up, brushing the topping’s crumbs off his pullover like a little gentleman. “It was nice to meet you, Johnny,” he said seriously, extending his small hand like he’d done earlier.

Johnny blinked, caught off guard, but was more than happy to reach out. His big hand swallowed Leo's, and he gave it a firm shake. “Nice to meet you too, Leo.”

Leo. Maybe one day he’d get to call him son.

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile, taking Leo’s hand while Johnny stood awkwardly by the table, unsure how to end this. When you turned toward him, you found him already looking at you, but neither of you knew how to say goodbye. So Johnny leaned in, hesitating for a heartbeat. You did too, freezing when his warm lips brushed your cheek. It was careful, light, painfully ephemeral, then he stepped back. Leo definitely noticed something, his sharp little eyes flicking between the two of you. But he decided to keep that saved on the back of his mind too, so he didn’t say a word.

Outside, the sun was almost completely set, and Johnny walked you both to the car. He stood by as you buckled Leo into his car seat, his small head already lolling against the cushion, tired from the day. Only when you slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door did Johnny finally step back, walking to his car. You buckled in, and turned the key. The engine choked a noise once, then again. and then…nothing. You closed your eyes, exhaling. 

“Come on, not now,” you whined, giving the steering wheel a little smack.

From the backseat, the noise startled Leo from his half sleep state. He leaned forward in his booster, sighing like a little stressed out man. “It’s the battery, mom,” he declared, almost scolding. “You forgot to ask Mr. Barnes to change it last week.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yes, thank you, Leo. Very helpful.”

“You’re welcome.”

You tried the ignition one more time and…nothing. A quiet curse slipped past your lips, when headlights flashed across the street, and Johnny’s truck pulled up beside you, his window sliding down smoothly. 

“Everything okay?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

You closed your eyes for a second, gripping the wheel tighter, as if that would make the ground swallow you whole. You actually hadn’t forgotten to change the battery, you were just waiting for that month’s check to do it. And of course this happened in front of him. 

“Car’s being stubborn.” You shrugged, forcing a half smile.

“Let me take a look.” Johnny slid out of his truck, rounding your car. “Pop the hood, please,” he said, already rolling up the sleeves of his jacket. You did as he said, and lost sight of him as he inspected the mess of wires and metal. “Yep,” he said finally, closing the hood with a grimace and walking to your window. “Battery’s dead.”

You sighed. Behind you, Leo had slumped sideways in his booster, out cold with the sugar crash.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, running a hand down your face. “Just great. It’s getting dark, and I can’t even–”

“Hey,” Johnny cut in softly, catching the panic in your voice. 

“I can’t leave my car here overnight, it’ll–”

“Hey, hey.” He leaned closer to your window, his voice steady and coaxing, the way you used to hear him talk to Franklin when the kid was overwhelmed. His eyes searched yours, trying to give you some of his warmth without even touching you. “It’s okay. I got it, alright? Let me help.”

You shook your head, words tumbling out too fast. “No, I can’t ask you–”

“You’re not asking,” he interrupted gently, already reaching for the watch on his wrist. “I’m offering. Let me handle it. Just…trust me with this one.” His thumb hovered over the screen, but his eyes kept locked on yours. Reluctantly, you finally nodded. Johnny exhaled, shoulders loosening just slightly, and gave you the faintest smile. “Good. I’ll make a call.”

He stepped back to speak to his watch like some secret spy. You snorted, you were so used to it back in New York, yet here it looked ridiculous. After a few minutes he hung up the call, walking back to you with a confident nod. “Tow’s on the way. They’ll handle the car tonight.”

You exhaled, rubbing your forehead thinking how on earth you were going to pay for a tow service and also a new battery. Still, you gave him a grateful nod. “Okay. Thank you, Johnny.”

He glanced toward Leo, passed out in the backseat, then back to you. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Johnny–you don’t even have a car seat in that ridiculous truck.”

“So? we’ll move yours, problem solved.” He shrugged, like it was obvious.

Your laugh cracked out, nervous and tired. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Johnny said, already circling to the back door. “It’s fine, I got him.”

You got out of your car, chewing the inside of your cheek, before whispering, “I’m sorry. I usually deal with this stuff on my own.”

Johnny froze for a second, his hand resting on the doorframe. The words hit him harder than they should have, a quiet knife sliding between his ribs. He looked back at you, and made another promise.

“You won’t have to anymore,” he said softly. His gaze flicked to Leo through the car window, then back to you. “Not anymore, you have me now.”

All you could do was nod, if you didn’t want to start crying in the middle of the street. You rounded the car, unlatching the car seat straps while Johnny got the booster out, with Leo sleeping soundly on it, and brought it to his truck. 

“Alright,” he said cheerfully, placing it on the backseat and tugging at one of the buckles with that characteristic Storm confidence. “How hard can this be?”

“Famous last words.” You shook your head amused. You climbed the backseat from the other side, hovering over Leo in the booster, while Johnny leaned in from the other side, with the car door open. 

And…you were right. It didn’t help that it was already dark outside, and the small dome light from the truck didn’t help much either. Johnny had never felt more useless, yet he refused to use his flames as a light source, he was not taking the risk of the truck catching fire and sending his son to the hospital. It didn’t take long before he grunted, twisting the latch the wrong way for the fourth time.

“Oh come on,” he whined. “It just…doesn’t fit right.” 

“Because you’re doing it wrong!” You shot back, reaching across to fix it. Your fingers brushed his, both of you fumbling in the cramped space, bumping shoulders while trying to avoid bothering Leo as he snored softly through the chaos. “Move over,” you hissed.

“I am over!” he hissed back, his head knocking yours as he leaned closer. Your hands grazed again on the buckle, cold against warm, before you yanked yours back, face heating between frustration and nerves from being so close to him. 

“It’s this stupid truck, I had no problem putting this on my car–also, Franklin literally had one of these, Johnny. You should know how these work.”

“Yeah sure, it’s the truck.” He huffed at your annoyance on his extravagant vehicle choice. “And by the way, Franklin’s seat had a green light, alright? Reed made sure you knew when it clicked right. This thing’s–” He tugged at the strap again, scowling. “...old school. No lights.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Baxter Building, not all of us get high tech seats that practically latch themselves!”

Johnny looked up, mock offended, grinning like the little shit he was just to piss you off more. “Hey! It didn’t latch on its own–we still struggled to put it on the car.”

“See? It had a stupid green light and you still struggled.” You teased, but your amusement was cut short when you bumped heads again, hard, and Leo stirred under you.

The two of you stared at each other across the half installed seat, exasperated, Leo already on cloud nine while you acted like bickering newlyweds. Before this kept getting ridiculous, Johnny huffed, stepping back. 

“Okay, listen–clearly this isn’t working.” He announced, like it wasn't obvious already. “How about this, you set it up, and I’ll…” His gaze flicked to Leo slumped in the straps, and his voice went soft. “…I’ll hold him, so you can place it properly.”

“...Alright.” You unbuckled Leo from the seat. Johnny stepped close, arms out as he welcomed him into his arms. He cradled his small body against his chest, and for a moment, the world stilled. Leo heavy and warm in his arms, his little breaths puffing against Johnny’s shirt. 

He was holding his son for the second time, and he’d count every single one that came after this one too. Johnny could only give you a nervous smile as he whispered, “Okay, your turn.”

And with Leo safe in his hold, you crouched down to wrestle the stubborn seat into place. Your heart racing, hands fumbling, because every time you looked up, there he was…Johnny Storm, holding your son like he’d been waiting more than six years for the chance. You tugged the last strap into place, and wiped your palms on your jeans.

“There, we got it.” You sighed, but Johnny didn’t move. He stood there, dissociating  from reality, Leo tucked safe against his chest. He had one big hand spread across Leo’s back, the other carefully cupping his head of blonde hair. 

“Johnny?” you tried gently.

“Mm?” He barely looked at you, rocking Leo without realizing, his thumb brushing soothing circles over the fabric of his little pullover.

“The car seat’s been ready for a few minutes.”

His head snapped up. “Right–yeah, yeah…of course.” He chuckled, blushing, but still didn’t move to set Leo down.

“Are you planning on taking him home like that?” you teased softly, biting back a smile.

For a second he looked like he might argue. Because he’s Johnny Storm and he could fly him home if he wanted to, but then again, he wasn’t going to risk a burn. So then he sighed, lowering Leo reluctantly into the seat, as if every inch of distance physically hurt. He buckled him in with careful hands, lingering just a second too long to brush back his hair before stepping away.

“Sorry, I just…didn’t want to let go yet.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from thinking too much about it. Johnny walked away as you climbed out the backseat, already holding the passenger seat’s door open for you. 

“Thank you, Johnny.” You smiled. He nodded, smiling back as he closed the door once you were inside.

From the corner of your eye you could see the tow finally arriving, and let out a relieved sigh as they took care of your car. Once Johnny saw it was being handled properly, he finally moved his. Closing shops and trees in shades of orange blurred past as the truck rolled through the calm streets of your town. Johnny drove with the window down, the evening wind making a mess of his hair. His left elbow was propped casually on the door, right hand steady on the wheel, only letting it go to turn on the radio. A rock country song came on. It was just supposed to be background noise really, something chill that filled the silence. Yet you couldn’t help but pick on the lyrics. 

Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm 

I know, it's been comin' for some time

You had your calm before the storm. Before the Storm. But you always knew he would eventually find you, it was only a matter of time. As his profile was lit faintly by the street lamps, you couldn't help your eyes from wandering. At least he seemed lost enough in his own head to not notice you were staring. Time had treated him well. He was still Johnny, of course, his outfit looking far ahead of his time like always. Pants too tight, cropped brown leather jacket, trendy Adidas. But you saw the weight of the years you’d missed as smile lines were starting to carve deeper into his skin, and his blonde hair surely hid baby grey hairs. But God help you, no matter how much time went by, he looked as handsome as ever. 

You turned to Leo to distract yourself from Johnny, and saw Leo slumped sideways in the car seat, mouth open, absolutely gone. A faint trace of drool smeared the collar of his little pullover.

“Kid’s out cold.” Johnny chuckled, his gaze flicking to the rearview mirror.

“Sugar crash…always gets him.” You laughed under your breath, crossing your arms around yourself.

Johnny bit his bottom lip, shaking his head a little. “He drools exactly like me.”

“That, I can’t argue with you.” You laughed once more, catching Johnny’s smile going sad as he looked in the mirror again. “Are you…okay?” You dared to ask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how all of this was affecting him.

Johnny hesitated for a moment, his hand tapping the wheel absentmindedly before letting out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I was just…thinking about something.” He said, his eyes locked on the road ahead. “You know, when Franklin was born, I thought he was the coolest kid on the planet. Smart as hell, funny, just…this little marvel.” He smiled, and you nodded because you remembered how wonderful he was. “I was so damn proud to be his uncle. I didn’t think there could ever be a kid like that again. But…then I met him.” His eyes flicked to the mirror once more, where Leo drooled away on his collar. Johnny’s smile grew wider, eyes softening.

“My son. The one you raised. And he’s…he’s more than everything. Brilliant, curious, polite. With his own little quirks. You made him into this amazing person, and I can’t even explain how proud I am. And I only met him properly, like what, two hours ago?” He chuckled. “You did a hell of a job, you know that? All on your own, and he’s…perfect. So, thank you. For keeping him safe. For protecting him from all the mess that comes with me.” Johnny glanced at you, still with crossed arms, then quickly back to the road before finally saying what had been haunting his mind since the yogurt shop. “I get it now, you know…why you kept him away. My world, it’s not meant for a kid with a normal life…” Johnny hesitated, before adding, “However,  you know he deserves better than this town. He’s too big for it already.”

Your fingers twisted in your lap, eyes fixed out the window as the trees rolled past. Finally, you exhaled, words spilling like you’d been holding them too long.

“You’re right,” you admitted quietly, eyes fixed out the window. “I know this town won’t hold him forever. He’s…too much. Too smart, too curious. I’ve had a plan in the back of my head for years. Move to a bigger city when I can. Somewhere with better schools, better programs, kids like him. People who challenge him everyday.”

Johnny nodded slowly, biting his cheek before daring. “Well, that’s what the First Steps program is for. And it doesn’t just apply to New York. You know that, right? You could’ve applied for him to be part of it without ever stepping foot in our world. Without ever having to deal with me, with us, with the name. Just…the opportunities.”

“Johnny, that’s literally how you found me. And I was very careful with her application, yet it still backfired on me.” Your disbelieving scoff came out sharper than you intended, as you finally turned toward him. “ I was never putting Leo’s photo on your desk.That’s the exact opposite of what I wanted.”

“Yes, but you still could have–”

“No, Johnny. I couldn’t put him in a world that once promised me all those things. Opportunities, belonging, a family, a home.” Your lip quivered, but you pushed the words out anyway. “Because I know how it ends. We all know how it ended.”

“Yeah…I know,” he exhaled. “I was the worst. And my family was the worst. We failed you. God, we failed you so bad. If I knew then what I know now…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But I still think you could’ve at least told me. All these years, you could’ve called. Said, hey Johnny, you have a son. You really think I would’ve turned that down? You think I wouldn’t have–” he cut himself short, taking a deep breath. “God, I would’ve never ignored him. Never.”

“And what would’ve become of that, huh? Back then?” You snapped. “You thought I was a traitor. You looked at me like I’d stabbed you in the back. You and your family would’ve taken Leo from me in a heartbeat. And you would’ve shut me out all over again.”

“We wouldn’t have.” Was all he could say, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed that. 

“You don’t know that.” You shook your head. “Look–it shouldn't have been the way it was, we both know that. And I’m sorry my decisions cost Leo his father. I’m truly sorry that you missed everything. The first words. The first steps. The first everything. But I couldn’t let you just have him…and you said you understood why.”

“...Yeah,” he whispered. “I did.” 

He felt like there was more to be said, like you still had stuff to get out of your systems, but he was tired of fighting with you over things he couldn't change. So for now, he “understood why.”

The rest of the drive was quiet. You came to a stop in your driveway, your own car already parked there. A tow truck was nearby, the driver waiting with clipboard in hand. You slipped out of the car to meet him, still shaken from your conversation with Johnny. “Wow, that was fast,” you breathed, taking the clipboard.

“We’ll swap the battery out in the morning, first thing.” He smiled politely.

Great. The morning. When everything was already chaotic with Leo. 

You bit your lip, scanning the page to see how much of your month’s income was going to this whole mess. “Okay, how much do I–”

“Already covered,” he cut in with a shrug, handing you the receipt.

“Covered?”

Johnny’s voice came from behind. “Just sign it.” He said softly, biting back a smile.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was climbing out of the truck, Leo drooling against his shoulder, fast asleep in his arms. Johnny shifted him higher, one big hand bracing his back.

At this point you were too tired to bicker over a receipt, so you turned back to the driver, signing it. “Alright. Tomorrow morning, then, thank you.”

He tipped his hat and stepped back. By the time you reached the porch, Johnny was already waiting. He tilted his head toward the door, a nervous smile on his face said a silent plea. Let me.

“You can put him to bed,” you whispered, almost laughing at the absurdity of saying it twice in two nights.

Johnny celebrated, but kept it small, just a subtle little fist pump at his side, like he couldn’t risk being loud with Leo now drooling on his shoulder. And then he stepped inside, carrying his son down the hall like it was the most natural thing in the world. You followed quietly, lingering in the doorway as Johnny bent to tuck Leo under the same soft blanket, brushing his hair back with tenderness. He pressed a kiss to his forehead again, then straightened, giving the room one last look before slipping past you back to the living room. 

He paused at the door, once again unsure on how to say goodbye to you. You sighed, leaning forward just enough to hug him briefly. His arms hesitated, then wrapped around you, strong and warm. And God, you hadn’t felt that warmth in so long. 

“Thank you,” you whispered into his shirt. “For…everything.”

“Anytime.” He whispered into your hair. 

You pulled back, managing a small tired smile. “You can come tomorrow after homework. He’ll want to show you his books.”

“After homework? Yeah, yeah, I can be here after homework.” He nodded quickly, making you laugh. “Oh–give me your car keys, I’ll move Leo’s seat from my car to yours.” He added, looking far too enthusiastic about it for someone who didn’t even know how to do it. “I’ll figure it out, just…let me help. Pretty please.” He smiled sheepishly, making a grabby gesture with his hand held up. 

Something told you he was plotting something, but then again, you were too tired for this stuff. So you narrowed your eyes and nodded, taking the keys out of your pocket and placed them on his palm. “Okay. Just put them under the rug when you are done.” 

And that’s how Johnny Storm walked out of your house with a grin bigger than the cheshire cat, and your car keys dangling from his hand. He barely caught the tow driver before he drove away, jogging to catch up with him through the window of the tall truck.

“Hey! tomorrow morning?”

The man nodded. “I’ll be back around nine.”

“Make it earlier,” Johnny said, pulling a folded bill from his wallet and sliding it into the man’s hand. “I’ll be here around 7 to deal with it.”

The driver raised a brow, but only tipped his hat and agreed, before finally driving away. Johnny glanced back at the house, at the faint light still glowing through the curtains. Tomorrow, when you woke up, your car would already be good to go before you even had to think about it. One less burden on your shoulders. To him, being a hero always meant fire. It meant cameras, news headlines, cheering crowds. A suit that Reed designed and a symbol the whole world talked about. Well, except for this town you had meticulously picked. 

But this, for once, wasn’t about his flames or saving cities.

This was about making sure you didn’t wake up stressed about a dead battery. About making sure you got Leo ready for school without worrying about how you’d pay for it. About showing up when no one was watching, when no one would clap or write about it. He left with your car keys in his pocket; he would need them the next day to deal with the battery and move the booster back in actual daylight. 

And that’s when Johnny realized this was the kind of superhero he wanted to be. Not the Human Torch. But a man who showed up. A father.

As soon as Johnny pulled into his hotel room, he checked his phone. He’d silenced the thing since the night before, only using his watch to make that emergency tow call. Now, he couldn't ignore the notifications stacked in rows that flooded the screen.

Sue: Johnny, have you found her?

Sue: Why aren’t you answering? Please don’t shut us out.

Sue: Seriously Johnny? Radio silence isn’t like you. 

Ben: Come on, J. Say something. Sue is planning to come find you if you don’t talk to us.

Reed: Your sister is worried. Please report back.

Normally he would toss back some joke to ease the tension, or…Sue’s worry would crack his resolve. His thumb hovered over the screen, and for a second, he thought about typing out the truth. 

I found her. I found her, and I found him. I have a son. He’s perfect. You have to meet him.

God, he wanted it. Wanted Sue to squeal with joy, wanted Ben to laugh and clap his back, wanted Reed to be floored by how brilliant Leo was. Wanted Franklin to finally meet the cousin who could rival him. They’d all love him. They’d adore him. 

But Leo wasn’t theirs. He was Johnny’s.

And he wasn’t ready to let anyone else near him. Not until he’d earned it. Not until he’d had more than two nights of carrying his son to bed, more than a single ice cream run, more than a handful of hours with him. And you had just started to trust him. If he opened his mouth too soon, if he let this secret slip to the family before you were ready, it would be betrayal. And he had already done that to you once. As much as he hated to admit it, Johnny finally understood why you had hidden Leo away. Because if he could, if it meant keeping Leo safe and his for just a little longer…he’d hide him too. So he settled for that.

Johnny: I found her, I’m trying to fix it. Everything’s okay, I promise I’ll explain everything when I get home. 

The morning was chaos from the second you opened your eyes. You rushed through the kitchen in unbuttoned sleeves, barefoot, hair barely tamed, Leo bouncing at your heels in his uniform and his backpack half zipped. He always followed you around full of questions before you’d even had your first sip of coffee. Then came the knock on the door. 

“Battery guy,” you groaned, breathless. “Hang on, honey.”

You yanked the door open, ready to rush through instructions while keeping an eye on the five year old battling with fitting as many books as possible on his backpack. But the man outside simply gave you a smile, holding his clipboard and something else behind his back. 

“All set,” he said. “Battery’s in, the car’s good to go.”

“What? How did you–I thought I had to–”

“Nope.” He cut you off softly. “The guy who hired me showed up early, made sure everything was in order…Oh–and he said to give you this, and this.”

He handed you the car keys, and a box of cereal. Lucky Charms, Leo’s favorite. A neon post-it with handwriting you recognized immediately was attached to it. 

Thought you might be running low. Good morning :) Tell Leo good morning too.

“Oh,” you blurted, clutching the box. “T-thanks…”

The man gave you a final nod and left. You stood in the doorway, cereal in your hands, your son’s voice echoing behind you. Johnny hadn’t crowded your morning. He’d respected your request to come after homework. But he’d been there, quiet but still present. You glanced down at the post-it again, warmth prickling your eyes. It was such a simple thing. Except it wasn't. 

You closed the door, walking to Leo who was already at the breakfast table and set the box down in front of him. “Johnny sent these for you, baby.”

“Lucky charms!” He exclaimed excitedly, but he paused mid reach, blinking up at you. His little smile spread wide, but there was a flicker of something else behind it when he noticed the sheen in your eyes.

“Mommy, where did you say Johnny was from again? Like…how do you know him?”

You met his sharp little eyes, and felt a knot in your stomach. He’d asked this before, so you gave him the same answer you always did. “He’s from somewhere far away, sweetheart. That’s all. Don’t think too much about it.”

Leo nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. He tucked the information into his personal database once again, his little brain already putting pieces together. 

Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you

Johnny timed it all out in his head in the morning. If you picked Leo up from school at three, gave him a snack, and he did his homework for about an hour or two…then four thirty felt safe. Not too early, not too late. Right after homework. Right enough to show he respected your rhythm and your space.

He had spent the earlier part of the afternoon wandering the small town shops, trying to figure out what to bring. A toy store had caught his eye, but nothing felt right. Leo wasn’t that type of kid. Sure, he liked cars like any kid his age would, but the bookshelf in his room, the way he blurted facts like a mini Reed spoke louder to him. So Johnny had walked out with a puzzle instead. Something they could build together. Normally he’d rather set himself on fire than sit still for something like that, but the thought of sitting on the floor with Leo, fitting pieces until they made sense, suddenly seemed like the most fun he could have.

Then came the grocery store. He remembered seeing a book of recipes somewhere on your counter. So he filled a cart like it was his own kitchen, even if he’d never done it before. Different types of milk because he didn’t know which one you preferred, vegetables, more cereal, pasta, pantry staples. He snuck in some oreos and ice cream because why not. He walked out with enough bags to nearly overflow the truck. He almost grabbed flowers too, but stopped himself. Too much, Johnny. Get it together.

Which is how he found himself outside your door, arms stacked with too many paper bags that were dangerously balanced. He couldn’t even knock properly, so he leaned his weight on one foot and tapped the door gently with his sneaker. The door swung open and there was Leo, looking up at him, or more accurately, multiple paper bags and Johnny’s hidden face behind. 

“Hello?”

Johnny peeked over the side. “Hey, champ.”

“Mommy! Johnny’s here!” Leo yelled back into the house, before stepping aside with wide eyes to let him in.

You appeared from the kitchen, stopping dead at the sight. “What on earth is all of that?”

Johnny shuffled inside carefully, balancing the groceries stacked to his chin. “Uh…food?”

“For an entire football team?” 

Johnny tilted the bags a little higher since they were starting to slip from his hands. “I just…thought maybe your pantry could use some stuff.”

“Johnny. That’s–what, half a grocery store?” You chuckled, walking over to him to help with some bags and took them to the kitchen.

He laughed nervously, following you and finally setting the bags down on the counter with a loud exhale. “Yeah, well…figured milk and vegetables and, you know…stuff. There’s more in the car, I…might’ve gone overboard.”

Your first thought, naturally, was how you didn’t need him to sweep in and buy out half the town’s grocery store. But then you caught his face. There was no wink, no “look what I did.” He was actually sheepish…and incredibly happy to help. As if unloading those paper bags onto your counters was the highlight of his week. It tore down another one of your walls.

You leaned against the counter, and just watched. Watched him line up two more cereal boxes next to the three already crammed on your counter. Watched him set down a bag of broccoli he hated but your son probably didn’t. God, he hoped he didn't. Watched him hold up a mesh bag of potatoes, glancing at you asking for instructions.

“Where do these go?” he asked, brow furrowed, so earnestly lost in your tiny kitchen.

“Uh…the basket next to the stove,” you said. 

He nodded, putting them away, humming under his breath as he dug through the rest. “And…popcorn? Where in the pantry?” 

“Bottom shelf,” you answered automatically, biting back a smile and the damn tears at the same time.

Because it hit you then. Hard.

This was the life you once wanted. The one you pretended you didn’t care about. Someone who took care of your car problems. Someone in your kitchen, sleeves rolled, groceries spread across the counter. Not just anyone…Leo’s father. 

Johnny.

Present. Thoughtful. Doing the most significant insignificant things. Just him, you and your son. Every day. It was delusional, you knew that. But sometimes that was the solution. As you stood there, the picture was too vivid for you to ignore. You had to put away some stuff in the fridge so he wouldn’t see the hurt in your face.

Two days, and he was doing his best to undo part of the damage he’d caused so long ago. And it terrified you that it might've been working. Still, as you stole one more glance at him clumsily stacking pasta bags, knocking over some spices and barely catching them, you couldn’t help but think, I can almost pretend this is us.

Leo had managed to lure Johnny away from the boring paper bags and guided him to the bookshelf in his room when you got distracted, practically vibrating with excitement. Johnny folded himself down onto the puff in the corner, as Leo started grabbing his favorite books from the shelf and plopping them onto Johnny’s lap. He laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair as the stack grew quickly, one by one.

“This one,” Leo started, tapping the first. “This one’s about animals from the rainforest. The illustrations are interesting. And this one, it’s about space, and the author is my favorite. Oh, and this one has the best drawings of dinosaurs, you’ll love it–look, look, you can see the scales on this one…”

Johnny’s eyes softened, glassy in the dim lamp light. He wasn’t looking at the books. He was looking at Leo. He’d never felt like he belonged anywhere more than he did now. Sinking into a beanbag, knees bent awkwardly, his son piling book after book onto him, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You lingered in the doorway of Leo’s room, leaning against the frame, as Johnny’s lap became a bookshelf of its own, when he suddenly remembered. 

“Hey–uh, could you do me a favor?” he asked you, glancing toward the hallway. “There’s a blue bag by the others I brought in. Can you grab it? I’d stand up but…” He gestured helplessly at the leaning tower of books weighing him down that Leo kept piling stuff on.

Suspicion flickered across your face, but you went anyway, returning with the bag dangling from your fingers. You handed it over with curiosity. He mouthed a thanks, then grinned at Leo. 

“It’s for you, buddy,” he said, holding it out to him.

Leo’s eyes went wide, the books forgotten as he peeked inside, then gasped. “A puzzle?” He pulled out the box, turning it around to study the picture. A swirling nebula, galaxies spilling across the cardboard in oranges and blues. 

“It’s the Carina Nebula! Mom, the Carina Nebula! And a thousand pieces too, thank you Johnny!”

“Johnny…” You gasped at him in surprise, and he was just delighted to see so much emotion in Leo’s face from something Johnny considered less than ordinary a few days ago. 

But not anymore. From now on a thousand pieces puzzles were his favorite thing too. “Of course, bab–Leo.” 

Johnny almost slipped out a more personal nickname, but Leo was too busy tearing the box open and dropping the contents onto the carpet to notice. He scrambled his little fingers to start flipping the pieces over. He got up only to run and stand in front of Johnny, a huge grin on his face.

“You read this one, please.” Leo said breathlessly, shoving a book from the pile at Johnny “Read, read! I’ll sort the edges.”

Johnny chuckled, picking up the slim hardcover. “Yes, sir.” His voice softened as he opened the first page.

He looked up once, mid sentence, and caught your gaze. The way he smiled back made your chest ache in the best way possible.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“No, thank you,” he mouthed back.

You smiled, and walked out to put away the last of the stuff he brought while you finished up dinner. Johnny tilted the book closer to his face, squinting. The lamplight was weak, and his first instinct was the same one it had always been, just flare his hand and solve the problem without thinking. But then he froze. 

Because he couldn’t. Not in front of Leo, the kid didn’t even know yet. That’s when it hit him like a punch…he hadn’t used his powers since he got here. Not to save anyone, not to show off, not even to heat up a cup of coffee, and he hadn’t even realized it until now. So he just angled the book toward the light, cleared his throat, and kept reading, when Leo’s small voice cut through his storytelling.

“So…what exactly do you do for work?”

Johnny’s eyes went wide, lowering the book to see Leo looking at him with the same intensity Sue sometimes did. 

“Work?” He cleared his throat. “Well, I uh, do research on space stuff. You know…boring science things.”

“What kind of space stuff?” he pressed, the puzzle forgotten for a moment. 

Johnny forced a smile, leaning back against the beanbag. “Oh, you know trajectories, black holes…space.” He tried to brush it off, even when it was his favorite thing to talk about, just so the kid wouldn't pry further. 

Leo hummed, not convinced with the brief explanation. So he tilted his head, trying with a different question. “How long have you known mom?”

“Longer than you’ve been alive.” He said quietly. “Way longer.”

Leo gave another thoughtful little hum, pretending to be focused again on lining up puzzle edges. But Johnny caught it, that tiny, dramatic pause before he placed a piece down, the way his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched on the smallest smirk like he was silently declaring Gotcha. A Storm quirk if Johnny had ever seen one.

Johnny gulped. Because he had a feeling Leo wasn’t just curious…he was clocking him.

“Dinner’s ready!” Your yell from the kitchen cut right through the tension.

Johnny snapped the book shut like it had burned him. “Dinner’s ready!” he echoed, way too cheerfully, setting the books back on the low shelf as if nothing unusual had just happened. He ruffled Leo’s hair lightly. “We’ll get back to these over the next few days, buddy. No rush.”

Leo studied him, still with narrowed eyes that looked too much like Johnny’s own. Then, with a little nod, he got up and walked to the living room’s bathroom. Johnny exhaled, until Leo popped his head back around the doorframe and ordered. “Wash your hands.”

“…Right, of course.” He walked after him, chuckling under his breath. “Bossy, like his mom.”

Johnny had sat through hundreds of family dinners. You’d been part of them once, too. Ben in an apron, Herbert always helping while Johnny just tasted stuff and looked pretty. Everything was always polished, silver cutlery against fine white porcelain, shiny glass cups, not a single plate out of place.

And now here he was, at your small wood dining table. The plates didn’t match; yours had a painted baby blue rim, Leo’s was patterned with tiny colorful stars. And Johnny’s was something goofy, with cartoon astronauts smiling up at him. He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. He knew you picked it specifically for him. 

He loved it. 

Cups mismatched as well. Your mug was delicate with pretty spring flowers, Leo had a green plastic dinosaur cup, and Johnny had the orange plastic one with the built-in wavy straw. 

Yeah, that was targeted too. He loved it more. 

Leo dug in with his small plastic fork and occasionally his hands like a kid who knew he was loved enough not to be scolded for enjoying his meal. Johnny couldn’t stop staring at the little details. The cups, the plates, the way you smiled when Leo asked for seconds of broccoli. So he does like it, the thought, that’s my son. Here, there was no Herbert hovering nearby to meet their every need. Here, dinner wasn’t polished like back home, but it was perfect, because this was his new one. 

That’s how the rest of Johnny’s week went. Going after homework, bringing a new puzzle if Leo had finished the last one in record time, and dinner with you. Occasionally he would bring dinner too, some greasy takeout he definitely bribed you into by bringing fruit for Leo.

He was having the time of his life playing family with you. He felt like everyday he managed to tear down another row of bricks from the walls you’d built around yourself. But at the same time, the weight of the other family that waited for him back home kept breathing down his neck. Sue wasn’t happy at all, considering how uncharacteristically nonverbal Johnny was being to them, but he’d managed to keep her at bay with little white lies that weren’t actually white or little at all. 

Johnny just wasn’t ready to leave the only sense of normalcy he’d managed to build with you. 

I'd live and die for moments that we stole, on begged and borrowed time

Leo’s room was a mess of puzzle pieces, once again. Johnny sat cross legged, sleeves rolled up, sorting corners from edges. Leo took the sorted ones and tried to set up a start, but something seemed to rattle his little head, because he was having trouble matching the pieces together.

“Johnny,” Leo started casually, eyes fixed on the puzzle as he finally fitted two edge pieces correctly. “Have you ever wondered why we look so much alike?”

“Oh–uh…not really.” Lie. “Sometimes people just look similar. DNA can be weird, kid.” He shrugged, trying to sound casual. But he came off as too casual. “Random coincidences.” He laughed nervously.

“But you can only call it a coincidence if the DNA isn’t the same.” Leo said immediately, like he was waiting for a slip up like that to happen.

Johnny almost choked with his own spit. Shit. Why did he have to bring up DNA to his literal mini genius of a son?

“...The same?” Johnny panicked.

Leo looked up confidently. “Yeah. If the DNA is tied, you don’t call it a coincidence, you call it inheritance. That’s what makes people look alike. I learned about that today at school.” He stated, and Johnny’s stomach dropped. Leo leaned back on his little hands, squinting at him. “So is it a coincidence…or inheritance?”

“Leo…” He shook his head, trying to laugh it off. “Look, kiddo, I–”

“If it’s just coincidence, then just tell me we don’t have the same DNA.”

Johnny looked at his son, and every lie he could say to protect him from the truth died on his tongue. He wanted to bluff, to wave it away, to keep this little universe intact until you were ready. But as he stared into Leo’s bright, searching eyes, he couldn’t.

For God’s sake, he had to learn about that in school today. 

Leo just hummed at Johnny’s silence, like the puzzle pieces he’d been trying to put together in his own head had finally clicked. “Mommy lets you do things no one else does.” He added, still scrutinizing Johnny with his gaze. 

Johnny straightened in his cross legged position. “Like what, buddy?”

“She lets you be in my room and play with me. She lets you buy food for us. She lets you take us in your car. She thinks I don’t see it, but she never lets anyone do anything.” He shrugged. “It’s always just been mom and me...until you showed up.”

“Huh.” Johnny had to bite back a smile. “I guess…that just makes me pretty lucky, right?”

Leo shook his head. “Or important.”

Right now Johnny wished he had Sue’s powers to turn invisible. The gaze of the five year old on him was making him sweat. Again. And Leo wasn’t even done with his questioning. 

“Where are you really from? You never tell me.”

Johnny cleared his throat. “I told you buddy, somewhere far away.”

“You always say that. Mom always says that.” 

And that’s when it happened. Those bright, impossibly hopeful eyes narrowed, not suspicious anymore, more like he’d just solved the final clue in a mystery. Then, without hesitation, he dared to ask. 

“Are you…are you my dad?”

The world stopped. 

Johnny wanted to say yes a million times. He wanted to throw his arms around him and sob into his tiny shoulder and never let go. But he was terrified. This was not how he’d pictured the big reveal.

“Pizza’s here, you two!” From the living room, your oblivious voice broke the silence.

Neither of them moved. Leo tilted his head, curious at the silence he’d caused, but Johnny looked like he’d seen a ghost, his face pale, heart slamming like it was trying to escape out of his chest.

“Please don’t lie to me.” Leo’s voice came softer this time, too innocent, too vulnerable for Johnny to bear. “Are you?”

You appeared in the doorway, ready to scold them for not coming out when you called, but you caught the question Leo made. 

“Is he what?” You asked playfully.

But that’s when you saw Johnny's face, paper white as Leo stood in his spot, tiny hands planted firmly on his hips. Those sharp eyes darted from Johnny to you, then back to Johnny, and there was something about the way he was looking at him that made your stomach drop.

“Leo? What are you asking, baby?” 

“I’m asking Johnny if he’s my dad.”

Your wide eyes went to Johnny, but his gaze was fixed on the floor. “Why…why do you think that?”

“Because you always say my dad lives somewhere far away. And when I ask Johnny where he’s from, he says the same thing. And because we look alike.” He gestured between himself and Johnny, small hands waving in the air like Johnny did when he explained something. “Not just the hair, but the way I move, the way I talk. He looks like me, and I look like him, and that’s a fact. You can’t tell me that’s only a coincidence.”

You knew Johnny couldn't get a word out, he looked like he was about to pass out, and Leo wasn't letting it go either. So you sighed, walked to his little figure and dropped to your knees beside him, brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear, while your heart was trying to crawl out of your chest.

“Yes, baby.” You smiled through glassy eyes. “Johnny is your dad.”

Leo looked at you in silence, like he just found the final piece of the puzzle he’d been solving all this time inside his head. Then he turned to Johnny, eyes searching for a confirmation from the man itself. 

“Yeah, buddy.” Johnny’s voice came out shaky, holding back tears. “I’m dad.”

Leo studied him for what felt like eternity. He wasn’t angry, but he didn’t seem that surprised either. Then, he nodded once. “Okay.”

It was such a simple reaction, that Johnny almost sobbed in relief. Almost. Because then Leo tilted his head, and asked the real question Johnny wasn't ready for.

“Then where have you been all this time? Why were you so far away?” It wasn't exactly sad, or angry. It was just a child trying to understand why his father didn’t go see him once in the five years of his little life.

“Leo, things…were complicated,” Johnny managed to say, coaxing. “Complicated in ways I don’t think you’d understand yet.”

“Try me, I am very intelligent. I understand many things.”

The innocent argument earned a breathless laugh from Johnny, because God, he knew it was true. This kid could probably teach him a thousand things already. But he shook his head. “You do, buddy, you do. Just…not this.” He said softly. “I know I’ve missed a lot, but I’m here now, Leo. That’s what matters, I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

Leo watched him for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” For once, he didn't feel like questioning everything. “But don’t miss anything else.”

And for Johnny, that little “okay” and that plea felt like the universe just gave him a second chance. So he nodded, maybe too quickly, but he was already feeling that familiar burning sensation behind his eyes. 

“Can I…hug you?” Leo asked quietly.

“What?” Johnny whispered, like maybe he didn’t hear right.

Leo shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve never hugged my dad before.”

Johnny’s heart stopped again. At this point he was gonna need a crash cart next to him. He nodded quickly, his whole body tilting forward, arms welcoming Leo as he launched right into them. Johnny clutched him so tight, one hand cradling the whole back of his head, the other wrapped around his tiny back, and he buried his face in his son’s shoulder.

“You have no idea,” Johnny choked, voice muffled, “How long I’ve been waiting for this.”

You stood in the doorway, tears burning your eyes, because the image was seared into you. Your son, safe in his father’s arms, and Johnny, finally holding the piece of his life he thought he was never getting back. It took forever before Johnny even loosened his arms. Finally, slowly, he leaned back just enough to see his son’s face. His hands cupped Leo’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over the soft skin like he was memorizing every detail. Johnny was crying, shameless tears, but smiled through it, shaking his head like he couldn't believe this was real.

“Look at you,” Johnny sobbed,“You’re perfect.”

Leo hit him with that toothy five year old grin, and Johnny melted. He kissed his forehead, his hair, the crown of his head, over and over, until Leo squirmed and started giggling. It was the kind of laugh that bubbled right out of his chest, because he’d never been loved like this by anyone but you, and now suddenly he had his dad too, the one he’d wished for every time he blew his birthday candles. 

Leo leaned back a little, pushing Johnny’s chest with his tiny hands, still giggling as he looked from Johnny to you. “Mommy…what should I call Johnny now?”

It was a question you never thought you’d hear…at least not so soon. You stared at your son, then at Johnny, who looked like he was seconds from fainting again, waiting for your answer.

“Whatever you want to call him, baby.”

Leo hummed, thinking hard for a moment, his little brow furrowed. Johnny’s breath got stuck in his throat. This is it, this is the moment, he was about to hear that word “Dad”, and it would kill him in the best way possible–

“Johnny.” Leo announced firmly. “Still Johnny. For now, mommy.”

Yeah. That killed him in the worst way possible. Still, he forced a nod, and somehow found the strength to smile. “Johnny’s perfect, buddy. I’ll take that.” Leo would be “buddy” for now too. He’ll save the word “son” for when he is ready to call him Dad. 

“Baby, Johnny and I need to talk, okay? Just for a little bit.” You cut in softly, gesturing Johnny to the hall with your head.

“Is it because I figured it out? Am I in trouble mommy?”

“No, no, of course not, baby.” You reassured, giving his cheek a little squeeze as Johnny finally got up from the beanbag. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, champ. Promise.” Johnny said, ruffling Leo’s hair playfully. 

Leo nodded, focusing back on the puzzle he’d abandoned on the floor. You closed the door softly behind you, walking down the hallway, stopping when you reached the living room.

“He figured it out.” Johnny was the first to speak, still stunned. “He actually figured it out on his own.”

“What do you mean?” You asked, still in disbelief.

“First, he asked me why we looked so alike,” Johnny said, pacing half a step, hands flailing like he always did. “And I panicked, right? I said some crap about coincidences and DNA, you know, like how it works sometimes.” He chuckled. “And you know what he said? He said it’s only a coincidence if the DNA isn’t the same. If it’s tied, it’s an inheritance. Said he learned that today at school.”

“Inheritance. Five years old, and he’s out here lecturing me like Reed.” This time you both chuckled. Johnny kept pacing, still buzzing with disbelief and pride. “You know what? This is my karma. All those years giving Reed hell about his oversized brain, and my kid’s out here calling my bullshit and casually dropping terms like inheritance.” He made a funny “serious” voice in that last word, making you double in laughter. “And you know what? I’m proud as hell. Because he’s cooler than Reed, obviously, cooler than all of us…and he’s gonna have a blast with Franklin–God, can you imagine them together? Two geniuses, tearing up crosswords, building–”

“Johnny–wait. Just…wait.” You put a hand in the air to stop his pacing. “We haven’t talked about any of that yet. About the tower, about…your family.” You said. “He just found out you’re his father. Just now. Can we please backtrack before you start planning his whole future?”

You didn’t mean to sound angry, but the defensiveness came out like a reflex. The grin faltered right off Johnny’s face, and looked at you with wide eyes like he was afraid he’d just ruined everything. 

“Right–yeah. You’re right,” he blurted. “I just got a little carried away. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay. We just...” You sighed deeply, and softened your tone. “We just…need to breathe, and have a conversation about it together. Step by step.”

Together. That’s all he wanted since he set foot in this town. Johnny nodded quickly, muttering, “Yeah, together.”

That was when he moved closer, not too much, just a cautious step that made the air around you grow warmer. He just let his hand lift until his knuckles skimmed yours in the faintest brush. Testing. It was so easy getting lost on Johnny’s blue eyes, and you almost forgot how to breathe when you felt his skin graze yours. But the bolter in you told you to keep protecting yourself, so you folded your arms back across your chest, forcing yourself to break that spark between your hands, then tucked your hair behind your ear. Anything to give yourself a sense of composure. You pretended not to see the defeat in Johnny’s eyes, clearing your throat. Maybe you couldn’t give him your touch yet, but your closeness was something you were willing to offer. 

“Listen uh–it’s getting late,” you said softly. “And today’s been…a lot. Let’s have some pizza, and if you want, you can crash on the couch. That way you’ll be here to put him to bed tonight and he can also see you in the morning.”

Johnny blinked, like he didn’t hear you right. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna intrude. I know your mornings are–”

“Crazy,” you finished for him with a tired smile. “Yeah. But he’ll be happy to have you here. And honestly…I don’t think you should drive back after a day like this.”

And I'll be happy to have you here too, you thought. The truth was, you didn't want him to leave after dinner. But a little white lie never hurt anyone.

“Okay,” he smiled softly, boyish. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

Time, mystical time, cutting me open, then healing me fine

The morning sun seeped through the curtains, and the first thing Johnny saw when he opened his eyes was his five year old staring him down in his cute rocketship pajamas. 

“Good morning,” Leo said, and a soft smile spread on Johnny’s face. It didn’t last long before the kid pointed out, “You snore louder than a dinosaur,” and then disappeared back into the hallway. 

Johnny blinked a few times and huffed. His back ached like hell, but if he ignored the accusation that he snores and just focused on the tender ‘good morning’ his son gave him, he couldn't care less about the pain. The next thing he saw was you walking out with your shirt untucked, hair barely tamed, and Leo trailing behind you, narrating every dinosaur fact he could remember. You stopped right before entering the kitchen, remembering you let Johnny sleep on your couch last night. 

“Morning, Johnny,” You smiled sheepishly.

“Morning.”  He propped himself up on his elbow to flash you a grin. 

Damn deep morning voice. Damn bed hair. Damn tight shirt. Honestly, just damn Johnny Sto–

“Mommy, are you even listening?” Leo tugged the fabric of your dress pants, and only resumed his description of the Brachiosaurus when you turned to him with an apologetic smile. 

Johnny chuckled when he realized your mornings were indeed chaotic with a walking encyclopedia following you around, so he sprung up from the couch to swiftly scoop Leo into his arms. “Alright, buddy, Operation ‘Let’s get dressed’ starts now.”

Leo giggled like it was a game, as Johnny hauled him toward his room making jet noises. Next thing you knew, Johnny was actually helping; getting Leo into his little uniform, somehow managing to fix the collar better than you expected, and even finding his missing shoe under the bed. You finally let yourself breathe. Johnny had Leo occupied so you could focus on breakfast. You told yourself you were just doing something nice because your son needed to eat something decent before school. That was it. Nothing to do with the fact that Johnny was there, suddenly making your morning a hundred times easier since he smiled at you. Nope. Totally not about him. So you pulled out the flour, eggs, and milk like it was the most casual thing in the world. But instead of Leo’s usual quick chopped fruits and cereal, you were whisking up pancake batter. Adding strawberries sliced on top, a drizzle of honey and even some whipped cream because why not.

“Pancakes? What’s the occasion?” Johnny appeared in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with crossed arms and a teasing smile.  

“No occasion. Just figured Leo deserved something nice.” You muttered, setting the plates on the table, just as Leo strolled in all dressed up. 

“She only makes pancakes on Sundays! Or birthdays…"

Your head whipped around. “Leo!” But he was already running to the bathroom to wash his hands, knowing exactly what he’d done. 

Johnny’s grin widened, he padded over, standing way too close as he looked at the plates you’d clearly put an effort on. “So what you’re saying is…”He teased behind you, “…I should feel really special, then.” He was so close you could feel his warmth all over your back. Your hand stilled over the table, as Johnny’s hovered over your waist, almost touching you, testing just like last night when–

The doorbell rang, making you both jolt. You took that as your chance to bolt the scene, muttering something about getting the door. You cleared your throat, and tucked a loose strand behind your ear before opening it. 

“Oh hi! How are you?” You beamed at your neighbor, and your sudden joy made Johnny snap his head to the handsome man greeting you with matching excitement. “I was going to call you, my car’s battery died the other day…” You said, voice fading away as you stepped outside to greet him and closed the door behind you, leaving Johnny without a sight of the interaction. 

Oh hell no. Johnny immediately rushed to the window, leaning his knee on the couch to peek through the curtain. He saw you standing next to your car, already giggling at whatever joke this guy said. His eyes went up and down the mysterious man, he had shoulder length wavy brown hair, and a stupid kind smile. He was wearing a deep blue coverall uniform, his name embroidered on it but too far away to read. As if on cue, Leo walked out the bathroom, wondering where his mom was. Perfect. 

“Hey, Leo, pst.” Johnny whispered, and the boy perked his head up in curiosity. “Come here buddy.” 

Leo obeyed, climbing over the couch to get a peek outside too, and saw you. “Why are we eavesdropping on mom?” He asked, a bit too loud, his little brow already judging Johnny. 

“Shhh. Buddy, we’re not eavesdropping, we’re…observing.” Johnny gaslighted, and Leo wasn’t fully convinced, but this seemed fun enough to entertain him. “Now Leo, who’s that man? He’s your neighbor?”

“Yes, that’s Mr. Barnes. His name is Bucky.” 

“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky.” Johnny frowned, and Leo gasped. 

“Language!” The five year old scolded, and Johnny reluctantly muttered an apology. “He’s a mechanic, he was supposed to change our battery last week.” 

Yeah, but why is she giggling so much? He can’t be that funny. And why are those guy’s eyes so blue? Johnny leaned closer to hear the conversation. 

“Hey, next time something like that happens, call me alright?” Bucky said, and you nodded. 

“Thank you, Bucky. I will.” You smiled at him one last time, and finally turned to the porch to make your way back. 

“Shit–” Johnny scattered away from the window, ignoring Leo’s little scold for the curse, and snatched him off the couch just in time as you opened the door. 

You walked in with a sigh and a smile, only to find Johnny and Leo standing suspiciously close to the window, both trying–and failing–to act normal. “What?” You asked, crossing your arms. 

Johnny shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “Nothing. Just…didn’t realize the pancakes included an early morning comedy hour with the neighbor.”

You snorted. “Oh my god, Johnny. He just wanted to ask about the tow he saw last week.” 

“Right! The tow, yeah that’s hilarious, isn't it…All that giggling and tossing your hair back, talking about a tow...”

You narrowed your eyes, and bit back a smile at his very evident jealousy. “Johnny, Bucky is like a hundred years old.” You said and his brows furrowed in more confusion. “Okay–not a hundred. But he’s way older, you don’t need to worry about him…”

“Me? Worried about that guy? Pft.” He shrugged. “No, I was just curious why Mister Mechanic thinks he can knock on your door before breakfast.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because some people actually wake up early to do their jobs, Johnny.” 

“Oh, so now you’re defending him? Wow. First pancakes, and now this. The morning just keeps getting better!” He said sarcastically, and Leo watched him amused. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you walked to the breakfast table. “You’re ridiculous.”

Leo trailed behind you. “Yeah, and foul-mouthed.” He giggled climbing into his chair.

Johnny groaned, dragging his feet to the table. Yeah, well…ridiculous or not, I just got my family back. Not really in the mood to share laughs with some guy named Bucky.”

Pancakes were a success, so much that Johnny was eager to offer himself to drive Leo to school and drop you at college after. The car ride was nice, at least to Leo, who chatted away with Johnny while you kept replaying in your head the way he looked when he just woke up, how warm his body felt behind you, right before the door ring, and his little jealousy fit after. It didn’t help that you still had a very important conversation pending haunting you as well. You couldn't do it in front of Leo, of course, but even after he jumped out of the truck, you still didn’t…talk. About what was important, at least. About what on earth was going to happen once you decided to step out of the little bubble you’d created, the one with pizza nights, pancake mornings, and light family banter in between. You told yourself you were just buying more time, but swearing by that six years ago might’ve been the start of this whole mess in the first place. The problem is, old habits die screaming, and you still had air in your lungs. 

And unfortunately, as beautiful as “playing house” sounded, all those afternoons Johnny spent at your place for a whole week, had led you to be incredibly behind with your faculty responsibilities. You hadn’t even noticed it was way past lunch time already. You sat on your office desk, red ink staining the side of your hand as you went through the mountain of papers you needed to grade. Your growling stomach told you to stop an hour ago, but you couldn’t, not when you were this behind. It wasn’t something you were used to, but the new flame in town was the one to blame. You let out a sigh, setting the pen down only for a second to rub your temple, when a knock on your door made you jump.

“Come in,” you shouted without even looking up, expecting a student, or the nice janitor wanting to say hi. 

“Are you planning on eating the papers for lunch?” 

You snapped your head up, only to find Johnny leaning against the doorframe, holding a brown bag in his hand. His blue eyes flicked over the chaos on your desk, and behind that cocky smile was that quiet concern you’d learned to recognize in him. You sat up straighter, pretending you weren’t just about to scream in frustration before he knocked on your door. 

“Johnny…” You warned, as he strutted toward you waving the bag excitedly. “I’m busy, I told you I needed to get these done by today.”

“Relax, I know. I’m not here to distract you, Professor Spencer,” He said, setting the bag down next to your stack of ungraded exams. “I just grabbed some sandwiches from that corner deli I saw the other day, and I figured you might’ve forgotten.”

You looked at him, ready to put up a fight, but your stomach said just take the damn sandwich, girl. So you exhaled, relaxing your posture in defeat. “I…yeah. I did forget.”

Johnny pulled the chair from that side of the desk and placed it backward, then sat down with his chin resting on his folded arm on the top rail as he watched you with amusement. “Knew it,” he said, pushing the bag closer to you with his finger. “Come on, eat first, fail your students later.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for it, biting back a smile at the gesture. It caught you off guard how easily he kept working his way into different pieces of your day. Parts that had always been just yours. 

“My students don’t fail,” you argued playfully, pulling the sandwich out, realizing he’d gotten your order right once again. “There’s only one here, want to go halfsies?” You offered, the same way you did to Leo sometimes.

“Oh, yeah–I mean, no…I already ate mine on the way I was starving.” He snorted, blushing. “And I’m sure they don’t,” he chuckled, but there was no malice in it. 

You hummed pridefully. Johnny watched you nibble the edge of the sandwich, your free hand already picking up the pen and eyes darting back to the papers. He groaned dramatically and reached over, snatching a pile from the stack to slide it toward him.

“Alright, hand me the red pen, I’ll help you while you eat.”

You shook your head, trying to grab the pile back but he put his arm over it to keep it in place. “Johnny, you don’t even know the subject.”

“Nonsense,” he kept his arm there, flicking his fingers for the pen. “I’m an astronaut. I’ve been to space and learned alien languages, I can grade a few papers,” he said confidently, too smug for his own good, but it was enough for you to shrug and hand him the pen. Maybe this could be fun. 

“Let me give you a graded one so you can see–”

“I don’t need it,” he shook his head, already squinting at the page in deep concentration.

You held back a chuckle, and leaned back in your chair to enjoy your sandwich, curious on how long it’d be until he gave up. His brow furrowed at the first page covered in equations, mouthing the items under his breath. It took about four more seconds.

“Okay, so…you give credit if they write their name at the top, right?”

You snorted, shaking your head in amusement. “Come on, Mr. I talk to naked sexy aliens, you got this.” You took another bite of your sandwich, smiling against it. It tasted better while humbling Johnny Storm. 

He just smiled at you sarcastically, eyes squinting in fake enthusiasm. He turned to the second page, expecting to at least know one answer, but as he went through the items his jaw dropped dramatically. “Jeez, these are hard questions. What are you preparing them for, NASA?”

“Basically,” you deadpanned, “I’m trying to get them into programs, like your family’s.”

You said it so genuinely that it was enough to shut him up. For a moment he got caught between a sense of pride and guilt, tapping the pen on the page trying to mask it. “Guess I should, uh…leave this to you, then. I’m a little rusty anyways,” he tried to play it cool, setting the pile back onto the stack and resting his arms on the back of the chair again. You nodded, setting the half of the sandwich down to reach for the pen again. “You know,” he said softly, “all this work you’re doing–what you did with Kate and try to do with others…you’re changing the course of their lives. That’s one hell of a mark you’re leaving here.”

You shook your head, eyes locked on the numbers. “I just thought everyone deserved a chance at a better life, that’s all. Someone gave me that chance once. It didn’t work out for me but maybe it will for them.”

Johnny tilted his head and felt that familiar pang in his chest, the one that told him he didn’t protect that chance when it mattered, didn't protect you. He didn’t speak for a while after that. You tried to ignore it, the weight of what was unsaid still hanging in the air, of what you were still running away from, but the insistent bounce in his leg made you glance over at him. He was absentmindedly tapping his fingers on his forearm, and he wasn’t even looking at you anymore. His eyes were stuck on the bulletin board behind you, but he wasn't really reading anything on it. You knew that tapping. You knew that look. Leo had the same little quirks when something bothered him. You could’ve just ignored him. It was easier to keep escaping and you still had it in you to keep running, but your legs were starting to hurt. So you sighed, setting the pen down again and moving the papers away. 

“Johnny,” you started softly, and he just hummed. “You didn’t just come here to have lunch with me and get humbled with my tests, did you?”

He stopped tapping his fingers, gaze finally meeting yours with a forced laugh. “Hey, I said I was a little rusty,” he joked, but it faltered quickly. “But, you’re right…I didn’t.”

You nodded with a sad smile. “We’ve been avoiding this since last night, haven’t we?”

“We have,” he exhaled, finally dropping some of the weight off. “I think I was hoping it would just…work itself out. That I’d keep waking up in your house and we’d all just be there together, sharing breakfast, answering Leo’s morning trivia,” he chuckled at that, and it made you smile too. “That one day he’d call me dad without hesitating, and you’d…you’d stop looking at me like you’re still halfway out the door.”

He didn't say it like an accusation, and maybe that made it worse. You looked away. It was hard to face the fact that those were just mere fantasies, ones you couldn't deny you had yourself. 

“But I know I can’t stay here forever. I have responsibilities back home, and they don’t just go away because I want them to. I’ve been pulling excuses for weeks, because I know I need to have a plan with you before I bring this to my family, but Sue is not happy at all…I’ll have to face them before they come snooping around.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I don’t want to turn into a visitor in my son’s life, I want to be in it, so there’s gotta be a middle ground for us.”

“Johnny, you talk about it like it’s easy to decide what that middle ground is.” 

“Because it should be,” he shot back instantly, refusing to let you keep brushing it off. “I’m not asking for everything at once, I just want us to start, to get somewhere.” 

“You say somewhere but we both know what you mean by that. That’s not a middle ground.” You snapped, burying your face in your hands. 

Johnny kept himself from groaning, sighing instead. “That’s not what I meant.” He was coming off wrong, yet the fire inside him told him to keep pushing. “I’m just saying, you told me you believe everyone deserves a shot. So why not you? Why not Leo?” The way your shoulders tensed didn’t go unnoticed by him. “You’re busting yourself in this office, running on no sleep, all to give strangers a shot at a better life. But your son–our son, and you? You deserve it too, maybe more than anyone.”

You finally looked at him. “I know he deserves the best in the world, and once I believed that for myself too,” you said, fighting the burn in the back of your throat. “But I don’t know if I can ever go back there, Johnny. I know you were scared but I lost everything that day. I’ve been living in the shadow of what you did to me for so long, that it’s easier to believe it's safer to stay small.”

The guilt was so heavy in Johnny’s chest that it stung. Saying sorry was never going to be enough to repair the damage he’d done. You sat in silence for a moment, and even if the words that came out hurt, they needed to be said. It was the only way to get somewhere. 

“I know you have your life in New York, your family, the team. But Leo and I…we’ve built something here, something safe. He knows you’re his father now, but that still doesn’t change that our life is here,” you said firmly.

“I understand that.” Johnny nodded softly. “I’m not asking you to give that up–”

“But you’re not going to give up yours either.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. And you hated how accusatory it sounded, because he had every right as much as you did. 

“I’m not,” he admitted, smiling sadly. “The city, my team…it’s not just duty, it’s a part of me. But I’m not saying you need the Baxter Tower either, you don’t ever have to forgive them…or me, if you don’t wish to.”

“I didn’t say I’ll never forgive them,” you shook your head, finally easing down. “But I don’t trust them, not yet. And I can’t just pretend like those years didn’t happen.” 

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said softly, “I know I should’ve stood by you. I should’ve trusted you. And me being scared doesn't change the fact that I was a coward that day.”

You’re not wrong. 

“I’m not asking you to trust them right now, I can only ask you to trust me. To trust that I’ll never let you be alone, and that I’ll stand between you and anyone who tries to treat you like that ever again…even if it’s them.”

You let the words sink in. Promises you’d prayed for so many times in the dark. “You know when you talk like that, I want to believe again. I hate it, but I do,” you admitted.

“Then don’t fight it.”

Your breath hitched when Johnny suddenly got up from his chair, rounding the desk to walk to your side. He crouched down, swiveling your chair slowly to face him. He put one hand on the armrest as the other reached hesitantly, hovering over yours for a few seconds. He waited for that rejection, for that almost touch, but you didn’t pull back this time. You just sat there, eyes wide, staring at his hand finally wrapped around yours. All you could focus on was the little mole on the back of his hand you always wanted to press a kiss on. 

“Let’s try this again,” he smiled softly, his thumb brushing your skin. “I don’t want you to think I’m saying pack it up and leave your life overnight. I just want to find a way to make this work, I want us to find a way.”

“But…what if we don’t figure it out?” you whispered. 

“Then we keep trying until we do,” he shrugged. “I’ll fly here every week if I have to. We’ll do weekends, we’ll FaceTime. We’ll write letters if that’s what it takes. But I’m not giving up on you.”

You nodded, but didn't say anything else. Johnny didn’t mind it, the fact that you let him take your hand was enough for him. He watched you for a moment longer, then slowly, gently, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss, right over your knuckles. He lingered there, eyes never leaving yours, and it was the gentleness that undid you, more than the promises. That, and the impossible longing behind his gaze. 

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he whispered against your skin, making your heart race and heat creep up your neck.

“Johnny…”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been dying to say it since I arrived here,” he flashed you one of his dashing smiles, finally lowering your hand to your lap but never letting go.

The way he managed to turn everything around so easily with just a couple words and that maddening grin drove you insane. Still, your fingers tightened around his, and you couldn't help the smile on your face. There goes another one of your walls.

“You know, I don’t think our middle ground is Manhattan, but maybe we could consider something…closer.” You drawled, and he nodded enthusiastically. “I just don’t know where–“

“We’ll figure it out,” he cut in, desperate. “Any city, as close as you wish. We’ll find the best school for Leo and I’ll buy you a house there, as big as you want it, I’ll paint it your favorite color…we can even have a cute garden and a mailbox and a driveway with a basketball hoop–”

“Johnny…” You chuckled at his little suburban fantasy, shoving his shoulder playfully with your free hand. 

“I mean it! We can do anything, I swear.” He laughed too, clutching your hand tighter. “All I know right now is that I want you, and I want him closer. I want him to know who I am. Just–just don’t worry about anything, and leave it to me. I’ll protect the family. Our family.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your heart ringing in your ears and his hopeful eyes locked on yours. He looked like he was in the middle of a battlefield instead of an office, because yes, this was the goddamn fight of his life and he’d started it all those years back. But now he was ready to burn himself down if it meant proving to you that this time, he would fight. And you chose to believe it. 

“Okay…” you whispered, “I trust you, Johnny…don’t make me regret it.” 

“You won’t.” He shook his head, pressing another kiss to your hand, smiling against your skin. 

He lowered your hand, eyes inevitably going to your lips, looking too inviting for his own good. He leaned without even thinking, breath almost mingling with yours, his thumb tracing circles that sent shivers up your arms. His lips were so close you could feel his heat wrapping all over your body, so you closed your eyes instinctively when–

Two knocks on the door startled you both. He almost bumped your chin when he leaned back, but before any of you had time to think about it, the door swung open. 

“Professor, I–uh…”

You looked over to find none other than Captain Walker standing there. Six-foot-two of pure southern muscle wrapped in his neat navy blue uniform. He held a red paper plate in one hand, with a very generous piece of cake on it. His smile faltered just a second when he clocked Johnny crouching, hand still on yours, both of you snapping back like guilty teenagers caught making out behind the bleachers.

“…I see I’m interrupting something,” he drawled, his amused voice sweet as honey. 

You cleared your throat, heat creeping up your face as you tugged your hand back, pretending to shuffle the papers on your desk. “Not at all, John, come in.”

Johnny immediately stood up, without leaving your side, hands on his hips, and if looks could kill…Great. First, Mr. Mechanic in the morning, and now Mr. Cowboy boots. Stealing his moments with you. 

“You always just burst into places like that?” Johnny snapped, but it only made John grin wider. 

I’ll be damned, looks like Ken is mad at me. “My bad, she usually has no problem with me walking in like this.” John shrugged, unbothered, strolling toward your desk. Johnny’s eye twitched. 

You scrambled to diffuse the awkwardness, gesturing between them. “Uh–Johnny, this is Captain John Walker, we’re campus neighbors. John, this is Johnny…Lowell, a friend.”

Lowell? A Friend? Seriously? 

He remembered this guy all too well. The same one you brushed off that time with that laugh you do when you’re trying to be polite. And now he’s back again. With “cake”.

Still, he extended his arm over the desk when you tilted your head at him. John’s handshake was firm, maybe a little too firm, and Johnny didn’t even bother hiding how reluctant he was to take it. While their eyes locked in a silent testosterone showdown, you were sitting there wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“It’s always nice to see you around, John. What do you have for me?” You smiled, more out of habit than anything, but it was enough to make Johnny’s head whip to you like Excuse me!? 

John ignored him, and placed the cake on your desk, right next to the crumpled brown bag, dusting some crumbs off the edge. “The chief wanted me to bring you this, thought we’d share the wealth.” He smiled, wide and bright, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

Johnny scoffed. “Right, the chief sent you all the way here from the station.” Johnny said, crossing his arms. “Oh and I bet he’s also like what, 6’4? Probably built like Superman too, huh?”

You glanced over at him, amused. Oh, he was digging his own grave. But he was too busy with the gears already smoking in his head. What the hell is in the water in this town? Why is every man hot and trying to flirt with you?

“No, actually, she’s about this tall.” John corrected, lifting his hand flat in the air, showing where someone about a foot shorter than him would reach. “Maybe 5’4 at best. She could kill you with her eyes closed, though.” 

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh with a cough, because oh my god, Johnny’s face.

He turned to you, offended, red as a tomato. “Did you just laugh? You’re definitely laughing.”

“I’m not.” You cleared your throat, then turned back to John with a casual ease that only made it worse. “That’s so sweet, John. Tell Yelena I said thank you and happy birthday.”

“Will do,” he nodded. Then he crossed his arms, hands touching his elbows, as he eyed Johnny up and down. He stared at the XS outfit, the silver bracelet peeking under the sleeve of his designer jacket, and the flawless little haircut. “Nice pants, by the way. You a lawyer or something?”

Johnny was flabbergasted, to say the least. “Do I look like a lawyer?”

John shrugged, “Do I look like a cop?” 

Do I look like a cop?. Johnny mimicked in his head. I’m going to burn this man down and have Reed cover it up. See how much of a cop you look like after that. 

“Actually, I’ll have you know I’m the human–ah.” He grimaced when you pressed your hand harshly to his stomach, holding a couple of papers tightly against it. 

“What Johnny means is he’s from Human Resources.” You gritted, glaring at him. “He was just helping me with some paperwork.” 

Johnny exhaled in defeat, taking the papers from your hands, rolling his eyes dramatically but still nodding. 

“Yeah, he seems pretty…resourceful.” John said. But instead of feeling intimidated against this man evidently staking his claim, especially after whatever the hell he walked on, he just chuckled and shrugged. “Now I see why you never said yes to me.”

Damn right, Johnny thought. 

You just buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

John was about to tip his head and make himself scarce before he had to arrest a pretty boy assaulting an officer, when he felt that uncharacteristic warmth he’d only felt in your office before. “I know I’ve mentioned it before, but are you sure you’re not messing with the heating? It’s so warm here.” 

“The heating? Not really, I–“ Your eyes went to Johnny, who looked way too red and too suspicious at the comment. You narrowed your eyes. “Huh. Yeah, it’s actually getting very hot in here…” 

Johnny avoided your gaze as he circled the desk. “Well, this was lovely, captain! Aye aye, time to go!” He placed his abnormally warm hands on John’s biceps, and turned him around, pretending not to struggle as he nudged him toward the door. 

“Enjoy your cake professor, I know it’s your favorite.” John half turned, planting his boots on the floor and towering over Johnny for him to stop –attempting– to drag him away. It worked. “Pleasure meeting you, Lowell.” Not.

And after one more smile at you and a glare at Johnny, he finally walked out the door. Johnny stood there for a few seconds, just glaring daggers at the closed door. “Okay–what the hell was that? Cake? Really? He brings you cake and suddenly you’re giggling like he’s the funniest man alive?”

You rolled your eyes, scooping the plate closer, and tasted some of the frosting with your finger. “Oh, please Johnny, he was just being nice.”

He snapped his gaze back to you, utterly scandalized. “That wasn’t nice, that was–look, he walked aaall the way here from the station. You don’t just show up with cake in the middle of the day unless you’re trying to make a move on someone.” He wouldn't even be surprised if this “Yelena” was trying to get her foot in your door too. 

“I park by the station when the campus is full, Johnny, I see them very often. They're just my friends.”

“Friends,” he muttered under his breath, pacing in his spot. Last time he was your “friend” he procreated a secret baby with you. “He knows your favorite cake too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Johnny, you’ve been in my life again for like four minutes. Of course people know stuff about me.” 

“Wow wow wow–four minutes? Now that's cold.” He stopped pacing, pointing accusingly at you. 

Jesus Christ. Was this really the same man that promised you a big house with a stupid basketball hoop while kissing your hand just moments ago? 

“Says the guy who warmed up the room with pure jealousy,” you shrugged, unbothered, playing with the little spoon without looking at him.

“I’m not jealous. I just…run hot,” he shrugged, then smiled devilishly when that idea popped back in his head. “However, in case I need it–I’m not saying I will, but if I ever do, Reed can cover up a murder you know…” 

“Oh my god, Johnny,” you gasped, then both bursted in laughter. “Well, until you get caught, do you want some cake or not?” You said, pointing at the cake with the spoon. 

He sighed in annoyance, but still dragged his feet back to the chair. “I do…but I’m still angry.”

“I know,” you smiled, holding out the spoon with a piece toward him. “And I still have to grade these papers.”

He took the bite, smiling against the spoon. “I know that too,” he said, voice muffled. “Give me another pen.”

So there you were, hearts on your sleeves, cake frosting on your lips, and a very jealous Johnny Storm finally accepting a graded test reference so he could actually be helpful. 

“But another Jonathan, really?”

“Ugh, Johnny!”

Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

Johnny hadn’t exactly planned on sleeping on your couch twice in a row. Somehow it happened, after Leo wouldn’t let him go until he read all four of his favorite books to him. 

Leo didn’t like short books. 

Not that Johnny minded though, he’d stay up all night reading and entertaining his son if it meant making up for lost time even in the slightest bit. He couldn’t stop thinking about Leo’s bubbly laughter when he made a witty joke, or his seriousness when he corrected something Johnny misread trying to make a funny voice. Leo’s fire was brighter than his in all aspects, and he’d never been prouder to be outshined by someone barely over forty four inches. You invaded his memories too. You sat next to him on the little bed while he put on a show, laughing at his jokes, smiling until your cheeks hurt, and ignoring the fact that it was way past Leo’s bedtime by book three. It was a Friday anyways, so who cares.

So here he was, 2 am, padding toward your kitchen, for an “I can’t sleep snack”. It was ridiculous, really, sneaking in the dark to raid his five year old’s cereal stash. He found the last box on the counter, frowning at how light it was. Almost gone. Gotta remember to buy him more. Then he went to the fridge, juggling a milk carton, the cereal, and a ceramic bowl at the same time, cursing under his breath when he almost dropped the bowl. That’s when he heard the soft steps behind him.

“Johnny?”

He froze, caught red handed with a spoon dangling awkwardly out of his mouth. He turned slowly, to find you next to the breakfast counter, arms folded, squinting in the dark. 

“I–uh,” he whispered, lowering to the opposite counter to drop the spoon from his mouth, half laughing. “I couldn’t sleep.” He gestured lazily at the box in his hand. “Chose to battle my insomnia with…cereal.”

“Right,” you smiled. “I couldn't sleep either.”

Johnny put the milk into the fridge, set the bowl back in the cabinet with exaggerated care, and grabbed the cereal box with a flourish, pouring a handful straight into his palm. He munched quietly, looking at you like he was waiting for judgment. Instead, you just leaned against the counter in your oversized shirt, watching him with amusement.

“I’ll bring more tomorrow,” he justified.

You shook your head softly. “I don’t mind, Johnny. You brought it here. You can eat anything you want from this house.”

He grinned, and held out a few pieces to you in truce. You smiled and took them, brushing his fingers faintly. And now it was just the two of you, parents to a brilliant five year old, sharing stolen cereal under the moonlight at two in the morning.

“There’s something we haven’t talked about yet, and I’ve been dying to ask you about it.” Johnny broke the silence.

You frowned, but still nodded. “Sure, what is it?” 

He gathered courage, and asked. “Why Spencer?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I get why not Storm, but…why the other?”

“Well…I wasn’t really thinking clearly when I first chose it.” You said, chucking nervously. “But I think in the end, it was because I didn’t want you completely out of his life,” you confessed, sighing. “It wasn’t safe to name him Storm, of course, but I couldn’t erase you, either. So…Spencer. At least some part of you would always be with him.”

And with me, you thought. But you weren’t ready to say that out loud yet. 

He stood in silence for a moment, taking it all in. Then, he smiled, genuinely. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

You just nodded, biting your lip. “Now I have a question for you.”

He popped a few flakes into his mouth, grinning smugly. “Shoot, professor.”

“Why aren't you using your flames?” You asked. “Why are you brooding in my kitchen in the dark?”

That almost made him choke on the cereal, he barked out a laugh, louder than he meant to, and clapped a hand over his mouth before he woke Leo up. “Okay, yeah. I know it’s ridiculous. I don’t even remember the last time I brooded in complete darkness like this. Definitely before the accident, like, eleven, twelve years ago?” He shook his head at himself.

You looked at him amused, but still waited for his answer. He sighed and leaned on the counter behind him, one hand still holding the cereal box as the other rested on the countertop. 

“Truth? I haven’t used my powers since I got here. It just…didn’t feel appropriate. Your house isn’t exactly fireproof and I wasn’t gonna risk burning down my kid’s home.”

That made you laugh, muffling the little snort into your hand. He beamed at the sound.

“I understand that, but…” You looked at him curiously, uncrossing your arms. “...I was wondering, if maybe I could see it?”

“See…it?”

You nodded, and stepped closer to him. “Your flames…it’s been a while. But I remember they were beautiful.”

Johnny set the cereal box in the counter behind him, his eyes searching yours for hesitation. “You’re not scared?”

You shook your head. “Just…step away from the curtains.”

A breathless laugh slipped from him in a mix of disbelief and nerves, but he’d do anything for you. He took one step forward, into the middle of the kitchen, and lifted his hand. A warm light washed your features when his entire hand lit up, fire curling up his fingers. The heat filled the room instantly, the warmth close enough to kiss your skin but never to hurt. And in that glow, all you saw was him. Johnny in the firelight. His blue eyes caught the dancing flames, orange and gold, but he was staring at you as if you held the fire he’d spent his whole life chasing. He stepped forward, flexing his fingers, so the flame flickered a little lower in delicate patterns. 

“Yeah…” you whispered. “…still beautiful.”

You smiled at him, so softly, so honest, that Johnny almost fell to his knees for you on his spot. This was it. This was his moment. No more interruptions. No more mechanics or policemen. No more ‘almost’. 

“So are you.” He stepped closer one more time. “I meant it before and I will mean it my entire life,” he mumbled, like it slipped out before he could stop it. 

“Johnny…” your breath hitched, but you didn’t step back. 

The flame softened even more, until it was just a quiet glow, just enough to light your faces in gold. He closed the last of the distance between you, his other hand rose slowly, and fit like a puzzle piece on your waist. His touch was warm, just as you remembered it, as his hand brought you toward him with the gentlest pull.

“Is this okay?” he said breathlessly, his voice betraying him on how badly he needed the answer.

You barely nodded, because you were too mesmerized by the fire dancing in his eyes, and the way his hand on your waist made your heart race. So he dared to close the space until your chests finally collided, until your breath mingled with his, until the world came to nothing but the warmth of his hand sliding to your back and the firelight dancing between your mouths.

“I can’t keep pretending I don’t think about the taste of your lips all the time.” His lips hovered over yours, just a breath apart. “I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered the words that have been caged in his chest for six years and could finally break free. 

Your heart screamed me too. The ache, the longing, the waiting for him to come save you from the melancholy you’d drowned yourself in…it all flooded back to you as if no time had passed. So you decided it was time to finally let him in. You slipped your arms over his shoulders, hands placed firmly on the back of his neck, and pleaded.

“Just kiss me, Johnny.”

He didn’t waste another second. 

Your lips touched first like a question, but the instant his mouth found yours, the flame in his hand died down, just as the one between your lips ignited. Suddenly both his hands were on you, palms running across your back, tugging you closer as if that would erase the years spent apart. His kiss was wild, desperate like he’d been starving and was finally allowed to taste what he'd been craving.

Your fingers were on his hair before you could think, pulling, anchoring you to reality as the kiss deepened. Johnny breathed against you between kisses, broken little groans that showed the hunger burning inside him. It wasn't gentle, it wasn't careful. He wanted to feel every part of you pressed against him, to make sure you were real, that this was happening, that no one was interrupting this time. It was everything unsaid, every letter you never sent, every apology he made that never reached your ears.

The kiss broke not because either of you wanted it to, but because salt hit your mouths, tears you didn't even realize had been spilling. His and yours, both mixing together until you pulled back to see the glimmer on his cheeks, and he saw the same on yours.

His thumbs wiped your tears, as he smiled through his. “I never had the courage to make you mine for more than just one night and I hate myself for it. It was my fault that we were never anything, when we should’ve had it all.” He paused, only to wipe his face. “We were just…two idiots who pretended love didn’t exist…but it did. It existed to me. It always did.”

You took a shaky breath, partly because you were still recovering from the kiss, and because his words cut too close. “It did to me too, Johnny. I’m sorry that we were never anything. I’m sorry I let myself believe we couldn’t be.”

“I don’t want us to be like that anymore. I don’t care how messy, how complicated it’ll be to find a middle ground–it just…doesn’t matter. I lost six years with you that I’ll never get back. And I swear to you, I’m not wasting another second.” He promised, still holding you. “I want it all. God, I want everything. You, Leo and me. Forever.”

You were tired of words, so you leaned in instead, your lips meeting in the middle. Soft at first, then hungrier, almost laughing against his mouth when he exhaled in relief into it. 

“Yes. You…” you said between kisses, “Leo…”

Another kiss.

“And me.”

One more. 

“Forever.”

Johnny groaned into your mouth, relief and joy tangling into one sound, as he guided your bodies with a few steps forward. Your lower back pressed against the counter as he leaned you against it, still kissing you. Your giggles bubbled up, breaking through the kiss, and he chased it with his lips wanting to taste your laughter. He joined you, and soon you were both giggling, kissing, pulling apart only to fall right back in. Your hands twisted in his hair, his thumb brushed the side of your jaw.

For the first time in years, the ache lifted, leaving two idiots in love, finally letting themselves be just that. 

The next thing you knew, your hand slipped into his and you were guiding him to your room. He just followed, cereal and everything else forgotten, heart beating so fast in his chest he swore you could hear it. He couldn’t take his eyes off your back, the way that shirt barely covered past your ass, the way your hips shifted with every step, the way your hand dragged him to a place he thought was forbidden. When you pushed open your bedroom door, even in the dark, he could see how warm the space felt. Soft floral bedding, a few books stacked at the nightstand, pictures of your life, races of you everywhere. He wanted to soak it all in, but you didn’t give him time. You pulled him in, and he stumbled a little before he kissed you back, but then he pulled away just enough to whisper against your mouth. 

“Are you sure? About this? About…me?”

Your fingers clutched his shirt, walking backwards toward your bed . “Yes. But we have to be quiet, our son is asleep.”

That made him huff out the quietest laugh just as just stopped by the bed’s edge. “You, quiet? With me? Oh, sweetheart…” He grinned mischievously. “You don’t really have the best record with that.”  

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you. He stole another kiss, muffling his own chuckle against your lips, and then you were both tumbling onto the bed. Johnny shushed himself dramatically when the mattress squeaked, his neck stifling your laugh. 

Johnny’s hands roamed everywhere, greedy, making up for every touch he couldn't give you before. Six years ago it had been laughter muffled in champagne glasses, hurried kisses that dissolved into tangled limbs, both of you too drunk to notice much beyond the spark between you. But this…this was different. His lips moved down your jaw, to your throat, to the skin peaking under the shirt. You could feel the way he was holding back still, making the effort of not rushing, because he wanted this to last. Wanted you to last.

“God,” he mumbled against your collarbone, his breath hot on your skin. “I don’t even remember if I kissed you here last time.” So now he did, warm lips making you gasp.

You were already melting under him, every kiss undoing the last pieces of the wall you’d built around yourself. It was like your body remembered him even if your mind tried to forget. 

“I lied about that night.” He confessed against your lips. “It wasn’t just one night. It was everything. It's so unfair I only got to taste you once…but I’m gonna make up for that lost time.”

Clothes came off in a hurry, first your shirt, then your panties, tossed somewhere on the floor. Johnny took longer to get undressed, his shirt, his belt, his tight pants, he put a little show on for you while you did nothing but lie there naked, pretty, and wet for him. Once he was naked too, he pressed his warm body back on you, thumbs stroking your waist, while his mouth made his way from your neck, trailing kisses down to your breasts, your nipples, your stomach, until you could barely think straight. This time, Johnny wasn't laughing nervously or fumbling in a haze of alcohol. This time, he was memorizing every gasp you made, every arch of your back, every shiver as his mouth trailed lower and lower. Until a moan came out too loud, and his head snapped up right over your lower belly.  

“Shh–we have to be quiet.” He grinned like a devil, then leaned back again to place a teasing kiss just above the most sensitive part of your body. “You’re perfect.”

“Johnny, come on,” you whined, your hands reaching for his shoulders, trying to pull him back on top of you. “Please don’t tease me.” 

He wanted to be a little shit about it, but when he heard the need in your voice he let you pull him back, until he was hovering your body again. You ran your hands through his toned abs, his chest, until one landed on his bicep and the other cradled his face. 

“I want to feel you, Johnny.” You said breathlessly, running your thumb across his cheek as you lifted your knee to softly rub his hardened cock, making his eyes widen in disbelief. “Please.”

“Oh you’re vicious.” He shook his head, laughing under his breath. He grabbed himself in his hand, pushing your knee with his elbow to open your legs to him. You just bit your lip and pulled him closer. “Alright, alright. I got you sweetheart.” He chuckled. “I want to feel you too.”

He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was enjoying having you under him, pleading and ready, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the feel of his leaking tip as he lined himself with your soaking folds. 

“Fuck–you’re soaking for me, baby.” He groaned, eyes fixed where your bodies met. He looked up to check your face, to make sure you were still saying yes, and he was met with dilated pupils and your mouth parted open as you nodded. That was all he needed. 

The moment he finally sank into you, his length stretching your walls the way only he could, both of you gasped at once. Your hands flew to his neck, clutching him close, and he buried his face against your neck to muffle the sounds he couldn't hold back.

“God–” he groaned, pushing himself as deep as he could. “–so much better than I remember.”

You held back your moans, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered breathless. “So good, Johnny.”

Soon you were gasping under his strong grip, clutching every inch of his body. His hair, his neck, his pecs, his back, ultimately slipping your arms around his biceps to ground yourself as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. And when a moan slipped a bit louder, he groaned into your skin, his forehead pressing to yours.

“Baby you gotta be quiet–or I’m gonna lose it too.” He chuckled under his breath, making you giggle too. He leaned to kiss your cheek, your temple, the corner of your lips, then a roll of his hips pulled another loud moan from you. “Fuck. I know, I know you like that…but he’s sleeping.” 

Still, he angled himself so he could push harder, the squeak of the bed now filling the room along with the headboard hitting the drywall. That was when Johnny stopped, eyes wide, looking at you like he’d done something he shouldn’t have. You both laughed quietly like teenagers trying to get it on with parents next door. Except, now you were the parents hiding from the children. 

“Jesus, wait–“ Johnny shook his head, still laughing. He pulled himself out just to grab a small pillow from your bed, and set it between the wall and the headboard. “Let me test it first.” He looked at you mischievously, placing himself between your legs again and pushing inside with no warning. You choked a gasp at the stretch, at the way you only felt full if he was inside you. The bed moved with Johnny’s thrust, still creaking, but the pillow had successfully soundproofed the headboard. “Bingo.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you ready?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh again, pulling him closer to you to whisper in his ear. “Just fuck me, Johnny.” 

He whistled low, then whined playfully when you swatted his bicep so he would shut up. That was when he just decided to do what you asked of him, and fucked you. He dragged his cock out and pushed back in a quick pace, making your body bounce with every thrust. The sound of your muffled whimpers, his broken gasps, the slap of skin and the faint creak of the bed, all blended into a desperate rhythm. 

“It feels so good, Johnny. I can’t–right there.” 

“Right there?,” he groaned, thrusting deeper until you choked on the sound. His hand cupped the back of your head to lift it, leaning just enough to place a kiss on your forehead, before pulling back. “Look at me…look at me when you tell me how I make you feel.” 

And you did. Breathless, clutching his arms tighter, drowning in those blue eyes as you told him exactly what he was doing to you, how he was wrecking you, how he stretched you just right, how every movement burned in the best way. That undid him. 

“I swear I’ll give you everything. Anything you need–fuck–I promise.” His lips crushed yours, and soon you felt the saltiness of your shared tears.

The heat of his skin was making you sweat, and you felt that familiar pressure building, so close to snapping. Your back arched and you cried out louder, too loud, and he placed his big warm hand over your mouth, groaning into your ear. “Shhh–baby, as much as I’d give anything to hear you scream…I can’t, we can’t–” 

You started moaning under his hand, eyes wet, but it only made him push harder, until your muffled moans broke into little sobs of pleasure. You bit down gently against his palm, and that was when he felt himself breaking too. 

“Come with me–please sweetheart. Come with me, I can’t–I won’t last for longer–“

You finally felt the pressure snap across your body, your walls clenching around him, pushing his hand away from your mouth so you could pray his name over and over in low pants. “JohnnyJohnnyJohnny.” Johnny’s name died on his lips when he muffled his own groan against your mouth. He kept driving into you, chasing his own edge, until he filled you with every last drop of his release. You both ended up panting, your nails still dug into his biceps, trying to steady yourself as your chest rose and fell against his toned one. Johnny’s head fell into your collarbone, damp hair sticking to your skin. 

“Shit,” he laughed, trying to catch his breath. “I–I didn’t even think. I finished inside…is that okay? I don’t wanna accidentally make another Leo. We can barely handle one.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, weak and breathless, and swatted his shoulder. “Johnny, I’m gonna hold your bicep when I say this. Stop talking about him when you’re still inside me. It’s alright…I got it covered.”

“Okay sorry, sorry. I just–my brain is fried. Couldn’t think straight even if I tried…pretty sure I saw God.”

“Johnny…” you giggled, warmth blooming in your chest as you played with his hair. 

“I’m just saying,” he laughed against your skin, looking up to meet your gaze. “You made a strong case for heaven just now.”

As you laughed, shaking your head and holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world, aside from Leo of course, Johnny had never felt more complete. 

He finally pulled out, and let himself collapse beside you, both of you boneless and dazed, just breathing heavily in the dark. You turned to lay your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you tight against him. 

When he first drove into this quiet little town, he never thought he’d end up here. Not in your bed. Not with your head pillowed over his heart. And sure as hell not with a pillow between your wall and your headboard to sneak from your son next door. You couldn’t have imagined that in a million years either. But as you sighed softly against his chest, and he tightened his hold on your body, you had a warm feeling blooming in your chest. Something you hadn't felt in years.

You could love again. Because the truth was, you never really stopped. 

Now you hang from my lips, like the gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con

Waking up to Johnny was still magical, just like last time. It was all in the way his head rested on your pillow, his golden hair falling into place like dominoes, the sunlight dancing over his perfect nose, his parted lips, his bare chest rising slowly. He looked so at peace, and you were so at peace. That little piece of quiet, tucked between Saturday and forever, felt like something that might last this time…until it didn’t. The magical moment broke when a tiny, determined fist banged on your locked door, complaining about the lack of cereal for breakfast. It didn’t take long before you sighed, barely brushing Johnny’s lips before getting up to meet your son’s demands, distracting him as Johnny groaned and sneaked out of your bedroom to pretend he’d been in the bathroom all along. 

Turns out, you really had no more backup boxes, so Leo had to settle just for fruit. Then, he basically forced you both to get dressed, and go grab cereal immediately. He even was the first to beeline toward Johnny’s truck, to supervise the grocery run, but when the little twin neighbors from just a few houses down appeared on your driveway, inviting him to play at their house like they’d done many times before, he suddenly forgot about the cereal. 

So now here you were, in the middle of the town’s grocery store, with Johnny pushing the cart beside you like this was an usual Saturday activity. 

“If we want Leo to get into a good program, we need to do it at least a year ahead.” You said, placing a few cartons of milk on the shopping cart. “He’s almost out of school for this year, but he’ll have to do another one here while we figure everything out.” 

“A whole year?” Johnny protested next to you, pushing the cart slowly. 

“It might be even more, these programs have very limited timelines.” You didn’t budge at his groan, focusing on reading the back of a pancake mix box. 

“But his family basically invented science! We’re astronauts, I can have Reed call any school and he’d be accepted in a heartbeat–“ 

“Don’t you think Reed would have to know about his existence first?” You cut him off, setting the box on the cart. 

He stopped moving. “Yeah…yeah I guess.” His shoulders sagged as he leaned on the top of the cart, lowering his gaze to the box you just put in. “I mean I could call…offer a few of the calendars I give to the fire department every year and boom! Accepted.” He shrugged playfully, but his joke didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Johnny, we said we weren’t going to rush it. We have time, we can look for schools together, and find the best place for…us.” 

Us. 

“Yeah I know…no rushing it,” he assured, straightening up to place his hands on your waist, bringing you closer. “I just…I can’t wait to be close to you all the time. For our toothbrushes to be next to each other and all that stuff, you know.” 

You laughed, but your heart still lurched at his warm hands on you. He hadn’t stopped being touchy since last night. “We’ll get there, Johnny,” you said softly, “without bribing people with calendars.” 

“Oh come on, you’re no fun!” He whined, but he was grinning anyway. “I’ll get you a few, the fireman get all the shirtless pictures.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making you laugh again in the middle of the aisle. 

He laughed with you, never letting go of your waist, but his smile faltered enough for you to notice. “Hey, what is it?” You asked, searching for his eyes. 

“I, um…” He cleared his throat, eyes flicking to the shelves of items around you. “There’s something else we could do to start though, like I said I’m not trying to rush this but I’ve been thinking about it all morning and I–“

“Johnny, just say it.” 

“I want Leo to know who I really am.” He blurted. “I mean–not just like the dad he doesn’t call dad yet, that sleeps on his couch and buys him cereal to bribe him–which, I do, but…I mean all of me. My flames, my job…I want him to know that part too.”

When you didn’t answer instantly, he added quickly, “I don’t want to scare him or overwhelm him, so I would need your help with that, but…I’d rather it come from me, from us, before he manages to figure it out on his own, given his record.”

You pressed your lips together, thinking. But just as he was about to spiral again, you nodded. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” His eyes widened, like he was expecting more of a fight. 

“Yes, okay,” you laughed at his surprise. “We could tell him tonight over dinner, but I’m going to warn you Johnny, this isn’t just flames and smiles and comic book moments. You need to prepare yourself for the million questions he’s gonna ask.”  

He nodded frantically, finally letting go of your waist to celebrate with air punches. “I want him to. I’m ready, I’m so ready.” He smiled from ear to ear, and you couldn’t help but smile too. 

“Alright, hotshot. Think about how you’re gonna make your grand reveal, I’m going to find some dino nuggets to lessen the blow.” You said, patting his chest softly before turning around. “And pick some cereal in the meantime!” You yelled, walking away. 

Johnny could only do what he’d been doing after last night. Smile like an idiot…and fix the crotch of his jeans, as you turned around the corner. 

He was on fire. His son was finally going to know he was The Human Torch. 

He pushed the cart as he strolled into the cereal aisle almost absentmindedly, already knowing where to find what he needed, when an orange box he’d never seen before caught his eye. 

“Wheatie’s Thunderbolts edition,” he read, eyes judging the comic illustrations of some mystery superheroes he had never heard of. “What the hell? They sell these and not mine?” He muttered under his breath, squinting at the names on the box. “Who even are these guys…U.S Agent? Pft. What’s next, a Homelander?” He shook his head, and with a theatrical sigh, he shoved the stupid box back onto the shelf. 

This is what I get for saving the world. Nothing more than irrelevant in a small town. Unbelievable. 

But just as his shoulders slumped in defeat, something shiny blue caught his eye. He faced it slowly, and his pupils dilated like he just found the gates to heaven, or a whole mid aisle ‘Fantastic Four’ display. There, dozens of Lucky Charms: Human Torch Edition, were stacked in perfect rows. 

Just arrived! Get your free Johnny Storm figure inside 🔥 read the banner across the display. 

“Oh my God…” Johnny gasped. “No way!” He stood frozen for a second, eyes wide, mouth still open. Then he left the cart abandoned and jogged over like a kid on Christmas morning. “They have it. They actually have it now!” Johnny laughed under his breath, picking up the box with excitement. He could only imagine Leo’s little face when he found the little toy inside. 

Flame on! Flame on! Flame on! 

We have to tell him as soon as possible, I need to show him this after we–wait, should I get it now? Maybe just one…

“Okay, I’ll just get one for later,” he nodded to himself. “We will tell him and then bam! My name on his favorite cereal.” But then he saw the bottom shelf, with the family size ones, so he grabbed two more. “Actually...maybe just another one for good measure. I’m getting four. Yeah–that’s reasonable, I always get him two so the others are a bonus.”

I can’t wait to tell him. He’s gonna love it and I’m gonna be the best dad ever–

“God, I should’ve known this is where I’d find you.” 

Johnny almost dropped the boxes when the familiar voice came from behind him. He shut his eyes, real tight with a grimace. Maybe he imagined it, there was no way she was behind him right now. 

“Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm.” 

Fuck. 

That voice, that tone. He hadn’t heard it in weeks because he’d been avoiding it. He sighed deeply, and turned around slowly. He only opened one eye, to find none other than Sue with crossed arms in the middle of the aisle. He scattered to put the boxes back in a hurry, then turned to her again with wide eyes. 

“Sue? No no no no, what are you doing here?” He panicked, looking frantically to both sides making sure you weren’t there yet. “You shouldn’t have come!” 

“Excuse me?” She looked at him perplexed. She took a step forward as Johnny instinctively took one back. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?” She snapped. “You’ve been dodging every call, sending vague messages instead. You went radio silent for weeks, when you were supposed to be–oh, I don’t know, fixing this, Johnny! Instead, I find you hiding in a cereal aisle, buying your own figures.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” He hissed defensively. “And lower your voice, she’s gonna hear you!” He whisper-yelled, eyes still darting toward the ends of the aisle. 

“Johnny–"

"I’m serious!" he snapped. "You have no idea how complicated this actually is. If she sees you now she’s gonna run the other way.” He kept glancing down the aisle like you were going to round the corner at any second, catch him mid encounter, and forget everything he’d done the past weeks. 

Sue narrowed her eyes at him in silence, but his pleading puppy eyes were enough for her to break her stance after a few seconds. 

"Oh, for God’s sake,” she sighed, and stepped forward. She reached out, wrapped her hands around his wrists, and in a blink, they both vanished out of sight. "Better?" she said, and Johnny exhaled in relief. "She can’t see me now. So why don’t you tell me what the hell is going on?"

Johnny groaned. "You shouldn’t be here."

"And you shouldn’t be ignoring your family."

"I’m not ignoring you."

"Then what have you been doing? You stopped responding, and when you did reply, it was vague answers. You wouldn’t even take my calls. Do you know what I thought, Johnny? I thought she was dead." Her angry voice finally cracked. "I thought something happened and you couldn’t tell me…and turns out you’re just buying cereal, while we’ve been worried sick–while everything is falling apart back home.”

That rubbed him the wrong way. "Oh, so now you care."

Sue frowned, caught off guard by the defensiveness in his tone. 

"You want to talk about falling apart?" He took a step forward, lowering his voice even if no one around could hear them. "What about when I was falling apart back then? You took Reed’s side, told me to move on when I was still processing everything, took every last thing I had from her and locked it away. How do you think that made me feel, Sue?”

“Johnny–“ she whispered, eyes brimming with tears. 

“No, I'm not done yet. You don’t get to tell me about sadness.” He hissed. “And I’m not even the one you hurt the most. She lost everything. Her name, her home, her future. I said you can’t be here because she doesn’t trust you, or them, and I don’t blame her–God, she shouldn’t even trust me. But I’ve earned it, and it hasn’t been easy. I won’t let one surprise visit tear all that down." He regretted saying it the second it was out. The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but it was the truth.

Sue didn’t fight back, instead she wiped her tears and nodded. "You’re right, Johnny," she said, sniffing. "We didn't listen–I didn't listen. I let fear win, and I’ve been living with that every day since you found out she was telling the truth."

Johnny hadn’t noticed he’d been crying too, until he saw her through misty eyes. And she wasn’t angry anymore, she just looked wrecked.

"It’s been awful at the tower since then," she admitted, looking up to try to stop the tears. "Ben doesn’t really talk to us anymore. Reed hasn’t slept, he spends hours pulling old data files, thinking that if he just tries enough, he can rewind time and make it make sense. But it doesn’t, because nothing we do now will make up for what we did to her." She paused, only to swallow the lump in her throat. ”Franklin keeps asking where you are. He thinks it’s his fault you’re gone, and he’s scared you won’t come back like her…and me? I’ve been trying to keep it together for them. But it’s been eating me alive, Johnny. All I think about is that we broke her for nothing. We ruined her life, and I let it happen."

All that heaviness settled into an excruciating silence between them. Johnny could hear the faint noises of the store outside of Sue’s bubble, wheels of shopping carts, beeps of cash registers, the casual laughter of a kid running down the aisles. That’s the one that stung. She didn’t even know the worst part. 

God, perfect timing. You’d finally started talking about schools, about programs, about a future. With him. You were planning on telling him tonight about his powers for God’s sake. But that doesn’t change the fact that you haven't faced the hardest part yet. His family. 

"Let me help you,” she pleaded, breaking the silence. “I can–“

"No." He shook his head. "She’s not ready to see you, and you’re not about to make that decision for her. That’s only hers to give.”

Sue looked away, her lips pressed together in disappointment, but she still nodded. "I won’t let her see me, not unless she wants to," she promised. "But at least I need to know how…how is she?” She asked, hesitantly, expecting another wall from her brother. 

Johnny exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "She’s okay, but it’s taken a lot to get here. I swear I’ve aged more in these past few weeks than in the last six years."

“I understand, Johnny. It is very complicated, but…I just wanted to apologize, that’s it. I need to say it to her face. I can’t sleep knowing she thinks I still hate her."

Johnny groaned, he loved his sister, but she was getting on his nerves. 

"Sue, I’m fixing it, okay? Me. If you show up now, even just to say ‘sorry,’ we might go back to where we started. I can’t risk that, I can’t lose them again–“

Sue frowned. "Them…?" Who’s them?”

Johnny cursed under his breath, looking away. "Nothing–doesn’t matter."

But her eyes narrowed with suspicion, tightening her grip on him. "Johnny, what are you not telling me–"

"You need to go."

"Johnny!"

"Don’t–just…don’t, please.”

Sue hesitated, but Johnny looked at her again with the eyes she could never resist. She hated that look. It took her straight back to the times when he was just a kid who couldn’t sleep without her tucking him in.

Finally, she sighed. "Okay–but you better pick up my calls now.” She pointed at him. “And…when she's ready, she deserves to hear I’m sorry. From me."

He barely nodded. She couldn’t help it and grabbed him by the shoulders to hug him. Johnny stood frozen, arms stuck in the air for a moment. “Don’t shut us out, it’s already been hard enough.” She pleaded into his hair. 

“I won’t,” he whispered, finally letting himself fall into his sister's arms. He didn’t know how much he needed it until now. 

They hugged in silence, until Johnny cleared his throat and finally stepped back. “You said you wouldn’t let her see you, so let’s just…stick to that, alright? Just…stay invisible until you leave.” 

She sighed, then nodded. Sue let go of him, and with a shift of a rainbow glare around them, Johnny became visible again.

That was exactly when you turned the corner into the aisle. 

"What the fuck?" You froze in your step, eyes wide, clutching the frozen dino nuggets bag in your hands. 

No, no, no, please, no. His eyes widened as he pointed at the cereal display in a mix of guilt, panic, and a very badly disguised attempt at pretending he didn’t just come out of thin air.

"I–uh–these just arrived! Can you believe it?" He grinned, too wide, too excited. “I say we take four, it’d be irresponsible not to–"

"Johnny.” You took a step closer, dropping the bag on the cart before looking around . "She’s here, isn’t she?"

“She? Who’s she? No one’s here–”

“As far as I know, you don’t turn invisible, Johnny. That doesn’t just happen." You snapped. “Don’t lie to me, did you call her?”

“No, no, no, I didn’t,” he panicked, rushing to get in front of you, but you took a step back. “I’m telling the truth. I didn’t even know–”

“Where is she?” You insisted.

"I’m here." A voice came from behind Johnny. “He didn’t call me, I tracked him.”

The blood drained from your face when you heard it. You stepped aside from him, and Sue Storm flickered into view like a ghost dragged out of your memory. Suddenly you forgot all about the schools, and the houses, and the nuggets, as you got thrown into the past. At a simple glance she looked just as put together as you remembered her, perfect wavy hair, long burgundy leather coat on a cashmere turtleneck dress, and a fancy pair of brown boots to match. But her face, her bloodshot eyes, the dark circles on her fair complexion, and the slight shake of her hands didn’t lie. 

The two of you just stood there. None of you said anything, but it was all there. The invisible bruise between you both, the memory of that day, the betrayal, and the years that followed. You stared between them, and the shiny brand new cereal display with their number on it. It was just a matter of time before their world crashed into yours. 

"I’m sorry." She blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes flicked to Johnny, it hurt too much to look at her. He hadn’t moved either, just stood between you both, helpless, and even though every fiber of you screamed don’t break, don’t let her see, your body acted faster. You shifted, ever so slightly, getting back behind him. Not entirely, but enough to feel safer. 

And enough for Sue to notice. Enough for it to sting.

"I know I don’t deserve to just show up like this.” She hugged herself. “But I need you to know…I know we were wrong–I was wrong. I should’ve listened and I’m so sorry I didn't." She stepped a little closer, but Johnny angled himself better in front of you. "I know it doesn't justify it, but I was scared. And Reed…he thought he was right. But now that we know the truth, I haven’t slept, I haven’t breathed right in weeks. Franklin still asks about you, and now he keeps asking why Uncle Johnny doesn’t call anymore. Reed hasn’t left the lab and Ben…he’s just not the same–we are not the same."

Good.

"I don’t care if you never want to see me again after this, but I needed to look you in the eye and say it…I’m sorry. I am so sorry for what we did to you, for making you carry the weight of something that wasn’t your fault."

"That’s a lot easier to say now…now that you have the evidence." You said, eyes lowering to the floor. 

Johnny shifted slightly beside you, just a gentle step forward. He didn’t say anything, but he searched your face, wishing he could just reach out, wrap his arms around you and never let anyone close enough to hurt you again.

“I’m still gonna say it,” she shrugged, wiping the tears away. "I’m not asking you to forgive me. You don’t owe us anything…but I feel like we owe you everything.”

We owe you everything. Were they here too?

Your head shot up. "Are you here alone? Or did you bring someone else?" 

Sue shook her head."It’s just me, why?"

You didn’t have to answer for Johnny to know what you were thinking. What if Reed was here? What if Ben was parked outside? What if they found your house? What if they followed him? What if they knew?

Your hand brushed over your pocket, instinctively reaching for your phone, and right on cue it vibrated, your neighbor’s name bright on the screen. You turned around, walking a few steps away to answer with your heart racing.

Behind you, Sue narrowed her eyes. "Johnny," she whispered. "What the hell is going on? She looks terrified."

"God, Sue, I told you this was complicated–"

"Complicated doesn't make her scared of me."

A few steps away, you were able to breathe again when your neighbor just told you she’d be going out with the twins later, and Leo needed to be picked up soon. “I’ll be there in 20, Wanda, thank you.” 

“Sure, they’ve been having so much fun!” She chirped on the line, quickly being distracted by the boys in her charge. “No you can’t throw that out of the window, Billy–Hey! boys, I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to leave you–“ 

The line cut before you could laugh onto the phone, hoping Leo wasn’t partaking too much in the chaos. You finally sighed in relief, trying to ignore that voice in your head that told you he wasn’t safe. You made your way back to them, and cleared your throat to stop their hushed bickering. 

"Johnny we–uh, we have to go," you said, while Sue tried to figure out what your call was about. "Let’s check out and head back."

He stepped toward you, worry in his face. "Wait–can I talk to you for a second?" 

You nodded, and he gently took your hand and led you a few steps down where you took the call, while Sue stayed behind, pacing in her spot as she fiddled her necklace. 

“Is he okay? Something wrong?” 

“He’s okay, don’t worry. We just need to pick him up soon,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “But how do we…deal with this?” you asked, eyes flicking back toward Sue. 

"God–yeah, I’m sorry," he sighed. "I told her you weren’t ready to see her. I swear I had no idea she was even in town until she showed up in front of the damn cereal display. I was having a moment and she showed up out of nowhere…”

You laughed softly, more out of nerves than anything. "It’s just…It’s like seeing a ghost. It’s the same way I felt when I saw you on my doorstep. Like I blinked and got thrown six years into the past."

"I know, I’ll talk to her," he reassured. "I’ll tell her to leave, and I won’t tell her anything else."

You nodded, but Johnny lingered just a second longer. He leaned to press a kiss to your cheek, meant to be casual, respectful in front of Sue, but it landed just at the corner of your mouth. You couldn’t help the little smile on your face as you turned to grab the shopping cart, head ducked low as you tucked a hair strand behind your ear. Sue, behind Johnny, saw it all. 

Past me, I want to tell you not to get lost on these petty things

Your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing

Sue hadn’t said a word since they sat down in the store’s cafeteria while you were at the cashier. Her tears had finally dried up, and she pulled her coat tighter, crossed her arms, and stared at a fidgety Johnny with narrowed eyes hoping for a confession instead of a ‘good riddance!’. 

“You’re hiding something,” she accused, finally breaking the silence.

“I’m not–“ He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, you already said your apologies and saw she’s okay. Still hurting, yes. But she’s rebuilding and I’m helping her, that’s all you need to know. Now you go back to the Tower and let me keep fixing it.” 

“You seem very eager to kick me out.” She narrowed her eyes more. “To keep hiding whatever it is you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” He rolled his eyes, dropping his head back dramatically. “Sue–“

“No, no. Hear me out,” she cut him off, leaning forward, “The way she smiled after you kissed her, tells me you’ve done more than get your foot in the door.”

Johnny stilled in his seat. 

Sue raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did you two actually–already?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” He looked away, avoiding her gaze. 

“So you did sleep with her.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “God, Johnny you really don’t waste time, do you?. ‘It’s been complicated’–sure it’s been!” She mocked, as Johnny groaned, turning more and more red. “Okay, okay, sorry, it’s just–you’re blushing like you’re fifteen again sneaking a girl into your room.”

Johnny groaned again, louder this time, and buried his face in his hands. “Sue, you really have no idea. This is not just some random fling in high school, this is serious.” 

“Why? I mean, it’s not the first time,” she teased, but that only made Johnny sink deeper into his seat. She noticed Johnny was a bit more flustered than usual, so she tilted her head analyzing him. She gasped after a few seconds, her amusement dying down as worry overtook her features. “Wait–Is she married? Johnny, please don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping with a married woman.” 

“What the hell–No! God, Sue!”

“I had to ask! You’re acting very weird right now.” She shrugged, “Tell me what it is then.” she pressed, but he didn’t answer. “Is she sick? Did something else happen to her? “ 

Sue went through many possibilities in a matter of seconds. But then she remembered…the nuggets. 

“Wait–does she…does she have a kid?”

That's when his breath hitched. Sue’s eyes widened. “Oh my god–she has a child?” 

All the blush on Johnny's face drained, his face went pale. Fuck it. He couldn’t keep it in any longer. 

“She has a son.” He said. “A bit over five years old.”

A strangled gasp escaped her mouth, her brain couldn’t string words together fast enough to meet the truth that had just hit her.

“My God, Johnny. You’re telling me she–please tell me he’s not yours.” She pleaded, tears already welling up before she could stop them. 

Johnny suddenly got déjà vu. He was about to break his sister’s heart the same way you broke his. 

“He’s mine, Sue.” He shrugged, because there was no sugarcoating the bittersweet truth. “He’s my son.” 

Sue forgot how to breathe. My brother has a son. I have a nephew. It wasn’t just shock that took over her, but grief. Raw and cold and devastating, because the pain wasn’t over. 

“You mean–she was pregnant when–when we–“ Sue’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her sobs. “We didn’t just destroy her, Johnny. We–” She shook her head, tears slipping freely now. “We destroyed a child.”

“Sue–”

“Your child.” Her breath hitched, voice rising before she could stop it. A couple turned from a nearby table. Johnny reached out across the table quickly to take her shaking hands on his. 

“Hey, hey–it’s alright.” His words came out panicked, a whisper of desperation. “You need to breathe, come on, people are looking.”

But Sue shook her head. “All this time,” she sobbed between breaths. “All these years, we’ve been sleeping soundly in that damn tower, and she–she was raising him alone.”

Her voice shattered completely on that last word. Johnny looked away, because he remembered the first time he realized that too, and how it had wrecked him.

“I wish it wasn’t that way, but I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know. I only found out when I came here…that I have a son, Sue, I have a son.” He chuckled through tears, but that only made Sue sob harder. 

“You have a son,” she choked. “A five year old, Johnny, that’s five years without you. We took that from your son. I took that.”

“You didn’t know,” he said quickly, “None of us did.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s a baby, Johnny–he’s your baby. And he grew up thinking that his father didn’t want him? That we–”

“Don’t. Don’t go there, come on.”

“But could’ve been there, he could’ve been growing up with us, safe. We could’ve loved him. And instead she raised him alone. She was alone. No wonder she looked at me like she was reliving the worst day of her life,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did to her, for what I did to you…for what I did to him.”

Johnny’s eyes softened, he squeezed her freezing hand. “I know,” he said softly. “Believe me, I know, I’ve been there. The day I found out, I thought I’d never be able to look at myself again.”

Sue looked at him through tears. He’d never sounded more mature to her. The cocky little brother she used to scold even at this age had turned into a man carrying the weight of two very different lives.

“What’s his name?” she asked finally, her voice barely audible. “What’s he like?”

“His name’s Leo. Leo Spencer.” Johnny smiled, Sue’s lip quivered. “He’s wonderful, Sue, he’s like all of my fire but a thousand times better. He’s smart, like Reed smart, talks a lot, thinks even faster, and for some reason he loves to wash his hands.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s too big for this town…for anywhere, really. 

Sue sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Does he know who you are?”

“He does…now he does–figured it all out on his own, too.” He chuckled. 

That undid her all over again. She let out a choked breath, pressing her palm to her throbbing chest, eyes filling once more.

“I want to see him,” she whispered. “I need to see him.”

“I don’t know if she–“

“Let me try, please. I can’t go back. Not after knowing all I know now.” She begged. “Please, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted toward the cafeteria’s window, where the golden sunlight spilled through the glass. That took him back to the ice cream shop. To his shock when he saw him for the first time in daylight, to Leo’s million questions, to the chocolate smudge on his little face, and he smiled without even realizing. Then he looked back at his crying sister…maybe she deserved the chance to see that for herself. Lord knows he’d been dying to brag about him anyways. 

But you held the final word. “Let me figure it out.”

You knew it the second he came back to you. Sue wasn’t around anymore, but it was all in his eyes, looking way too guilty as he took the cart with the paper bags from your hands. 

“You told her.”

“She got it out of me,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I swear I didn’t mean to–but she…she started making theories, okay? Even asked if I was sleeping with a married woman and I–”

“Wait, I meant about Leo. Johnny, did you tell her that we–?”

“Well, it’s not like she didn’t hear us the first time…” 

You nudged his arm. “Johnny!”

“I didn’t give her details!” he rushed out, “Look, she’s my sister, and she knows me. She started pressing and now she kinda knows stuff…about you and me, and…Leo.” He let out a sigh. “Don’t look at me like that, it wasn't easy. She–God, she was wrecked. I haven’t seen her like that since our mom…well, that was a long time ago. But, she wasn’t even mad, just…devastated.”

You let out a long exhale and looked away. Of course she was. 

“She wants to meet him,” he tried softly. “But only if you’re okay with it. I’m not pushing you, I swear I’m not, but it’s out there now. We’re not hiding anymore.”

“Johnny, I don’t trust her…yet.”

“I know.”

“But I trust you. And I’m tired, Johnny, I’m so tired of hiding, of looking over my shoulder all the time, of lying to Leo,” you admitted. “I shouldn't be planning his future without including one of the biggest parts of it. Maybe I just need to stop waiting for the perfect timing, maybe I just need to allow myself to heal. So…she can meet him. But if she tries anything…”

“She won’t,” he said quickly, reaching for your hand. “Thank you, thank you for giving me this. I know you’re scared, and so am I, but we’ll do it together. Every step, always,” he promised.

You smiled and nodded. Always. 

I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans

That's my man

Johnny’s truck pulled up to the curb of your house, as Sue’s sleek white rental parked right behind it. The whole way there was quiet, your hands still fidgeting on your lap, freezing from the uneasiness on your chest. 

Until you felt his hand find yours. Always warm, always protective. You glanced down, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, and it was enough to keep you grounded. 

“You know you don’t have to go through with it, right?” he reassured, eyes locked on yours. “You can still say no, and I’ll tell her to head back to New York.”

“No, it’s time.” You shook your head slowly. “I’ll go get him, you go with her.” You squeezed his hand, before stepping out of the truck.

Sue sat nervously inside her rental, as she watched you walk a few houses down through her overpriced plastic sunglasses. She’d tried wiping the smudged makeup under her eyes in a red light, but she ended up looking worse. And her last attempt at hiding the fact she’d been crying the whole way there was unsuccessful, since the light shaded lenses didn’t really help much. 

Johnny made his way over to her side, the window rolling down smoothly revealing his sister clutching a wrinkled tissue paper for dear life. She immediately sat up straighter and cleared her throat. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“Sue, I haven’t been sure about anything since I arrived here,” he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling. “But uh–I guess it’s happening. She’s picking him up.” 

She turned to the house she saw you walk to, wanting to get a peek as you talked to a redhead on the porch. “Well, is she sure about this?” 

“Kinda…yes. Just–don’t crowd her,” he followed her gaze. “This isn’t easy for her, none of this has been.”

Sue bit her bottom lip and nodded. The moment she saw a little boy come out of the house,  tugging your hand as he bounded down the steps, everything else vanished.

He was Johnny, all over again. Same hair, same lashes no boy that age should have. He moved like her brother too, light on his feet, a bounce in his step, like the world was not ready for the storm coming. 

“He’s…” she whispered, her voice breaking again, “he’s you, Johnny.”

“Yeah, he is…” Johnny gave her a prideful smile. “Come on, come meet him,” Johnny said softly, opening the door for her.

“What do I even say?”

“You say hi,” he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And you try not to scare him off with your ugly cry face.”

She let out an offended laugh, swatted his chest, and finally stepped out of the car. She adjusted her sunglasses again, and walked toward you. You were already crouching in front of Leo on the sidewalk trying to stay calm even though your palms were sweating cold and your heartbeat felt way too loud. 

“Hey,” you said softly. “I want you to meet someone else.”

He narrowed his eyes at you immediately. Déjà vu.

“Like a friend?” he asked cautiously. “Like Johnny?”

You let out a shaky laugh. Smart little monster. “Something like that,” you shrugged. 

He looked unconvinced, studying you with those impossibly intuitive eyes, but he didn’t argue. You tucked a small piece of lint from his shirt sleeve, and smoothed down his messy hair from terrorizing the neighbor's household. Johnny put one hand on Sue’s back as he guided her, smiling when he saw you preparing Leo to meet his aunt. You tensed when they finally stopped next to you, but Leo? Oh Leo. He eagerly turned to them, looked her up and down in that shameless way only a kid his age could look cute doing, and pointed out with a totally serious tone.

“You look like Johnny.”

Sue tilted her head, smiling immediately. You stood upright, walking behind him. 

“I…yeah. I guess I do.” She crouched in front of him, studying every part of his little face. 

He crossed his arms, and then, without hesitating, “Are you his mom?”

You suddenly had three adults with jaws on the floor. You covered your mouth to muffle a snort, Johnny’s eyes almost budged out his face, and Sue…she just blinked. 

“No, no, no, buddy,” Johnny finally blurted, crouching next to her. “This is my sister. Her name is Sue.”

You watched his whole face light up with the realization.

“I have an aunt!?” Leo exclaimed, with barely contained excitement.

You barely noticed that you’d stepped a little closer to him. Just enough to feel the warmth coming off his little body, your hand brushing his back instinctively when you realized he was no longer just yours. 

Sue let out a breathy, stunned laugh that almost turned into a sob. “Yeah,” she nodded. “Yeah, sweetheart. I guess that means I’m your aunt.”

“Cool!” Leo’s grin widened. 

Johnny exhaled in relief, staring up at you with the biggest smile ever mouthing a ‘thank you’. You smiled back at him, but you quickly cleared your throat, hand still on Leo’s back.

“Okay, let’s go inside. My neighbors have already seen too much this year.” You chuckled, guiding Leo toward the front steps, while Sue followed close behind. 

Johnny jogged back to the truck to get the groceries out, casting a quick glance up and down the street. He was sure he saw at least two curtains budging. Typical. 

You unlocked the door and walked inside, feeling instant relief to be in your safe place. Sue lingered a second before stepping in, letting her fingers trail lightly along the white doorframe. She smiled at the tiny pair of red boots next to the ‘Welcome!’ mat. 

The moment she stepped inside, she took it all in slowly. The soft light, the warmth, the history of the place. Her nephew’s home, his life. Your life. She took off her sunglasses, folding them in her hand, caught on the way Leo kicked his little shoes off by the door, and strolled to the kitchen to ask you for some water. Johnny gave her a gentle nudge as he walked in, paper bags balanced on his arms. 

Sue watched it all quietly. The way Leo looked up at you when you laughed at something he said about the neighbor’s house. The soft way your fingers caressed Leo’s cheek when you handed him the water. The way Johnny’s shoulders dropped the moment he saw you both just existing. 

“Mom, did you get my cereal?” Leo asked against his plastic blue cup.

Johnny froze for a second, then he placed the grocery bags on the counter. He scratched the back of his neck and muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.

“About that…” He said, stepping over to Leo, “they were, uh…sold out, buddy.”

“Oh, really?” Leo couldn't hide his disappointment.

Johnny crouched next to him, ruffling his hair. “But I got strawberries for you, buddy.”

Leo perked up instantly. “And blueberries too?”

“Of course, champ.”

“I’m gonna wash my hands!” Leo grinned and strolled toward the bathroom. 

Johnny turned to you with a crooked smile, winking before fishing the plastic containers out the paper bags, and walked to the sink to rinse the fruit for Leo. He dried the berries with a paper towel and you handed him a small bowl, where he mixed two blueberries for every strawberry, just how Leo liked it, and handed them off with a smile that matched his son’s.

“Thank you, Johnny.” Leo said, happily skipping to the breakfast table, where Johnny helped him settle in.

You began putting stuff away, eyeing Sue, who never took her eyes off Leo. She suddenly understood why Johnny hadn’t answered her calls. He had found something sacred here, a home, something he wanted to protect with his life…even from her. She felt out of place for a moment, crashing a household she never knew existed. 

She’d always loved being a mother, it became the center of her world. Franklin’s first cry, first tooth, first steps across their living room, the never ending questions, even the tantrums. She’d seen Reed hold their son with awe and stumble through lullabies in the dead of night. She always had both of them. 

And her brother…Johnny hadn’t had any of it.

He didn’t have you or his boy. His copy. All this time, he’d been missing the firsts that had shaped Sue’s life as a mother, and her heart broke for him. But there was a bit of hope left, because she knew Johnny still had a first waiting. She’d noticed it instantly, the way Leo called him Johnny, not dad. He’d only just learned the truth, and the word hadn’t found its way past his lips, but one day it will. At least Johnny would get that moment, the first time Leo called him Dad. She knew her brother would hold on to that like oxygen, and maybe then, she could breathe right too. 

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Leo announced he was done with a satisfied “Thank you!”, then leaped from his seat to skip toward the couch where Sue sat. He stood in front of her with a tilted head, deciding if she was worth inviting to check his books. Sue just watched him with a smile and playful narrowed eyes. She’d only known his existence for barely an hour, but she’d already decided she’d love this mini Johnny as much as her own son. 

“Leo,” she said his name softly, and his head perked up. “Do you mind if I hug you?”

You watched the interaction with wide eyes from the kitchen, tensing next to Johnny. He placed his hand instinctively on your back, letting you know he was there if you just wanted to pick Leo up and lock yourself until you felt it was safe again. Maybe part of you wanted to do that, because you were still scared…but your Leo wasn't. 

“Okay, but not too tight, I just ate.” 

The answer made you laugh softly. You looked as Sue hugged Leo with so much intensity, probably even too tight, but the boy just giggled in her embrace. Johnny’s hand slid across your back and wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him. Maybe you were right. Maybe your path to healing was simply allowing yourself to, no matter how things happened from now on. 

Because the answer stood right in front of you. In Leo, in that bright mind and those curious eyes, because he was the bridge to this new world. 

You turned to Johnny, pulling back just enough so he could see the determination in your eyes. “Johnny, we have to tell him, now. He deserves to know who you are.” You whispered, while Sue and Leo chattered away. 

He panicked, his blue eyes darting from Sue and Leo to you. “Now? You mean now now? What about dinner or–nuggets! What about the nuggets to lessen the blow? He deserves that at least.”

“The nuggets were actually for you.” You smiled apologetically at his face of disbelief, then sighed. “Johhny…you said it yourself, we’re not hiding anymore. Secrets tear families apart. I’m not gonna make the same mistake again. It’s now or never.”

“Now or never, yeah that’s a great pep talk,” He almost groaned, but when his eyes found yours again, they softened. “Are you sure? Really sure?”

“I’m sure. He already knows you’re his dad, now he needs to know who his dad really is.” You gave him a soft pat on his chest, and he nodded. 

You waited until Leo and Sue were done with their conversation, before stepping toward the living room. Johnny sat next to Sue, and you across from them, and Leo went instinctively to your side.

You smoothed his reckless hair back, taking a big breath. “Leo, sweetheart, there’s something important we need to tell you.”

His eyes narrowed, immediately alert. “You’re introducing me to someone else?”

“No, baby. Not now at least.” You said softly. “I know you’ve met Johnny, and now you’ve met Sue. They’re your family…and there’s still a few more you need to meet. I know I told you before that they live very far away, but we might be together more now, and we think you deserve to know the whole truth first. So Johnny wants to show you something.”

Leo’s brows furrowed, and he looked over at Johnny, sizing up his next victim for questioning. “Show me what?”

“Come here, buddy.” He gestured in front of him, and the kid skipped toward Johnny. “You’ve heard about the Fantastic Four, right?”

Leo nodded quickly, excited. “They told us about them once in school. They live in New York! They have Dr. Reed Richards, the smartest man alive, and the Thing, and the Invisible Woman, and The Human Torch...Why? Do you know about the Fantastic Four?”

You looked at him stunned. You knew he’d heard about them to some degree, everyone had, but it was weird hearing their names in his mouth. Sue was quiet next to Johnny, knowing she was witnessing her brother’s entire world, and Leo’s, fall into place. But Johnny only looked at you, and you nodded for him to continue. Now or never. 

“Well, I uh…I don’t just know about them. I’m kind of part of it.”

“Part of it?” Leo’s mouth dropped open. 

Johnny steadied himself. His hand twitched just a little as he extended his palm out in front of Leo, careful to keep enough distance. Then, with a soft glow, a flame bloomed in his hand, the golden light spilling across their faces. You all watched expectantly. 

His gasp was sharp, the fire crackled in waves, reflecting in Leo’s wide eyes.  “You–you’re the Human Torch!”

Johnny just nodded; he couldn't get words out. Leo stared at the flame, awe written all over his face as the reality settled. His father, the man he always dreamed about, was the same one who could hold fire in his hands. Johnny couldn’t help the tears prickling his eyes and the smile that spread across his face. But then, oh boy, Leo had a thousand questions. 

“How hot do your flames get? Is it plasma or actual fire? Does it change the temperature around you? It’s because of cosmic radiation, isn't it? Does it hurt? How fast can you fly? Why didn’t you tell me before–” He hardly paused for oxygen, his little hands waving around as his mouth moved quicker than his brain. 

“Hey, hey, slow down, buddy–”

But Leo just turned to Sue, his eyes went wide in realization. “So are you the Invisible Woman? You can bend light around your body? Do the force fields work the same way? Could you make a bubble around me right now?”

Sue let out the tiniest, nervous laugh, her glossy eyes darting to Johnny, because she saw that same fiery, dramatic curiosity, burning so hot it was about to fry his little brain. And it did. Leo’s chest rose and fell too quickly, his questions stumbling over themselves until they turned into incoherent words, it was too much for his little body to contain. His lip quivered, and his eyes welled up.  

You immediately stepped in, kneeling and pulling him close. “Hey, hey, baby…breathe. I know, I know, it’s a lot.” Your eyes welled up too, God, you should’ve listened to Johnny. This was just too much. You glanced up at them, both stunned as they watched you trying to calm him down. 

Leo clutched your shirt, peeking over your shoulder at Johnny with wide eyes. And then, without a warning, Leo turned away from you, and climbed straight into Johnny’s lap, his small hands now clutching his jacket. He buried his face against Johnny’s chest and just sobbed. All Johnny could do was wrap his arms around his son, rocked him gently, and pressed his lips against the crown of his blonde head. 

“Shh, hey, buddy… it's okay. You don’t have to understand right now, just let it out. I got you, I’m not going anywhere.” He reassured, and your heart broke with every hiccup coming out of your son’s mouth. Johnny looked at you with the same pain in his eyes. “I’ll take him to his room, just to calm him down?”

You nodded, and watched through misty eyes as Johnny stood, carrying Leo in his arms. Sue stayed behind with you in the living room as Johnny disappeared down the hall. And in Leo’s bedroom, it was quieter. Johnny sat on the edge of the bed with Leo curled into him, rubbing his back in slow circles, and kissing the side of his hair.

“I know it’s a lot, buddy, I didn't mean to scare you with my flames. I promise they will never hurt you, okay? Never.” 

Leo tipped his tear streaked face up. “But does it hurt you?” He sniffled. “When you…when you use your flames, do they hurt you?”

“Not even a little, buddy. Feels like…like standing in the sun. All warm and nice.”

“If you stood in the sun it would hurt a lot,” Leo argued, even through his tears. 

Johnny threw his head back in a shaky laughter. “Alright, bad analogy. It feels warm like…sunlight, do you feel it?” He asked, increasing his temperature just enough so his son could feel even cozier in his arms. 

Leo nodded. “I like it,” he let out a sniffly giggle. “And you save people?”

“That’s what I try to do, yeah.”

“…If you save people,” he whispered, “does that mean…you can keep me safe too?”

Johnny only pulled Leo closer. “Of course, baby, always. Your dad will always keep you safe. There’s nothing in this world or the next that could stop me from doing that.”

Back in the living room, you sat stiffly next to Sue, fighting the urge to go to Leo’s room, but not wanting to overwhelm him more. 

“You know,” you stared softly, without looking at her. “Now that he met you, that means he’s closer to meeting Reed and Ben…and he’ll step into your world sooner or later. And that terrifies me.” You confessed, shaking your head. “Because…what if he looks at me differently? Now that he knows there’s more out there in the world than what I can offer him. Now that he knows that his family are literal superheroes and I’m just…me.”

“Stop, don’t do that to yourself.” Sue said gently. “Look at what you’ve built here, all alone. You’ve done an incredible job with Leo. He’s happy, he’s brilliant, and he knows he’s loved. That’s everything. That’s not something Johnny gave him, that’s not something any of us did. That was all you. And as a mother, I understand why you kept him away. You were protecting him from what just happened, but this wasn't a mistake. He deserved the truth, and you gave it to him. And come on, you’re here talking to me instead of running to see him because you’d rather do that than risk making it worse for him. That’s a superpower alone.” She laughed under her breath, making you smile. You finally looked at her, and her hesitant hand found yours. “You’ve given him everything, really, and now Johnny gets to share that too. You’re not alone anymore. None of you are.” 

You could only give her hand a squeeze, and nod in silent gratitude. Because maybe you weren’t ready to grant forgiveness yet, but you were ready to let her try. You finally lifted from the couch, dropping her hand gently. You didn't have to say anything, just padded toward Leo’s room quietly, and peeked over the doorframe. 

Johnny was holding a sleeping Leo like he was holding the entire universe. Leo’s little face was buried in his chest, small body curled safely into his father’s arms, finally peaceful, finally complete. The thought of Reed and Ben, of the tower, of the bigger world…it didn’t feel so terrifying anymore. Not when the three of you already feel like home.

No more tug of war, now I just keep you warm 

And my waves meet your shore, ever and evermore

September, one year later.

New Jersey.

“Ugh–Johnny!” you called out, staring down at the box your foot just collided with. “Why are these in the middle of the hallway?”

No answer. You squinted at the label on the box. LEO’S ROOM – BOOKS 1. You shook your head, pushing the heavy box to the side, sighing when you realized there were more where those came from. BOOKS 2, BOOKS 3, BOOKS 4, BOOKS 7–God, it had only gotten worse since his family started getting books for him. You decided to forget about the boxes, and quickly caught yourself lost in the beauty of your new house for the millionth time.

The house was one story, just like your old one, but this one stretched wide in the corner of a fancy neighborhood street. A beautiful, pale blue welcomed you from the outside, with white trims and soft gabled lines. It looked straight out of a catalog, but this one had your name on it. It wasn’t even fully furnished yet, mostly filled with cardboard boxes scattered all over, but it was yours. 

Inside, the space was flooded with natural light pooling across the wood floors. The almost floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the white living room, framing the golden trees outside like moving paintings. Autumn poured in through every glass panel, and you could see the breeze rustling the branches from nearly every room. You loved the cozy nooks and built-in bookshelves lining the hallway, but your favorite was Leo’s room, just down the corridor. You made your way there, hearing the voices before you even reached the door. 

“Dad, you’re doing it wrong!”

“I know what I’m doing, buddy.”

“No you don’t!”

You finally arrived, leaning your shoulder on the doorframe, amused. Leo was standing in the middle of his bright new room, holding a manual, six and half years old and absolutely done with the man on the floor in front of him. Johnny was knee deep trying to figure out the pieces of a very nice, very large and very not put together white bookshelf.

“Okay, okay–don’t panic,” Johnny said, voice muffled by one screw clenched between his teeth, “This one just goes–uh, wait, where’d the instructions go?”

“I have them,” Leo said, waving the paper exasperated. “Dad, you skipped step four! That’s why the screws don’t fit, they go somewhere else."

Johnny took one look and then shook his head, pretending he wasn't completely lost. “Leo, it’s the same thing.”

“It’s not!”

You pressed your hand to your lips to keep from laughing. because Johnny Storm was being humbled by a kid with an eye for detail. His kid.

Johnny finally caught your presence and straightened up on the floor. “Hey, this is under control. Just so you know.” He grinned, too proud for his own good…and Leo’s.

“We’ve been stuck on step three for like…forever,” the kid complained, making Johnny roll his eyes. “It was better when Mommy did it,” Leo deadpaned, flipping the instructions toward you.

Johnny turned to you with wide eyes, betrayal all over his face. “You hear this? No respect in this house.”

“Well, in his defense, I did build all of our furniture back in Georgia.” You strolled into the room with a smile, but just as you reached for the manual, the doorbell rang. “Oh, they must be here! Hang on, baby, be nice. Don’t be so hard on your dad.” You said, ruffling Leo’s hair on your way out.

Behind you, Leo groaned like a tiny old man. Johnny muttered something under his breath, which was definitely not suitable for a six year old. You said something similar when you almost tripped over another rogue box in the hallway as you headed for the door. When you opened it, the familiar faces waiting for you made your heart squeeze. Ben Grimm stood front and center, holding a foil covered tray in his massive hands. The cheesy smell hit you before he even said hello. A very sheepish Reed stood next to him, with a mysterious translucent blue box on his hands.

“Figured you got your hands full with all the boxes,” Ben spoke first, with a soft smile. “And, well, Johnny still can’t cook to save his life. So, I thought I’d bring a little something to celebrate the new place.”

“You brought your lasagna?” you asked, already smiling at the tenderness in his voice.

“You know it.” he said, with a proud little nod.

“That’s very nice of you, Ben. Thank you.” You stepped aside and gestured him in. “Come on in, the oven was installed just yesterday.”

He nodded and made his way to the open kitchen, past the trail of half unpacked boxes, torn packing paper, and random Human Torch plushie on the floor. You followed him with your gaze until he settled the lasagna on the kitchen island, right next to Leo’s and Johnny’s lined up cereal stack. You turned your body back to the door, eyes settling on the second figure lingering on the porch. Reed stood just a little off to the side, unsure. You took a better look at the box he was holding, sleek and translucent in their signature blue, straight out of the Baxter Building. 

“Hi Reed,” you greeted politely. 

“I–uh…hi,” he greeted back, and cleared his throat. Even after a year, you could still see the guilt he carried in those deep brown eyes. Reed was never one to forgive himself easily, if ever, so your process with him had been a little different than with the others. “Apologies for Sue, she couldn’t come with us. Franklin had a dentist appointment, but they’ll come by later. She’s been really looking forward to seeing the new home.” 

“Oh, that’s okay,” you nodded softly. “And…the box?” You lifted an eyebrow.

“Ah, yes…I brought something for Leo. Learning material I used when Franklin was younger. They’re highly stimulating, and he showed excellent development with them at this age, so I thought they could be useful for my…for my nephew, too.”

My nephew. It still tasted strange, especially when he felt he didn’t even deserve to call him that, not even now. Yet here he was, on your doorstep, offering something thoughtful for him. 

“Thank you, Reed,” you smiled, taking the big box from his hands. It was lighter than it looked, even as it was filled with all types of puzzles and stuff you couldn't really make out, but Leo most likely would. “Come in, he’ll want to thank you himself,” you tilted your head toward the hallway, making your way back to Leo’s room as he shut the front door.

From the end of the hallway, a very loud, very frustrated voice echoed through the walls. “Dad, I told you, the flat screws go in the side!”

“Leo’s teaching Johnny how to read a manual,” you explained to Reed, who stopped midway when he heard it. “I think you’ll find it delightful.”

There was a twitch at the corner of Reed’s mouth, memories of his own son flashing his head. You didn’t even make it past the doorway of Leo’s room before Johnny stumbled upright when he saw you, while Leo was too focused on counting a pile of scattered screws like his life depended on it.

Johnny brushed the dust off his grey sweatpants and tight burgundy shirt, eyes flicking to the box in your hands. “Let me help you with that, sweetheart,” he said, already reaching to take it, and stealing a kiss on your cheek that made you smile. “I’m being bullied here,” he announced dramatically, shaking his head. “All those years complaining about Reed, and now my own kid is worse than him.”

“What was that, Johnny?”

Johnny’s eyes widened, he peeked over your shoulder and smiled exaggeratedly. “Reed! I didn’t see you there. Thanks for–” he leaned over to glance inside the box. “...whatever this is!”

Leo’s head snapped up from the screws. “Uncle Reed!” He exhaled in relief, as if a competent adult had finally arrived. “Finally! Someone who knows stuff.”

“Excuse me?” Johnny turned to him, but Leo was already marching toward Reed and shoving the instruction manual into his hands. 

“You’re smart enough to be able to build a bookshelf!”

“Smart enough, huh–you know what? This is your problem now,” Johnny shrugged to Reed, who held the paper hesitantly and looked panicked at you two. Johnny set the box down, and turned to you, lowering his voice. “Come on, before Leo unionizes.”

You stifled another laugh as he took your hand and hurried you out of the room, with Leo’s commanding voice fading behind. “No, Uncle Reed. That piece goes there, please read the manual.”

Down the hallway toward the front of the house, just out of sight from Leo’s room, you dodged the boxes, Johnny bumped into one and cursed under his breath before spinning around, hands now entirely free, and wiggling his eyebrows with mischief in his eyes. 

“Well, look at that. My hands are free now,” he teased, softly pressing you to the corridor wall. “Guess I can finally get them on you.”

You laughed, stumbling into his chest as your hip knocked into a stack of boxes that were labeled as FRAGILE - JOHNNY’S RECORDS. “His room is turning beautiful, Johnny. The whole house is…” You beamed, running your hands through his hair.

“Yeah?” He smiled, then kissed you, quick at first, but he was already chasing another before you could breathe. Between your giggles, he nuzzled closer, planting one slow kiss after another down your neck until he found that sweet spot that made your breath hitch.

“Johnny…”

“What? Can’t I kiss my dear fiancée that loves our new house?" He whispered against your skin. “We haven’t even christened it yet.”

You laughed harder now. “Yeah, but not with them in the house. And you still have to build our bed.”

“That’s what the floor is for, babe,” he smirked, still kissing along your collarbone. “We’ve gotten good at being quiet anyways, they won’t hear us…”

“I can hear you.” 

You both froze at the voice coming from the kitchen. Ben.

You peeked your heads around the corner and found Ben standing by the stove, casually stirring sauce like he wasn’t a victim of your hallway make out session. His eyes flicked up to you in an unimpressed and amused way.

“Sorry, Ben.” You smiled apologetically, trying to fix your hair, face heated up.

Johnny, unfazed and standing proudly behind you, still placed his hand down the curve of your ass, chuckling when you slapped it away. “Ohhh, is that lasagna I smell?” He made a beeline to dip his finger on the sauce Ben was stirring, but got his hand slapped again. 

“Don’t you dare, fire boy. Go wash your hands first.” Ben said without even looking up. Johnny rolled his eyes, reaching for the sink, while he muttered “Bullied, I’m telling you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, leaning against the wall, listening to them bicker. You half turned around, hearing the faint voices of Reed fighting for his life under the supervision of your very serious son, and your smile grew. Then, your eyes landed on the calendar taped on the wall close to Leo’s door, low enough for him to reach. A red crayon circle marked next Saturday, “Debate with Franklin.” You shook your head, laughing under your breath. 

You then padded to the front of the house, the floorboards faintly creaking under your bare feet, as you stopped by the wide window. You opened it, letting the crisp autumn breeze sweep in and kiss your skin. Your eyes went to the golden leaves sprawled across the glistening grass of your garden, to the sun shining down Leo’s bike next to the porch, to the basketball hoop Johnny was hoping to install with Ben laying beside the garage. The voices of your home filled the background, and for a moment, you just stood there, breathing it all in.

Some nights your past still caught you off guard, but you trusted the arms that held you, because you didn’t have to face it alone now. Your fiancé became the voice that soothed you every night, and the love that chose you, every single day. Your hand went instinctively to your belly, to a secret you found out just that morning, but one you wouldn't have to keep hidden like you did last time. You’d share it that same night.

That’s when deep inside you, beneath every scar and ache, beneath the small heartbeat you carried inside, bloomed a quiet certainty. 

That the pain wouldn’t be for evermore.

Little extras.

Every year since you turned 16 years old, you received a gift handpicked from your soulmate at midnight on New Years Day, like everyone else. Unfortunately, no gift was allowed to include something helpful like your name or address (you’d tried multiple times, but the gifts always ended up vanishing into thin air as soon as you attempted to drop it off at the post office), so gifts were supposed to be strategically picked. Something to give insight into who you are, and how you valued your future relationship.

When the two of you were still teenagers, the gifts were lacking a bit in sentimentality. You simply weren’t sure what to send a stranger that you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, and it seemed he hadn't been sure either. They’d consisted of vacation souvenirs, a photograph of your pet, random knick-knacks.

But as you both got older, the gifts became a bit more special. Two years ago he sent you a vinyl of Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet To Come,” and you played it on repeat for months. The following year, you sent him a vinyl of Etta James’ “At Last,” a sort of thank-you for the vinyl he’d sent you. It was the song you always imagined would be playing the day of your wedding day. This year, you sent him a leather bracelet you made, and you couldn’t wait to see what he got you this year.

Because last year’s gift from your soulmate was a bit…odd.

It was a collectible action figure of Johnny Storm.

And your best friend Violet had not shut up about it for the entirety of the last year.

“Totally, that’s why your soulmate gave you an expensive collectible of his action figure,” she retorted.

You sighed, picking at the pieces of popcorn in your hand. How many times have you had this conversation? “Maybe he just works for the Fantastic Four. Or he’s a fan.”

“Whatever you say,” she singsonged. “It really wouldn’t be that weird, though. Your firm works closely with them anyways.”

She had a point, but it was still outlandish. You were a communications assistant at a PR firm that worked directly with the superhero group, but you were pretty low on the food chain, and you’d never had contact with any of them. 

“Yes, I work at a PR firm with hundreds of employees, most of which would be chosen over me to speak with the world’s most famous superheroes.”

“You never know, all employees could call out sick one day and you’ll be the only one left. Then you’ll have to talk with them!”

You shook your head, a chuckle escaping you at the sheer ridiculousness of the conversation. “It’s easy for you to joke about because you don’t have to deal with any of this. You already have your person.” 

Violet was one of the lucky ones who found her soulmate when she was really young, 18 to be exact. Once she met him, she got to exchange her gifts in person. Given that you were halfway through your 20s and not any closer to finding yours, you were just a tad jealous. You couldn’t be too upset, though, because her soulmate Mike always let her spend New Years Eve with you. It had become your yearly tradition, and he never came between that.

“I’m just trying to be optimistic!” Violet threw her hands in the air, shrugging her shoulders.

“By trying to convince me that my soulmate is an unattainable, insanely attractive superhero that dates a different girl every week?” 

Violet opened her mouth to respond, but the newscaster’s voice on the television interrupted your conversation. 

“So, Johnny, any hopes for the new year? Maybe to finally find that special soulmate?” 

Violet gave you a look, but you ignored it, your eyes now glued to the screen. Johnny and his fellow superhumans were all bundled up a mere half hour away in snowy downtown New York City, the big Apple that was set to drop in 3 minutes gleaming high above them in the background. 

Johnny gave the man an easy grin. “That would certainly be nice, Chris. I’ve been dreaming of her since I was a teenager!”

Violet nudged your shoulder with a knowing grin, which you returned with another eye roll.

“But, then again, you’d have thousands of hearts to break!” The news camera panned over to the crowd of screaming women standing behind a gate nearby, several of whom were holding up “I <3 Johnny” posters. 

You shook your head. There’s no way he could be yours. As if you could compete with that.

The camera cut back to Johnny, who gave the girls a wink and chuckled as they went wild. “Well, Chris, that’s just the way it’ll have to be. Once I meet my soulmate, she’ll be it for me.” 

“And she will certainly have her hands full,” Sue cut in, leaning towards the microphone. Johnny playfully shoved her away, a smirk still on his face as Reed watched and shook his head. You smiled watching the interaction; they seemed like such a fun group.

“Do you have any hints as to who this lucky lady might be?” The newscaster, Chris, asked. “Tell us what you got her for her gift this year.”

Johnny looked surprisingly unsure at the question, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Ah, I’d rather keep the gifts between her and me. Y’know, privacy and all that. Plus, I think that might be considered cheating at finding my soulmate, right?” 

Before Chris could say anything, Ben interrupted from beside Sue. “Well look at that, Johnny following the rules for once!”

Bickering broke out between the Fantastic Four, and the newscaster went back to the camera. “Well, there you have it, folks! Johnny Storm is a softy for his sweetheart, whoever she may be. Let’s hope the new year brings them both together. And now, it is time for the one minute countdown! Let’s bring on the new year!”

Your heart started pounding the way it always did at the one-minute mark. Violet grabbed your hand as you both watched the Apple slowly make its way down.

10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…

“Happy new year!”

You and Violet exchanged a hug before tossing popcorn towards the ceiling, laughter filling the air as she danced wildly around your living room. 

“Now go look! I can’t stand the suspense any longer!”

You grinned, suddenly ignoring the superheroes celebrating on your television screen, and ran to your front door. 

And there it was, sitting perfectly on your doorstep.

A perfectly wrapped, light blue box with a white bow on the top.

You wasted no time in swiping it up and running back inside to your living room, haphazardly slamming the door behind you.

“What is it what is it what is it,” Violet chanted, her eyes glued to the gift. 

You quickly untied the bow and opened up the box, an audible gasp leaving your lips at what was inside. 

A little black box.

“Oh my god, is it a ring?” 

You swallowed, your heart pounding. “Don’t be silly, how would he even know my ring size?”

She shrugged. “I dunno, he probably guessed. You can always get it resized once you meet if it doesn’t fit. Now open it before I do!”

You opened the box and immediately let out the breath you were holding. 

It was a small, silver band with the most stunning stone you’d ever seen. In fact, you’d never seen anything like it.

Sitting in the middle of the shiny silver band was a round, black, shining stone with flecks of red inside it that seemed to glow when you held it up in the light. It almost looked a little like tiny specks of lava.

“Holy crap,” you muttered, unable to keep your eyes off of it.

“Holy crap is right,” Violet agreed. “That thing is gorgeous. What kind of stone even is that?” 

“I have no idea.” You wasted no time in trying it on, and positively beamed when you found it fit on both ring fingers before you settled on putting it on your right. You weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an engagement ring or more of a promise ring, and it felt odd to act as if you were engaged to someone you didn’t actually know, even if it’s your soulmate. One day I’ll be able to put it on my left hand, you thought. 

Violet gathered up her things, preparing to head out for the night. “It’s beautiful,” she remarked, smiling at you. “And it’ll be even more beautiful when Johnny Storm puts it on your left hand.”

You threw a pillow at her as she headed out the door. 

“Happy New Year!”

***4 months later***

“I look ridiculous. Do I look ridiculous?” You paced around your living room, wringing your hands nervously. 

Tonight, you were going to a gala. But not just any gala. A gala at the Baxter Building.

The Fantastic Four was hosting a massive charity event/gala, and invited everyone who worked closely with them or for them. Which included your PR firm. 

Technically, not everyone in your firm was allowed to go, as your company had too many employees. But you practically begged your boss to go, and she finally relented and bought you a ticket (only because it was coming out of your paycheck).

You knew it was stupid. Outlandish. Laughable. Impossible. But you had to admit that the possibility of your soulmate being involved with the Fantastic Four was something you hadn’t stopped thinking about since New Years Eve. You knew there was no way it could be Johnny Storm, but it wouldn’t be too insane of an idea to think your soulmate could work closely with the group in some other way. And you didn’t want to waste this opportunity. 

“You look incredible, don’t be silly.” Violet grabbed your black heels that matched your sleek, black, form-fitting dress and handed them to you. “But there’s one little thing missing.” You furrowed your brow, looking down at yourself as you put your heels on. Violet gave you a knowing look before walking over with the little black box you’d been given 4 months ago. “Your soulmate won’t be able to pick you out without this, yeah?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you slipped the ring onto your right ring finger. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

“Yeah, if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought you were nervous or something.” 

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Alright, I better get going before ‘fashionably late’ turns into ‘embarrassingly late.’”

Violet squealed, heading out the door with you. “It’s going to be amazing. No matter what happens! Even if you don’t meet him tonight, at least you’ll get to see the Four up close.”

You nodded, giving your best friend a salute before getting in your car. 

You can do this, you told yourself.

***

“Oh, I so cannot do this,” you whispered to yourself.

The lobby of the Baxter Building was completely full of people, none of whom had a familiar face. Everyone was dressed to the nines and looked incredible, and everyone seemed to know each other…except for you. Unfortunately, you didn’t even know where to go. 

Suddenly, a beeping sound rang out from beside you. You looked down, and a little robot was staring up at you. You looked around to see if anyone else was seeing this, but no one paid you or the robot any mind. 

“Um, hello?”

The little robot made another beeping sound before rushing away, and you had a feeling he wanted you to follow him.

You followed him over to the elevator, where he pressed the button for you before rushing away once more. “Fascinating,” you whispered, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Before you knew it, the elevator doors opened and revealed the main event. You walked forward a few steps to the balcony overlooking the gala being held right below. It was an incredibly large, lavish home, with even more people roaming about than in the lobby. Jazzy piano music combined with the sound of hundreds of people conversing played all around you. Everyone looked at ease with a drink in their hand. It was dizzying. You began gnawing at your bottom lip as you made your way to the stairs, a habit you only picked up when you were really, truly anxious. Bracing yourself, you picked up your gown in your hands to avoid tripping in your heels, and slowly made your way down the stairs in an effort to find a single person you were familiar with. 

***

“You’re lying, Ben.”

“I’m not lying, you’re just mad you can’t hold your liquor like I can.”

Johnny Storm was in the corner of the gala with a drink in his hand, bickering with Ben over how many alcoholic drinks he could down before actually getting wasted.  

“No human being on planet Earth can down that many shots and not feel anything.” He stared at Ben incredulously. 

Ben deadpanned. “We’re not exactly regular human beings, Johnny.”

“Yeah, well no, but even I can’t down ten shots and not feel like I’m about to—“

Johnny looked up as he was talking, and suddenly forgot how to speak. 

Because walking down the stairs, wearing his ring, was you.

“Face it, Johnny. You’re a lightweight.” Ben chuckled and took a sip of his drink, not even noticing that Johnny had stopped speaking. 

“Ben.” Johnny stared at you, mesmerized as you seemed to almost float down the stairs. 

“Do you really want to play this game? Because I can get the bartender right now and she’ll settle this.”

“Ben.” He still couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were stunning, more beautiful than he could've imagined.

“Alright, fine, I’ll get the bartender—“

“BEN!” 

Ben startled, finally looking at his friend and furrowing his brows. “Jesus, what?”

“My soulmate is over there.” Johnny looked more serious and panicked than Ben had ever seen him, but Ben couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head.

“Yeah, sure, Johnny. Go talk to your ‘soulmate’ so you get out of losing a drinking contest.”

Johnny rubbed a hand down his face in frustration before leaning in closer, lowering his voice. “Ben, I’m serious. She’s wearing the ring.”

Ben blinked. Oh. “Really?”

Johnny nodded furiously, eyes looking all over the room, looking panicked. “Yeah. Yeah. Oh my god, it’s her. Holy shit. Holy—“

“Johnny.”

Ben placed his giant hands on Johnny’s shoulders, steadying him. “Look at me. You’ve wooed how many women over the years? And this woman in particular was literally made for you. You’ve waited your whole life for her. Go to her.”

Johnny swallowed harshly, nodding and sniffling briefly. “Yeah. Yeah, I got this. I’m Johnny Storm. I can go talk to my soulmate. Totally. Absolutely.”

Ben bit back a laugh, taking Johnny’s drink from him. “Yep. You are Johnny Storm. Now go get her.”

***

You gave up on finding anyone you knew from your PR firm. It was too loud, the lights too dim, the place too crowded to even think straight. So, you did the only thing left to do: head for the bar.

Bottom lip still trapped between your teeth, you made your way over to the bar when a voice called out from directly behind you. 

“Uh, hi.” 

You turned around at the oddly familiar voice, and there was Johnny Storm, staring at you with wide, nervous eyes and a small, apprehensive smile. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. Say something, you idiot! “Hi,” you breathed out, your brain suddenly turning back on long enough for you to return his small smile. Why was he talking to you? What was happening, why was he—

“Uh, I think…I have something of yours,” he said. Before you could ask him what he meant, he rolled up the sleeve of his black button down shirt and revealed the leather bracelet you had made, wrapped around his wrist.

Suddenly the room seemed all too quiet. You swore you stopped breathing. “Oh my god.” 

Johnny laughed breathlessly, his smile growing wider. “I know.” 

You couldn’t even think straight. This was real, this was happening, and Violet is never going to let you live this down. “That’s…the bracelet I made for my…”

“Soulmate,” he finished for you, his smile turning into something a little smaller, more boyish and shy. “Yeah. And that,” he pointed to the gem on your finger, “is the ring I had made for my soulmate.” 

You looked down at the shining gemstone before looking back at him. Your heart was pounding in your throat. “You had it made? Where did you find this stone? I’ve never seen anything like it, it’s so beautiful.” 

Johnny beamed. “I found it on a different planet, uh, some planet called Sakaar. I’d never seen anything like it either, so I had it melted down into a gemstone…for you.”

You were now smiling so wide your cheeks were starting to hurt. Your head shook in disbelief, because of course it wasn’t even from this world. “It’s incredible. And…god, I can’t believe it’s really you.”

Johnny’s grin grew until he couldn’t take it anymore, and suddenly you were in his arms. His cologne and strong arms filled your senses, and you felt like you were about to explode as your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Jesus, I’ve waited so long for you,” he murmured in your ear, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. He pulled back, eyes flitting between yours. “Will you come with me?”

You would follow him anywhere, you decided then. “Yeah.”

Johnny smiled and grabbed your hand. “C’mon.”

You were dizzy with adrenaline as you and Johnny weaved through the crowd until you reached a door, and suddenly you were being pulled into his bedroom. He shut the door behind the two of you, and you gasped as you took it all in.

Because, decorating his shelves, was all of the presents you had sent him over the years. 

“Oh my god, the Turks and Caicos turtle!” You laughed loudly as you wandered up to the turtle bobble head you had sent him from vacation when you were 17. “I cannot believe you kept this.” 

Johnny was simply beaming as he took all of you in, watching you stare in wonder at all of the mementos. He could not believe you were really here, in front of him, in his bedroom. “Of course I kept it. I kept everything.”

You turned and looked at him. “So did I.” 

He quirked a brow, smirking. “Even the Johnny Storm action figure?”

You busted out laughing. “Well it is a collectible, of course.” 

“Sue made fun of me relentlessly for that one. Ben did, too,” he shook his head, chuckling. “I wasn’t sure if I should send it or not. Didn’t know if it was too on the nose or self-centered, y’know? But I wanted to give you as much of a hint as I was allowed.”

“My best friend was absolutely ecstatic. She knew it was you from the second she saw it, but I kept trying to convince myself that you were just a fan or something.” 

Johnny swallowed nervously then, looking a little unsure. “Is it—is it okay that I’m…y’know, me?”

You furrowed your brow. What woman would not be okay with this? “Of course. It’s more than okay, why wouldn’t it be?”

Johnny walked over and sat down on his sofa, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, the whole superhero thing could be a deal breaker for some. And I know I have a…reputation.”

You followed him, sitting down next to him. “Hmm, well I distinctly remember Johnny Storm saying that once he met his soulmate, she’d be it for him.”

Johnny turned to you then, eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You watched my New Years Eve broadcast?”

You nodded, giving him an assuring smile. 

He dramatically flopped backwards onto his sofa, making you laugh. “God, you really are my soulmate.”

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by. Two hours of sharing life stories, childhood memories. The two of you were laying on the floor, side by side, laughing about some of the gifts you’d exchanged over the years.

“What’s your favorite gift though? In all seriousness,” you asked, turning your head to the side to look at him. He was beautiful, and you could barely believe he was really yours.

“Hm.” Johnny looked up at the ceiling, eyes squinting in thought. “I love the bracelet you made me this year; I never take it off. Buuuut I think my favorite is the vinyl you gave me a couple years ago.” 

You smiled, sitting up on your elbow to prop your head up. “Yeah?” 

Johnny sat up to mirror your position. “Yeah. I played it nonstop the first few months after I got it. Ben threatened to break my record player.” You both laughed before Johnny suddenly looked serious and stood up. You sat up, furrowing your brow.

“What is it?”

Johnny bowed dramatically, holding his hand out for you to take. “My lady, may I have this dance?”

You giggled, taking his hand and allowing him to help you up. “Why yes, I think you may.”

Johnny grinned, muttering a “one sec,” before putting the Etta James record on. The very one you had given him several years ago. The sweet, slow melody filled your ears, and Johnny placed his hand in yours, his other wrapping around your waist. He pulled you close, and the two of you began to slowly sway. 

At last

My love has come along

My lonely days are over

And life is like a song

Your chest swelled with emotion as he pulled you even closer. His lips brushed your temple as you swayed in time, neither of you speaking, just taking in what you both had waited your entire lives for. 

I found a thrill to press my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known

Johnny pulled away then, his eyes never leaving yours as he took your right hand in his. Slowly, he pulled the ring off your right ring finger and gently placed it on your left. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, your eyes unable to look away from him. He swallowed nervously, a question swimming in his blue eyes, a “Can I?”

You leaned in, nudged his nose with yours in a silent, “Please.”

His lips gently met yours, and the entire outside world melted away. Your heart sang as his thumb brushed your cheek and he kissed you harder, a quiet, needy whimper escaping his throat. Your hands slid down to wrap around his lower back, bringing him even closer. It was everything you’d ever dreamed of, and it really was with Johnny Storm.

And here we are, in heaven

"yuck," sue joked, "keep it in your pants, storm."

"yeah, j, you sound a little dramatic right now."

johnny rolled his eyes, but his smitten smile told a different story. he took the phone off speaker and placed it by his ear again, "you call it dramatic, i call it the truth."

"well, the people of new york can't have you dying so i suppose you should pick me up tomorrow."

"does 'the people of new york' include you?" he bit his bottom lip, trying his best to hide the lovestruck smile on his face that sue would most likely tease him over after he gets off the phone with you.

"if you're on time to pick me up, yes."

"oh, baby, i'm there two hours early with a bouquet of flowers and a welcome home sign."

sue narrowed her eyes at johnny as she heard the faint sound of your laughter through the phone. johnny's cheeks grew a light shade of pink at the sound. johnny was down bad. it was cute.

"alright, j," you replied, "i gotta go, but i'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"counting down the hours, babe."

you hummed, "bye."

"bye, baby." johnny placed his phone face down on the counter.

he thought he clicked on the button to end the call, but alas, you were still on the other line. you were about to end the call yourself and send him a text telling him he's such a klutz sometimes, but then you heard his voice on the other side of the line.

you thought that it was him realizing his mistake. you thought that he would pick up the phone again and say goodbye one more time.

but you were wrong.

"i like her, you know," sue said, though her voice was muffled. "she's good for you."

"yeah, she is." johnny replied.

you felt bad listening in on their private conversation, but it was also nice to know that his family approved of you. you'd been seeing johnny for close to five months now. it was still a secret to the rest of the world, but his family knew about you.

you've had multiple sunday night family dinners with them. you practically cemented your place at the table. you had chores that you signed up for (johnny washes the dishes and you dry them). franklin makes grabby hands at you when you visit.

in all sense of the word, you were already a part of the family.

sue spoke again, "is she coming to the mayor's gala next week?"

you blinked. you've talked to johnny every day since you started dating. he never mentioned anything about a gala. surely it just slipped his mind.

you listened intently.

johnny paused, "i haven't asked her."

"johnny, we've known about this for two months," sue reprimanded, "you need to tell her soon so she can get everything in order on her end. it's a big deal. i'm sure she'd like to prepare for it."

"i don't know if i should bring her."

sue's eyes buldged out of her head. she placed the mushed apples and spoon down on the counter, placing her now empty hands on her hips, "what do you mean?"

"i mean, it's casual, you know?" johnny started, "i don't know if it's a good idea to bring her to something so public."

you pulled the phone away from your ear. tears began to well in your eyes. you hurriedly clicked on the 'end call' button and the line went dead.

"this is why you don't eavesdrop on people's coversations," you muttered to yourself. you haphazardly rubbed your eyes, wiping your cheeks free of the tears that slipped past.

johnny thought you were casual. johnny doesn't want to be seen with you in public.

the realization dawned on you like a cold wave. whatever you thought you had with johnny was one-sided. he wasn't planning dates every week or introducing you to his family or picking you up from the goddamn airport to show you he was serious about you. from the information you just learned, he does this for casual.

the thought of it made you sick.

on the other side of the dead line, johnny winced at his sister's booming voice.

"johnny, what the hell are you talking about?!" she exclaimed, confusion etched on her features. "what do you mean this is casual between the two of you?"

johnny groaned, running his fingers through his hair, "god, of course it's not casual to me. but i don't know what this is to her. i don't know if she even wants to be public with me. she knows what that territory comes with."

sue softened, "have you talked to her?"

"no," he responded, "and i don't know if i can."

"of course you can, johnny," she placed a comforting hand on his arm, "what's stopping you?"

"i'm scared." johnny admitted, looking at sue. "what if i lose her over this? what if she says that this isn't something that she signed up for? the media, the public, the scrutiny? i'd rather have her in secret with you guys than not have her at all."

"hey," sue placed a hand under his chin, cradling his face like how she used to when he was younger. "you need to talk to her. right now, you're making the decision for her and that's not fair. you need to give her the chance to decide what she wants for the two of you."

"i know," he muttered, "but it's scary."

"mhm," she hummed, giving him a sisterly smile, "but if it's any consolation, i have a feeling she'll stick around."

"thanks, sue," johnny said. "i'll talk to her tomorrow."

"good." she picked up the food again and sat beside franklin to continue feeding him. the baby smiled at johnny, quietly telling his uncle that he's got this.

johnny placed a kiss on the top of franklin's head and made his way to his room. he picked up his phone that was forgotten on the counter. his heart jumped at the notification from you.

from: babe <3

'hey, on second thought, you don't need to pick me up tomorrow. i think i'll be too tired so i'll just go straight to my apartment.'

johnny frowned at your text, his fingers quickly swiping on the screen to call you again. he chewed nervously on his bottom lip as each call went straight to voicemail.

he plopped on his bed, typing a quick response to your message.

to: babe <3

'i can take you straight to your apartment, baby. no worries.'

he waited patiently for your response, but never got one.

--

the thing about johnny storm is that he's a stubborn individual. it's one of your favorite things about him. once he's made his mind up about something, it takes an army and half-- or in your case, a bat of your eyelashes and a peck on the lips-- for him to change his mind.

however, when you walked out of the airport gates and saw a man with a sign saying 'welcome home, baby!,' holding a bouquet of roses and three heart-shaped balloons, you didn't love his stubbornness at the moment.

he had a baseball cap on his head, perfectly masking him from the public. if it wasn't for his over-the-top attempts of welcoming you home, he would've blended in with the crowd easily.

you didn't want to see johnny. especially not right now when you spent the entire flight home bawling your eyes out and drinking the plane's mini bar dry. the flight attendants cut you off from the wine list by hour two.

johnny beamed as he walked closer to you, arms outstretched to engulf you in a hug. you tensed at the feeling of his arms around you. it felt so nice. you missed being with him while you were away, but the nagging voice in your head continued to replay the words you overheard on the phone.

it's casual.

johnny pulled away, immediately grabbing your bags from your grasp. he handed you the flowers and balloons, "don't worry baby, i'll take you straight home so you can rest. i can just drop you off and we can hang out another time, or we can hang out at yours, if you want? we can just nap or watch a movie. whatever you want to do."

"i thought i told you you didn't need to pick me up," you said, self-consciously tugging at your clothes. you weren't really dressed nicely. you were in sweatpants and a hoodie-- which you realized then was actually johnny's. it's not like he's never seen you in this state before, but you were hoping that the next time you saw johnny you'd be dressed to the nines so he could see what he was missing out on.

it's casual.

johnny unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. johnny leaned on the door, "yeah, i know, but i wanted to anyway."

he shut the door before bustling away to put your things in the trunk, including the balloons that took up too much space in the car. as he shut the trunk, johnny took a deep breath.

he practiced what he was going to say to you (with some workshopping from sue) and to say that he was out-of-his-mind scared would be the understatement of the year.

johnny made his way to the driver's seat. before he put the car in drive, he turned to you, "i missed you."

his words sent a pang of hurt in your chest. you closed your eyes, craning your head to look away from him. johnny's eyebrows furrowed, lips forming a tight line. he was expecting a different response. the entire week you've been gone was spent on the phone with him between work meetings and client calls.

"babe? everything okay?"

you wiped your face with the sleeves of your hoodie, cursing silently when johnny's scent hit your nose. you gulped, "johnny, it's fine. you don't have to pretend anymore. i know."

"woah," he turned the engine off, unbuckling his seatbelt so he could face your properly. "what are you talking about?"

"stop it," you groaned, "i already know, okay? you don't have to pretend you're actually into me like this."

"hey, hey, what?" johnny asked, panicked. he reached over to hold your hand, flinching when you pulled away the minute his fingers touched your skin. "babe, what do you mean pretending?"

mustering up all your courage, you faced him. johnny's heart shattered at the sight of your watery eyes and wobbling lips. he wanted nothing else but to hold you and kiss your tears away.

"i heard you on the phone while you were talking to sue," you whispered, the last shred of dignity you had left leaving your body. "look, i know it was wrong of me to listen to your conversation but i couldn't help it, okay? i'm sorry for that."

"what are you apologizing for?" he questioned, "i don't care that you heard what i said-- wait, what exactly did you hear?"

"you said that we're casual." the words left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"wha-" johnny looked bewildered, then he realized that you only heard up to that with his conversation with sue. "oh my god, baby. no, no, no. you got it so wrong."

"how wrong could i be?" you spat, patience running thin that he was still keeping up this facade.

"babe, did you hear the rest of that conversation?"

"i didn't really think i needed to hear more about how i'm casual to you. you made it pretty clear."

against johnny's better judgment, he let out a chuckle, "oh, my love. i don't know you don't see it, but i am head over heels in love with you."

you blinked, "what?"

"if you listened a little longer, you would've heard me saying that nothing about this is casual to me, but i thought that you thought this was casual," he explained, a bashful smile on his lips. "you would've heard me tell sue that i'm terrified of bringing up going public with you because i'm scared that you won't want to and i'll lose you."

"oh."

"and then you would've heard sue tear me a new one for not communicating with you," he laughed, slowly inching his hand closer to yours. he let out a breath of relief when you didn't pull away. "i practiced all night what i was gonna say, but obviously that flew out the window the minute this conversation happened."

"oh," you felt stupid not being able to say anything else but that, but your mind was racing a hundred miles a second. you spent over half a day believing you and johnny were practically over. and now, here he is in front of you, telling you that it's the complete opposite.

"yeah," johnny mumbled, "for the record, this isn't casual to me and i hope it isn't for you either because i gotta tell you babe, i'm so gooddamn, foolishly, wholeheartedly in love with you."

you pursed your lips, swatting his upper arm with a snort, "damn you, j."

"there you are, baby," johnny said, fondly. he held the side of your face in his palm, humming as you nuzzled your face in his warm touch. "let's try this again. i missed you."

"i missed you, too," you whispered, placing a barely-there kiss to his palm. "i'm sorry for how i acted."

"don't be sorry," he assured, "i understand. i probably would've been more heartbroken if i was in your shoes."

you unbuckled your own seatbelt and leaned over the console. you placed your lips on his, sighing in content at the familiar feeling. he placed his hands on either side of your face, holding you close. you pulled away, "for the record, i'm so goddamn, foolishly, wholeheartedly in love with you, too."

johnny's face lit up like a kid on christmas morning. he bumped his nose against yours, "want me to take you home?"

"take me to yours," you replied, "so i can shower and get ready to go shopping. i heard that there's a gala next week? i'm not against showing up uninvited."

johnny laughed, warmth blooming in his chest, "i already rsvp'd for two when i first got the invite two months ago. i was hoping you'd join me, i was just too chicken to ask."

you tilted your head to the side, love oozing out of your pores, "yeah?"

Your hair had been shoved into a bun since dawn, already loosened by the heat radiating off the pastry case. You moved nonstop, dodging customers and slinging paper bags filled with brownies, marble loaves, and chocolate croissants to neighborhood regulars. The cookies, especially the chocolate chip, were gone before noon, and you'd slipped a few warm ones to the kids who lived across the street, ignoring their mother's frazzled protests. Kids needed sweetness in a city like this.

You leaned against the counter for the first time in hours, arms dusted with flour and sugar, the faint hum of a delivery truck idling outside. You took a quick sip of water, your lips still tasting faintly of cinnamon. Then came the bell, ding-a-ling, that delicate sound above the door. You glanced up and froze in amused recognition. Ben Grimm stood in the doorway, trying (and failing) to disguise his massive, craggy frame beneath a trench coat that strained at the seams.

His fedora sat low, shadowing his unmistakable orange brow, but you’d recognize that stance anywhere. A few folks glanced up, but New Yorkers were practiced in the art of pretending not to notice things that didn’t concern them. “There’s my favorite customer!” You grinned, the weariness melting from your voice as you waved him in. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound gravelly and warm. “The usual, a dozen black and white cookies, fresh outta the oven.”

You beamed, already holding out the brown paper bag before he could part his lips. Ben’s rocky features relaxed into a rare, boyish grin. The warmth in his eyes was unmistakable, even beneath the shadow of his hat. “You spoil us way too much, Y/N.” He murmured, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat with those thick, stone-like fingers. Before he could fish out his wallet, you gently laid your hand against his arm. “Nah,” You whispered, your eyes crinkling. “It’s the least I can do. You keep our city from crumbling, literally.”

He hesitated, then chuckled softly, the corners of his mouth pulling into something half-sheepish, half-grateful. The coat shifted slightly as he straightened up, careful not to knock over the tiny table near the window. Outside, the city kept humming, taxis honking, a dog barking somewhere down the block, steam curling from a grate on the corner like clockwork. Ever since that mission to space, the one that turned the four of them into something the world had never seen, they'd been more than just heroes.

Earth-828 called them protectors. Some folks whispered “miracles,” others muttered “monsters,” but to you, they were still people. People who liked black and white cookies warm and still a little gooey in the middle. Ben tucked the bag under one arm with reverence, like he was holding something precious instead of simply just cookies. “Reed says carbs’ll slow me down,” He grunted, already lifting one to his mouth. “But he doesn’t know what he’s missin’.”

You laughed, the sound light above the soft vinyl music playing from the back. The overhead light flickered briefly, a flaw in the old wiring you never bothered fixing, casting a golden glow across the glass counter and catching the powdered sugar still clinging to your forearms. “Anything else I can get for you?” You asked, tilting your head as Ben scanned the pastry display. “Will you let me pay for it this time?” You shrugged with a playful glint in your eye watching as he shook his head in disapproval.

“Just the cookies today. I’ll take the offer next time, though.” Ben grunted, approval or defeat, it was hard to tell, and adjusted his coat. “Fair enough,” You smiled, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Tell everyone their favorite baker said hello.” You added, wiping your hands on your apron. As if summoned, the front door jingled again, and in blew a gust of hot air and unmistakable cologne. “Ben! What a coincidence!” Johnny Storm strolled in like he owned the block, hair windswept, a grin already loaded and ready to fire.

He clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, more for show than anything, before swiveling toward you like a sunflower toward the sun. “Why hello, gorgeous.” He purred, leaning casually against the counter, elbows propped like it was a bar and not a bakery. His blue eyes flicked over you, every detail catalogued in a glance that burned hotter than anything the ovens could crank out. You didn’t flinch. You’d seen this act before. “Johnny.” You replied, arms crossed more for protection than posture.

It didn’t stop your heart from racing, not with him standing there, all charm and endearing smile. He’d been flirting ever since the first time Ben sent him to pick up cookies, weeks ago now, throwing one-liners your way. It had become routine, really. Every day around noon, Johnny would stroll through the doors of Maisie’s Delicatessen, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in civilian charm, like clockwork.

He’d order the same cherry danish or lemon tart he never finished, pick at a croissant he claimed was “too flaky,” or simply ask for something sweet and then spend twenty minutes leaning on the counter and making small talk. You’d never seen him eat more than a bite. The truth? He didn’t like pastries. You knew. You noticed the way he’d discreetly leave half of them on the plate, or slide one into a napkin and “forget” it on the windowsill. But he came back anyway.

Every. Single. Day.

Only unlike all the women in New York City, you’d brushed him off. You always did. The whole city knew Johnny Storm’s reputation. He was the Human Torch, flashy, unpredictable, and impossible not to look at. Blonde hair like sunlight, eyes blue enough to drown in. You weren’t naive. You just weren’t stupid enough to fall for him and get your heart broken. At first, you assumed it was just Johnny being Johnny, chasing a pretty face with his signature swagger and a smirk that could melt through steel.

His flirtation had seemed harmless. But lately… something about him felt different. He asked questions that had nothing to do with your looks. Asked about your favorite books, your childhood dog, whether you liked jazz or doo-wop better. He once brought you a bouquet of tiger lillies because “you looked like someone who deserved a Wednesday pick-me up.” He listened. Really listened. And yet, you still didn’t let yourself believe it. Because he was Johnny Storm.

Famous. Reckless. Traveled to space. And you? You baked cookies on 3rd and Grand and slipped extras to neighborhood kids. So when he leaned in across the counter today, eyes locked on yours like you were the only person in Manhattan, it made your stomach twist. Because you couldn’t tell if it was all just part of the game, or if maybe, just maybe, he meant it. Still, you reminded yourself to breathe, burying the stupid crush on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker as far down as it would go.

You’d dug that hole weeks ago, right around the time he started showing up for pastries he didn’t eat, and you’d kept digging ever since. “Surprised you’re not at the Baxter Building,” You teased, grabbing a nearby rag to wipe a nonexistent smudge on the counter. “Don’t you have a world to save?” He grinned, eyes glinting. “Figured I’d start with yours.” You almost choked on your own breath. Ben rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them click.

“Flamebrain, pick up your danish and let the woman work.” But Johnny didn’t move. He leaned in further, elbow resting against the counter like he had all the time in the world. “Aw, come on, Y/N.” He drawled with a smirk so effortless it should’ve been criminal. That wink, practiced, perfect, probably had women lining up around the block. You huffed a laugh despite yourself, because dammit, he was impossible not to smile at. Shaking your head, you turned your back to him, pretending to be very, very busy with the new tray of croissants still warm from the oven.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was still watching you, you could feel it. You grabbed the pineapple danish, the one he always claimed was his favorite, though you were 99% sure he hated pineapple, and placed it gently on the counter between you. “Have a nice day, Johnny.” It was meant to be the end of it. A line drawn in powdered sugar. But the way he lit up when you said his name made your chest tighten in a way that was wildly inconvenient.

His whole face softened, the cocky veneer still there, but something genuine flickering behind it. The corners of his mouth curved, his blue eyes twinkling like he'd just won something. He pulled out his wallet, soft leather, edges worn, and slid a crisp $10 bill across the counter without breaking eye contact. “See you next time, beautiful.” That should’ve been it. Any normal person would’ve taken their pastry and left. But Johnny Storm wasn’t normal. Before you could even blink, he leaned in again, this time reaching for you.

Reflex made you freeze, lips parting on instinct as his hand came up to your face. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, slow and deliberate. Your breath hitched. Your skin went electric beneath his touch. “Gotcha.” He whispered with a smug grin, dusting flour off your cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, like some cinematic fever dream, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, slow, gentle, and let his fingers linger just a second too long.

You couldn’t even look at him. Not directly. Not with that smile. Not with the way his cologne curled through the air, something warm, woodsy, and undeniably him. Not with his broad shoulders in your peripheral, framed by the soft golden light of the storefront window. Your heart was pounding like the city outside, and you hated how easily he could turn you to absolute mush. With one last cheeky wink, he straightened up and strolled past Ben toward the exit like he hadn’t just short-circuited your brain.

You stood frozen, still gripping the edge of the counter as the bell above the door chimed again. Ben lingered for just a second longer, eyeing you with something between amusement and pity. “He’s trouble, kid.” You managed a breathless laugh, cheeks still burning. “Tell me something I don’t know.” He gave you one last tip of his hat before he was out the door. Through the foggy window, you watched Ben shove Johnny as they walked down the street, his expression deadpan as Johnny laughed, head tilted back, beaming.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at your lips. The rest of the evening passed like a worn-out record, quiet, predictable, and just a little too slow. No more superhero drop-ins, no flirtatious banter, just the comforting rhythm of clinking coffee cups, parents herding sugar-hyped kids, and the usual faces grabbing day-old rye for half price. You moved on autopilot, smiling when necessary, nodding when expected, but your thoughts weren’t behind the counter anymore.

They were still caught somewhere between Johnny Storm’s hand brushing your cheek and the lingering scent of him that had somehow stuck to the sleeves of your apron. At four o’clock sharp, you finally peeled off the fabric, folding it with practiced hands. You greeted your coworker with a tired wave, slung your bag over one shoulder, and grabbed the small box of pastries you’d stashed for yourself, your ritual comfort after long shifts. With a practiced motion, you nudged open the back door and stepped into the fading amber of early evening.

It was cooler now, a soft breeze threading through your sleeves, but it didn’t soothe the heat still smoldering beneath your skin. You leaned against the brick wall beside the shop, juggling the box and your bag awkwardly as you searched for your keys. Of course, they’d sunken to the bottom. Because today was that kind of day. “Geez, Y/N! Don’t you know it’s not safe out here?” You jumped slightly, box nearly tipping. But then the voice registered, cocky and warm like always, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, and there he was. Johnny Storm, leaning casually against the wall beside you, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a fitted maroon tee that left nothing to the imagination. His eyes sparkled under the streetlamp like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. You didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll this time. “Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on a woman when it’s nearly dark?” He laughed, that rich, golden sound that always felt like it was meant just for you.

“Walking a beautiful girl to her car after a long shift? That’s not rude, sweetheart. That’s practically chivalry.” You hated the way your heart fluttered. “I might even ask her out to dinner, if she doesn’t already have plans.” He added, stepping a little closer. “You never quit, do you?” Your voice was breathier than you intended, your composure already fraying. The city seemed to fall away, no cars, no lights, no sound, just the heavy press of his presence and the impossible closeness of him.

He took one more step, caging you. His arms bracketed the space like a promise. His eyes were softer now, but blazing all the same. “When it comes to you? I don’t.” You looked up at him, and you felt it, that dangerous pull. Like you were standing on the edge of something steep, and he was gravity. For one brief, selfish second, you wanted to fall. His gaze searched yours, blue eyes impossibly sincere, and you felt your whole body lock up. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or lean in.

It was too much, all at once, the heat, the closeness, the way his words curled inside your chest and ignited everything you’d been trying to bury. “Johnny—” You started, just as quick reality struck. “Johnny! Johnny! Can we get a picture?” A chorus of high-pitched voices broke through the quiet. You both turned. Across the street, three girls, all wide smiles, glossy hair, and miniskirts, were waving excitedly. “Please! We love you!” His shoulders stiffened. For once, he was speechless, gaze flickering between you and them.

And that’s when it hit you.

Of course girls like that followed him. Of course they screamed his name and got his smile and maybe more. Girls who were everything you weren’t, glamorous, shiny, effortless. You felt plain in comparison, dusty from work, apron-wrinkled, flour on your jeans, your lipstick smudged from hours behind the counter and sneaking coffee during your breaks. You felt your throat tighten, breath catching behind clenched teeth.

He looked at you, torn, visibly. You saw the guilt, the hesitation. But you couldn’t handle it. Not the look. Not the choice. You beat him to it. “Go,” You whispered, voice thick. “Take pictures. Sign autographs. Don't let me stop you.” His head whipped back to you. “Y/N—” But you were already slipping. Already falling back into the walls you had spent so long building. Don’t get attached. Don’t believe him. Don’t be a fool. “I’ll see you around, Johnny.” Your smile was brittle.

A cracked-glass version of the one you used to give him. You turned before he could speak, before he could reach for you, because you knew, if he said the right thing, if he looked at you that way again, you’d stay. And you couldn’t. You clutched the pastry box like it was armor and speed-walked to your car, fumbling with the keys as your eyes blurred. You slammed the door shut behind you, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough to make your knuckles pale.

You let out one shaky breath, but it didn’t help, your chest still felt like it was caving in. The first tear slipped down your cheek, and you swiped at it with the back of your hand. You blinked hard, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from sobbing, swallowing the thick lump that refused to go away. Through the windshield, you could still see him, standing there, not moving. Not chasing after you. Of course not. He was Johnny Storm. And you? You were just the girl who made the cookies.